The Northern Lights of Old Aberdeen

Mary Webb

When I was a lad, a tiny wee lad My mither said tae me Come see the Northern Lights my child They’re bright as they can be She called them the heavenly dancers Merry dancers in the sky I’ll never forget, that wonderful sight They made the heavens bright

The northern lights of old Aberdeen Mean home sweet home tae me The northern lights of Aberdeen Are what I long tae see I’ve been a wanderer all o my life Any many a sight I’ve seen God speed the day when l’m on my way To my home in Aberdeen

I’ve wandered in mony far-aff lands And traivelled mony a mile I’ve missed the folk I’ve cherished most The joy o a friendly smile It warms up the hairt o a wand’rer The clasp of a welcomin hand Tae greet me when, I return Hame tae my native land

The northern lights of old Aberdeen Mean home sweet home tae me The northern lights of Aberdeen Are what I long tae see I’ve been a wanderer all o my life Any monys the sight I’ve seen God speed the day when l’m on my way To my home in Aberdeen

Here, sung by the Alexander Brothers - theirs is the version I grew up with. But the renditions I remember best are those from the ceilidhs held in the Sonachan Hotel, on Ardnamurchan, back in the 70's.

Raising a dram for John MacPhail, Eddy Rose, et al.

No poem today. Instead, this...

Today's Poem:

Hagia Sophia, by Thomas Merton

Today's poem:

The Rose That Grew From Concrete

Tupac Shakur

Did you hear about the rose that grew from a crack in the concrete? Proving nature's law is wrong it learned to walk with out having feet. Funny it seems, but by keeping its dreams, it learned to breathe fresh air. Long live the rose that grew from concrete when no one else ever cared.

You're the Top - written by Cole Porter, belted by Ethel Merman

At words poetic, I'm so pathetic That I always have found it best Instead of getting 'em off my chest, To let 'em rest—unexpressed. I hate parading my serenading, As I'll probably miss a bar, But if this ditty is not so pretty, At least it'll tell you how great you are.

You're the top! You're the Coliseum. You're the top! You're the Louvre Museum. You're the melody from a symphony by Strauss. You're a Bendel bonnet, A Shakespeare sonnet, You're Mickey Mouse!

You're the Nile! You're the Tow'r of Pisa. You're the smile on the Mona Lisa. I'm a worthless check, a total wreck, a flop! But if baby I'm the bottom, you're the top! You're the top! You're Mahatma Gandhi. You're the top! You're Napoleon brandy. You're the purple light of a summer night in Spain. You're the National Gallery; you're Garbo's salary, You're cellophane!

You're sublime; you're a turkey dinner. You're the time of the Derby Winner. I'm a toy balloon that's fated soon to pop; But if baby I'm the bottom, you're the top!

You're the top! You're an Arrow collar. You're the top! You're a Coolidge dollar. You're the nimble tread of the feet of Fred Astaire. You're an O'Neill drama; you're Whistler's mama; you're Camembert.

You're a rose; You're Inferno's Dante. You're the nose on the great Durante. I'm just in the way. As the French would say, "de trop." But if, baby, I'm the bottom, You're the top!

You're the top! You're a Waldorf salad. You're the top! You're a Berlin ballad. You're the baby grand of a lady and a gent You're an old Dutch master, You're Mrs. Astor, You're Pepsodent!

You're romance, You're the steppes of Russia, You're the pants On a Roxy usher. I'm a lazy lout that's just about to stop

But if, baby, I'm the bottom, You're the top!

Today’s poem, a song lyric

Fly Me To The Moon

sung here by Julie London (1964)

Fly me to the moon And let me play among the stars Let me see what spring is like On Jupiter and Mars

In another words, hold my hand In another words, darling, kiss me

Fill my heart with song And let me sing forevermore You are all I longed for All I worship and adore

In another words, please, be true In another words, I love you

Fill my heart with song And let me sing forevermore You are all I longed for All I worship and adore

In another words, please, be true In another words, I love you

Today's poem:

Blow, Blow Thou Winter Wind - William Shakespeare.

Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind is a song sung by the Character Amiens in William Shakespeare's play “As you like it” 1599-1600.

Here sung by Al Bowlly.

Blow, blow, thou winter wind,

   Thou art not so unkind

      As man’s ingratitude;

   Thy tooth is not so keen,

Because thou art not seen,

      Although thy breath be rude.

Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:

Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:

   Then, heigh-ho, the holly!

      This life is most jolly.

   Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,

   That dost not bite so nigh

      As benefits forgot:

   Though thou the waters warp,

      Thy sting is not so sharp

      As friend remembered not.

Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly...

No poem today. Instead, this gem from1938. 

Back Bay Shuffle - Artie Shaw & Orchestra.

(The cognoscenti will get it)

Today's poem is a song lyric:

Pasadena - lyrics by Al Jolson

Oh you railway station! Oh you Pullman Train! There's my reservation For my destination, Far beyond the western plains To see my home in Pasadena. Home where grass is greener Where honeybees Hum melodies And orange trees scent the breeze. I'm gonna be a home-sweet-homer And there I'll settle down Beneath the palms In someone's arms In Pasadena town.

Where honeybees hum melodies And orange trees scent the breeze.

Beneath the palms In someone's arms In Pasadena town.

Today's poem: an old, old song lyric -

"Take Me Out to the Ball Game" is a 1908 Tin Pan Alley song by Jack Norworth and Albert Von Tilzer which has become the unofficial anthem of North American baseball, although neither of its authors had attended a game before writing the song. The song's chorus is traditionally sung as part of the seventh-inning stretch of a baseball game. Fans are generally encouraged to sing along, and at some ballparks, the words "home team" are replaced with the team name.

Katie Casey was baseball mad, Had the fever and had it bad. Just to root for the home town crew, Ev'ry sou Katie blew. On a Saturday her young beau Called to see if she'd like to go To see a show, but Miss Kate said "No, I'll tell you what you can do:"

Chorus

Take me out to the ball game, Take me out with the crowd; Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack, I don't care if I never get back. Let me root, root, root for the home team, If they don't win, it's a shame. For it's one, two, three strikes, you're out, At the old ball game.

The Skye Boat Song - Ella Roberts

"The Skye Boat Song" is a late 19th-century Scottish song adaptation of a Gaelic song composed c.1782 by William Ross, entitled Cuachag nan Craobh ("Cuckoo of the Tree"). In the original song, the composer laments to a cuckoo that his unrequited love, Lady Marion Ross, is rejecting him. The 19th century English lyrics instead evoked the journey of Prince Charles Edward Stuart ("Bonnie Prince Charlie") from Benbecula to the Isle of Skye as he evaded capture by government soldiers after his defeat at the Battle of Culloden, in 1746.

Speed bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing Onward! The sailors cry Carry the lad that's born to be King Over the sea to Skye

Loud the wind howls, loud the waves roar Thunderclaps rend the air Baffled our foes, stand on the shore Follow, they will not dare

Speed bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing Onward! The sailors cry Carry the lad that's born to be King Over the sea to Skye

Many's the lad fought on that day Well, the claymore did wield When the night came, silently lain Dead on Culloden field

Speed bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing Onward! The sailors cry Carry the lad that's born to be King Over the sea to Skye

Though the waves leap, soft will ye sleep Ocean's a royal bed Rocked in the deep, Flora will keep Watch by your weary head

Speed bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing Onward! The sailors cry Carry the lad that's born to be King Over the sea to Skye

Ebenezer Goode

Song lyric from The Shamen

A great philosopher once wrote Naughty, naughty Very naughty (ha Ha Ha Ha)

There's a guy in the place who's got a bittersweet face And he goes by the name of Ebeneezer Goode His friends call him 'Ezeer and he is the main geezer And he'll vibe up the place like no other man could He's refined, sublime, he makes you feel fine Though very much maligned and misunderstood But if you know 'Ezeer he's a real crowd pleaser He's ever so good, he's Ebeneezer Goode

You can see that he's mischievous, mysterious and devious As he circulates amongst the people in the place But once you know he's fun, and something of a genius He gives a grin that goes around from face to face Backwards and then forwards, forwards and then backwards 'Eezer is the geezer who loves to muscle in That's about the time the crowd all shout the name of 'Eezer As he's kotcheled in the corner, laughing by the bass bin

'Eezer Goode, 'Eezer Goode, He's Ebeneezer Goode, 'Eezer Goode, 'Eezer Goode, He's Ebeneezer Goode, 'Eezer Goode, 'Eezer Goode, He's Ebeneezer Goode, 'Eezer Goode, 'Eezer Goode, He's Ebeneezer Goode He's Ebeneezer Goode

