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Saturday, May 10, 2008
Cypress Hills National Cemetery
There is something intensely solemn and sobering about seeing so many headstones laid out in uniform row upon row of white marble, as they are here at the Cypress Hills National Cemetery run by the Veterans Administration of the United States.
NOTE: I should point out, that those buried here are servicemen and women who survived the initial conflicts they were involved in, but who have subsequently passed on.
I've walked through this site (located diagonally opposite the 12 Towns YMCA), on several occasions, but it was during my last visit on Thursday, May 8, 2008, that I took a series of images, and wrote my own little poem, Tread Gently, in tribute to the men and women buried here.
Within the site, two large bronze plaques each contain one stanza from a seven stanza poem called, THE BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD, written by the American poet, Theodore O'Hara (1820-1867). Here is the full poem.
THE BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD The muffled drum's sad roll has beat The soldier's last tattoo; No more on Life's parade shall meet That brave and fallen few.
On Fame's eternal camping-ground Their silent tents are spread; And Glory guards, with solemn round, The bivouac of the dead.
No rumor of the foe's advance Now swells upon the wind; No troubled thought at midnight haunts Of loved ones left behind.
No vision of the morrow's strife the warrior's dream alarms; No braying horn nor screaming fife At dawn shall call to arms.
Their shivered swords are red with rust, Their plumed heads are bowed; Their haughty banner, trailed with dust, Is now their martial shroud.
And plenteous funeral tears have washed The red stains from each brow; And the proud forms, by battle gashed, Are free from anguish now.
'Twas in that hour his stern command Called to many a martyr's grave; The flower of his beloved land, The nation's flag to save.
My Econo Lodge accommodations are luxurious compared to what I’ve had for the past six weeks. A room with a view containing two double beds, a television with an endless number of channels to select from, coffee maker, bathroom and shower facilities, free WiFi internet access, plus continental breakfast as well. Luxury! Pure luxury! (Spoken with mock regional English accent.)
Lake Placid is right in the heart of New York State’s snow country. It reminds me of the small towns in the NSW and Victorian high country, like Thredbo and Falls Creek. Went for a lo-o-ong walk late in the evening into the Lake Placid village to explore the neighbourhood, as is my habit (I’m about a kilometer and a half out of the main village). After dinner I headed back to the hotel and in the dark and took a wrong turn and headed down an unlit road into the freezing Adirondack night. I thought, This doesn’t look or feel right, and after walking a couple of hundred metres in the dark with only the stars above to light my way, I turned back and quickly found the right road back to the hotel. I didn’t fancy being lost in almost zero degree temperatures in the Adirondacks that’s for sure.
Down the end of the main street there is a little park with seats and benches, and lawn running down at a fairly steep angle to the lake’s edge. There is also a small sound shell where four local musicians were performing old folk and country standards in the vein of Peter, Paul & Mary. Later I was sitting in the park having lunch in the late afternoon sun, and watching the world go by. Little kids were running around, and I it occurred to me how easy it would be for one of them to be running down the small hill with such momentum, that they would be able to stop themselves from falling into the lake, which was not fenced off at all. I kept wanting to say to several of them, “Stay away from the water”. And the phrase kept returning to my head, over and over. Before too long, I had started writing this song.
On another occasion, when I was coming back from a walk, a church in the main street began playing some melodies on the church bells. It lasted for almost 10 minutes, and was quite lovely. I asked a woman who was out walking her dog, if the bells played each day at 5pm, and she said yes, and they also play at midday, and she thought at 6pm.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Woke up early this morning at around 5.30am and for some reason thought to pull the curtains across to see what sort of day it was going to be. Dawn was breaking over the mountains and it looked like it was going to be beautiful clear sky day. I went back to bed, but again, one phrase kept repeating in my head, and I had to get up and write it down: Dawn breaks over the Adirondack Mountains… Over the next hour or so, as I tried to go back to sleep, I added more lines to the song.
Dawn breaks over the Adirondack mountains,
With sky as clear, as I have ever seen.
Each breath is frozen, and flows out like a fountain,
I keep thinking I don’t want this run of songs to stop, which I’m worried will happen if I go back to New York. Went out this afternoon for a long slow amble around Mirror Lake. A sign indicated that the distance around the lake is 2.7 miles. I was a great day for the walk, and it was nice to view the village from the other side of the lake.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Out in the village again this morning. Looking at the snow on the mountains. Feeling the frost in the air. Thinking this would have been mighty hard country to tame and build a life in for yourself and your family many years ago. Remembering the novel, Big Sky, and thinking about mountain men, and trappers, and fur traders, and Indian killers, and wolves and coyote roaming the high country in search of food, and how hard men were needed in hard times to open up the country, and create the New World – not matter what the cost to life and limb. And so another song was born. Here is a little video from my YouTube page that might be of interest...
