Dirty Gerty's Hurdy Gurdy


Only the poem knows what's true

Monday, March 29, 2010

The rain it raineth every day!

On any other rainy night, I'd invoke Chopin's Raindrops Sequence. I'd convince whoever reads this that if you listen closely, every note on the piano, in accordance, feels like the planned randomness of rain. That there is an intimate distance between Chopin and the rain in that piece.

Instead of bugging poor Chopin, until his spirit comes back with a vendetta against my putting him in, dare I say, trite (?) situations, I want to talk about Led Zeppelin. I've just read the lyrics to The Rain Song. And yes, I'm listening to it now, too. I've decided, though this blog be brief, it should evoke, even the quotidian!

There's something that intrigues me about this song, other than its mesmeric Siren(ic) chords. It's something towards the end. When they sing, "This is the wonder of devotion, I seek the torch we all must hold. This is the mystery of the quotient-Upon us all a little rain must fall... it's just a little rain..."

I remember the first time I read Twelth Night, yes I'll segue to Shakespeare, Feste's song always got to me. The Hey, Ho the wind and the rain. The rain it raineth every day! IT always, in some capacity, eluded me. And, this could be because I'm an idiot, but, I think Shakespeare, by way of Feste, the "fool" who is really wiser than all the others, is saying there will always be wind. There will always be rain. It raineth every day in many ways. In the sense we all despair. In the sense that somewhere in the world, nature will always have its elusively refreshing way, to remind us, for vitality to exist, there must exist this quotient. I'm on this bent tonight, because, yet again, I'm trying to pull through a depression spell... Upon us all a little rain must fall...and, in doing this, I sometimes, always, come to quotidian conclusions about life and humanity. My obvious statement of the night is this: we are devoted to reality insomuch we make ourselves vulnerable, but it's only in the imagined way we find a way to bind ourselves.

Good Night. Forgive the brevity, again, but as a not so wise man said, well, a wise bard through a not so wise character's mouth, brevity is the soul of wit! And I say, anyone who pulls a Polonius should, well, SHOVE IT! (Just remember, we're all windbags, some time)!

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