Joanna Newsom- Sawdust & Diamonds
so, it’s finally happened. it has taken me a long time to post one of joanna’s songs. why? because i hate the criticism aimed at her singing voice and her lyrics. i take it personally. i can’t explain it. i like many other artists whom few other people like, but i don’t mind it. however, when people deride her, i’m prepared to duel. i’m talking pistols and ten paces. yes, her voice is unusual. yes, she squeaks at times. yes, this song is ten minutes long. so what? give her a shot people! why am i yelling??
ok. i’m glad i got that off my chest. *ahem* anyway, ‘sawdust & diamonds’ is my favorite songs on the brilliant album ys. it’s one of my favorite songs, period. a while back i said i would begin to post some of my favorite songs, rather than songs i like. i had this song in mind when i said that. my ipod is set to shuffle at all times. this is one of the few songs i don’t skip…well, i don’t skip it that often. it doesn’t matter what mood i’m in or what i feel like hearing; i will listen to this song. i like everything about it- and i’ll defend it to the death!
from the top of the flight
of the wide, white stairs
through the rest of my life
do you wait for me there?
there’s a bell in my ears
there’s a wide white roar
drop a bell down the stairs
hear it fall forevermore
drop a bell off of the dock
blot it out in the sea
drowning mute as a rock;
sounding mutiny
there’s a light in the wings, hits this system of strings
from the side while they swing;
see the wires, the wires, the wires
and the articulation
in our elbows and knees
makes us buckle as we couple in endless increase
as the audience admires
and the little white dove
made with love, made with love:
made with glue, and a glove, and some pliers
swings a low sickle arc
from its perch in the dark:
settle down
settle down my desire
and the moment I slept I was swept up in a terrible tremor
though no longer bereft, how I shook!
and I couldn’t remember
then the furthermost shake drove a murdering stake in
and cleft me right down through my center
and I shouldn’t say so, but I know that it was then, or never
push me back into a tree
bind my buttons with salt
fill my long ears with bees
praying: please, please, please
love, you ought not!
no you ought not!
then the system of strings tugs on the tip of my wings
(cut from cardboard and old magazines)
makes me warble and rise like a sparrow
and in the place where I stood, there is a circle of wood
a cord or two, which you chop and you stack in your barrow
it is terribly good to carry water and chop wood
streaked with soot, heavy booted and wild-eyed
as I crash through the rafters
and the ropes and pulleys trail after
and the holiest belfry burns sky-high
then the slow lip of fire moves across the prairie with precision
while, somewhere, with your pliers and glue you make your first incision
and in a moment of almost-unbearable vision
doubled over with the hunger of lions
“hold me close,” cooed the dove
who was stuffed now with sawdust and diamonds
I wanted to say: why the long face?
sparrow, perch and play songs of long face
burro, buck and bray songs of long face!
sing: I will swallow your sadness and eat your cold clay
just to lift your long face
and though it may be madness, I will take to the grave
your precious longface
and though our bones they may break, and our souls separate
- why the long face?
and though our bodies recoil from the grip of the soil
- why the long face?
in the trough of the waves
which are pawing like dogs
pitch we, pale-faced and grave
as I write in my log
then I hear a noise from the hull
seven days out to sea
and it is the damnable bell!
and it tolls - well, I believe, that it tolls - for me!
it tolls for me!
though my wrists and my waist seemed so easy to break
still, my dear, I would have walked you to the very edge of the water
and they will recognise all the lines of your face
in the face of the daughter of the daughter of my daughter
darling, we will be fine, but what was yours and mine
appears to be a sandcastle that the gibbering wave takes
but if it’s all just the same, then will you say my name:
say my name in the morning, so I know when the wave breaks?
I wasn’t born of a whistle or milked from a thistle at twilight
no, I was all horns and thorns, sprung out fully formed, knock-kneed and upright
so: enough of this terror
we deserve to know light
and grow evermore lighter and lighter
you would have seen me through
but I could not undo that desire
oh, desire…
from the top of the flight
of the wide, white stairs
through the rest of my life
do you wait for me there?
-the skinny miracle
