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If you’re wanting to really enjoy some melancholia, and you’re a hopeless romantic like myself, it’s hard to beat “Ne Me Quitte Pas” by the Flemish/Belgian/French Jacques Brel. It’s the number one song on my self-pity list.

My friend Hayley reminded me of the song recently on Facebook. I hadn’t realized how awful the English translations and revisionings have been until my other friend Dot pointed it out. My French isn’t that great.

The first time I heard the song was as a child. My mom had a Rod McKuen album, and I loved that song – until I heard Brel’s original. Now I can’t stand to listen McKuen’s song. The bombastic style reminds me too much of Frank Sinatra, and that presentation misses everything. An impressive list of other artists have covered the song in a number of different languages. It might be fun sometime compare them all – in the style of bible concordances – but first I want to listen. I trust my ear and spirit more than I do my thoughts.

Dot directed me to another subtitled video that is closer to the original meaning:
http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x18038_jacques-brel-ne-me-quitte-pas- 1959_music

Don’t go way from me
We must forget
All can be forgotten
that’s gone by already
Forget the times
of misunderstandings
The time lost
in figuring out how
Forget those hours that
sometimes killed
- with blows of why -
the heart of happiness
Don’t go way from me (4x)

Don’t go way from me
I will bring you pearls of rain
from countries
where it doesn’t rain
I will dig up the earth
until after my death
to cover your body
with gold and light
I will create for you a realm
where love is king
where love is law
and you will be queen
Don’t go way from me (4x)

Don’t go way from me
I will invent for you
nonsense words
which you’ll understand
I will tell you of these lovers
who saw their hearts
set ablaze twice
I will tell you of a king
who died from not being able
to meet you
Don’t go way from me (4x)

Often you see the flame
of an ancient volcano
thought to be too old
There are, it seems,
burnt out lands that give
better wheat than
the best April
And when night comes
to light up the sky
the red and the black
don’t they marry?
Don’t go way from me (4x)

Don’t go way from me
I won’t cry anymore
I won’t speak anymore
I’ll hide there
To watch you dance and smile
Listen to you sing and laugh
Let me become
the shadow of your shadow
shadow of your hand
shadow of your dog..
Don’t go way from me (4x)

On a board at songmeanings.com, I found another translation that I liked as well.

Do not leave me.
One must forget
that which is bygone.
Everything can be forgotten -
Forget the instances
of misunderstandings
and of the moments lost.
Knowing how to
forget the hours
that sometimes killed
the very heart of happiness
- with all their Why’s.
Do not leave me. (4x)

I will offer you
pearls made of raindrops,
found in countries where it never rains.
I will traverse the Earth,
until after I’m gone,
only to cover your body
with gold and with sunlight.
I will establish a kingdom
where Love will be king,
where Love will rule,
and you will be Queen.
Do not leave me. (4x)

Do not leave me.
I will invent for you
nonsensical words
which only you will understand.
I will tell you stories
about the lovers
whose hearts have been
twice ablaze,
and of that king
who died for not having met you.
Do not leave me.

One has often seen
a fire erupting
out an ancient volcano,
thought to be extinct.
And it seems
that a scorched earth
could give more wheat
than in the best of springs.
And when the evening falls
do the red and the black not unite
in order for sky to be set aflame?
Do not leave me.

Do not leave me.
I will no longer cry.
I will no longer talk.
I will just hide where
I can look at you
dance and smile,
and listen to you
sing and then laugh.
Let me become
the shadow of your shadow
the shadow of your hand
the shadow of your dog.
Do not leave me. (4x)

Still, even with my shaky French, there is nothing that captures the very sound and texture of the original lyrics, especially if you listen rather than watch (Monsieur Brel sweats a lot). Here they are:

Ne Me Quitte Pas

Ne me quitte pas
Il faut oublier
Tout peut s’oublier
Qui s’enfuit deja
Oublier le temps
Des malentendus
Et le temps perdu
A savoir comment
Oublier ces heures
Qui tuaient parfois
A coups de pourquoi
Le coeur du bonheure
Ne me quitte pas (4x)

