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The Dangling Conversation
Hear it at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nntOYUODSV0
Lyrics:
It’s a still-life watercolor
Of a now late afternoon
As the sun shines through the curtain lace
And shadows wash the room
And we sit and drink our coffee
Couched in our indifference
Like shells upon the shore
You can hear the ocean roar
In the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs
The borders of our lives
And you read your Emily Dickinson
And I my Robert Frost
And we note our places with bookmarkers
That measure what we’ve lost
Like a poem poorly written
We are verses out of rhythm
Couplets out of rhyme
In syncopated time
And the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs
Are the borders of our lives
Yes,we speak of thing that matter
With words that must be said
“Can analysis be worthwhile?”
“Is the theatre really dead?”
And how the room is softly faded
And I only kiss your shadow
I cannot feel your hand
You’re a stranger now unto me
Lost in the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs
In the borders of our lives
Comments:
Of a now late afternoon
As the sun shines through the curtain lace
And shadows wash the room
And we sit and drink our coffee
Couched in our indifference
Like shells upon the shore
You can hear the ocean roar
In the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs
The borders of our lives
And you read your Emily Dickinson
And I my Robert Frost
And we note our places with bookmarkers
That measure what we’ve lost
Like a poem poorly written
We are verses out of rhythm
Couplets out of rhyme
In syncopated time
And the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs
Are the borders of our lives
Yes,we speak of thing that matter
With words that must be said
“Can analysis be worthwhile?”
“Is the theatre really dead?”
And how the room is softly faded
And I only kiss your shadow
I cannot feel your hand
You’re a stranger now unto me
Lost in the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs
In the borders of our lives
Comments:
- The lyrics, about failed communication between lovers (symbolised by the differences in the poetry they read – she reads Emily Dickinson, he reads Robert Frost), are quite poetic.
- Some commentator’s words from online forums:
“The slow disintegration of a relationship... but neither knows how to step up and say anything, but both know it's happening. Each seems to be too deeply withdrawn into his and her own worlds to reach out to the other.”
“...they note their place with book-markers that measure what they've lost. As they've spent their time in this suspended form of communication and the time they've wasted is measured in pages turned. “
- The song started life as a single, being the B side of The Big Bright Green Pleasure Machine. It didn’t do well and was added to the Parsley, Sage, Rosemary & Thyme album.
- Joan Baez included a cover of the song on her 1967 Joan album. She changed one of the lines to "Is the church really dead?" and Simon insisted that a line be inserted on the album's back cover that read: "Paul Simon asks Joan to note that the original line is, 'Is the theatre really dead?'"
Flowers Never Bend with the Rainfall
Hear it at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fd-DvSTBq1o
Lyrics:
If you thought the lyrics for The Dangling Conversation were difficult, grapple with these:
Through the corridors of sleep
Past the shadows dark and deep
My mind dances and leaps in confusion.
I don't know what is real,
I can't touch what I feel
And I hide behind the shield of my illusion.
So I'll continue to continue to pretend
My life will never end,
And Flowers Never Bend With The Rainfall.
The mirror on my wall
Casts an image dark and small
But I'm not sure at all it's my reflection.
I am blinded by the light
Of God and truth and right
And I wander in the night without direction.
So I'll continue to continue to pretend
My life will never end,
And Flowers Never Bend With The Rainfall.
It's no matter if you're born
To play the King or pawn
For the line is thinly drawn 'tween joy and sorrow,
So my fantasy
Becomes reality,
And I must be what I must be and face tomorrow.
So I'll continue to continue to pretend
My life will never end,
And Flowers Never Bend With The Rainfall
Comments:
- The singer is grappling with paradoxes:
What is illusion and what is not?
Is life worth anything or nothing?
Will he die or will he continue to pretend that he won’t?
Whether you are born to greatness or not, is it all meaningless?
- It appears that the singer is beset by depression and a sense of isolation, uncertainty and confusion.
- Nonetheless he remains positive: “I must be what I must be and face tomorrow.”
Nobody wanted, and probably it was for the better not, to admit that the second line after "yes, we talk of things that matter" was in its kernel, neither "is the theatre..." nor "is the church" but rather "is God..." since at that time, this particular question was the stuff of TIME and LIFE and was bouncing around an hundred other media organs and even the pulpit of the unitarian-universalist congregation i was a teeny little part of.... In fact, Nobody, but NO-fucking-BODY, questioned then if the theatre was really dead, and in fact if you lived through those times you would know that theatre was more alive than ever before or since, and breaking new ground all over the place in its conflict with mass media. So you can see where Paul Simon was coy, or acting in self-defense, or being facetious (what, Paul Simon being facetious?) when / if he insisted that Joan Baez include the little disclaimer. For my part, I think he was looking out for his own a--, which is what I would have done (especially given all the sh-- they had at the time of Dangling Conversation recently given John Lennon for his badly misconstrued comment on Beatallic popularity. But Paul Simon always possessed a better sense of humor than I ever dreamed of having, as well. Or, possibly he was writing out of cynicism by comparing God to the theatre, using the theatre as a metaphor for God/church, and while that could be supported, I rather doubt that was the main intention by any stretch. (The underlying angst at that time was how could a loving God permit the Viet Nam war, and Paul Simon was not all that far from having penned "Blessed".) ...On another tack, as much as I would like to construe the adverb "really" as important in asking the question, "Is ____ REALLY dead?" I ponder more that the word "really" is a smudge of sorts, since no one questioned whether either theatre or church was dead much less really dead. By smudge, of course, I mean that the choice of wording including "really" seems akin to formulaic disyllabic insertion, which Paul Simon rarely if ever resorts to, [in order to fill out a line of verse]. It's hard enough to find extraneous words in his work, but in so significant a context, "really" sticks out as glumpy--so I would conclude it is a smudge over whatever thought was originally there expressed, now entirely lost to us, rather than a metrical insertion. ...another note (on the diction) is that the variant "couched in our indifference" as I remember hearing it on the original vinyl, was an alternative to "CAST" and an inferior one. Any feeling human being sees that "cast" is by far the more poetic of the two, and without knowing anything for sure from my distant vantage point, it seems to me as though the choice of "Couched" was eventually re-thought and ultimately discarded in favor of the more natural and probably original verb appearing within the poet's otherwise brilliant imagery.
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