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Mimi on the Beach -- Jane Siberry

Guest poem submitted by J. Goard:
(Poem #1937) Mimi on the Beach
 I scan the horizon for you, Mimi,
 I scan for the both of us...
 I scan the horizon for you, Mimi,
 I stand and scan on the strand of sand,
 Stand and scan on the strand of sand...

 But first I'm sitting over here.
 See that gaggle of guys and girls?
 A typical day at the beach,
 Well, typical 'til I make my speech.

 There is a girl out on the sea,
 Floating on a pink surfboard,
 With a picnic lunch and parasol,
 Sitting there like a typical girl.

 Well, this is not a locker room,
 And that's a surfboard, not a yacht;
 The arrangement's not... quite... there...

 One girl laughs at skinny guys;
 someone else points out a queer.
 They're all jocks, both guys and girls:
 Press a button, take your cue.

 And see the girl with perfect teeth?
 She picks up lonely guys in bars,
 Then takes off when they've bought her drinks.
 "Don't you have money?" I ask - "Of course I do!"

 This is not a locker room, here,
 And that's a surfboard, not a yacht;
 The arrangement's not... quite... there...

 But the day was faultless in beauty,
 Pitched on tropical scenery
 Stretched from white sand up to the open sky
 Down to the shining sea again and then back  to me...
 And Mimi on the beach
 Mimi on the beach
 Mimi on the beach...
 Mimi on the beach
 Mimi on the beach
 Mimi and me...

 I'm still sitting over here.
 One guy just got up and brayed.
 They wag their words - they're all in heat -
 I can ignore it; just don't steam up the view.

 Mimi's still out on the sea,
 Floating on a pink surfboard;
 She's checking out her arms and legs
 In case her casing's getting burnt.

 This is not a locker room, here,
 And that's a surfboard, not a yacht;
 The arrangement's not... quite... quite... there...

 But the day was faultless in beauty,
 Pitched on tropical scenery
 Stretched from white sand up to the open sky
 Down to the shining sea again and then back to me...

 And Mimi on the beach
 Mimi on the beach
 Mimi on the beach...
 Mimi on the beach
 Mimi on the beach
 Mimi and me...

 You don't know me but I've been watching you all day,
 And I've come to the edge of the water now to have my say.
 The picnic lunch is off.  Throw your parasol away.
 Put your belly to the board, Mimi, and paddle out to sea,
 Then turn the board around, Mimi, until you're facing me,
 Then you wait for the waves to start building,
 For the valleys to deepen
 And the mountains to increase in height,
 And when the right time comes, Mimi,
 You grab the edges of the board with your hands,
 Lift yourself up and stand there
 And see as far as you can see...
 Stand up, Mimi.
 Stand up!

 I scan the horizon for you, Mimi,
 I scan for the both of us...
 I scan the horizon for you, Mimi,
 I stand and scan on the strand of sand,
 Stand and scan on the strand of sand...

 The great leveller is coming,
 And he's not going to stop to take your pulse,
 And he's not going to ask you why you're the way you are,
 And I think that's the worst part:
 You never get a chance to explain yourself.
 And he's going to take those mountains
 And shove them into the valleys
 Until there's nothing left except a vast expanse...
 And you'll float there, Mimi,
 On the flat Sargasso Sea of your soul...
 And if they pull you away from your bleaching pink surfboard
 And stretch you across the wind,
 You'll make no sound,
 Wet leaves on a dry map,
 Nothing,
 Nobody,
 The great leveller, or the great escape?

 But the day was faultless in beauty,
 Pitched on tropical scenery
 Stretched from white sand up to the open sky
 Down to the shining sea again and then back to me...

 And Mimi on the beach
 Mimi on the beach
 Mimi on the beach...
 Mimi on the beach
 Mimi on the beach
 Mimi and me...

 There's a girl out on the sea,
 Floating on a pink surfboard.
 A parasol floats nearby.
 The arrangement's not... quite... quite... there.
-- Jane Siberry
Jane Siberry (now, apparently, named "Issa") is probably the most
bizarre lyricist I've ever encountered, spinning dramatic monologues
that would seem too profoundly insane to be believable if she didn't
sell them so well with off-kilter rhythms and her quirky voice.  "Mimi
on the Beach" was her big indie hit from the early nineties, but I never
really registered its lyrics until recently.  I love this portrait of a
bitter wallflower -- or is it a homicidal stalker? -- fixated on the
singular importance of "Mimi and me", or, if you will, "me, me, and me".
"The great leveller is coming", indeed, but is it the inevitability of
death or aging, or the flatness of a "real world" outside of surfing, or
"me coming to kill you"?  (There is a sequel from a later album called
"Mimi Speaks", but I dislike its overly blunt attempt at resolution.)
However you hear it, it's a truly weird, cool song close to the heart of
"new wave".

J.

Untitled -- Michael Leunig

Guest poem sent in by Prachi Gupta
(Poem #1936) Untitled
 When the heart
 Is cut or cracked or broken
 Do not clutch it
 Let the wound lie open
 Let the wind
 From the good old sea blow in
 To bathe the wound with salt

 Let a stray dog lick it
 Let a bird lean in the hole and sing
 A simple song like a tiny bell
 And let it ring
 Let it go.  Let it out.
 Let it all unravel.
 Let it free and it can be
 A path on which to travel.
-- Michael Leunig
This is a poem without a title, by the Australian writer, poet, cartoonist,
philosopher, Michael Leunig. I first discovered Leunig about 10 years ago
when a cousin gifted me one of his books, I have followed his work ever
since and have always found it endearing and enchanting. Like this poem
here, he talks of simple things around us, within us and talks of them in an
amazingly simple and human way; and reading his work mostly opens a tiny
window somewhere in the heart.

I hope everyone enjoys this!

Prachi

[Links]

Wikipedia entry:
  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michael_Leunig

Leunig's official site:
  http://www.leunig.com.au/

The Armful -- Robert Frost

Guest poem sent in by Pavithra Sankaran

Something Genevieve Aquino said about packing and putting things away [1]
reminded me of this quiet gem by Robert Frost:
(Poem #1935) The Armful
 For every parcel I stoop down to seize
 I lose some other off my arms and knees,
 And the whole pile is slipping, bottles, buns
 Extremes too hard to comprehend at once,
 Yet nothing I should care to leave behind.
 With all I have to hold with hand and mind
 And heart, if need be, I will do my best
 To keep their building balanced at my breast.
 I crouch down to prevent them as they fall;
 Then sit down in the middle of them all.
 I had to drop the armful in the road
 And try to stack them in a better load.
-- Robert Frost
A graceful, calm poem about clumsy, inadequate but all too human attempts
at gathering and keeping everything that matters. As I grow older and watch
others a generation older than me fade into their sunset years, I realise
unhappily that neither the human mind nor heart really have all the space
we imagine (and hope) they do. But if there is indeed a way of stacking
memory and other love-tinsel in "better load", would that I learn it one
day!

Pavithra Sankaran

[1] see the comments to poem #1935:
  http://groups.yahoo.com/group/minstrels/message/2018