Has anyone got any Vera's? Lovely Ya, ha, ha, ha Ya, ha, ha, ha

A Great Philosopher once wrote Naughty, Naughty, Very Naughty (ha Ha Ha Ha)

Ebeneezer Goode, leading light of the scene, know what I mean? He created the vibe, He takes you for a ride as if by design The party ignites like it's comin' alive He takes you to the top, shakes you all around Then back down, you know as he gets mellow Then as smooth as the groove that is making you move He glides into your mind with a sunny "Hello!" A gentleman of leisure, he's there for your pleasure But go easy on old 'Ezeer, he's the love you could lose

Extraordinary fellow, like Mr Punchinello He's the kind of geezer who must never be abused When you're in town and Ebeneezer is around You can sense a presence in the sound of the crowd He gets them all at it, the party starts rocking, the people get excited It's time to shout loud!

'Eezer Goode, 'Eezer Goode, He's Ebeneezer Goode, 'Eezer Goode, 'Eezer Goode, He's Ebeneezer Goode, 'Eezer Goode, 'Eezer Goode, He's Ebeneezer Goode, 'Eezer Goode, 'Eezer Goode, He's Ebeneezer Goode

He's Ebeneezer Goode He's Ebeneezer Goode, 'Eezer Goode, 'Eezer Goode 'Eezer Goode, 'Eezer Goode, He's Ebeneezer Goode

Got any Salmon — sorted Ya, ha, ha, ha Ya, ha, ha, ha

'Eezer Goode, 'Eezer Goode 'Eezer Goode, 'Eezer Goode Oh, what a carry on (ha Ha Ha Ha) 'Eezer Goode, 'Eezer Goode Wicked

'Eezer Goode, 'Eezer Goode, He's Ebeneezer Goode He's Ebeneezer Goode Oh, what a carry on,

He's Ebeneezer Goode (ha Ha Ha Ha), 'Eezer Goode, 'Eezer Goode Wicked 'Eezer Goode, 'Eezer Goode, He's Ebeneezer Goode He's Ebeneezer Goode

Today's poem is a song lyric that celebrates drug use and the club scene, from 1992. This stomping tune from The Shamen created a furore. It was, initially, denied air play by the BBC because of its 'endorsement' of drug use.

Today's poem is a Handel aria from the opera Rinaldo, composed in 1711.

Let me weep

Giacoma Rossi / Handel

Let me weep over my cruel fate, And that I long for freedom! And that I long, and that I long for freedom! Let me weep over my cruel fate, And that I long for freedom!

Let me weep over my cruel fate, And that I long for freedom! And that I long, and that I long for freedom! Let me weep over my cruel fate, And that I long for freedom!

Oregon State Hospital

Roberto Cabrera

translated from the Protactile by John Lee Clark

Wandering in the museum I came across a woman’s story.

Let us conjure her up in the form of a fist.

First, they knocked her head and they said, Tsk-tsk.

Next, they zapped her and they said, Huh.

Next, they shone lights in her face and they said, Phooey.

Finally, they bored a hole here and another here.

Her head tilted gently to the side and they said, Aha.

Today's poem:

A song lyric from Rogers and Hart, sung by Judy Garland.

You're Nearer

You're nearer, than my head is to my pillow Nearer, than the wind is to the willow Dearer, than the rain is to the earth below Precious as the sun to the things that grow You're nearer, than the ivy to the wall is Nearer, than the winter to the fall is Leave me, but when you're away, you'll know You're nearer, for I love you so!

