29 degrees Fahrenheit, nearly dusk. Week-old snowcrust still clings tenaciously to lawns and cars. Children play. The air: slightly smoky. It feels like high school wrestling season and, I guess, it is. I feel like I should be running laps in a garbage bag. A day like today cries out for Greg Schapp. Perhaps Marie will Google him and we'll chat.
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Here at Geneva Convention the house band of late has been The Zombies. I'm sure that Andrew Mister has something to say about this.
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In other things I've forgotten, I should add Be Your Own Pet to my list of favorite things this year.
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Oh yes, and Keith Olbermann. We add him. I add him.
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I feel poems brewing. Poems with nine lines each. Sometimes I feel that all my poems are really apologies. Apologies to friends and lovers and former friends and lovers for being inadequate in any number of ways. And I know that poetry is not enough, and "sorry" certainly isn't enough.
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Brrr...it's cold.
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2 comments:
Of course I love The Zombies. Maybe I should mention Colin Blunstone's solo debut One Year on Houseboat Days.
Be Your Own Pet makes me feel like an old fuddy-duddy.
It's ironic that Colin's trademark vocal texture was emphasized on the records only at a producer's behest; personally he didn't like how he sounded. And the rest is history....dammit if the Zombies aren't a great band.
I'd comment on your blog, Andy, but there's no space to: I was going to mention that while American folk music was indeed dying out by 1969 as you said, British folk music was still in its Pentangle, Fairport Convention, Incredible String Band, Strawb, et. al. prime.
S.
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