One of the things in my job description as a “writer” is to ping people with quality things that might touch their soul and being. I know it is what I search for in writers I read. For example, one of our members that I read with fervor - Oxford Sour, wrote a piece recently and sent me down a rabbit hole thinking about how good writers “de-familiarize”. Check out Chris’ take on the world, it’s not too too sour. Another reader here - Russell Smith, turned me onto The War Of Art. It’s what community is about - shared knowledge. We all grow by communicating, sharing, feeling, loving, connecting with others.
So in that vein, this post is to share the work of Gordon Downie. If you are Canadian, no need to read on, you already know about our poet clown king. He wrote stories about the Canadian experience and put them to music and delivered them in his special way. One of a kind.
He died young. Brain cancer, it came on quick. But him and his group - Tragically Hip, did one last tour of Canada in 2016 and it captured the heart of the whole nation.
The above documentary (title take from one of their songs), captures the heart of what “The Hip” mean to Canadians and especially the genius of Gordon Downie. He left us too early, just 50 something. Fortunately his stories, his music remains.
Downie was a poet and below are a couple of poems in his honor that he wrung out of me. I won’t go terribly into his genius, but it wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t share what I consider some of his greatest lines. Downie had a way of reaching into your heart and grabbing it, making sense out of nonsense - that few will ever achieve.
“Coulda been the Willie Nelson. Coulda been the wine.” Bobcaygeon.
You said you didn’t give a f*** about hockey
And I never saw someone say that before
You held my hand and we walked home the long way
You were loosening my grip on Bobby Orr
- Fireworks
Same pattern on the table, same clock on the wall
Been one seat empty 18 years in all
Freezing slow time, away from the world
He's 38 years old, never kissed a girl
- 38 Years Old
"We live to survive our paradoxes" - "Springtime in Vienna"
And this one. A song I warmed to during the isolation and lunacy of the pandemic.
But That’s Ok Too
Some of us fly kites
Some of us own planes
Some of us remain
feet on the ground
but that’s ok too.
The first time you see
THE END
not the one in the movies
or the last page of a book
or the bitch you’ll
never see no more …
The first time you see
THE END
you’ll know what to do
but
if you don’t
that’s okay too.
POETS
Rusted tanks and melting ice cream cones.
Love on dirty mattresses all alone.
Don’t tell me what the poets are doing.
Don't tell me you got it made.
Don’t tell me our troops will win.
Who the fuck made you king?
Jets look cool flying shiny, high above.
Babies cry while they dodge, whiter doves.
Don’t tell me you’re buying an electric vehicle.
Don’t tell me you don’t buy from the frozen food section.
Don’t tell me you are fightin’ for peace.
Who the hell made you the thought police?
There’s blood on the kitchen counter.
Jane isn’t coming home.
The boots are hittin’ the ground.
The sabers are rattlin’ on the road.
Don’t tell me you believe the president.
Don’t tell me you follow the evening news.
Don’t tell me the medicine you take is true.
Don’t tell me - I’m not a poet for you.
Sun is going down.
Pink smoke covers the tired sky.
I forgive you all
for you know not
what you do.
Ask a poet.
He’ll tell you.
in memory of Gordon Downie
I was lucky to see Gordon and The Tragically Hip play at The Moore Theater in Seattle, sometime in the early 1990s. Invited, unplanned, a good way to see a band I'd heard of but never saw live before.