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A Froggish Valentine's Day Present

The Pacific chorus frog, Pseudacris regilla, is hereby designated as the official amphibian of the state of Washington.

Revised Code of Washington, Section 1.20.150


In my small corner of Humptulips County, the second week of February always marks the annual advent of our resident frog chorus. Why the frogs religiously stage their annual debut during the second week of February is one of nature's mysteries which I prefer not to have explained. In my view of the world, the frog chorus demands a total immersion of the senses, and a scientific explanation would only lessen its majesty.

During the first two weeks of each February, I briefly pause in the doorway of my garage upon arriving home in anticipation of the frogs' First Night. When First Night finally does arrive, I exit my garage to find that special spot in our field where grass, darkness and frog voices combine to overwhelm my senses to the exclusion of the ordinary. On First Night, I revel in the knowledge that I am hearing but an overture to the ever-swelling chorus that will ensue in forthcoming weeks. On First Night, I am refreshed and renewed by Nature's ancient, natural rhythms. On First Night, I renew my vows to the small gods of field, forest and marsh.

First Night is the earliest harbinger of Spring's impending arrival in Humptulips County. Soon the frogs' chorus will combine with fragile snowdrops, vibrant crocuses, the faint swelling of tree limbs, and the lure of warm zephyrs to pry, one-by-one, Winter's fingers from the land. For First Night is the true beginning of Spring-To-Come, that real and special season that is the pregnancy to Spring's forthcoming, riotous celebration of birth. True enjoyment of Spring-To-Come demands our full concentration and careful attention to nuanced detail, and the chorus frogs serve to voice the land's demand that we throw off Winter's sluggishness and focus, once again, upon its earliest stirrings.

This year First Night came last Tuesday. The small marsh in the southwest corner of our property is once again alive with a chorus of the earliest frogs. Soon, the frogs resident in the small, intermittent stream behind our house will join and the chorus will become stereophonic - that may happen as soon as this evening. Accordingly, this weekend will be a time to walk our land in a warm coat, boots and hat, and, while my steps may be somewhat slower than in previous years, my mind and senses will be as fully alive as ever to the spell cast by our resident wizards of marsh and stream.

To experience a hint of their spell, scroll down and activate the audio clippings found here: www.mister-toad.com/PacificTreeFrog.html . Enjoy! There is no better Valentine's Day present than a frog in full voice.

The State of Our Union

The President must give the Congress information on the State of the Union from time to time.

Article II, Clause 3, United States Constitution

I enjoy someone who can give a good speech. There is something spellbinding about a good orator, especially when they are saying something that needs to be said while looking those that badly need to hear the message directly in the eye in a public venue. A good orator uses rhythm and a well turned phrase to capture our imagination and make us believe - even if only for the merest moment - that hope exits and that change can occur.

But far better than a merely good orator is someone who can voice a goal in ringing tones and then actually back up the words with effort, action and dedication. Such a man was Martin Luther King, Jr. For all the beauty of his rhetoric, his real worth was in the long sweaty marches, the time spent in jail for his beliefs, his indomitable will that change not only should happen but could happen only if he and many others stayed focused and kept on marching. He not only had a dream, he forged a path to its success.

President Obama gave a pretty speech last night, but I increasingly lack faith in his willingness and ability to slog forward to the change he urges. The pied-piperish Senator Obama of the campaign trail has morphed into the politician-as-usual President Obama of Washington DC. There seems to be something about the atmosphere in our nation's capital that turns dreamers into sour wine, leaders into turnips, and faith and belief into yesterday's porridge.

The institution of the State of the Union speech has degenerated into farcical theater. As a theatrical piece, it is not worth the price of admission. If an entry fee were to be charged for the privilege of being able to watch it, no one in their right mind would show up in order to watch a bunch of overstuffed, self-important, do-nothings act childishly for over an hour. If Congress were to pass a law making viewing of the speech mandatory, I suspect that so many people would pay good money to be allowed the privilege of not watching it that the proceeds would make a significant dent in our national debt.

