Saturday

That it is not Saturday is no barrier to the early morning earworm. Elton John's 'Saturday Night's (Alright for Fighting)' - lyrics by Bernie Taupin - is a song that is evocative of another time. It creates images of bodgies and widgies rocking in a 1950s dance hall and the 'moral panic' associated with the youth rebelliousness. The chorus of the song is raucous - what a great word that is. There's a great version of the song here with Eric Clapton and other prominent musicians. If Saturdays are energy, Sundays are sedate.

Sunday sleeping sitting knitting
Puddling patting purring purling

Anthem

Working class man. Blue denim, likeable blokey and I hadn't expected to wake up with Jimmy Barnes shrieking in the morning. I heard the song on the radio yesterday. It is a stirring lyric and an anthem for a one or more generations. A good song and an anthem of sorts. I am Woman is a more universal anthem. There is something that appeals to me about 'localised' or 'personalised' anthems. They are often about ages and stages, and expectations. Here is my anthem (not autobiographical)

She knitted hot pants for a friend
An intricate sweater for a crush
That he kept as he asked for the ring
A layette for a friend
Who threw it in the washing machine
And shrunk the friendship
She made sweaters for oil-smothered penguins
Squares for charity blankets
Tree adornments and bike stand coverings
She knitted herself a scarf
In silky yarn with a fine lace pattern

The dark side of the street

This morning's earworm was just one line - 'The dark side of the street' - complete with brass accompaniment, running through my head when I awoke. It's from Van Morrison's Bright Side of the Road and I hadn't looked closely at the lyrics before. I like the light/dark metaphor and the references to time passing. Here's some great examples from poets who knew a thing or two about metaphor. This is my metaphor poem inspired by Bright Side of the Road

Ravelling

I pluck the thread

it spirals into a heap

a spaghetti of bumpy bits

worn and weary bits

plies made stringy and thin

by moths, silverfish and elbows

I am ready, it says,

my memory is sound

I will bounce back to be

rewashed, rewound, repaired, reknitted

each stitch kissed by knotted fingers

Bach raving mad in the morning

This morning's earworm was a fleeting passage from JS Bach, hard to identify and impossible to eradicate. Lovely and tangled at the same time. Here's a sample of a Bach piece by the incomparable Angela Hewitt as an example, a metaphor for a confused mind in an up mood. The earworms win today. Today's poem reminded me of the time that I spent in Leipzig, City of Heroes, birthplace of Bach and with other charms ...

She has no English
I have no German. We
smile and speak knitting
In the best woolshop in the world.

Sock

I don't want to appear malicious
Or in any way repetitious
But
She was knitting on a tram
And dropped some stitches off
Consequently I find I am
Still a foot without a toe
Oh, woe