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Original Song
Coo Coo Dove
They say that every night he was wholly overtaken by tears;
They say he never ate, but only drank
they swear that even the heavens trembled to hear his wail,
he suffered for her so that even in death, he never stopped calling for her:
"Ay ay ay ay ay" he sang, "Ay ay ay ay ay" he howled, "Ay ay ay ay ay" he sang,
tormented by a fatal passion.
They say that in early morning
a sad dove sings to the little empty house
with its wide open little doors.
They swear that the dove is none other than his spirit,
hoping still for the return of the ill-fated woman "Coo... coo..."
Dove,Coo... coo... don't weep.
What will these stones ever know, little dove,of love?
Coo... coo coo... coo...coo coo... coo...coocoo... coo
Little dove, do not weep anymore.
(English translation by Geneve Gil see footnote)
"theres Lizzy" they said
i was naked under an orange azo dyed towel flecked with imitations of pink Impatiens
and you were with me
i was too young to be smitten with the frisson of sexual excitement
and would i anyway ?
but Lizzie was in the prime of primes beauty
Her loveliness was elegant and white as if enwrapped in a mystery
a gauze like distance
her dress a long moving slow wraith of silk trailing in her wake like a resonance
to demur and to defer
She is pregnant but the bump is yet small and her lips are pursed
as if she is on show and must pursue the show for its sake
but i can portend that she is not well and the symmetry of glory has its foes
She is the far side of a water feature a long oblong of a pond with rounded carp of glorious orange
fat and flecked as any delicacy would be in the gourmands eye
yet in their eyre they are survived as they are for show and must never be eaten by man
though an egret or poacher may take its chance in the shallow morning haze
and suppose
that by geometry and a quirk of physics
a hand may tip the pool and free the fish from the tyranny of small enclosures
onto a terrifying river of uncertainty
and so the pool cascades from the cliff edge down toward the plain and forest far below
but first it journeys across a wide ledge which itself contains a pool
in which the children play "diving from the rocks through legs" among the white Impatiens
and so life may be born from solipsis
where the real may create a dream and that dream become the reality of words upon a page
and that page inspire a truth that aspires to genesis
that is how Lizzie was born they say
though her father was far away wreathed in sadness and its turmoil
and she knew little of her mothers strange disappearance
she was known from very young to be the patron of beauty though perhaps she did not admire it
excepting a vain moment of acceptance before occasions of duty
so patronised by many of her village her renown spread far
though some doubters dispatched their venturers
or were informed by trade and its many couriers
Hawks and doves may fly
but men and stones may only fly until the interruption
of exhilaration and descent by tree or rock may divert their path
or bring a sullen halt
to joyful pleasures
as gravitation in his bed awakes and shakes his fist
at mans usurping passage through the air
and rumours from the high topped village
wound around the trees thereof that surround the small river that indeed
plunges off its cliff in plumes
and wondered if Lizzies mother had proceeded with them
to be unfound and unchained from the necessary clothes of flesh
to the delight of smaller animals
the carnivores and microbes that regenerate the earth
they said they almost heard the faint rush of her falling as if a wind had lifted her
from the certainty of earth
others felt that witchcraft
which was not averse to slavery
had stolen her mind and as she followed it from tree to cave had lost her wits
and wandered far below among the many plains and trees and far off desert seas
with no calling or friendly path by which return could send her
and many more that she had fled a drunkard
though those who knew her father
well recalled that he had rarely taken alcohol before her disappearing
and had been in all things a man of moderation
it transpires in the telling that Lizzies mother is not yet her mother
and that she is
a foundling
that emerged one humid and intolerant day
small tiny small and sorrowful
from the lush green terrace of tall fringed and long armed pines
and dripping rotund glossy shrubs
to the north of the high plateau
toddled straight out she did
and forthwith held the hand of Lizzies mother so making a childless woman
glow with joy and pride
to be subsumed into the great pool of motherhood albeit surrogate
and though she feigned concern that another woman far away
was yearning with the burning ache that loss conveys
deep within the gut and soul
a stone that never wears away but is only partly mitigated by the years
so she soon forgot and enjoined her joy
for what a lovely child can bring is heaven and its clouds
the toils of love
are a labour that toil soon forgets
but inculcates the joy of love
so that it becomes sublimed
and though it is deep within yet it does not deem to show itself
and in the many years it takes to take a child from that
elementary journey through the complex maze that life proposes
with its sudden changes and its slow inertia
the chemistry of earth and fact combine
and here we were
so many years would pass and so many stars rotate in the rolling heavens above
unnoted and extinguished by each flurry east and rising day
and some are heaving northward and some have hove a south
and some are westward bound
and sowith we move together or apart
as in love the bonds are strong but motion is perpetual
and stronger still
so as a child may rise like a new red moon in the east
so some may set as blue as day with nothing less a fey goodbye
was Lizzies mother in the outcome obsessed with jealousy
for she was not in truth her mother
a bond that can never be diminished by the sunlight or the many moons
but just keeper like a stone that holds the door ajar or closeted
for her daughter brought attention and its profound gifts and curses
and her daughter bought her daily beauty which she herself did not possess
in either spirit or in outward form
and her daughter worked the many chores of daughterhood in silence
which added to her veil of quiescence and her majesty
and then she was gone
the birds refuse to fly
and an eerie silence ricochets from limb to limb of the tall pines
and the short shrubs are a sussurant
with no print impinged upon the dew
so "where is Lizzie" wailed her mother
in console her father wraps his arm around a shrugging shoulder that frees itself
and all the village knew
that she was gone
too many sons have died and with them
so i thought
a star is lit
but daughters i do not know
and where there moons are hiding or their planets turn is just a vague and happy blur
and children that once were children
and onto adulthood number as the many grains of sand and waters of the vastest deserts
but one and only one was Lizzie
and where her mother went i cannot say
as of her father
having lost a family and being once a modest man
knew nothing of the subtleties extremes can foist in secret deep within his being
be it addiction of intemperance intolerance or fortitude
it works its secret paths through the maggot holes of our weakness
and thus ensconced is so hard to cull
for to cut the living flesh to kill the wound seems insensible
let week by weak her father take the drink
as his wife did not return so in measure the weakness bettered him
his skin is yellow jaundiced and he stinks of piss
the blisters on his open legs are scarred and deep with puss
and inside his liver vacuous his brain is pored and hollow
with sharp snaps for all thats left is a prickly will
to live and drink
and in the night the demons of the soul persist
in visions so he cried
the tears shall run like rivers of the canyon and deep erode the wasted skin
of cheek and jowl
they drip upon a table or a well walked circle on the floor
or maybe on the darkest pillow until a speck of sleep kills all
and despite the many pleas and hansome pledge of meals
he fades away
but unlike Lizzie
he dies
a silent and a lonesome death
deep within the dark bowels
of a dark room filled with longing and thick rent sorrow
deep walls to guide him through the maze between life and the next existence
and maybe left with the faint glow of censored graffiti on their chalky surface
a barely rendered message
and in his passing a lesson is read and learnt
it is learnt by you and i
it is learnt by the village and its many comrades
and it is learnt by all the earth
so much that each morning as the dusky sun arises
so a dove will fly
and flapping hovering by the door not entering in
will cu cu cu curu
the song doves leave for passing strangers
in commemoration
couldnt find Julie Felix version ..
harry belafonte live
Isoltis
geneve gil translation services
Mike Burr