Dateline: Monday March 17, 2008 London, England (Heathrow airport)
Sitting in the terminal building waiting for boarding of flight AA105 to JFK International in New York City. I’ve decided that nowhere can you get a decent cup of coffee in London. No-one quite knows how to make a great cappuccino and the ones that you do buy never seem to be full cups. You always seem to get a cup that is only two thirds to three quarters full.
Got to Heathrow in good time. Uneventful flight to New York. Watched All The Presidents Men and some British film with Billie Piper in it.
Getting through US Customs and Border Protection was no problem, except that it took so long – close to an hour. Each index finger was scanned and a photo of my face was also taken, and added to their huge database of foreign visitors.
By the time I got through Customs and to the baggage carousel to pick my luggage up, it was sitting on the floor with a bunch of others that had simply been off-loaded by (presumably) baggage handlers, and left there for anyone to pick up and walk away with. At least it hadn’t been destroyed in a controlled explosion by paranoid, security conscious staff!
It took another half hour before I could finally get a cab to the YMCA. I waited, not because there were no taxis, but because the queue was so long. Welcome to New York. I told the taxi driver where I wanted to go, and he seemed to be making good progress getting there by the quickest, most direct route – until he got lost in a warren of narrow, traffic laden streets close to my destination. The driver knew the general location of Greenpoint, the Brooklyn suburb the YMCA is located in, but that was all. He kept stopping to ask the locals where the actual YMCA was, but most of them had no idea themselves.
Thankfully, I had printed out a Google map of the area surrounding the YMCA, with just enough information on it for me to help the driver find the building. Once we were on Manhattan Avenue, the main road we needed to be on, and heading in the right direction, I was able to guide him to Meserole Avenue, the street the ‘Y’ was on. If I hadn’t printed that page out, we might still be driving around looking for the place!
I thought it quite ironic that having just arrived in New York for the first time, it was I who actually found the way for the taxi driver.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008 After six and a half weeks in London and New York, it was time to get out and see some country: Trees and meadows, lakes and rivers, mountain peaks and open skies – that sort of thing.
So today I boarded a Greyhound bus and came to Lake Placid in upstate New York. As the journey progressed I began to make notes of the things that caught my attention: buildings, trees, the names of the towns we passed through, that type of thing. I was doing this as an 'Aide-mémoire'*.
Between Albany (the state capital), and Lake Placid, completely unexpectedly, I began to write a song. The words just oozed out of my subconscious onto the notepad, and before I knew it, I had my first completed song on this vacation.
With its weatherboard homes and its lakeside shacks.
A ragged Old Glory waving out the back,
And it looks pretty good to me.
Chorus
And it looks like America,
As far as the eye can see.
It looks like America,
And it looks pretty good to me.
And it felt pretty good to be finally writing again, let me tell you. I’ve had lots of ideas and nibbles for other songs and snippets over the past six weeks or so, but this is the one. The first one. Strange what a little trip in the country will do to a man.
But there was more to come.
Friday, May 2, 2008 At 7.15am today, I woke up out of a dream with the melody for this song going through my head. As I lay in bed repeating the melody over and over so I wouldn’t forget it, the words began to materialize spontaneously, and I began to write them down. Within a couple of hours, the first draft was complete, and I was beginning to feel delighted with my decision to leave New York for a few days.
See the sun over Mirror Lake, All is peaceful... Here I am, this is no mistake, Fills me with peace...
Down the valley a snow goose calls, All is peaceful... Bathed in mist as the water falls, Fills me with peace...
Chorus Who could have told me? Let nature enfold me; Nurture and hold me, And fill me with peace.
A little sentimental perhaps, but it is a song with a melody that reflects my state of mind: relaxed, happy to be here in Lake Placid, and especially happy to be alive and on vacation in America.
It’s amazing what happens when you stop racing around, and let the brain unwind and the body relax. Sometimes you have to give your body and soul the time and space to stop thinking, planning, organizing, and running – so that it is able to slow down and feedback through the unconscious, thoughts, ideas, and songs you never knew where there. But I still wasn’t done.
Saturday, May 3, 2008 I went for a walk into the centre of Lake Placid this afternoon. Down the end of the main street there is a little park with seats and benches, and lawn running down at a fairly steep angle to the edge of Mirror Lake. There is also a small sound shell where four local musicians were performing some old folk and country standards. They played and sang without amplification, and it seemed to me they were performing just because it was a lovely afternoon and they felt like doing so.
I was sitting in the park having lunch in the late afternoon sun, and watching the world go by. Little kids were running around, and I it occurred to me how easy it would be for one of them to be running down the small hill with such momentum, that they would be unable to stop themselves from falling into the lake, which was not fenced off at all.
I kept wanting to say to several of them, “Stay away from the water”. And the phrase kept returning to my head, over and over. Before too long, I had started writing this song.
