robert hunter: poet
by
Douglas Messerli
I associated pop music, unfortunately,
with the television series of my time—mostly dismissible. Luckily as I have
grown older I’ve learned, more than a few times, just what I was missing.
Perhaps if Howard and I had a son or daughter we might have reached out to
comprehend interests outside of our basically purist approach to the arts.
I still believe Hunter’s lyrics were
often kind of “tutti-frutti,” meaning somewhat senseless and simply clever, but
I do very like his inner-rhymes, and the way he moves forward sometimes by
going backwards in his ruminations. This from “Scarlet Begonias”:
As
I was walkin' 'round Grosvenor Square
Not
a chill to the winter but a nip to the air
From
the other direction, she was calling my eye
It
could be an illusion, but I might as well try, might as well try
She
had rings on her fingers and bells on her shoes
And
I knew without askin' she was into the blues
She
wore scarlet begonias tucked into her curls
I
knew right away she was not like other girls, other girls
In
the thick of the evening when the dealing got rough
She
was too pat to open and too cool to bluff
As
I picked up my matches and was closing the door
I
had one of those flashes I'd been there before, been there before
A
girl walkin’ round Grosvenor Square with scarlet begonias tucked in her hair
would be, given my sexual orientation, a person I might not even notice, let
alone experience a kind of déjà vu experience about. But then Hunter had
long been an experimenter, sometimes without his knowledge through a covert CIA
research project in drugs such as LSD, psilocybin and mescaline, and evidently
grew to love them.
But he was certainly a poet in hiding in
the internal off-rhyming of “matches” and “flashes” and in the novel metaphor
of “calling my eye”; and anyone who can find a reason to rhyme “shoes” and “blues”
or “rough” and “bluff” is all right with me. Even Sondheim with his eternally
clever rhyming doesn’t quite reach there.
The quirky lyrics of his “Truckin’”
confirm a kind of pop poetic imagination:
Truckin'
got my chips cashed in
Keep
truckin' like the doodah man
Together,
more or less in line
Just
keep truckin' on
Arrows
of neon and flashing marquees out on Main Street
Chicago,
New York, Detroit and its all the same street
Your
typical city involved in a typical daydream
Hang
it up and see what tomorrow brings
Dallas
got a soft machine
Houston
too close to New Orleans
New
York got the ways and means
But
just won't let you be
I’ve never been interesting much in trucks
either, but here the idea of driving a truck down the long Main Street of US
cities with their “Arrows of neon and flashing marquees,” “Chicago, New York,
Detroit,” and later Houston and New Orleans—becoming a kind of metaphor for the
“doodah man,” the standard word for back-up singer of music groups who against
all odds, in this case, keeps moving on—is a quite wonderful tale of an
individual who hangs up his or her dreams to explore “typical cities involved
in typical daydreams.” I don’t think you might be able to describe the American
Dream any better than this. The point is to just keep moving, as our settlers
did, trying to find a new paradise anywhere they might. Hunter perhaps captures
the “soft machine” of US mobility (and sometimes flexibility) better than almost
anyone in this song. Where are we going, nowhere, just “out-there” he seems to
be arguing.
In “Uncle John’s Band,” Hunter seems to
enticing us join another “band,” a chorus of voices that might take us away
from “the hardest days,” while yet warning us that whenever we think we are on “Easy
Street, there is danger at your door.” In short, the poet/songwriter demands we
go to a more difficult world or acoustical experience, that of “Uncle John’s
Band,” a world that with his repeated cry of “Wo, oh,” suggests the call of death.
Here, unlike almost any pop lyrics, the
writer asks the listener to “to think it through with him,” and even to respond,
to share his own views. What do you think about death, he seems to be asking.
Are you ready to join it or deny it. “Come with me, or go alone, he's come to
take his children home,” almost echoes so many black spirituals of the 19th
century and Peter Gabriel’s lyrics for The Righteous Brothers: "Son’, he
said, ‘grab your things, I've come to take you home’."
Well
the first days are the hardest days, don't you worry any more,
'Cause
when life looks like Easy Street, there is danger at your door.
Think
this through with me, let me know your mind,
Wo,
oh, what I want to know, is are you kind?
It's
a buck dancer's choice my friend; better take my advice.
You
know all the rules by now and the fire from the ice.
Will
you come with me? Won't you come with me?
Wo,
oh, what I want to know, will you come with me?
Goddamn,
well I declare, have you seen the like?
Their
wall are built of cannonballs, their motto is "Don't tread on me".
Come
hear Uncle John'n Band playing to the tide,
Come
with me, or go alone, he's come to take his children home.
It's
the same story the crow told me; it's the only one he knows.
Like
the morning sun you come and like the wind you go.
Ain't
no time to hate, barely time to wait,
Wo,
oh, what I want to know, where does the time go?
“That’s
a process of vacuuming that stuff out, by having other models. One of the
things that has cleaned my act up was falling in love with the Language poets.”
Silberman asks him “How did that happen?
Hunter answers: “It was as simple as
buying Doug Messerli's The Language Poets [“Language” Poetries: An Anthology,
published by New Directions in 1987]. I opened it in the store and said,
"Whoo!--This is like the stuff I used to write 25 years ago at the depths
of my madness." Then I got Ron Silliman's book, In the American Tree
[a book I distributed] and read all the way through that. This was speaking
directly to me. I got interested in the individual poets, and started building
a collection, and then I invited Lyn Hejinian and Carla Harriman [Harryman] to
read with me. The freedom that Language poetry opened up helped to dust away
the Victorian cobwebs from my own work.”
I was startled to read this, from an
interview which I’d never encountered before. And suddenly I realized that I, not
in person, but in spirit at least, met Robert Hunter before.
Los
Angeles, September 29, 2019
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