Harry Chapin used to perform a song entitled "30,000 Pounds of Bananas" which had alternate sappy endings and his brother Tom would always utter the following iconic (to Harry's fans, at least) phrase when the various endings were inevitably trotted out: "Harry, it sucks." Where was Tom Chapin last night when we needed him?

Sadly, Washington DC has become the nation's largest single high school. Let's be frank: in this most magnificent of urban settings exists the most sophomoric, egomaniacal, breast beating culture it is possible to imagine. Set the various monologues and the diatribes to music and you get Grease 2, a badly imagined and poorly acted musical with a theme of continuously lost opportunity. I would rather spend my money to see Grease 1 - I know how both turn out, but Grease 1 is actually entertaining at some level.

When I consider the problem, I must begin with our Constitution - a document that in 1787 was a masterpiece of ingenuity and daring and that Americans have come to revere and sanctify. Our founders not only dared to dream the Constitution, but they went through a hard fought political process to make it the law of the land. Anyone who has read the Federalist Papers understands that the process of the Constitution's birth was far from easy. Nevertheless, it not only got written, it also got adopted.

Can anyone seriously imagine our present leadership achieving such a result? For that matter, can anyone seriously imagine our present leadership tying their own shoes without the assistance of their respective entourages?

Therein lies our problem. I revere the Constitution as much as the next person - as a venerable piece of our history which ought to be carefully preserved as a historical document for as long as there is a United States of America. However, it is long past time to recognize that the basic structure of government embodied in our Constitution no longer works in today's world.

In case anyone has forgotten, it is no longer 1787. The founders' dream of a citizen dominated House of Representatives that would have significant turnover due to the hardship of travel over then non-existent roads no longer holds true. Our founders felt that a two year term was probably about all that a civic minded legislator would want to serve given the difficulty of travel and the consequences of lengthy absences from family and friends. The thrust of the Federalist Paper's arguments over the proposed term of a House member was whether the two years was too long as opposed to the then-standard one year term. This was an area where the founders simply were unable to anticipate a future such as the one in which we currently live. In an age of interstate highways, on-demand air travel, instantaneous communications and an interminable federal elections process, a two year term means only that House members are constantly in election mode, constantly engaged in raising money for re-election purposes, and, consequently, constantly thumping their respective chests in order to stand out from among the crowd. In short, their first priority is not your job problem or my job problem, but is, instead, their own job problem.

The Senate was seen by our founders as a place for the aristocracy to ensure that the House didn't engage in mob rule. It was created at a time when few Americans had a college education, much less what one would, today, call a high school education. Our founders were self-acknowledged elitists who created an upper legislative chamber - the Senate -to ameliorate the wilder and brasher ideas of the mob. In a country where societal-wide communication is available at the push of a mouse button, the capacity of the upper chamber to serve as a leavening agent has been transformed into a mere recipe for nauseating delay and constant inaction. How else can one explain a chamber that feels itself unable to act despite the fact that the majority party controls an overwhelming 59% of the seats?

Of our three main branches of government, Congress is the most broken. If the President needs to be replaced, we can do so by means of the electoral process; we cannot toss out the entire Congress at any single moment in time. The Supreme Court cannot be changed quickly, but there is some merit to consistency in the judicial process - even though it pains me greatly to say so when I consider the lack of ability and empathy shown by so many members of the present Court. But the Court, too, can and will be changed as each new President has an opportunity to make new appointments. Congress, however, just sits like a cancer on Washington DC, with each new member as fully dedicated to keeping his or her job as the old member he or she replaced. Congress is too big, too lobbied, too useless, too unproductive.

In short, the dream of a government of checks and balances which the Constitution envisages has become, instead, a reality of unrestrained sophistry, self-serving goals, and decisions motivated by pleasing the ever-present and constantly spending special interests rather than decisions taken for the good of the general public. The particular form of representative government created by the founders in a time of difficult travel and poor communications has outlived its usefulness and has become, instead, an impediment to good governance.