Chorus Don’t go down to the water, Stay away from the well. Keep your eyes off the Taylor boy, Or we’ll all be goin’ to… Well…
Nobody listens to Papa, They’re always chidin’ at Ma. Sittin’ there chewin’ t’bacca, Nursin’ that ol’ liquor jar.
So she went down to the water, Took a drink at the well. Makin’ eyes at the Taylor boy, An’ the rest – I don’t have to tell.
Again, within a few hours, I had completed my first draft of the song. Since the incidents and ideas that triggered the song, were entirely different from those that triggered the first two, the mood and sentiments expressed in the song were also quite different.
Each song is distinct in its own way, but I am sure that if I had not embarked on this little side trip to Lake Placid, I would never have written any of them.
Maybe the lesson here is, that if you are stuck in a rut, or suffering writer’s block, you need to change the environment you are living in, even if only for a few days.
* 'Aide-mémoire'. The term is used to refer to notes, or memoranda, that are taken in order to jog one's memory later.
I don't know why I do this to myself. I start out with the best intentions, but somewhere along the line I get sidetracked with life and living, and things like this blog, just get left by the wayside.
Anyway, I'm alive and well, and in America as I write this. So much has happened since my last entry, that I don't know how or when I'm going to be able to keep this blog up-to-date, but while I'm here, now, let me at least tell you about last night.
Iris DeMent in Lake Placid Right now I am writing this from Lake Placid in upstate New York, in the Adirondack mountains. Yesterday I woke up to light SNOW falling from the sky. Unfortunately, it has already melted away, although the high peaks have still got snow on them. I came here to see one of my favourite American female singer-songwriters, Iris DeMent, who performed at the Lake Placid Center For The Arts last night.
Iris DeMent was great, although the experience of seeing her for the first time was not as wonderful as I’d hoped. The problem was not with her, but with the quality of the sound. Iris has a high pitched voice, and I thought the mixing made her voice sound way too harsh. If I hadn’t been familiar with her voice and songs, I think I would have been even more disappointed.
She started with a thirty minute set on piano, which took me completely by surprised, although it shouldn’t have, since there is quite a lot of piano on her albums. I just don’t think I had made the connection that she was the pianist. I’d assumed she was a guitarist, and that someone else was playing piano. She is an excellent piano player, by the way.
It was interesting to observe her act, from the point of view of showmanship and stage presence. She is not tall, slightly overweight, and no-one would ever call her a flashy dresser. She is very shy and reserved on stage. Her introductions are spare, with little attempts at humor – mostly at her own expense. She makes very little attempt to lighten the mood of her songs. They are what they are – pure, heartfelt, intensely personal, and full of insight and meaning. However, if you are looking for a fun filled good time, with lots of light fluffy songs, Iris DeMent is not the performer you want to see.
She moved from piano to do another 30 minutes or so on guitar, before moving back to the piano to finish her concert. Of course, she was called back for an encore of two songs. She finished with the intensely personal and beautiful My Life, on piano, and received a well deserved standing ovation as she left the stage.
I bought a copy of her ‘gospel’ CD, Lifeline, and left for the long walk back to the hotel, grateful that I had at least had this opportunity to see her once.
By the way, there are more and more Iris DeMent videos turning up on YouTube. It was while looking through these today, that I see she also made an appearance in the movie Songcatcher singing Pretty Saro. her performance was also included on the trailer for the film.
Dateline: London, England - Saturday, March 15, 2008
Got up late, missed breakfast. Spent a couple of hours at an Internet café checking emails and updating online sites.
Went to town in the afternoon, after some lunch. Caught tube to Westminster, where the Houses of Parliament and other central government offices are located. Walked across Westminster Bridge to the south bank of the Thames. Took lots of photos and video clips. Walked along south bank where the former Greater London Council offices used to be. Now the building houses various tourist attractions such the London Aquarium, Movieum, the London Eye, the Salvadore Dali exhibition, a McDonald’s with seating for over 250 people, and who knows what else.
I saw a man holding a placard calling for the end to the war in Iraq, and I suddenly remembered that it was the 5th anniversary of the start of Gulf War II. I asked him if there was a demo going on somewhere, and he said that in fact, a demo was taking place right at that moment in Trafalgar Square. I couldn’t believe it. Of course, there would have been a rally on this day, in London especially. And I’d been playing the tourist, like a country bumpkin.
I made my way slowly along the south bank, photographing and filming, and then crossed back over the Thames River via the Golden Jubilee Bridges. I walked back up to Trafalgar Square, but the demo was over and I went to have a coffee in the National Gallery. I also had a curry, which members of the Hare Krishna’s were giving away for donations.
Went and saw Neil Young for the second time at the Hammersmith Apollo. This time I saw Pegi Young’s full set, and while I enjoyed it, I was not blown away by her music. She writes mostly in the country music genre, and for me it was not quite biting enough.
