girls porch trucks highway; sighed and went in

My mother and I should have both been girls who stayed out on the porch a little longer than the rest, girls who strained to hear the long-distance trucks on the highway and who listened to them, not the nearer crickets. We would have been girls who had names in their heads: Ann Arbor, Chicago, Cheyenne, San Francisco, Portland, Honolulu, Los Angeles; girls who looked at the sky and wanted to go away. We would have been the kind of girls who thought we, more than other people, saw the sadness of things, the poignance of lush darkness around stars, but who finally sighed and, calling the dog with a mixture of reluctance and relief, shut the door and went in home.

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Anywhere But Here by Mona Simpson
ggl bk search 'should have girls'

tryin to find America with you babe

-

something made me crazy, baby, something maybe made you crazy too.

yo ho ho.

In the Mines, In the Mines

-My father and mother are both from Floyd County Ky and both of my grandfathers were coal miners and I remember going up in the hills when I was a kid and there was a old store there in Maytown and Momma would give us a dollar and all us kids would go to the store and there would be miners in there and they would be covered up with coal dust.

cmmt from TomLumpkins (1 year ago) on ytube - Jean Ritchie sings Blue Diamond Mines


oh- How Green Was My Valley. and the valley of them that have gone-

morning call

Every single morning at 8:30 for years Townes called me for our 'morning call.' Guy would usually bring me a cup of coffee, because he knew we'd be on the phone for at least an hour. He'd say hey babe. Townes was the only man I let call me babe. We talked about art and artists and history, especially Texas history, and Hank Williams and Lightnin' Hopkins and Vincent Van Gogh and Indians. We talked about the Bible and European ways and the sky that day and angels and ghosts and demons, and Dylan Thomas and the birds and his dog. We talked about all the different kinds of love, and he'd describe them in detail.
We talked about the language and words and poetry and songs. More often than not he'd read me his new poem of the day. Songs always had to work as a poem on paper first, Townes's rule.
We always agreed about what the first day of spring really was. He'd call and say, hey, this is it, and I would know exactly what he was talking about. I'd say, yep, was just thinking the same thing. We did that year after year. Sometimes he'd cry, sometimes I'd cry for him. When I told him he drank too much he'd say, hey, there are sober people in India.
We'd talk about the Andy Griffith Show. He couldn't watch violence on TV, only Nick at Night usually. Yet he'd say, if anyone touches you I'll slit their throat and drink their blood like wine. He'd make me laugh till it hurt regaling me with stories about his wildness. Or he'd let me cry till it didn't hurt. All he'd have to say was, aw babe, and that would work.
Sometimes I was spellbound. His words were always gentle and loving, but like in his songs, mighty words they were. Sometimes we'd fight about nothing, like the real meaning of the word innocence. Then we'd make jokes out of that word.
He let me in his soul and I let him in mine. I had the honor and privilege of having this noble wild soul in my life.
He called me his best friend and god-sister. I called him my best friend and god-brother. We always said I love you before we hung up.
This morning 8:30 came and the phone didn't ring.

-Susanna Clark
Taken from Song Builder: The Life & Music of Guy Clark
[reprinted on inside-cd-cover of POET: A Tribute to Townes Van Zandt]

and her eyes are Wilson green.

Thirty some odd years ago, a young man came to Memphis.
Asking 'bout a rose that used to blossom in his world.
People never took the time to mind the young man's questions,
Until one day they heard him ask a little green-eyed girl:

What's your mama's name, child?
What's your mama's name?
Does she ever talk about a place called New Orleans.
Has she ever mentioned a man named Buford Wilson?
What's your mama's name, child?
What's your mama's name?

Twenty some odd years ago, a drunkard down in Memphis
Lost a month of life in labour to the county jail.
Just because he asked a little green-eyed girl a question,
And offered her a nickel's worth of candy if she'd tell.

A year and some odd days ago, an old man died in Memphis.
Just another wayward soul the county'd had to claim.
Inside the old man's ragged coat, they found a faded letter.
It said, You have a daughter and her eyes are Wilson green.

Tanya Tucker, What's Your Momma's Name - cowboylyrics

YouTube - Tanya Tucker -What's Your Mama's Name