It is long past time for us to call for a new constitutional convention and to create a form of government for the present. To those who revere the present document, I remind you that when our constitution was created it was deemed by all as a boldly new and daring initiative. Our founders dared to dream and to fight for that dream. If they could still speak to us, I strongly suspect that they would tell us that nothing is forever and that when the trappings of government become inimical to the public good, one must change the form of government. Why do I assume so? Because that is exactly what they did in their place and time and, in the fullness of their success and daring, they became known as "founders" instead of being remembered as the ordinary citizens they were when they began the process.

I suspect that mere amendment of portions of the existing Constitution will be insufficient. It is time to re-think our entire governmental structure given the present communications tools we possess. It is time to amend the existing Constitution by means of a wholesale replacement thereof with a new document approved by means of the amending process set forth in the present document. Our founders thought about the need for periodic amendments and provided us with a methodology for doing so. In creating a wholesale replacement, we need only follow the genius of our founders as embodied in the existing document.

We don't need to be afraid of such a process as it would involve significant debate and state-by-state approval. To those would would argue that no one can presently be identified as someone with the necessary stature to lead this effort, I would say that I have sufficient faith in the American people to know that leadership will rise to the top in the course of the process. It won't come from Washington DC where leadership is a lost art, but it will come from among the many talented individual Americans who will be willing to step up and be counted. To those who would say that such a process would be far too risky for our democracy, I would ask "when did America decide not to dream?"

It is time for a change. Given the present configuration of our government, things simply do suck. It doesn't have to be that way. All we have to do is dream the dream, get off our collective duffs and join the march. This time the march should be away from Washington and all of the collective inefficiency, uselessness and depravity that it represents.

Rushing to Judgment

Once I began using a desk top computer on a regular basis in my practice in the early 1980's, I quickly realized that my ability to deliberate over pending decisions was being impaired. As the speed and capacity of computers increased exponentially, the ability to deliberate over decisions became increasingly difficult. In fact, at one point I found myself arguing, due to the incredibly increased pace at which we were being asked to turn around transactional documents, that in making hiring decisions our law firm should carefully consider a prospective lawyer's ability to make snap judgments in conjunction with the more customary criteria of law school grades, common sense, character and legal ability in general.

In reaching this conclusion, I was not becoming enamored of the lack of time for deliberation, but simply recognizing that the manner and means of practice had changed so extensively that one simply had to recognize that the facility to make snap judgments was increasingly important in a tech-dominated working environment. In fact, I have long decried the lack of time to deliberate carefully, especially in complex matters, and have long sought substitute methodology which would build in necessary document review and consideration of basic legal issues involved in the matter at hand.

Snap judgments are just that - judgments made on the spot, often without full information about the circumstances with which one is faced. I long ago learned that while the clients want a quick product turn around and are unwilling to pay for time to deliberate, they also want informed decisions taking into account everything that adequate deliberation would demand. After all, in the purest sense lawyers are counselors, and counselors are supposed to provide thoughtful, considered advice. The resulting stresses between the speed of service allowable due to technological expertise and the need for informed - rather than snap - decisions, can be incredibly debilitating over time to a service provider.

This is not, however, a piece about this type of stress. I am hardly the first one to mention it in print, as articles on the subject have become prevalent since at least the mid-1980's when people began to notice and comment upon the phenomenon. I can no longer effectively argue against this reality of our world; I can only seek ways to insert reflection and deliberation into a process which is basically inhospitable to their involvement.

Instead, this piece is about something else that I have begun to notice which may well be one of the inevitable outcomes of a generation of technology-enabled, snap judgments employed on a society-wide basis. I offer these comments with some hesitation since I don't have anything more than a feeling that my comments are correct. I leave it to others who may agree with the premise to perform the necessary research to substantiate these propositions.

What I have begun to focus upon is the inevitable, public commentary that immediately accompanies every published, on-line news article. While I do not generally read such commentary, I have begun to notice three things about it: its prevalence, the speed with which it is produced (it arises almost simultaneously with the news story publication), and the virulence and vehemence of its content. I am truly amazed at the speed with which the general public arrives at an unshakable opinion about the truth or untruth of a given news story, and the absolute ferocity with which these opinions are defended or advanced.

