{"id":768,"date":"2007-07-06T00:01:21","date_gmt":"2007-07-06T06:01:21","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/?p=768"},"modified":"2007-07-06T00:04:15","modified_gmt":"2007-07-06T06:04:15","slug":"poetry-friday-happy-the-end-for-lissy-and-christopher-robin-or-how-art-can-heal","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/?p=768","title":{"rendered":"Poetry Friday: Happy, The End for Lissy and Christopher Robin, Or How Art Can Heal"},"content":{"rendered":"

I am particularly excited this Poetry Friday to be sharing some song lyrics with you. The Innocence Mission<\/a><\/strong> is one of my top-five favorite bands. I won’t get into the many reasons why, since this blog is about literature and not music, but suffice it to say they are true originals and a rarity in the music business, composing lyrics — a great deal of them written by lead singer, Karen Peris — that are the gorgeous, distilled stuff of poetry. Their CDs are not the ones you want to choose the day you want to rock out; this is solitary music of “muted majesty,” as this review<\/a><\/strong> puts it well: there is a “durable, slow-burn beauty {to} their work . . . {a} softness of touch– a light that rarely feels lite.” At first glance\/first listen, their musical creations are spare, slight. But, like stumbling upon an Emily Dickinson poem and reading and re-reading it, you start to see that the songs have a great deal of beauty to offer on many, many rewarding levels. This review<\/a><\/strong> puts it nicely: “Intimate, quiet, poetic and wistful, Karen Peris\u2019 songs very genuinely offer a glimpse into an earlier, more innocent and childlike time. Or maybe they just embody a world very different from the too very busy, wired and weird urban existence that I know all too well . . . the whole of the record {their latest one<\/a><\/strong>} . . . feels as though it is floating in another realm, one not too burdened with the daily challenges of modern existence, even as it reflects on an early morning flight.” I find myself turning to their music quite a bit; I need it to replenish me (and then there are other moods, and I need this<\/a><\/strong> sometimes, but I digress). <\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

And the reason I’m excited this week is because, I knew — when I decided I wanted to share these lyrics — that I would need to get permission to include the lyrics in their entirety, so I emailed the band. And Karen Peris<\/a><\/strong> got back to me and granted permission. This was not only terrifically kind of her, but I was also thrilled to have an opportunity to tell her, albeit briefly (since I felt like a gawky fan), what their music means to me. And, you know Naomi Shihab Nye’s poem “Famous,”<\/a><\/strong> which we’ve talked about here at 7-Imp before<\/a><\/strong>? Well, the lyrics<\/a><\/strong> that Karen composes and the melodies that she and her husband put to them are big-time famous in my world. Getting an email from her was thrilling. <\/p>\n

When I read Grace Lin’s<\/a><\/strong> Lissy’s Friends<\/em><\/strong><\/a> this week (reviewed here<\/a><\/strong>), I started thinking about (as mentioned in the review) the power of art to heal, which is one of my favorite themes in all of, well, the arts as a whole (literature, theatre, music, etc.). There is Lissy pictured above at the top of this post (illustration posted again<\/a><\/strong> with permission from Ms. Lin), sitting with her origami friends, created to help fill a void. And, in her case, this art not only helped her cope but also created a bridge between her and someone else, in essence helping Lissy eradicate her loneliness. <\/p>\n

And that’s what led me to think about these Karen Peris lyrics. They are to a song that is one of the most beautiful ones you will ever hear (if interested, it is off the band’s 1995 release, “Glow”<\/a><\/strong>), and I’ve always adored the lyrics, which to me encapsulate the power of art to heal (seriously, I hear the piano begin in this song and then hear Karen’s lovely and odd — and that’s a compliment — and beguiling soprano kick in, and I get all misty-eyed). I suppose the song means many things to many fans, but to me it’s about someone who takes her grief over those loved but lost and brings them back through her art (in this case, writing and painting) to begin to mend her wounds. Here are the lyrics, and thanks again to Karen Peris for permission to post them in their entirety:<\/p>\n

In this story
\nwe sit down on Luna Bridge
\nand catch snow in our cupped hands
\nand music is coming from the houses
\nor it sings inside me.
\nI begin to mend.
\nOh happy, oh happy, the end,
\nthe end, the end.<\/p>\n

In this painting
\nthe whole world is navy blue.
\nI run home from the mailbox
\nin all the dim of five o’clock
\nto see you.
\nCars and trees go by me,
\nyou are in the yard,
\nand in my arms again.
\nOh happy, oh happy, the end,
\nthe end, the end.
\nHappy, oh happy,
\nthe end.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Isn’t that powerful?<\/p>\n

\"Christopher<\/a>And then, in thinking about Lissy; those folks in the song, sitting on Luna Bridge, catching the snow; and this overall theme of art-as-healer, I was reminded of something I read last year in Three Cheers for Pooh: A Celebration of the Best Bear in All the World<\/a><\/strong><\/em> by Brian Sibley<\/a><\/strong> (Egmont Childrens Books<\/a><\/strong>, 2001), a biography of the bear, if you will, and a well-crafted book of all-things-Pooh and all-things-A.A.-Milne. Sibley discusses how, as an adult, Christopher Robin Milne (A.A.’s son, upon whom the character Christopher Robin was based) began to resent what he saw as his father’s exploitation of him for the purposes of the Pooh stories. He also bore great animosity, according to Sibley, toward the books that had thrust him into the public eye and made him a household name. Eventually, he wrote three autobiographical books about his childhood and the problems that the Pooh stories brought about in his life. And here’s the lovely part, how Milne found a bit of healing through his writing (as told by Sibley): <\/p>\n

