My Ride's Here
by Warren Zevon and Paul Muldoon
I was waiting for a chariot
They were waiting for a train
The sky was full of carrion
"I'll take the mazuma"
Said Jesus to Marion
"That's the 3:10 to Yuma
My ride's here..."
The Houston sky was changeless
We galloped through bluebonnets
I was wrestling with an angel
You were working on a sonnet
You said, "I believe the seraphim
Will gather up my pinto
And carry us away, Jim
Across the San Jacinto
My ride's here..."
And even Lord Byron was leaving for Greece
While back at the Hilton, last but not least
Milton was holding his sides
Saying, "You bravos had better be
ready to fight
Or we'll never get out of East Texas tonight
The trail is long and the river is wide
And my ride's here"
I was staying at the Westin
I was playing to a draw
When in walked Charlton Heston
With the Tablets of the Law
He said, "It's still the Greatest Story"
I said, "Man, I'd like to stay
But I'm bound for glory
I'm on my way
My ride's here..."
MacGillycuddy's Reeks
by Warren Zevon and Paul Muldoon
She stood beside my narrow bed
to check my E.K.G.
She shook her pretty little head
At what's become of me
I thought I glimpsed a path that led
Through rhododendron days
And fuchsia nights to the boatshed
In which we two once lay
But she gazed only at my chart
The valleys and the peaks
Brought back the time she broke my heart
In MacGillycuddy's Reeks
But she gazed only at my chart
The valleys and the peaks
Brought back the time she broke my heart
In MacGillycuddy's Reeks
I saw her on Killarney's shore
One morning in July
When I still thought I was a thorn
Trying to find a side
I met her in the little launch
That runs to Innisfallen
Hunched together, haunch to haunch
Trying to keep my balance
But she upset my applecart
She kissed me on the cheek
And I was struck by Cupid's dart
In MacGillycuddy's Reeks
MacGillycuddy's Reeks
MacGillycuddy's Reeks
I was struck by Cupid's dart
In MacGillycuddy's Reeks
She was a systems analyst
For a dot com company
She said, "You think because we've kissed
I'll be yours eternally
I'll sign another pre-nup
And we'll merge our P.L.C.s
That's why most girls go belly-up
In this economy
But when it comes to a jump start
Your forecast's pretty bleak
The NASDAQ goes by dips and starts
Like MacGillycuddy's Reeks
The NASDAQ goes by dips and starts
Like MacGillycuddy's Reeks
She looked only at my chart
The valleys and the peaks
Brought back the time she broke my heart
In MacGillycuddy's Reeks
MacGillycuddy's Reeks
MacGillycuddy's Reeks
That was the time she broke my heart
In MacGillycuddy's Reeks
The keynote of both songs is humor, found readily in the rest of both Muldoon’s poems and Zevon’s songwriting. Muldoon is originally from Ireland and Zevon was, of course, American. Landscape figures very much into both of their national identities and into both songs. MacGillycuddy’s Reeks are an Irish mountain range in County Kerry. The song interrupts its ‘old-country’ backdrop by comparing the Reek’s peeks and troughs to an E.K.G. or the N.A.S.D.A.Q. In the same way, My Ride’s Here features the landscape of the American West in places like San Jacinto and Houston but, again, Muldoon and Zevon disrupt the setting. They introduce to the song characters like Shelly, Keats, and Byron who don’t really belong in a Hilton in East Texas. Both songs have a duplicitous nature most likely due to the fact that they have two authors but neither song ever suffers from the fact.
Note that Jesus uses John Wayne's real name "Marion" when he talks to him. It makes sense that Jesus doesn't accept screen names.
ReplyDeleteNow that you poetry-finding, can you hunt one up for me? Years ago I heard Garrison Keillor read a poem he had composed for Twyla Tharp (so it's kind of a dance tune, too), the plaint of a boy whose mother has put his pants in the laundry just as he needed them most:
ReplyDeleteMy favorite pants
That I need for the dance
It captures all the ego and the angst of the adolescent male
Oh Mom
How could you do
This thing
to me
His Mom offers him an alternative, but she just doesn't understand:
Mom, those pants are blue
I don't even wear those pants to school
Anyway if I could find it I would post it in my laundry room, but so far, no luck.
And while we're on the subject, do you know my favorite Baltimore poet, Henry Taylor? He writes about horseback riding, as in Changing Diagonals, the moment of transition when you hang suspended in the air for a single beat; and laundry, thus:
Wash and dry
Sort and fold
You and I
Are growing old