Woke up at noon with a little poem in my head, went to the desk and wrote it down.
יְלַדַי שְמוּרִים בְּמֵקַרֵר קַטָן
מֵקַרֵר קַטָן וְטוֹב
אַבָל אֱלוהִים הוּא מֵאַוורֵר עַנָק
שְמֶבִיא אֲוִיר מְהַרְחוֹב
וְרַעָש שֵל זְכוּכִית נִשְבֶרֵת
Waking up late
My children are kept in a little fridge
A good little fridge
But God is a huge fan
that brings air in from the street
And the sound of breaking glass
I put on "Pas de Problem" by Kana to give my day a reggae groove, but the cosmic blues had already set in, so I spent most of the day working, drinking tea and listening to Joanna Newsom.
Of the several female vocalists I have "plugged" on this blog: Imogen Heap, Rona Kenan, even (at this point in history) Gal Costa, Newsom seems to need least introduction. Freak Folk is successful globally. Her name is dropped often and immediately evokes a peculiar pluck of the vocal cords and another of a harp string.
Still, it takes a quiet Saturday of listening to Newsom's "The Milk-Eyed Mender" to understand how peculiar it all is. In this interview she speaks of not being able to articulate her feelings except in the form of a song.
I believe her. This is one human being who needs art in order to express herself. I, in turn, need her expressive deficiency. I need art in order to be myself. Joanna Newsom enhances my worldview beautifully. it would be incomplete and dull without her unexpected word combinations, her twisted string, her own late mornings.