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Musings from the Bunker 6/27/20

Good morning,

 

MUSIC

John Fogerty is the focus this week. He has been at the forefront of entertainment while in quarantine. I’m sure everyone remembers the extraordinarily talented John Fogerty, lead singer for Creedence Clearwater Revival (“Proud Mary,” “Bad Moon Rising,” etc.), with a successful career as a soloist (“Centerfield”). Here is the “Fogerty Factory” performing Bill Withers’s “Lean on Me” in honor of Black lives matter: https://twitter.com/John_Fogerty/status/1273862434973822985?ref_src=twsrc%5Egoogle%7Ctwcamp%5Eserp%7Ctwgr%5Etweet

Here’s John singing “Fortunate Son” and other tunes from quarantine: http://www.hennemusic.com/2020/06/john-fogerty-performs-creedence.html

And here he is doing, “Who’ll Stop the Rain” from quarantine: https://www.facebook.com/johnfogerty/videos/family-quarantine-jam-down-on-the-corner/214346346462829/

And for those who love John, my memory is from a Dodger game in the 80s. I’m sitting with Mark DiMaria, who spots Fogerty a few rows away and shouts “John Fogerty. You’re the best!” John’s response was the same unspectacular, quizzical look any of us might have to the ravings of a crazy person…

I’m not sure how much I like this song but the title, “Lonely,” certainly fits with the theme of sheltering in place. Meanwhile, this song gets kudos for best lyric of the year: “I say that I'm lonely but baby that don't mean I want you”:

http://thebaybridged.com/2020/03/02/bay-area-voices-rittybo-and-kezia-drop-new-song-lonely/

 

POETRY

Hope is the Thing with Feathers

--Emily Dickenson, 1861

Hope” is the thing with feathers - That perches in the soul - And sings the tune without the words - And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard - And sore must be the storm - That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm -

I've heard it in the chillest land - And on the strangest Sea - Yet - never - in Extremity, It asked a crumb - of me.

Harlem

--Langston Hughes

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up

like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore— And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over— like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags

like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

Have a great weekend,

Glenn


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