Moi je t’offrirai
Des perles du pluie
Venues de pays
Ou il ne pleut pas
Je creuserai la terre
Jusqu’apres ma mort
Pour couvrir ton corps
D’or et de lumiere
Je ferai un domaine
Ou l’amour sera roi
Ou l’amour sera loi
Ou tu seras reine
Ne me quitte pas (4x)

Ne me quitte pas
Je t’inventerai
Des mots insensés
Que tu comprendras
Je te parlerai
De ces amants là
Qui ont vu deux fois
Leurs coeurs s’embraser
Je te racont’rai
L’histoire de ce roi
Mort de n’avoir pas
Pu te rencontrer
Ne me quitte pas (4x)

On a vu souvent
Rejaillir le feu
De l’ancien volcan
Qu’on croyait trop vieux
Il est paraît-il
Des terres brûlées
Donnant plus de blé
Qu’un meilleur avril
Et quand vient le soir
Pour qu’un ciel flamboie
Le rouge et le noir
Ne s’épousent-ils pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas

Ne me quitte pas
Je ne veux plus pleurer
Je ne veux plus parler
Je me cacherai là
A te regarder
Danser et sourire
Et à t’écouter
Chanter et puis rire
Laisse-moi devenir
L’ombre de ton ombre
L’ombre de ta main
L’ombre de ton chien
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas

And – don’t miss Nina Simone…

“A great many people think they are thinking when they are merely rearranging their prejudices.” – William James

Recently, I participated in an online discussion in the comments of an article written by a prominent friend/adviser to the late Michael Jackson.

Michael Jackson & Jehovah’s Witnesses, by Firpo Carr

The Michael Jackson case and the issue of child abuse are both important to me, but I didn’t really know who Firpo Carr was when I made my first comment. I’d run into his name before, but I was a little under-prepared for his particular style of debate. I felt pretty battered by the end of it, much like what happens when I try to have a political discussion with someone who has already been stirred up by their favorite propaganda machine.

His back and forth with Jerry Bergman is illuminating and true to form.

• “Dr.” Firpo Carr, a Typical Watchtower Apologist vs. Dr. Firpo Carr v. “Dr.” Jerry Bergman

A sampling of Carr’s other L.A. Sentinel articles for you to chew on:

• Gullible Gays in a Scriptural Maze
• God Pays Gays with AIDS?
• Making “Gay” Go Away
• Why Blacks Don’t Like Gays
• Gays in the “Last Days”
• Sistas and Supernatural Sex: What to Do When A Spirit Visits You

One article on money and priorities took an argument that was very familiar to me from JW days, and made it much more compelling and interesting. He’s clearly a smart guy, but something….

I hadn’t really thought about this very much before, but there might be a serious educational problem with a dependence on some forms of long-distance learning, especially at the upper levels in the humanities. Potential scholars may simply lose too much by not participating on-site at their universities. There is a sort of human osmosis effect that can only be learned by being there. It’s important to have both peers that are interacting with you and trustworthy mentors that can call attention to your blind spots without attacking you as a person. It may be more difficult to absorb the values and norms of dialogue and debate if you’re not part of the ebb and flow of discussion.

On campus, you become part of a network of friendship that includes worthy adversaries, and you develop different skills as you learn how to respect people independently of whether or not you have disagreements. Constant exposure to a wide range of scholarship and discussion not only helps the scholar to develop an ethical sense of discernment, but also models the qualities that they admire (or reject!) in a teacher. At its best, university life at the graduate level is amazingly liberating, intellectually stimulating, and fulfilling.

It’s not just the “immorality” (sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll) of university life that JWs object to, it’s the training in strong interpretations and critical thinking, along with the ethics of scholarship, that would be dangerous for them to condone in their followers. Independent thinking is against their religion.