I start with the proposition that no one who reacts so quickly to a matter about which he or she cannot have any first hand information can possibly have deliberated over the facts presented before publishing a post. It simply isn't possible that someone posting an opinionated response within minutes of a news story's first publication can have spent any significant time in reflection about the story's meaning. Clearly, those posting in this time frame are simply making the story fit within the framework of their preconceived viewpoint, rather than offering a considered judgment about the facts - in other words, they are responding to the story using their basic prejudices, rather than taking any time to think. And then the "fun" begins.

The "fun" often consists of pages upon pages of postings, all arguing with one another over the worth of their respective opinions - or, to be more correct, over the lack of worth of everyone's opinion but one's own. The actual subject matter of the news story frequently becomes lost in the discussion and, in many cases, becomes irrelevant to the discussion itself. Name calling abounds, often in the rudest imaginable language with peculiarly personal attacks against people the author has never met.

The media encourages this behavior, both by making the postings possible and actively encouraging the resulting commentary, and by posting instant polls asking people to "vote" on some subject they believe will catch the general interest. It should be noted that this form of "voting" is simply a shorthand way of posting one's opinion - it removes the need to use words in the posted commentary sections by letting people simply push a yes or no button. In other words, the resulting "voting" is nothing more than a compact version of the wordy commentary - opinion reduced to a single word generated by the click of a mouse.

What is more significant from my viewpoint is that this behavior is becoming increasingly viewed as appropriate. It may, in fact, have already become the norm. I arrive at this conclusion by noting the lack of published argument or commentary about the extent of its usage. As societies change, it is usually true that behavior which is gaining ground from the standpoint of respectability is at first decried early on its way to becoming the societal norm. At some point in its evolution, people stop arguing against its rise and it becomes, with time, acceptable behavior and, finally, the only appropriate behavior. While we still seem to be at the stage where there is some argument over the instant commentary, that argument focuses more and more upon the truly bonehead remarks made by some rather than on the general practice itself.

What does this mean for human society? The commentary on on-line news stories is not my real concern, but only its most evident manifestation. What I worry about is upcoming generations' abilities to make informed, considered decisions about complex social matters in an environment where snap judgments are the norm. As the speed of decision making increases, will society accept those who have retained the art of pondering the meaning of those decisions and accord them respect? And even if they are accorded such respect, will the results of their deliberations be useless in an environment where irrevocable decisions are made in a matter of moments in accordance with prevailing custom?

Take the recent public squabble over the time it took President Obama to arrive at a "new" Afghanistan policy. He took the time to arrive at strategy and the public and his rival politicians could not understand his methods or the accompanying delay. The public complaints over the time it took (a matter of two to three months on the whole) were news in and of themselves, since, to his critics, the decision was obvious and thinking about it was simply a complete waste of time and denigrating to our troops.

Admittedly, this may not be the best example I could use, since the resultant decision could well have been made in moments given the staleness of the thought it represents - it was nothing more than recycled Bush era thinking that left us with nothing new or useful. Nonetheless, I give the President points for resisting the public demand for instantaneous decision making, even if his decision, in the end, was profoundly disappointing and lacking in deliberation.

My overriding fear is that we may well be headed for an era of generally poor decision making brought on by popular impatience with the art of deliberation and reflection. We could easily arrive at what I might term "pachinko ball decision making" - decision making by reaction to a chain of choices where each single opportunity of choice is defined solely by the decision made with respect to the previous choice. Contrast this notion with choices taken in accordance with an overall, pre-existing strategic plan with established goals - decisions made with the use of an existing measuring stick.

In order to avoid decisional disasters arising out of our increasing need for immediate results, governments can do two things - learn to anticipate and contemplate issues before they come to prominence and hire folks of common sense to make decisions as such issues come to public prominence. I can foresee the use of governmental think tanks charged with anticipating issues and providing advance analysis and deliberation for the subsequent use by politicians who must react immediately when such issues finally achieve prominence. While it is highly unlikely that governmental budgets will stretch to think tanks whose product might or might not be used at some future time, I see no other way to provide needed deliberation in the face of increasing impatience over "delayed" decisions.

