My friend Tom Smith died last Thursday. I think I might have mentioned him in an older post; he was my advisor at The University of Hartford, and we formed a friendship that lasted until dementia robbed him of his life, long before his body actually gave in. The last time I saw him I was really moved to think of what a life is, what of what we do is of value and of how, as Annie Dillard so memorably put it in her essay "Living Like Weasels," "death (is) where you're going, no matter how you live...."
Tom was maybe the most passionate and enthusiastic man I've known: in front of a class, even just in conversation, when he was driving a point home he'd sometimes do it leaning forward, through clenched teeth, as if he needed to try to find some way to hold in check all that he was feeling, all that he believed about what he was talking about, as though otherwise the torrent of emotion that underlay it, if loosed, might physically harm the listener. And it might've, for all I know.
A Medieval and Renaissance scholar, Tom loved the great Norse Sagas, and Beowulf--all the blood and guts and man being pushed to the edge of human capability. He loved Andrew Marvell, Don DeLillo, and The Rolling Stones. And every May 1, he would read to his classes James Dickey's amazing, 11 page essentially prose-poem called "May Day Sermon To The Women Of Gilmer County, Georgia, By A Woman Preacher Leaving The Baptist Church," an apocalyptic vision of sex and incest and beasts and Bibles and chains and whips and assorted cruelties and indignities routinely inflicted upon women and, not least, a ghostly flying one-eyed motorcyclist savior; Tom would finish reading this stunning, terrifying skein of word and image tumbling over, around and through itself, look up, and dismiss the class with a cheery "go out and enjoy this lovely spring day." Any of you with a poetic bent who choose to find this piece and read it all the way through need just try to imagine a sunny room filled with rosy-cheeked innocents sitting and listening to this. It was wild. Rest well, my friend, and good luck to a universe that has to keep that soul contained.
And I know, last week I said that this week would bring Arlo and "home" stuff; but life can change things. Arlo's still here, but rather than home I went with "hunger," just to remind the great majority of us of all that we have to be thankful for, and that there are many who can't share our joy without some help. And not just on one or two days, but every day.
So, the songs, with lots of Stones stuff in the mix:
Caravan Van Morrison
Alice's Restaurant Massacree Arlo Guthrie
Stuck Inside Of Mobile With The Memphis Blues Again Dylan
Beast Of Burden S
Dead Flowers T
Gimme Shelter O
Imagination N
Jumpin' Jack Flash E
Let It Bleed S
Paint It Black .
Hunger Darden Smith
Hunger And Thirst The River Singers
Awful Hungry Hash House Loudon Wainwright III
The City Is Hungry Bruce Cockburn
Every Hungry Woman Allman Bros.
Gettin' Hungry Beach Boys
Hungry Clapton
Hungry Country Girl James Cotton
Hungry Flower Los Picadors
Hungry For Your Love Van
Hungry Man Steve Winwood
Hungry Planet The Byrds
Mama's Hungry Eyes Emmylou Harris
Dem Belly Full (But We Hungry) Bob Marley & The Wailers
'Case you're wondering: "Caravan" because every once in a while I like to play the whole song, not just 30 seconds, and this version is from The Last Waltz, The Band's farewell concert on Thanksgiving night, 1976; and "Stuck Inside Of Mobile..." because in the first class I took with Tom Smith he quoted a line from that song just as a throwaway part of something he was saying, which let me know he was someone to be reckoned with.
Love Everyone. And oh, yeah--Happy Hanukkah (it's so early this year!)
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