Below is the poem/song.
The
red comments are my brief interpretation/impression of the verse alongside.
As always, keep to your own understanding of the poem...but here is mine; flawed no doubt, but mine all the same.
HAPPENS TO THE HEART
I was always working steady
But I never called it art
I was funding my depression
Meeting Jesus reading Marx
Sure it failed my little fire
But it's bright the dying spark
It was worth the efforts
Go tell the young messiah
Tell the young, it’s worth the effort
What happens to the heart
Optimism
There’s a mist of summer kisses
Where I tried to double-park
The rivalry was vicious
And the women were in charge
Early loves/attempts were not successful/didn't bring happiness
It was nothing, it was business
But it left an ugly mark
So I’ve come here to revisit
What happens to the heart
I was selling holy trinkets
I was dressing kind of sharp
Had a pussy in the kitchen
And a panther in the yard
His success spoiled him
In the prison of the gifted
I was friendly with the guard
So I never had to witness
What happens to the heart
I should have seen it coming
You could say I wrote the chart
Just to look at her was trouble
It was trouble from the start
Sure we played a stunning couple
He found soul, but was uncomfortable being the Mystic
But I never liked the part
It ain’t pretty, it ain’t subtle
What happens to the heart
Now the angel’s got a fiddle
And the devil’s got a harp
Every soul is like a minnow
Leonard has gone beyond good and evil; but so what!
Every mind is like a shark
I've opened every window
But the house, the house is dark
he still gets depressed in his "cloud of unknowing"
You say Uncle, then it's simple
What happens to the heart
I was always working steady songs don't need to be masterful poetry, but he did a good job
But I never called it art
The slaves were there already
The singers chained and charred
Now the arc of justice bending
And the injured soon to march
It’s the next generation’s turn?
I lost my job defending
What happens to the heart
I studied with this beggar
He was filthy he was scarred
By the claws of many women
He had failed to disregard
No fable here no lesson
He is grateful for the journey that his wretched, longing heart took
No singing meadow lark
Just a filthy beggar blessing
"...blessed are the poor; in Spirit"
What happens to the heart
His flawed Zen Master? (Jikan)
[/color]
I was always working steady
But I never called it art
His standards are higher than ours (his fans)
I could lift, but nothing heavy
...and thinks he didn't write great literature
Almost lost my union card
I was handy with a rifle
My father's 303
We fought for something final
His soul sought g~d, not Reason/philosophy, though reason is a useful tool. He wrestled the Adversary/Tempter (Shaitan) ...but he wanted to "Dance,dance,dance" with g~d
Not the right to disagree
Sure it failed my little fire
But it's bright the dying spark
He feels that he was no mystic genius but… we don’t have to be.
Go tell the young messiah
divine longing, and G~d will do the rest.
What happens to the heart
The heart warms and burns brighter for its troubled longings and efforts. But it dips into doubt ("Why hast Thou forsaken me" blended with "Into thy arms I commend my Spirit")...and longing more often than rapture.
June 24, 2016
So, as the end nears, for this aging troubadour, a different ember burns.
"No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion." (Hopkins)
The battles of life feed the embers of the soul, whether we realize it or not...that's what happens.
The young Leonard burned with longings in his Spring and Summer years,
and now passing through Autumn ...and heading into Winter's Way: he is warmed by the merciful embers of soulful belonging (Mercy and moments of contact-divine) when in his more positive moods. And the "blue-bleak embers" as Hopkins put it, do "Fall", do "gall themselves" and break into the "gold-vermillion" of Leonard's "bright...dying spark". He doesn't think he is up there with the best poets, like Hopkins,
but we do!
And he humorously assures the "young messiah", (Jesus and those seekers/poets/singers of their own soul) that the home fires/embers are burning gold-vermillion for them too. The hard yrads will polish the soul...sillion Shine.
Sure, sometimes Doubt reigns supreme and the cloud of unknowing wins that day; But the fight was rewarding and " it's bright the dying spark".
For me, it sounds like he is "passing the baton" in the relay of mystic endeavor onto all or any of us and those who follow. And why not?
Isn't that what all messiah's do?
We fought for something final
"Fight Thou Thy fight!" says Krishna to Arjuna in The Bhagavad Gita.
I, and Cervantes, no doubt, hereby dub thee, Sir Leonard,
Knight of the blue-bleak embers!
May our hearts too, in hiding, "stir for a bird"
and may our "dying spark" break through the blue-bleak embers to that gold-vermillion the great poets sing of.
Mat James. (MatbellybuttongazerJ)
"Without light or guide, save that which burned in my heart." San Juan de la Cruz.