Thursday. April 16: Femme Fatale
IT’S ONLY WORDS
by Deborah Elliott-Upton
It’s only words, but words are all I have to steal your heart away.
At least that’s how I remember the lyrics. The point is: I do remember the meaning of the lyrics and even the tune. (Admit it: it’s now in your head, too!) I’ve always wanted to be a songwriter and actually, I have written a few songs. I just don’t sing well or play an instrument besides humming into a tissue comb or shaking a tambourine. So, I doubt my legacy would be a song on people’s lips, tickling their memory and making them smile with the remembrance. So, what is a song without music? Poetry?
When I was on the board of a writer’s group, I was partially responsible for seeing that the speaker got where he needed to be and had everything he needed for his presentation. One of the perks of being on the board was to get actual one-on-one time with the speaker and I actually loved that part of the “job” even if it meant I had to hurry him along to the meeting or make sure she got the Café Mocha she needed first thing in the morning.
One session’s speaker was a poet laureate and I was told he was very, very good. At the time, I didn’t much care for poetry beyond the time I spent with Poe’s “The Raven.” At the time, I wrote more in the hard-boiled vein of mystery, a genre category I still enjoy. Though Paul Christensen turned out to be a very amenable man and just might be a wonderful poet, I doubted I’d get much from his workshop. I was wrong. He spoke of “the rhythm of words” and when he read his own work aloud, I thought of how melodious his words were, even without music. He turned out to be a great teacher and yes, my friends were correct: his poetry was very very good.
Why do we read if not to be taken away from everyday life into a place where a rhythm of words can soothe us from the daily grind?
“But soon we shall die and all memory of those five will have left earth, and we ourselves shall be loved for a while and forgotten. But the love will have been enough; all those impulses of love return to the love that made them. Even memory is not necessary for love. There is a land of the living and a land of the dead and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning.”
– Thornton Wilder, The Bridge of San Luis Rey
It’s only words, but to write something as beautiful as Wilder, would be – dare I say it? – lovely. True, the phrasing lends itself to another era, but who says that’s a bad thing? In my opinion, people will be quoting Wilder long after a gansta rap song has been erased by becoming as dated as a poodle skirt.
I like jazz – especially the soft yet gritty songs. Jazz is timeless. Lena Horne singing about a man leaving her and having nothing but Stormy Weather is hauntingly beautiful. I know she’s supposed to be Country, but Crystal Gayle singing “Don’t it Make my Brown Eyes Blue?” never reminds me of Nashville.
Maybe it’s the rhythm of the words that’s so emotive. Maybe it’s the feeling jazz singers put into their vocals. Maybe after all these years, it’s just still so sizzling hot.
It’s only words, but words are all I have …
If words are all we have, let’s make good use of them while we’re here.
Great article. Yes the song is now in my head and probably will be all day. :]]
This, in my opinion, was a terrific truth:
‘Why do we read if not to be taken away from everyday life into a place where a rhythm of words can soothe us from the daily grind?’
I just wish I could impress this upon my kids!!
My favorite line from TS Eliot: “I gotta use words when I talk to you.”
Good column.
Nicely said. One of my favorite columnists of yore, Jim Bishop, once wrote of the importance of rhythm in writing. He compared it to the longs and shorts of Morse code. A few dots and then a dash, and so on.
Very sensitive post, Deborah.
I loved this column.
Music and poetry remind of Robert Zimmerman
and Blowin’ in the Wind…though modern day, his words still stand.
The same with literature. The era doesn’t matter as long as it can still stand and be read for the beauty it offered at the time. And more likely than not, can be applied to the era read.
Also, words can be harmful whether written or spoken. Since I like off beat poet singers, the song that comes to mind is Lyle Lovett’s “Promises”–
Promises given
And promises broken
Words stain my lips
Just like blood on my hands
And words are like poison
That sinks down inside you
And some things you do
You just don’t understand
I offer no reason
I ask for no pity
I make no excuse
For the way that I am
Enjoyed your thoughtful and well written “words”–
And words are like poison
That sinks down inside you
Wow. That is really true. Okay, but now I’m thinking of an old Cosby Show where Denise was writing poetry (the kind only teenagers living in the state of Angst can write) and her words still make me sad, but I laugh:
And I walk alone. I walk…alone. Anybody else remember that one?
You’re singing my song.