As for hiring - or electing - folks with common sense to make decisions, I have probably come full circle to my hiring suggestion to my colleagues at my law firm. I can imagine only one, real-time antidote to poor decision making made in the context of needed immediacy, and that is to have the decisions made by persons possessing abundant common sense. Mind you, I am not hopeful for this solution, since my belief is that only a very small percentage of people have any significant amount of common sense, and those that possess significant amounts of this commodity will likely realize that putting themselves in a position where they are forced to make hurried decisions without adequate reflection is a losing, long-term proposition.

I anticipate charges of elitism being levelled against me as a result of this proposition, but I am not concerned about such charges. Perhaps I am an elitist at heart, since I fully believe that some few are far better at decision making than the bulk of the population and that those few should be given the burden of doing so. This is hardly a new belief, since this notion can be traced to the ancient Greeks and beyond, but the need for such an elite group may well be more important now than at any previous time in recorded human history.

As has always been the case, the problem remains the methodology by which we are to select those that should govern. Can western notions of democracy prevail in a coming age where the voting public is trained by, and inured to, snap judgment-making by the very technology generally employed in our educational institutions and in the work place? I predict that this will be the primary challenge faced by future generations of Americans. If future generations are going to solve this challenge, the present generation must first acknowledge its existence, define the scope of the challenge and offer it up on the alter of public commentary.

And so it seems that there is really nothing terribly new under the sun, except, perhaps, for the present speed at which humanity is careening from significant choice to significant choice. I can only hope that we have not yet exceeded the capacity of our restraining rails to hold in check the resulting centrifugal force.

Veteran's Day

I am not a veteran, but that does not mean that I lack an appreciation for the sacrifices that so many of our fellow countrymen have made over the years while serving in our armed forces.  There is a story behind the fact that I am not a veteran, but it is not one which should be told on this particular day.  The focus of this day should be on our veterans and the respect due them for having served our country in whatever time or conditions they found themselves during their period of service.

Not all military service is equal in risk in the sense that some veterans have served during times of peace and some have served in times of war; but all of the service is equal in the sense that each soldier, sailor, airman, marine or coast guardsman engaged in his or her service solely for the benefit of the the many civilians of our nation.  As Americans, we are privileged to live in a country where the branches of our armed services exist only for the benefit of the collective whole, and not for their individual profit or for the exercise of political power.  Not all nations enjoy such a luxury.

Those Americans, like me, who have not served in our armed forces have, over our lives, benefitted from our veterans' service; service that, whether in time of peace or war, required some form of sacrifice.  Their sacrifices range from the mundane (a reduced income during military service compared to what might have been earned in civilian life, or living in exceptionally cramped quarters in a submarine or surface vessel) to something as extraordinary as the giving of a life, the loss of a limb, or the suffering of mental instability arising from the horrific conditions of war.

All of our service men and women live with the idea that the very act of their service demands that they will place themselves in harm's way if the need requires.  They enter into service with this knowledge, knowing full well that the final decision as to whether they will engage in combat is not theirs but that of a superior.  They train hard to be prepared for the worst of situations, never knowing when and where those situations may arise and always trusting to the judgment of others as to what the national will or need may require of them.  In this regard, it doesn't really matter whether their service originated by governmental draft or by voluntary enlistment - in either case, they served for the benefit of all of the rest of us who so significantly outnumber their ranks.

Yesterday, the day before Veteran's Day, I watched the televised proceedings at Fort Hood honoring the 13 who died last Thursday at the hands of an assassin.  Their loss is unusual because of the manner and location of its occurrence.  These were volunteers, most of whom faced future service under fire, many of whom had already served under fire, and all must have had no thought that they might come in harm's way on an early November day in Texas while engaging in routine daily events on their home post.  Their loss makes this Veteran's Day all the more poignant since it demonstrates that harm's way may be found at any time and at home as well as abroad.

