Thursday, September 3, 2009

As Adjunct to a Sailor

As Adjunct to a Sailor
Words: Holmquist
(Summer, 2009)

It's in these wakes I cease to feel
The need to pull, the need to heave
On cleaves of waves surrounding me

The captain-call becomes too late
The timing missed, the prow betrayed
The yawing mist's entreats waylaid

A promised grace, as yet unfurled,
Implores a hand on oar unknurled
To find a grip more suitable

A course is found not mapped in front
But in action that leaves a shunt
A motion lacked will bear the brunt

A passive life is one to ask
To wish an equal to the task
That sees where you were meant to be

On verdant shores replete and dreamed
With sights unsaid, but always seen
To land us where we hoped we'd be

A sailor's wish, to make it be
Is not enough to dither me
A Captain's life is not for me

And now, I tense, and steer the craft
That is not mine to steer, I laugh
And take you where I want to be
And take you where I want to be
And take you where I want to be

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Don't Worry, Be Happy

I haven't written music for a while.
I haven't written lyrics for a while.

I've come up with ideas for the music of others, but...not so much for myself.

Is it because I'm happy? Things are going well?

All this time, did I need to feel like shit to create?
Am I now duly relegated to "arranger," "producer," or worst, "voice-talent"?!?!

For about 8 years, I've been the sole-proprietor of City Farmer Music.
I made what I want to hear because I was compelled to compose it, record it and hear it for myself.

Now, I feel like I've moved into another stage where I'm happy with things and I don't want them to go wrong just so I can selfishly reap the emotion for a creative harvest.

I'm truly enjoying the music of my collaborators, but don't feel the pressure to contribute as much, let alone the compulsion.

I'm really okay with being happy.

I'm not sure that creativity is diametrically opposed to happiness, but it feels that way when I think about playing the guitar. I used to find solace in sitting on the couch and mindlessly strumming, picking, or plucking at strings just to make a sound that distracted me from what I was sad or frustrated about. I don't have a lot of things to escape from right now.

I still love writing, rehearsing, and recording music...that hasn't changed, but am I able to let go of this idea that it's mine? That I went through something and I became a conduit to some other truth? That it wasn't so much that I wrote it as that it became?

Why would I have to feel neglected, betrayed or miserable for that to work?

I don't know.

I haven't touched a guitar in many weeks. I sing, whistle and hum all the the annoyance of those around me...but when was the last time I sat down with a guitar and played a riff over and over until something came to me, came to be?

I know eventually, something will go wrong...but for right now, I'm happy with being happy and letting others carry the burden of tortuous songwriter.

Let's play.