Stay Gentle
When lyrics are poems and poems are lyrics
People ask me, how did you become a poet? What made you write poetry?
Well, the funny thing is, it wasn’t poetry that did it. My path to loving poetry and becoming a poet started with song lyrics. The first “poems” I loved as a kid were found in the words of pop songs. The Beatles. Simon and Garfunkel. The Moody Blues. Dylan.1
The words always mattered.
I started writing poetry in my early 20’s by trying to write lyrics for my brother, the musician. My attempts at lyrics didn’t really go anywhere. But those attempts did open a door for me.
The attempts to write lyrics tuned me in. I knew how to listen when an inspiration came. I learned to “just write it down” when words came to me, whether a poem or a few good lines.
In my late 20’s, when inspiration struck, I wrote some poems. Looking back, I love how the poems captured those moments, that those moments still exist for me. Now the poems are a door to my earlier self.
Then the words and poems stopped coming … for 25 years. Nothing. Poetic and lyrical silence. But it turned out to be a pause.
I suffered some health issues in my late 40’s into my 50’s, where physical stress affected my health and clouded my mind. The only way to describe it is that I suffered from depression. It was physical, but it limited me mentally and emotionally. I got through each day, one day at a time. It lasted long enough that I thought I’d never recover. I never reached that point - but I came to understand why people take their own lives. Living can be grievous.
Over time though, gradually, I recovered. As my mind fully cleared, my emotional life was restored, my feeling self was reactivated. Then something happened. It was like opening a flood gate.
Poems came out in a torrent. Fortunately, knowing that I should “just write it down” helped me know what to do with what was happening to me. (During that time, one of the first poems I wrote came to me on my way to work. I had to pull over to write it down.2 )
I love lyrics that speak to me as poetry. I love artists who put as much into their lyrics as they do their music. The songwriting team of Brandi Carlile, and Tim and Phil Hanseroth does that. Brandi’s powerful voice and expressive delivery brings the lyrics to life.
Their song “Stay Gentle” helped me get through this past year. This song is one for all time. Here are the lyrics, with a YouTube song link below.
This is my mantra for the coming year:
Stay Gentle.
Peace.
Stay Gentle by Brandi Carlile, Tim Hanseroth, Phil Hanseroth Stay gentle Keep the eyes of a child Don't harden your heart or your hands Know to find joy In the darkness is wise Although they will think you don't understand Don't let the world make you callous Be ready to laugh No one's forgotten about us There is light on your path Stay gentle Keep the eyes of a child And wear your heart on your sleeve Know to find joy In the darkness is wise Although they will think you are naive Don't let 'em lower your shoulders Love 'em more while they try Grow younger while you're growin' older Be amazed by the sky Darling, stay wild if you can The girl with the world in her hands The kingdom of Heaven belongs to a boy While his worry belongs to a man Stay gentle, stay gentle The most powerful thing you can do Oh, gentle, unbreakable you
As you can see, I’m a relic of the 60’s and 70’s. Why do I keep coming back to the music of that era? For me, this era was the musical equivalent of the Italian Renaissance. It’s always an era worth returning to. I mean, does anyone feel the same about the Baroque Era? In the same way, is anyone going to tell me that the music of the 1980’s or 1990’s - pick a decade - can match the musical explosion of the 1960s and 1970s? Let’s start a discussion… :)
Here’s one of the first poems I wrote from that time. I had to pull over on the way to work to write this one down. From The Christening - Poem
From The Christening Those who came before us are not gone, even though they rest today in quiet fields of stone and flower. Those we love who are gone live in mind and heart, their home, alive in love’s power. But more than this, those who came before and gave us life, or read stories to us at a Sunday visit, played games together at the family picnic, gazed out the window with us during the storm – arms around – or held us at the christening, still live I claim. Look back through the lens of time. Follow the unseen line of sight, not my invention, but one that science calls dimension. This story tells of an unbroken line, a celestial strand, a woven thread of strength eternal. The eternal now. Now. The ones we love are still as they were, alive and strong, though passed from our easy view. They still move and breathe, laugh and sing, on that line of time, as real as yesterday, like friends who moved away now living in another town. But we’re the ones who moved. Still, that strand is in our reach. I feel the threads return and join, connecting to the fabric here that I now hold in hand, this fabric of the gown passed down from the christening. For Aunt Mary Jo April 2014 North Andover, Mass.
