Stan Rogers was taken far too soon. I would have loved to have seen him play live.
Browsing Posts tagged stan rogers
At last the kids are gone now for the day.
She reaches for the coffee as the school bus pulls away.
Another day to tend the house and plan
For Friday at the Legion when she’s dancing with her man.
Sure was a bitter winter but Friday will be fine,
And maybe last year’s Easter dress will serve her one more time.
She’d pass for twenty-nine but for her eyes.
But winter lines are telling wicked lies.
All lies.
All those lines are telling wicked lies.
Lies all lies.
Too many lines there in that face;
Too many to erase or disguise;
They must be telling lies.
Is this the face that won for her the man
Whose amazed and clumsy fingers placed that ring upon her hand?
No need to search that mirror for the years.
The menace in their message shouts across the blur of tears.
So this is Beauty’s finish. Like Rodin’s “Belle Heauimiere”,
The pretty maiden trapped lost inside the ranch wife’s toil and care.
Well, after seven kids, that’s no surprise,
But why cannot her mirror tell her lies.
All lies.
All those lines are telling wicked lies.
Lies all lies.
Too many lines there in that face;
Too many to erase or disguise;
They must be telling lies.
Then she shakes off the bitter web she wove,
And turns to set the mirror, gently, face down by the stove.
She gathers up her apron in her hand,
Pours another coffee, drips Carnation from the can,
And thinks ahead to Friday, ’cause Friday will be fine!
She’ll look up in that weathered face that loves hers, line for line,
To see the maiden shining in his eyes
And laugh at how her mirror tells her lies.
All lies.
All those lines are telling wicked lies.
Lies all lies.
Too many lines there in that face;
Too many to erase or disguise;
They must be telling lies.
~Stan Rogers
Ah, for just one time I would take the Northwest Passage
To find the hand of Franklin reaching for the Beaufort Sea;
Tracing one warm line through a land so wild and savage
And make a Northwest Passage to the sea.
Westward from the Davis Strait ’tis there ’twas said to lie
The sea route to the Orient for which so many died;
Seeking gold and glory, leaving weathered, broken bones
And a long-forgotten lonely cairn of stones.
Ah, for just one time I would take the Northwest Passage
To find the hand of Franklin reaching for the Beaufort Sea;
Tracing one warm line through a land so wild and savage
And make a Northwest Passage to the sea.
Three centuries thereafter, I take passage overland
In the footsteps of brave Kelso, where his “sea of flowers” began
Watching cities rise before me, then behind me sink again
This tardiest explorer, driving hard across the plain.
Ah, for just one time I would take the Northwest Passage
To find the hand of Franklin reaching for the Beaufort Sea;
Tracing one warm line through a land so wild and savage
And make a Northwest Passage to the sea.
And through the night, behind the wheel, the mileage clicking west
I think upon Mackenzie, David Thompson and the rest
Who cracked the mountain ramparts and did show a path for me
To race the roaring Fraser to the sea.
Ah, for just one time I would take the Northwest Passage
To find the hand of Franklin reaching for the Beaufort Sea;
Tracing one warm line through a land so wild and savage
And make a Northwest Passage to the sea.
How then am I so different from the first men through this way?
Like them, I left a settled life, I threw it all away.
To seek a Northwest Passage at the call of many men
To find there but the road back home again.
~Stan Rogers
“And I think to myself, ‘What a wonderful world.”
~Bob Theill & George Weiss
I often wonder how wonderful the world is. There is so much hurt and sadness out there, and in my own heart as well. Yet, we do what we are made for; we do our best to make the best of this life in spite of all the pressures that keep us down.
Some days, it is hard to get up and keep reaching for the “wonderful” parts of the world. it seems like there’s a lot dirt and grime that tries to pull me away from the things that are bright and beautiful. Other days, it seems that the world in all its splendor and wonder seeks me out when I least expect it. And sometimes, it even comes when I need it most.
I am doing my best to take a look at the world and see the beauty, and I hope that the wonder and beauty that I think is there is actually there, and not just in the images of my mind.
Here’s a song by Stan Rogers about a ship that sunk due to the sleazy parts of this world, but people worked to bring the wonderful craft afloat once again.
She went down last October in a pouring driving rain.
The skipper, he’d been drinking and the Mate, he felt no pain.
Too close to Three Mile Rock, and she was dealt her mortal blow,
And the Mary Ellen Carter settled low.
There were just us five aboard her when she finally was awash.
We’d worked like hell to save her, all heedless of the cost.
And the groan she gave as she went down, it caused us to proclaim
That the Mary Ellen Carter would rise again.
Well, the owners wrote her off; not a nickel would they spend.
She gave twenty years of service, boys, then met her sorry end.
But insurance paid the loss to them, they let her rest below.
Then they laughed at us and said we had to go.
But we talked of her all winter, some days around the clock,
For she’s worth a quarter million, afloat and at the dock.
And with every jar that hit the bar, we swore we would remain
And make the Mary Ellen Carter rise again.
Rise again, rise again, that her name not be lost
To the knowledge of men.
Those who loved her best and were with her till the end
Will make the Mary Ellen Carter rise again.
All spring, now, we’ve been with her on a barge lent by a friend.
Three dives a day in hard hat suit and twice I’ve had the bends.
Thank God it’s only sixty feet and the currents here are slow
Or I’d never have the strength to go below.
But we’ve patched her rents, stopped her vents, dogged hatch and
porthole down.
Put cables to her, ‘fore and aft and girded her around.
Tomorrow, noon, we hit the air and then take up the strain.
And watch the Mary Ellen Carter Rise Again.
For we couldn’t leave her there, you see, to crumble into scale.
She’d saved our lives so many times, living through the gale
And the laughing, drunken rats who left her to a sorry grave
They won’t be laughing in another day. . .
And you, to whom adversity has dealt the final blow
With smiling bastards lying to you everywhere you go
Turn to, and put out all your strength of arm and heart and brain
And like the Mary Ellen Carter, rise again.
Rise again, rise again – though your heart it be broken
And life about to end
No matter what you’ve lost, be it a home, a love, a friend.
Like the Mary Ellen Carter, rise again.
~Stan Rogers
