To a Child Dancing in the Wind
Dance there upon the shore;
What need have you to care
For wind or water’s roar?
And tumble out your hair
That the salt drops have wet;
Being young you have not known
The fool’s triumph, nor yet
Love lost as soon as won,
Nor the best labourer dead
And all the sheaves to bind.
What need have you to dread
The monstrous crying of wind?
William Butler Yeats (1865–1939)
Brutal
I want it to be, like, messy
I'm so insecure, I think
That I'll die before I drink
And I'm so caught up in the news
Of who likes me and who hates you
And I'm so tired that I might
Quit my job, start a new life
And they'd all be so disappointed
'Cause who am I, if not exploited?
And I'm so sick of 17
Where's my fucking teenage dream?
If someone tells me one more time
"Enjoy your youth, " I'm gonna cry
And I don't stick up for myself
I'm anxious and nothing can help
And I wish I'd done this before
And I wish people liked me more
All I did was try my best
This the kind of thanks I get?
Unrelentlessly upset (ah, ah, ah)
They say these are the golden years
But I wish I could disappear
Ego crush is so severe
God, it's brutal out here
(Yeah!)
I feel like no one wants me
And I hate the way I'm perceived
I only have two real friends
And lately, I'm a nervous wreck
'Cause I love people I don't like
And I hate every song I write
And I'm not cool and I'm not smart
And I can't even parallel park
All I did was try my best
This the kind of thanks I get?
Unrelentlessly upset (ah, ah, ah)
They say these are the golden years
But I wish I could disappear
Ego crush is so severe
God, it's brutal out here
(Yeah! Just having a really good time)
Got a broken ego, broken heart (it's brutal out here, it's brutal out here)
And God, I don't even know where to start
Olivia Rodrigo (2021)
Chicken Dance
What’s that music?
Food, danger?
Head out, body low,
eyes bright—gone now.
World has changed:
New Rock.
Stand on,
dance around,
something under?
New ground.
Dig.
Mine. Dance. Mine!
Sing.
How can we measure dependence: on one another, on someone else, on something happening, not happening, being possible? Are there equivalences, as well as mitigations? When you decide to show up or stay out of it, can you imagine the consequences beyond that choice? And what about the times when showing up means staying where you are?
We all weigh these equations in our heads many times a day; this kind of calculation is so deeply ingrained that we don’t usually notice we’re working so hard on it. We shape our lives based on these decisions big and small, and look back on them as turning points, revelations, regrets.
Hard as it is to figure who or what we can show up for and why, how much more difficult can it be to realize and acknowledge all the ways we are supported, in webs that may stretch much farther than we can sense? It hurts our pride sometimes, depletes our self-esteem, shifts the balance in our mind that helps us keep upright and moving forward. We’re more inclined to think we can shake off these delicate attachments, or what may be worse, disregard them.
In all of it, here’s the rub: when pressures or burdens become too much to handle, what do we do? Can we unload enough to save ourselves; can we live well if we choose to neglect or abandon someone or something we truly cherish? The truth is, we are lucky if we have these choices. More common in the world is the silent acceptance of immovable weights. It may not seem like comfort, but it’s offered in that spirit.
Anna Alma-Tadema (1865-1943) – Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema’s Study at Townshend House, 1884.
This lovely watercolor by a 19-year-old girl shows her artist father’s study, and it appealed to me as a place where I could peacefully spend a lot of time, reluctantly leaving, and happily returning. It doesn’t resemble any place I’ve ever lived. It’s painted with such grace in such a gentle style, you can tell how fond Ms. Alma-Tadema was of this room, and of the memories it held for her.
But when I went searching through the Web for more about her, as so often happens, I wandered far, far afield, from link to link. It seems that Anna had a sister named Laurence who was a writer in many genres, and one of her poems, “If No One Ever Marries Me,” was set to music and eventually included on a double album of children’s songs sung by Natalie Merchant, an alternative rock singer-songwriter who rose to fame in the 1980s as a member of the band 10,000 Maniacs. Far afield.
The tracklist for this album, “Leave Your Sleep,” reads like a who’s who of poets writing in English from the Victorian to the Modern Period, and it intrigued me no end… So I had to go looking for some of the songs and the poems they came from. The first one I found was “The Peppery Man” (video link), a cool, bluesy interpretation of a poem by Arthur Macy about a mean old man. It’s the kind of thing children used to love, because they all knew men like this.
The Peppery Man
The Peppery Man was cross and thin;
He scolded out and scolded in;
He shook his fist, his hair he tore;
He stamped his feet and slammed the door.
Heigh ho, the Peppery Man,
The rabid, crabbed Peppery Man!
Oh, never since the world began
Was anyone like the Peppery Man.
His ugly temper was so sour
He often scolded for an hour;
He gnashed his teeth and stormed and scowled,
He snapped and snarled and yelled and howled.
He wore a fierce and savage frown;
He scolded up and scolded down;
He scolded over field and glen,
And then he scolded back again.
His neighbors, when they heard his roars,
Closed their blinds and locked their doors,
Shut their windows, sought their beds,
Stopped their ears and covered their heads.
He fretted, chafed, and boiled and fumed;
With fiery rage he was consumed,
And no one knew, when he was vexed,
What in the world would happen next.
Heigh ho, the Peppery Man,
The rabid, crabbed Peppery Man!
Oh, never since the world began
Was anyone like the Peppery Man.
Arthur Macy
So of course then I had to go looking for more Arthur Macy, and there’s a lot of wonderful stuff there… and that’s how far I’ve gotten down this rabbit hole.
The look of the cozy, pleasant room in the painting by Alma-Tadema; and the kind of gentle armchair journey far afield that I took while reclining on my couch became so much more appealing in the days of lockdown pre-vaccine. It all makes me feel right at home.