I am not a veteran, but my partner is.  My partner served with distinction in World War II in many locations, but most notably in the small town of Mortain, France.  One sunny day in early August when he thought he and his fellow troops were going to enjoy a few days of respite behind the front lines after weeks of fierce fighting from hedgerow to hedgrow in Normandy, he awoke to find his hill - Hill 314 just outside of Mortain - surrounded by a German panzer division as the Germans counterattacked in an attempt to break the Allied invasion.  For the next 6 days and nights, he called in artillery fire on the hill's very edges to keep the German's at bay, using the only working radio the troops on the hill possessed.  He was not the only hero on that hill during those 6 days and he would be the very first to say so.  But he did the job he was trained to do as best he could, and his efforts were very effective.  He won the Silver Star for his efforts at Mortain and wears it proudly to this day when the occasion demands.

My partner's training and determination saw him through the seige at Mortain while many of his comrades were dying on that very same hill.  He cannot forget those days in August, and as each subsequent August occurs those long ago days are mentally relived with prayers said anew for those that fell.  He has even come to write about his experiences after the many years of not being able to speak about them, and, in doing so, has enabled those of us who have never served to have some idea of what true sacrifice can be.

Two years ago, my partner was awarded France's highest honor - the Legion of Honor - at a ceremony in Portland, Oregon and I was privileged to attend and hear the remarks of the French Counsel thanking him for his service to France.  I cannot award him a beautiful medal in thanking him - and so many others - for their service to this country, but I can and do extend my personal thanks in gratitude for the freedoms I enjoy.  It is the grand tradition of the American civilian soldier that has protected these liberties.  Each of these current soldiers or veterans, in whatever their guise or branch of service, carries or carried our freedoms in their kits during their time of service, so that the many civilians of this nation could enjoy those freedoms to the utmost.  While all of us, soldier and civilian alike, bear some responsiblity for the protection of our freedoms, our soldiers and veterans have always been the heaviest lifters as the front line of freedom's defense.

So, let this be my personal thank you to my long time partner, friend and mentor, Robert L. Weiss.  Let it also be my thanks to the many other current and former civilian soldiers, sailors, airmen, marines and coast guardsmen - whether I have had the privilege of meeting them or not.  If I do not know them in person, I now understand, thanks to Bob's writings, who they are in spirit.  For that spirit, I salute them.

Memories and Sky

The sky was as full of motion and change as the desert beneath it was monotonous and still — and there was so much sky, more than at sea, more than anywhere else in the world. The plain was there, under one's feet, but what one saw when one looked about was that brilliant blue world of stinging air and moving cloud. Even the mountains were mere ant-hills under it. Elsewhere the sky is the roof of the world; but here the earth was the floor of the sky. The landscape one longed for when one was away, the thing all about one, the world one actually lived in, was the sky, the sky!

Willa Cather, Death Comes for the Archbishop


Humptulips County has become my home, its pleasant pastoral greens beacons for my heart, its soft murmurings music to my spirit, and its gentle beauty balm for my soul. I love it here and would not now live anywhere else. But I was not born here. I grew up in Eastern Washington, an ecosystem and a lifetime away from Humptulips County.

When traveling East through Snoqualmie Pass, Eastern Washington begins in the high foothills of the Cascade Mountains above Ellensburg, its Western boundary marked by the wall of the Cascades against the overarching sky spread before you and its Eastern boundary unseeable due to the curve of the Earth. The sky determines Eastern Washington - its character, its coloring, its people, the land and the quality of the life upon that land. You cannot speak of Eastern Washington without mentioning the sky any more than you could speak of New York City without mentioning the toughness of its inhabitants. You cannot imagine Eastern Washington's landscape except as lying beneath a sky of every imaginable hue of blue, gray or rose - land and sky existing as perfect analogues. You cannot remember a particular moment spent in Eastern Washington without recalling whether it was informed by rain, wind, lightning or sun pouring from an omnipresent, overweening sky - for the memory of that event would be singularly incomplete without its appropriate backdrop.

While I never feel claustrophobic in Humptulips County, I always feel a keen sense of release when reaching the foothills above Ellensburg. There is one, particular bend in the well-traveled, familiar highway where it always becomes apparent to me that I have arrived in what Ivan Doig termed "This House of Sky." As I round that bend, my spirit is released into that sky to soar with the hawks, to feel and taste the bite of the wind, and to savor the colors of the landscape below - tan and sere in Summer, crazy quilted and musty in Fall, white, pristine and silent in Winter, and satin-sensuously green during its brief Spring.