Neil Young again took to the stage solo for his first set. Tonight he was much more focussed, at least for the first few songs, but he was just as good as he was the previous night. However, the second set was a barnstormer. It was the last of 51 gigs, and he had no need to conserve his energy for performances on subsequent nights, so he didn’t hold back. Tonight he really rocked the way I expected he always would. I would have loved to see him do Like a Hurricane, or Pocahontas. But it was not to be. The audience where a lot more vocal and into the performance as well, and I got the sense that he was feeding off the energy of the audience during his performance.
Internet café 1.50 Lunch 4.05 Coffee 2.20 Subway 6inch 3.50 Hare Krishna 1.00 Donations to buskers 3.00
Total spending today: GBP: 15.25 ($32.95) Note: Again this does not include the cost of Neil Young tickets, as these had been purchased several months ago.
Dateline: London, England - Friday, March 14, 2008
Caught up with my nephew Kos.
Met him down at Trafalgar Square. I have so many memories of this place. Most of them associated with political rallies and demonstrations I attended during my years in London in the early 1970s. Spent time catching up with his life here in London, and the news from home. Visited the National Portrait Gallery. Magnificent works of art. Turner, Degas, Van Gogh, and many others.
We also walked around the local area, down through Green Park to Buckingham Palace, and back up to Piccadilly Circus and the West End.
Went and saw Neil Young at the Hammersmith Apollo. The support act was Neil’s wife, Pegi Young. We missed most of her set since we were out having a Thai meal at a local restaurant. Neil Young was solo for his first set, then with a full band for his second (which included Pegi on back up vocals).
It was a great performance, only marred by the idiots who insist on shouting between songs for their own favourite Neil Young song. Why they can’t be happy just to be at the performance and enjoy the selection of songs he wants to perform, I’ll never understand.
Total spending today: GBP: 48.50 ($105.05) Note: does not include the cost of Neil Young tickets, as these had been purchased several months ago.
Went out walking. Found myself at the Natural History Museum. London is full of buildings like this. The building is magnificent – inside and out. But inside especially, the building is a testament to the craft and engineering skills of master builders who are long gone, and the likes of which we may never see again.
I spent several hours walking through the Museum, and although I enjoyed the displays, I was fascinated more by the construction, than I was by what the Museum housed.
The exhibits are very modern – as they need to be these days. After all, the vast majority of visitors to the Natural History Museum were school students and tourists. The average age of visitors seemed to be somewhere between late teens and early twenties.
Found internet café and uploaded two video blogs to YouTube. Must update my Honouring the Muse blog as well.
~ Dateline: London, England - Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Arrived London, Heathrow Airport at approx 5:15am (local), or 3:45pm Adelaide time. Total time traveling or in transit - 24 hours and 15 minutes. We left Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia at 3am (local time).
Stayed at the airport until 8am or so, before catching train to Earls Court station and Earls Court Hotel. It did occur to me that I might get caught up in the morning rush hour, and sure enough, I got caught up in the morning rush hour. Luckily I just happened to be on the right side of the train which enable me to alight at Earls Court with a minimum of fuss. Thankfully, I didn’t have too many step to climb to get to the street. The hotel was only 50 metres or so down the road.
Checked in and climbed two flights of stars to room 31. For 45 GB Pounds I get two beds (one single and one double), small TV, and a tiny combined toilet and shower facility. Room (and hotel) is rundown but not unlivable. Power point is loose in the wall. Showering in the bathroom will be a real challenge. May need to sit on the loo while I shower.
Decided to stay up and not go to bed. Will sleep well tonight. Walked to Hammersmith Apollo and checked out the neighborhood. Bought Time Out London edition. Found internet café close to hotel. One hour cost one GBP. Sent email to family and a few others.
Couldn’t connect with my laptop, although it does seem to be connecting to unsecured wireless networks. Had to buy power adaptor to suit British power supply since the one I bought from home is suitable only for the US and Asia.
Temperature: 12C. Freezing cold wind blowing most of the day. No rain. Intermittent sunshine. Wore beanie to protect head from cold. Took a bunch of photographs. It was a cold, grey day.
Overwhelming impressions: English architecture is very distinctive. Long rows of cottage housing remind me of waves rolling along the sea shore. Many such blocks rise to three or four stories in height. It was probably felt that it was too much to expect that residents climb more than four floors.
I have been quite nostalgic for my past years here. The city has certainly changed. The ethnic mix of the city is much more diverse than back in the 1970s.
It is now 8.15pm and my head is starting to drop. It’s time to hit the sack. Night, night.
There is something intensely solemn and sobering about seeing so many headstones laid out in uniform row upon row of white marble, as they are here at the Cypress Hills National Cemetery run by the Veterans Administration of the United States.