Firpo Carr has written a fair number of books. Good for him for being so prolific! However, some supplemental reading might be helpful. Start with a selection from my page of reading recommendations for former JWs. To that, add:

• The True Believer: Thoughts on the Nature of Mass Movements – Eric Hoffer
• The Paranoid Style in American Politics – Richard Hofstadter
• Anti-Intellectualism in American Life – Richard Hofstadter
• The Anatomy of Prejudices – Elisabeth Young-Bruehl
• Speaking with the Devil: A Dialogue with Evil – Carl Goldberg

Why? Because this latter list contains non-JW-influenced resources for understanding some aspects of the mindset that can lead people to be manipulated – and possibly continue the chain.

To stick to the topic at hand, though, readers should be aware that child abuse among Jehovah’s Witnesses is a systemic problem, one that is reinforced by setting unreachable standards of perfection, demonizing “worldly authorities,” defending questionable biblical interpretations with out-of-context snippets, defending the two-witness rule for any accusation of foul play, subordinating women, presenting an almost comical style of discourse and argument, hours of weekly meetings for repetition and reinforcement, the paucity of choices for a mate, the fear of disfellowshipping and abandonment by friends and family, the threat of demonic possession, the undermining of kindness, and the almost complete lack of pastoral care.

Firpo Carr can of course believe what he likes and project what he needs to – his path is none of my concern – but it’s a very odd position from which to deny or rationalize child abuse. Even more so now, I wish that I had followed my instincts while Michael was still alive. Michael Jackson describes some of the abuse he and his siblings suffered at the hands of his father in this video.

Watch that, then read our discussion. Remember that Firpo Carr says he was Michael’s friend. I’m sorry, but I have serious doubts that Firpo Carr brought much of spiritual value to the friendship. Now he says that Michael Jackson took him aside and told him that he wished his children to be brought up as Jehovah’s Witnesses – and to have them study with Carr!

I wonder if Michael said that to anyone else, or (shall I be this cynical?) if he said it to anyone at all.

In related news – some new documentation on the Watchtower child sexual abuse settlement. It’s not hearsay – it’s signed, sealed with gag orders, wrapped up in lies, and delivered:

“Documents show that the church knew for years that some prominent members were sexually abusing children and did little.”

The Watchtower PR department issued a statement. “For the sake of the victims in these cases, we are pleased that a settlement has been reached.” Sigh. It’s not for the sake of the victims, or their policies would be different.

This is the way they protect known predators. Imagine how they handle psychological and physical child abuse, and then start Googling for the testimonies…

Here’s a sweet sad Monty Python/Michael Jackson mashup. Maybe it will start to express the inexpressible value of caring and kindness.

For a while, Michael was able to redefine and transform his experience. He created music that brought fun – and even joy – to people all over the world.

I will remember him that way.

It’s Mother’s Day – or Matronalia if you prefer – and I’m wishing all the Mommies a fun day!

Thursday night was interesting. I had just dyed my hair a bit darker than usual (I feel silly now with light blonde hair), and it was almost dry but full of that super-rich conditioner that you put on afterward. I went outside to enjoy the moonlight and the cool breezes. I lit some charcoal, and threw a couple of rosehips and bit of lemongrass on it to saturate the night. I lit a couple of candles, and as I bent down to light the third, my hair dropped into one that was already lit. Phewmp! I was on fire! Just that fast. I clapped it out right away, but now I have some bangs underneath on one side. Oh, it smelled horrible! It made me remember something I had forgotten, though. When I was a kid, I had very long hair, and I remember that I used to pluck strands of it out, and light them on fire off of the gas stove. I was in 4th or 5th grade. The smell reminded me. I wonder if my mom knew.

Readers of the blog… and my neighbors… will know that I sometimes like to sing. I crank up my iPod and go through all kinds of songs. Lots of times I’m just mimicking the singer, which can get a bit amusing sometimes. Anyway, I was doing that – singing pretty loud, but directing my voice into the deepest part of the woods out back. I really got into it, and walked out to the little picnic table. So picture this: I’m standing on top of the table, facing away from the house, eyes closed, singing at the top of my projection power – and to anyone listening, that’s a capella.

I finished the song, and heard applause! When I opened my eyes, two strangers were standing about ten feet away from me, in my yard, wildly clapping their hands. I don’t think I’ve moved so fast since an alligator chased me around my car. I jumped down – I think I must have turned about five shades of red.