The light is always glorious no matter the time of year, since there is so much more sky from which it may originate. In this light I first see the beauty that is the land itself: the ridges vanishing into the haze of a distant horizon; the very shape of the valleys as seen from above; the cornucopic imprint of life upon the land. And, the closer I look the more beauty I can find lurking within the interstices of this massive landscape: tiny flowers growing within volcanic rock; blurred movements of field mice or other small animals; silvery undersides of grey-green leaves twisting in a Summer wind; mysterious cavortings of dust devils over a plowed field; joyous antics of tumbleweeds in motion; babbling creek water passing over time-smoothed stones.

I have less reason now to visit the sky under which I was raised, but it still informs and affects my life, calling to me from memory. My parents lie beneath this sky, snug in their graves and now of the landscape itself. I hear their whispers in the susuration of the wheat and I feel their presence in the narrow canyons of the Blue Mountains. I come here less often now, but come I will as long as there is the ability to do so.

This was the land of my childhood from which I will never be completely estranged. My youngest son has just moved to Eastern Washington. The landscape of his childhood is the obvious, visual glory of Humptulips County. I wish for him that he may learn to love the spirit and magnificence of this sky, for only in its immensity can one fully appreciate one's position upon this earth and discover the singular sense of wonder and magnificence that is to be found in the struggle of each living thing to survive and endure.

Dance Me to the End of Life

Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin
Dance me through the panic till I'm gathered safely in
Touch me with your naked hand or touch me with your glove
Dance me to the end of love

Leonard Cohen, "Dance Me to the End of Love"


I have no idea how anyone could live a life that didn't include music in one form or another. I respect all forms of music, but confess an affinity for the human voice and for well written lyrics. I have listened to all types of music and like each in its place, but I return again and again to the poetry of a well written phrase that causes me to marvel at a succinct statement capturing something deep, convoluted and enigmatic and to wonder how the artist found the means of expressing such complexity with amazingly clarifying simplicity.

Those who do this well withstand time, no matter what one says about their voice or their instrumental musicianship. Take Leonard Cohen, for example. The man is in his 70's and still performing to sold out venues. His voice will never rival that of another favorite of mine, Tony Bennett, but it is inextricably associated with his beautiful music. As beautiful a tune as is "Hallelujah" and as beautiful as it can be when rendered by the likes of Jennifer Warnes or the many others who have recorded it, I always come back to his version as definitive. The song is simply not complete without his growling passion, and it seems to move him as much as it does his audience - in other words, it is still fresh for him after God knows how many performances. If you have doubt, go to his website - http://www.leonard-cohen.com/ - and watch the video of "Hallelujah" performed last year in London during his current world tour.

I certainly mean no disrespect for the likes of Jennifer Warnes whose interpretations of Cohen are beyond compare. Her voice is simply gorgeous and she has recorded far too little during her career. Her album of Cohen's songs, "Famous Blue Raincoat," should not be missed by anyone who cares for glorious renderings of masterful lyrics. It was recently remastered and re-issued and is now far more wonderful than in its first incarnation. I return to this album several times a year and marvel in its clarity and soaring music, but, in the end, I always return to Mr. Cohen's versions to reflect upon the meaning of his music - husky, meaty versions growled, chewed up and spit out as only he can.

Paul Simon is another such poet. His voice is more musical and his lyrics less straightforward, but no less thought provoking for their sometimes frustrating ambiguity. His is the expertise of saying things in an off center manner that challenges the intellect to wonder what he truly means - even while knowing that he is saying something significant. Consider this stanza from "An American Tune":

We come on the ship they call the Mayflower

We come on the ship that sailed the moon

We come in the age's most uncertain hours and sing an American tune

Oh, and it's alright, it's all right, it's all right

You can't be forever blessed

Still, tomorrow's going to be another working day

And I'm trying to get some rest

That's all, I'm trying to get some rest

Within this lyric is a celebration of the span of American history coupled with the weariness of the ordinary American working stiff who makes such glory possible, inch by sweaty inch. How anyone, in one stanza, can capture anything so complex while reducing it to instant recognition and understanding is beyond my comprehension. I can only stand in awe, admire the reductive intelligence, and wish I had the ability to have said and left it, as Mr. Simon has, for the rest of humanity to enjoy and ponder.

