http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q3kPBIewPOk
Woman by John Lennon (Studio acoustic version)
I could write endlessly about John Lennon and not articulate anything previously unwritten, so I will not ramble. Well supposedly out shopping for the holidays on Thursday I came upon the book Memories of John Lennon very much marked down. I couldn't resist buying the book edited and introduced by Yoko Ono for $10. Since then I have had a hard time putting it down, the book is a collection of memories writtten by those who knew or where influenced by Lennon. The vast array of talent arranged alphabetically is impressive and I am about 3/4 through, the next entry is from Iggy Pop. The book also contains some very good pictures and not of the usual variety. For me a highlight thus far was Ronnie Hawkins writing about John and Yoko coming to Canada to stay with him before their famous meeting with Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau. The longest and most candid thoughts are from Elliot Mintz, a media advisor and close intimitate friend of John and Yoko. Elliot was almost a daily part of their lives from the early 1970's until John's death in December of 1980. He remains close to Yoko Ono. Below are some of his words.
"John not only made music, he used the interview format to paint word pictures. He wrote books, created drawings, lithographs, assembled collages, marched in the street, took out full-page ads, rented billboards, spoke out publicly about everything, made movies, created bed-ins, contributed grenerously to causes he believed in, sometimes behaved outrageously, defied convention, added an essential link to the chain of musical expression, advanced the concept househusbandry, provoked dialog and debate, and commanded attention through revelation. It really didn't matter if you thought of him as saint or sinner, mediocre or brilliant, heroic or naive, a working-class hero or an isolated dreamer, everybody had an opinion. He touched you."
Below is a poem from his woman.
Season of Glass
Spring passes
and one remembers one's innocence
Summer passes
and one remembers one's exuberance
Autumn passes
and one remembers one's reverence
Winter passes
and one remembers one's perseverance.
There is the season that never passes,
And that is the season of glass.
Yoko Ono
Picking a favourite John Lennon song would be nearly impossible because like all good artists, they have different songs for different moods. My list would include the brilliant Imagine, the acoustic version of Watching The Wheels, the whistling honesty of Jealous Guy, the intelligence of Mind Games and the beauty of Woman.
Below is a poem I wrote tonight. A Friday night in December, the coldest thus far to accompany the brighest moon of the year. I took a solitary walk with no particular destination in mind as I often do and it influenced my writing. Being muted doesn't mean you have to be quiet.
john.
Muted
My life is the Weather Network on mute
A familiar lyric being sung in the silence
I will not love and it no longer matters
Friday night snow falls on Richmond Street
Dusting my footprints after their creation
The city feels calming and peaceful tonight
Victoria Park is illuminated by holiday lights
Light blue ones have always been my favourite
Strings of them join Norwegian maples together
Above the full moon is pale behind clouds
Come midnight it will be a cosmic flood lamp
I pull my scarf tighter against the cold wind
Warming skin easily scarred and weathered
There is a contentment to my thoughts lately
Piano played melodies without sorrow or pain
Only the honesty of introspection and acceptance
I will grow old like a gentleman with kindness
Not the bleeding type of my youth and fervour
A maturated fruit left hanging on the branch
Passed over one too many times to reach out
There is no hope left of being carried off happily
I must walk alone like usual and this is alright
All of life is famously a stage and this is my role
The final scenes might not be scripted thus far
Hopefully I get one last long walk in the snow
Reminiscent of those taken by Pierre Trudeau
Through the streets encompassing old Montreal
I blink as a single falling flake enters my eye
They are supposed to be each individually unique
Sort of human in this aspect of their existence
Even more fleeting than our own insignificance
Here and now only matter and nothing else does
The past is on the radio being sung by Lennon
We could have been so much better than this
Reality is what it is and will always be such
A human society can never find utopian peace
The flaws like those in my head are too many
Love is a woman who is waiting for another man
I can see this clearly despite the December snow
There is still beauty in the scene and it will last
After every sound is muted and every eye closed
History like the universe will begin again one day
For an instant purity can exist in its wonderment
Before like a snowflake or a footprint it is tainted.
12/12/08
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