It turns out that they live a few houses away, around the block. They said they’ve been listening to me sing for months, and they love hearing me sing. Or – at least they say they do. Anyway, they decided to walk over and meet me and express appreciation (and find out who I am). Their son sometimes joins me with his trumpet – or plays on his own. He seems like a sweet kid, but I only met him in person once, at the neighborhood yard sale. Now I’ve met the family. It was cool in a way – nice to think they like it. I view my singing as something that I have to do – but I don’t really expect anyone to like it.

Wasn’t Barack Obama fun last night? I thought he was a lot more amusing than Wanda Sykes. That line about John Boehner (video) was the best putdown I’ve heard in a long time; it works on so many levels.

In the next hundred days our bipartisan outreach will be so successful that even John Boehner will consider becoming a Democrat. After all we have a lot in common. He is a person of color–although not a color that appears in the natural world.

He poked fun at all the hype around himself, too:

During the second 100 days, we will design, build and open a library dedicated to my first 100 days. … My next 100 days will be so successful, I will complete them in 72 days. And on the 73rd day, I will rest.

I also liked the way he spoke back to the cynicism of the crowd. Catch his last few minutes on journalism and the media if you can.

Work takes up a lot of my energy these days. I enjoy it, but it’s tiring. I haven’t done anything creative lately. There are a number of things I’m supposed to be doing, and writing, and thinking about – but I am not in the right space to do that.

I’ve been waking up really early in the morning for the last couple of weeks, and it feels really good just to take it slow. It’s been a nice relaxing weekend so far. I’ve been puttering around the house, starting to reorganize a little. John dragged a bunch of stuff down to the curb. The place has gotten out of control. I’d like to get things into more streamlined shape before it gets too hot. I’m not a natural homebody, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to concentrate on those sorts of things until my surroundings are a bit less cluttered and disorganized.

Today’s blog post is about March birthdays and suburban momhood, and is brought to you by the letter “M.”

The month of March marks the birthdays of a disproportionate number of my kith and kin. Today alone, there are five!

One of these is my (younger) brother Michael, who is claiming to be “officially old as dirt.” When questioned about what exactly that makes me, he mentioned cosmic aether (grin).

So – Happy Birthday to all the March birthday sweeties! May you be surrounded with love, light and laughter! I love you.

March! March begins with “M”! Muah-hahahaha.

This last Thursday, we went to Ben’s school recital. Maybe it was just the mood I was in after having to arrange a whole bunch of things in a hurry before we got there – I was tired and a little punchy – but I really had to concentrate on not letting myself burst into wild raucous laughter. It’s all so unreal. The only thing that centered me at all was Ben, catching my eye and smiling at me. I love that kid. Only for him could I be dragged into such a scene.

It was held at the nearby middle school, which has a bit more room than the elementary school he attends. Middle school! Middle school begins with “M”! Muah-hahahaha.

Anyway, this was a big favor, unprecedented I think, and so everyone was being grateful and welcoming and sweet, but it was all slightly off. The principal, really a smart and lovely woman, had that warm charming “principal voice” on. It’s so over the top, even John was hiding a smile, but I can see the reason for it. She really does make the kids feel welcome and secure – and I think it works for most of the parents, too.

As usual, they held the PTA meeting before the performance. They nominated and elected next year’s officers, and approved the last meeting’s minutes, and approved the financial statement – all by the rules, but it certainly wasn’t an environment suitable for asking questions or making motions or anything of the sort. All the parents wanted was to move it along so they could watch the kids! It’s all so pro-forma. One thing that is always very funny is that they totally ignore when anyone in the audience says “Nay.” To be fair, it’s usually children who do, but not always.

I kept threatening to stand up and move that children’s recitals not be used to mandate attendance at the PTA meeting, but John talked me out of it. Move! Move begins with M! Muahhhh-hah-hahaha-hahahahaha.