Eventually, perhaps through writing The Enchanted Places<\/em>, Christopher found a sense of peace. In his second volume of autobiograhy, The Path Through the Trees<\/em>, he wrote of his earlier book: “The writing and its reception combined to lift me from under the shadow of my father and of Christopher Robin, and to my surprise and pleasure, I found myself standing beside them in the sunshine able to look them both in the eye.”<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

“It was only after finishing these autobiographical works, {Milne} said, that he could finally look his dreaded namesake in the eye and feel less embarrassed by him,” writes Justin Valentin at this web site<\/a><\/strong> devoted to the bear. <\/p>\n

Three cheers then to not only Winnie-the-Pooh but also to the restorative power of art, which has been on my mind this week, all prompted by Lissy! And to bring this back full-circle to Poetry Friday, I’ll add that I have<\/em> tried to write poetry before to mend some of my own inner wounds, to attempt to patch up some holes, but . . . well, it was painfully bad. Remember the excerpt from Ann Patchett’s Bel Canto<\/em>, which graces our “About Our Blog”<\/a><\/strong> page?<\/p>\n

Some people are born to make great art and others are born to appreciate it. Don’t you think? It is a kind of talent in itself, to be an audience, whether you are the spectator in the gallery or you are listening to the voice of the world’s greatest soprano. Not everyone can be the artist. There have to be those who witness the art, who love and appreciate what they have been privileged to see.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Well, that’s me, the spectator in the gallery (and this would be why Eisha and I blog and talk up books that we think are excellent, though no one pays us a cent). And, though all of the examples above (Lissy, the person or people in Karen’s great song, and Christopher Robin Milne) are about healing wounds through creating<\/em> art, I find my own healing in witnessing it. I once worked — when I was a full-time sign language interpreter for The University of Tennessee<\/a><\/strong> — on the interpretation into American Sign Language of The Clarence Brown Theatre’s<\/a><\/strong> stage production of Tennessee Williams’ The Glass Menagerie<\/em>. I familiarized myself with that script to a level I hadn’t previously experienced (which is necessary for interpreting a stage production into American Sign Language) and found sudden and great cathartic nourishment in the final lines, as Tom Wingfield realizes he can never fully abandon the memory of his family, particularly his sister, Laura:<\/p>\n

I left Saint Louis. I descended the steps of this fire-escape for a last time and followed, from then on, in my father’s footsteps, attempting to find in motion what was lost in space– <\/p>\n

I traveled around a great deal. The cities swept about me like dead leaves, leaves that were brightly colored but torn away from the branches. <\/p>\n

I would have stopped, but I was pursued by something. <\/p>\n

It always came upon me unawares, taking me altogether by surprise. Perhaps it was a familiar piece of music. Perhaps it was only a piece of transparent glass– <\/p>\n

Perhaps I am walking along a street at night, in some strange city, before I have found companions. I pass the lighted window of a shop where perfume is sold. The window is filled with pieces of colored glass, tiny transparent bottles in delicate colors, like bits of a shattered rainbow. <\/p>\n

Then all at once my sister touches my shoulder. I turn around and look into her eyes . . . <\/p>\n

Oh, Laura . . . I tried to leave you behind, but I am more faithful than I intended to be!<\/p>\n

I reach for a cigarette, I cross the street, I run into the movies or a bar, I buy a drink, I speak to the nearest stranger–anything that can blow your candles out! . . .<\/p>\n

–for nowadays the world is lit by lightning! Blow out your candles, Laura–and so good-bye . . .<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

\"TennesseeThis might seem like a digression, but there are two reasons I share it: 1). That was one of my moments of healing one of my own, personal inner wounds — or at least finding powerful catharsis through the writing. That one’s for my brother . . . and 2). Man, that’s just gorgeous, and Tennessee Williams was a genius. <\/p>\n

I can only imagine that many of you artists out there — poets, writers, painters, theatre artists, musicians, etc. — experience this kind of art-as-catharsis healing on a daily basis or something. Is it not incredibly empowering? Anyone? If you have an art-as-healer story — particularly if you’re a writer, poet, artist yourself (but even if you’re simply the spectator in the gallery, as I am) — boy howdy and howdy boy would I love to hear it. <\/p>\n

Cheers! Thanks again to Karen Peris and Grace Lin. And Happy Poetry Friday to all . . . <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I am particularly excited this Poetry Friday to be sharing some song lyrics with you. The Innocence Mission is one of my top-five favorite bands. I won’t get into the many reasons why, since this blog is about literature and not music, but suffice it to say they are true originals and a rarity in […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[11],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-768","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry-friday"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/768","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=768"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/768\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=768"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=768"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=768"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}