THE WATERS of MARCH ~by Antonio Carlos Jobim
"A stick, a stone, it's the end of the road
It's the rest of a stump, it's a little alone
It's a sliver of glass, it is life, it's the sun
It is night, it is death, it's a trap, it's a gun
The oak when it blooms, a fox in the brush
A knot in the wood, the song of a thrush
The wood of the wind, a cliff, a fall
A scratch, a lump, it is nothing at all
It's the wind blowing free, it's the end of the slope
It's a beam it's a void, it's a hunch, it's a hope
And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It's the end of the strain
The joy in your heart
The foot, the ground, the flesh and the bone
The beat of the road, a slingshot's stone
A fish, a flash, a silvery glow
A fight, a bet the fange of a bow
The bed of the well, the end of the line
The dismay in the face, it's a loss, it's a find
A spear, a spike, a point, a nail
A drip, a drop, the end of the tale
A truckload of bricks in the soft morning light
The sound of a shot in the dead of the night
A mile, a must, a thrust, a bump,
It's a girl, it's a rhyme, it's a cold, it's the mumps
The plan of the house, the body in bed
And the car that got stuck, it's the mud, it's the mud
A float, a drift, a flight, a wing
A hawk, a quail, the promise of spring
And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It's the promise of life, it's the joy in your heart
A stick, a stone, it's the end of the road
It's the rest of a stump, it's a little alone
A snake, a stick, it is John, it is Joe
It's a thorn in your hand and a cut in your toe
A point, a grain, a bee, a bite
A blink, a buzzard, a sudden stroke of night
A pin, a needle, a sting a pain
A snail, a riddle, a wasp, a stain
A pass in the mountains, a horse and a mule
In the distance the shelves rode three shadows of blue
And the river talks of the waters of March
It's the promise of life in your heart
A stick, a stone, the end of the road
The rest of a stump, a lonesome road
A sliver of glass, a life, the sun
A knife, a death, the end of the run
And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It's the end of all strain, it's the joy in your heart.
It may not be one of my favorite Jobin melodies ~ like The Girl from Ipanema or Desafinado, but the lyrics,
and especially the colors I see in my mind when I read these words, were enough to continue to forge ahead with a rather stubborn watercolor
I was lingering on, which I have eventually named exactly as HIS song. The month of March and the exit of snow will inevitably bring
out things of dull and dead hues, especially on cloudy days : Sticks, lost gloves, dead foliage, mice trails...whatever you could name,
it's all there. I don't encourage the reader to examine all of his words, but instead, go to You Tube and give a listen to whomever
singing the song. It truly is a Song of March.
Happy Spring...
rcg
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Listening to: Spotify,com
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Reading: East of Eden ~John Steinbeck
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Watching: Mr Selfridge (BBC/PBS)
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Playing: Trying to imitate Bill Evans on my spinet!!
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Eating: Lot of leftovers (my son left home)
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Drinking: coffee - I'm Swedish - duh!
Sta.sh
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