There was an inspirational reading from a sweet gal that always finds something to share. This time is was from Robert Fulghum’s Uh-Oh. She read a bit of it, and then related it to the parental sense of loss as the kids grow up – and go to middle school. To me, it was clearly the parent’s perspective as it relates to their children, but she was in tears later because evidently the elementary school principal misinterpreted her intent. I assured her that the message was very clear to me, and voiced back to her my sense of the mood, content and intent. It seemed to help a little. I hope so, because although the “inspirational message” is always very sentimental, it always addresses the parents and is fitting to the occasion.

The reason for all the concern was, I think, because next up was the middle school’s assistant principal and he started with “I hope it’s not an ‘uh-oh’ for your children to come to the middle school.” He started trying to talk about school improvements, and tried to project a welcoming stance. However, he wasn’t very adroit in this kind of messaging at all, and he just didn’t have the ability to know when to stop. The more he talked, the more he dug himself in. (What? I didn’t know there were any rumors to be concerned about until just now!) The more he tried to soothe the audience, the more he invoked things that alarmed the parents. It was hilarious. Messsaging! Messaging begins with M! But is it a real word yet? I’m not sure.

They had the traditional pledge of allegiance – under God and all. I know I’m overly sensitive to this issue, but it still bugs me. I know that by the time kids have any real sense of what it means, they don’t have to do it anymore. I shouldn’t get irritated about it. As a comedian – his name escapes me at the moment – recently said, the pledge just functions as a cup of coffee for the kids, a ritual to give them a space to wake up and ready themselves. Ben salutes the flag – it’s not such a big deal. I still don’t salute the flag. My years of explaining why one shouldn’t kind of stuck with me. I noticed once again that a number of other parents don’t salute the flag either. Most, if not all, of this is because they aren’t American; there are a lot of international families in our area. I’ll bet their kids do salute though, and I think that’s inappropriate – even if you do treat a national flag as though it were a sacred object, why would you want someone pledging something that isn’t true for them just to blend in? Sigh.

The music director is really great and they are lucky to have him. He’s kind, enthusiastic and talented. He loves those kids, and they love him. He chooses somewhat challenging music for them to sing, but they really enjoy it. Music! Music begins with “M”! Muah-hahaha-ha-ha.

Ben was nervous about the performance. He asked me to grade him. “A, B, C – I can take it.” He looked so cute, waving his little headball like a muppet (Muppet! Muppet begins with M!), singing his heart out. He was buried in the mass of children, though, and I couldn’t seem to get a good picture.

Ben Recital

There were perhaps five or six songs sung, one of them in Latin. The music director actually had them doing three-part harmony, and syncopated clapping. It wasn’t bad, and although I privately thought that the selection last semester was a bit better, I gave Ben a resounding “A” on his own performance. There were a handful of really talented singers, and the normal number of kids that kind of just stood there, mouthing the words they remembered. Everyone liked the clapping parts, though, even the kids that clearly don’t like to sing, so they are at least getting a sense of rhythms. It’s all good.

The upper grade’s rendition of “The Star Spangled Banner” on the recorder almost made me fall off my chair trying not to burst into laughter. I had completely forgotten about the recorder, and the whole cultural school “thing” about playing the recorder. Does anyone play it after they graduate from public school?

Playing the Recorder

I’m not really cut out to be a suburban mom. All of my reactions seem so out of step with the other parents. If it weren’t for my overwhelming love for this one little boy, I would go into full witchy (that’s mostly with a “w” and not a “b” – and an “m” wouldn’t really make any sense here) mode. But… Mode! Mode begins with M! And MOM! MOM begins and ends with M! Muah-hahahaha-ha-ha (choke).

Well, at least I’m learning to enjoy the humorous aspects of it all.

The blog post was brought to you by the letter “M.” Mmmm-mmmmm. M.

Although I can’t feel my toes at all, I’m happier now.

I forgot! I have to sing. I haven’t been singing!

I just did an hour’s set. My poor neighbors. Really. But I don’t think I really belted anything out… except for maybe “Dear Prudence.”

I feel SOOO much better now. How could I have forgotten? What is wrong with me? How could I forget that I have to sing?

My conclusion was “Dream a Little Dream of Me.” Man, I can really sing that song. That one I can really do.

Thanks, Mama Cass…

Here is a funny version: