For all that YouTube offers, could there not be an original album version of Bob Dylan's "Oh Sister?" Could the covers perhaps be categorized separately? No disrespect to those musicians, just the sincere yearning to hear, on demand, the song as it plays in my head.
So having said ix-nay to that morning jukebox tune, and wherever it was taking me, I landed instead on a Van Morrison original in which my favorite part, and they are all grand, is the spoken-word segment..."I didn't know you stayed up so late..." and "...gotta play this Muddy Waters..." and more. The surely not-by-chance encounter he depicts stirs personal memory of a late-night caller in another century, another incarnation. A Dorian Laux poem, "Antilamentation," posted by Elizabeth a few days ago, begins with the admonishment to "Regret nothing..." It is some piece of writing, enhanced by her inclusion of a recorded reading. I saved it as an ideal, the exercise I practice in hope of coming close. I took as its message that I must pay even more attention, make (and write down) the connections of this to that, not settle for anything less than the perfect word, the searing image, the truth. I've learned that, even in conversation before it becomes writing, clarity is my most reliable sidekick, a precision about what was, the straight razor cut that leaves nothing befogged. There is my assignment for today, for the rest of my days. And before the mail is collected tomorrow, I also have an art commitment to be completed with the same fervent intention. Not doing things by half-measures take a lot out of a girl. Let me rest a while in the music.