For today’s mixtape / Goethe-inspired offering, we have a song by Andrew Bird, a poem by Jessica Walsh, and a picture by Mary Pratt.

Let’s first recall the line by Goethe:

“One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and, if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words.”

The project behind this post is described here.

Andrew Bird is something of an experimental musician? Though that’s not really correct? What do I know about music? I fell in love with his album Noble Beast and especially the song Tenuousness. I think I’m not alone in that I was drawn in by his whistling.

He has a new album coming out (Sunday Morning Put-on) and this is the early release, “I Fall in Love Too Easily.” I’ve always loved the Chet Baker version so I was a bit trepidatious before putting it in my ear.

It’s a classic song and many have taken a crack at it, but wow, this one is special. I hope you also like it.

Great to hear him talking about the album here.

(If you’re reading in the newsletter you might have to read in your browser for the video):

The poem I want to share this week is by Jessica Walsh, and this poem is going VIRAL. I love that. And when a poem strikes a chord like this, I think it tells us something. Also, it sort of renews my battered faith in humanity to a small degree — that poetry resonates for folks.

You can listen to her read it on YouTube here. And don’t forget to slam the like button there so she knows you love it.

The poem:

WHEN MY DAUGHTER TELLS ME I WAS NEVER PUNK

by Jessica Walsh

I say, hon, my being alive is punk. I made my life
out of grudges when I saw the odds placed against me,

when my role was to marry a man who’d kill me
and give me my hot young death, a guy named Charles

who would have and nearly did—the day I said 𝑓𝑢𝑐𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢
and threw his keys in the snow? That was punk.

When I called a nice guy who’d loved me steady
and thought 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑓 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑡𝑟𝑦 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒, that was punk;

when I had my last drink and surrendered the scene, that too was punk,
and yes I miss the me who would be dead

because I was a bottle rocket, a pipe bomb of a good time
but my being alive is the middle finger I never put down—

I did not let these days go by, I clawed each one from dirt,
and when I get my nails done I am cleaning weapons,

when I buy food, when I fill the tank,
I am threatening to survive long enough to piss off

a million awful people to be alive in spite of,
I am promising to stay flagrantly alive:

This is my beautiful house. I am this beautiful wife.
𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝐼 𝑔𝑒𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒? I say, 𝐵𝑦 𝑚𝑦 𝑓𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑡h.

If you like the poem, consider buying her book: Book of Gods & Grudges. I’m sure your local indie could find it as well.

The above painting is titled, Dinner for One, and it’s dated 1994, Mary Pratt. I think it’s especially meaningful to look at it in tandem with her 1969 painting, Supper Table. I don’t think a viewer has to know about the life of Pratt to feel things while looking at this work. Her children would have grown up and moved out. She separated from her husband at about this time, the painter Christopher Pratt. Mary Pratt is quoted as saying, “Living alone has made the work stronger.”

Her work is relatively well-known in Canada, but I think Mary Pratt deserves to be more widely admired.

Mary Pratt was punk, right?

So there you have it — a song, a poem, and a picture.

The photographs in this post are of the only cassette tape I currently have in my possession — it’s of Michael Ondaatje reading some poems from way back in the day. Felt I needed to start off the mixtape series with some sort of cassette :)

Thanks for reading and for all your encouraging words on the last post, and for hitting that tip jar button. Means a lot. If you like this post, another great way to support is to share and like and comment etc. Thank you!

— Shawna

May 20, 2024