And then there is Bob Dylan, the master of poetry with a voice even more fractured and broken than Mr. Cohen's. His focus is more on human emotion than the sweep of history or the grand idea, but the poetry is no less immediate. I am very partial to the lyrics of "To Make You Feel My Love":

The storms are raging on a rolling sea

Down the highway of regret

The winds of change are blowing wild and free

But you ain't seen nothing like me yet

There ain't nothing that I wouldn't do

Go to the ends of the earth for you

Make you happy, make your dreams come true

To make you feel my love

I doubt Dylan will ever quit writing lyrics or music and that he will go to his grave with just one more song waiting to be written.

Lastly, there is Richard Thompson, an Irish folk rock musician who has been around as long as Dylan. He writes lyrics that he is challenged to sing since he is not blessed with the best singing voice, but his voice will grow on you with time. He is, however, a consummate guitar player who ranks among the best in the word. Most importantly, however, he is an excellent songwriter who is also a poet. His “Dimming of the Day” has been recorded by many fine artists:

This old house is falling down around my ears

I'm drowning in a river of my tears

When all my will is gone you hold me sway

I need you at the dimming of the day

The lyric is coupled with a haunting melody and, if you know the song, all you have to do is read the lyric to hear the music play in your mind - a hallmark of a successful song.

There are other gracefully aging musical poets, some of them unlikely and uneven in their output. Consider Dion Dimucci - yes, the 1950's Dion of "Runaround Sue" and "The Wanderer." Many don't know that he is still recording and making wonderful music even today - music that is stronger and more adventuresome than anything he ever did in the 1950's. Find and listen to "I used to be a Brooklyn Dodger," a song about having been a phenomenon that is not filled with remorse and is beautiful to the ear. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aVFkO6xTpX4 Dion may seem an unlikely choice to you for inclusion in this pantheon, but take a listen and take a chance on much of his later music. You will be well rewarded. There is little out there to compare with "Deja Nu," his 2000 album of doo wop, complete with wonderful covers of two Bruce Springsteen tunes. The first song on the album, "Shoo Bop" is a glorious return to the 1950's, even if not poetry in the sense of that I am trying to celebrate.

Even Tony Bennett, that most marvelous of interpreters of the classic American songbook, writes the occasional song that is well worth your time and effort. Consider "Antonia" from his album "Astoria: Portrait of the Artist" - a hard-to-find album, but well worth the effort and well worth listening to even if just to hear this rare composition by Mr. Bennett.

Of course, none of these artists would be complete without the music that accompanies their words. Don MacLean's lines from Vincent, for example, would never ring as true without the beautiful melody that comes to mind inevitably upon reading these words:

For they could not love you

But still your love was true

And when no hope was left in sight

On that starry, starry night

You took your life as lovers often do

But I could have told you Vincent

This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you

I only wish Mr. MacLean would return to writing instead of producing covers.

For me, the truth and the beauty of music is in the lyrics, especially in any lyrical turn of phrase that is sharp, clear and remindful of personal matters or emotions. That is why the works of Messrs. Cohen, Simon, Dylan and Thompson stand out. While there are younger writers that give me hope for the future - Gretchen Peters, for example* - these elder statesman of the popular song give me rest, comfort and constant enjoyment both with respect to their body of existing work and their anticipated future production.

It is hard to imagine these men without music in their life. I expect each of them to dance all the way to the end. They continue to write and perform even as the dance slows for the rest of us. I imagine that they are incapable of doing any thing else.



* Her "On a Bus to St. Cloud" always takes my breath away:

On a bus to St. Cloud, Minnesota

I thought I saw you there

With the snow falling down around you

Like a silent prayer

And once on a street in New York City

With the jazz and the sin in the air

And once on a cold L.A. freeway

Going nowhere