Coyote and Morning Music

I don't know why this is as it is, but it is as it is. Every day I wake up to music. Every day. Not just once in a while. Every day. Now, this isn't music from the clock-radio or the stereo or the elevator where I went to sleep on my way home. This music is playing in my head. It's sometimes music that I heard over the past few days or it may be music that I haven't heard for years. Something simple may trigger it. Maybe I had a thought of an old friend and music that we used to listen to. Maybe I read an article or saw a picture or maybe it's magic. I don't really know and it really doesn't make all that much difference where it comes from. All I know is that I hear the music loud and clear it different parts. I hear the voices and the bass and the lead guitar and the sax and the piano. I can pick them out in my mind although I have never played an instrument in my life. I wanted to play the drums when I was a kid, but that's a completely different story. Right now, it's just hearing the morning music that I'm talking about.

This morning was no different. The song was different, though. It was Joni Mitchell. I do know where this came from. I bought a CD a few days ago. The Band. The CD is "The Last Waltz". The Band started back in the late 60's and played with a bunch of people over the years but they were probably most famous for their music with Bob Dylan (food for another post). They were about to break up but decided to make one last round touring before checking it in. The Last Waltz was recorded with an All Star cast of some of the hottest musicians of the day, including Dylan, Eric Clapton, Muddy Waters, Emmy Lou Harris, Van Morrison, Neil Young, Ringo Starr and several others. Joni Mitchell was hot at the time and when I listened to the CD a few days ago, I kept going back to one of the songs: Coyote by Joni Mitchell. I had to look up the words. I really enjoy reading along as I listen. Poetry is close to music, really. I could enjoy the music without the words or I could enjoy the poetry without the music. But together.... Good Stuff!

If you can find the song, go have a listen. In the mean time, hear is the "poetry". Enjoy.


Coyote - Joni Mitchell

No regrets coyote
We just come from such different sets of circumstance
I'm up all night in the studios
And you're up early on your ranch
You'll be brushing out a brood mares tail
While the sun is ascending
And I'll just be getting home with my reel to reel...
There's no comprehending
Just how close to the bone and the skin and the eyes
And the lips you can get
And still feel so alone
And still feel related
Like stations in some relay
You're not a hit and run driver, no, no
Racing away
You just picked up a hitcher
A prisoner of the white lines on the freeway

We saw a farmhouse burning down
In the middle of nowhere
In the middle of the night
And we rolled right past that tragedy
Till we turned into some road house lights
Where a local band was playing
Locals were up kicking and shaking on the floor
And the next thing I know
That coyote's at my door
He pins me in a corner and he won't take no!
He drags me out on the dance floor
And were dancing close and slow
Now he's got a woman at home
He's got another woman down the hall
He seems to want me anyway
Why'd you have to get so drunk
And lead me on that way
You just picked up a hitcher
A prisoner of the white lines of the freeway

I looked a coyote right in the face
On the road to Bal Jennie near my old home town
He went running thru the whisker wheat
Chasing some prize down
And a hawk was playing with him
Coyote was jumping straight up and making passes
He had those same eyes - just like yours
Under your dark glasses
Privately probing the public rooms
And peeking thru keyholes in numbered doors
Where the players lick their wounds
And take their temporary lovers
And their pills and powders to get them thru this passion play
No regrets, coyote
I just get off up aways
You just picked up a hitcher
A prisoner of the white lines on the freeway

Coyote's in the coffee shop
He's staring a hole in his scrambled eggs
He picks up my scent on his fingers
While hes watching the waitresses legs
He's too fat from the Bay of Fundy
From appaloosas and eagles and tides
And the air conditioned cubicles
And the carbon ribbon rides
Are spelling it out so clear
Either he's going to have to stand and fight
Or take off out of here
I tried to run away myself
To run away and wrestle with my ego
And with this flame
You put here in this Eskimo

In this hitcher
In this prisoner
Of the fine white lines
Of the white lines on the free, free way