Stanley Holloway recites Albert and the Lion, by Marriott Edgar

There's a famous seaside place called Blackpool, That's noted for fresh air and fun, And Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom Went there with young Albert, their son. A grand little lad was young Albert, All dressed in his best; quite a swell With a stick with an 'orse's 'ead 'andle, The finest that Woolworth's could sell. They didn't think much to the ocean: The waves, they was piddlin' and small, There was no wrecks and nobody drownded, Fact, nothing to laugh at at all. So, seeking for further amusement, They paid and went into the Zoo, Where they'd Lions and Tigers and Camels, And old ale and sandwiches too. There were one great big Lion called Wallace; His nose were all covered with scars — He lay in a somnolent posture, With the side of his face on the bars. Now Albert had heard about Lions, How they was ferocious and wild  — To see Wallace lying so peaceful, Well, it didn't seem right to the child. So straightway the brave little feller, Not showing a morsel of fear, Took his stick with its 'orse's 'ead 'andle And pushed it in Wallace's ear. You could see that the Lion didn't like it, For giving a kind of a roll, He pulled Albert inside the cage with 'im, And swallowed the little lad 'ole. Then Pa, who had seen the occurrence, And didn't know what to do next, Said 'Mother! Yon Lion's ate Albert', And Mother said 'Well, I am vexed!' Then Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom — Quite rightly, when all's said and done — Complained to the Animal Keeper, That the Lion had eaten their son. The keeper was quite nice about it; He said 'What a nasty mishap. Are you sure that it's your boy he's eaten?' Pa said "Am I sure? There's his cap!' The manager had to be sent for. He came and he said 'What's to do?' Pa said 'Yon Lion's 'et Albert, 'And 'im in his Sunday clothes, too.' Then Mother said, 'Right's right, young feller; I think it's a shame and a sin, For a lion to go and eat Albert, And after we've paid to come in.' The manager wanted no trouble, He took out his purse right away, Saying 'How much to settle the matter?' And Pa said "What do you usually pay?' But Mother had turned a bit awkward When she thought where her Albert had gone. She said 'No! someone's got to be summonsed' — So that was decided upon. Then off they went to the P'lice Station, In front of the Magistrate chap; They told 'im what happened to Albert, And proved it by showing his cap. The Magistrate gave his opinion That no one was really to blame And he said that he hoped the Ramsbottoms Would have further sons to their name. At that Mother got proper blazing, 'And thank you, sir, kindly,' said she. 'What waste all our lives raising children To feed ruddy Lions? Not me!'

A Boy Named Sue

Shel Silverstein, made famous by Johnny Cash

My daddy left home when I was three And he didn’t leave much to Ma and me, Just this old guitar and an empty bottle of booze. Now, I don’t blame him cause he run and hid, But the meanest thing that he ever did Was before he left, he went and named me “Sue”! Well, he must’ve thought that is was quite a joke And it got a lot of laughs from lots of folk. It seems I had to fight my whole life through. Some gal would giggle and I’d get red And some guy’d laugh and I’d bust his head. I tell you, life ain’t easy for a boy named “Sue”!

Well, I grew up quick and I grew up mean; My fist got hard and my wits got keen. I’d roam from town to town to hide my shame. But I made me a vow to the moon and stars That I’d search the honky-tonks and bars And kill that man that gave me that awful name.

Well, it was Gatlinburg in mid-July And I just hit town and my throat was dry. I thought I’d stop and have myself a brew. At an old saloon on a street of mud, There at a table, dealing stud, Sat the dirty, mangy dog that named me “Sue”.

Well, I knew that snake was my own sweet dad From a worn-out picture that my mother’d had, And I knew that scar on his cheek and his evil eye. He was big and bent and grey and old, And I looked at him and my blood ran cold And I said: “My name is Sue! How do you do! Now you gonna die!!”

Well, I hit him hard right between the eyes, And he went down but, to my surprise, He came up with a knife and cut off a piece of my ear! So I busted a chair right across his teeth And we crashed through the wall and into the street Kicking and gouging in the mud and the blood and the beer.

I tell you, I’ve fought tougher men, But I really can’t remember when! He kicked like a mule and he bit like a crocodile! I heard him laugh, and then he cursed; He went for his gun, but I pulled mine first. He stood there lookin’ at me and I saw him smile,

And he said, “Son, this world is rough And if a man’s gonna make it, he’s gotta be tough, And I knew I wouldn’t be there to help you along. So I gave you that name and I said goodbye; I knew you’d have to get tough or die! It’s that name that helped to make you strong!”

He said, “Now you just fought one hell of a fight, And I know you hate me, and you got the right To kill me now, and I wouldn’t blame you if you do. But you ought to thank me, before I die, For the gravel in your guts and the spit in your eye Cause I’m the son of a bitch that named you Sue!”

I got all choked up and I threw down my gun And I called him Pa, and he called me Son, And I came away with a different point of view. And I think about him, now and then, Every time I try and every time I win, And if I ever have a son, I think I’m gonna name him Bill or George! Anything damn thing but Sue! I still hate that name!