Searching, Still

In the summer of 2009, I began a songwriting project called "Request-A-Song." For one dollar, people could submit lyrics and ideas for songs and I would create a piece of music for them. Contributors could also request certain instruments or sounds for these works. My friend Dave submitted two lyrics, "He's a god among us men" and "O blonded one" as well as a request for a lack of drums. From there, I created the following demo for "Searching, Still."




There's a man I've thought of
late at night, when I am drifting off to sleep
or when I'm walking down any of the autumnal suburb streets.

I've seen him many times, but never face-to-face.
I've only seen him from the corner of my small pupiled bloodshot eye.
When I turn, he's been replaced
by someone whose tongue is rougher to the ear.

O blonded one,
oh, brunette creature slouching west,
I don't know you,
don't think I ever fully will.

While in the library I discovered others sought him too:
the poet from Concord, the tramp from County Wicklow,
the supermarket visiter wandering at night.
Were they ever found or were they just glipses from the side?

He's a god among us men.
I plan on searching for him, still.

When I sat down to write a song around the fragments that Dave provided, I contemplated Emerson's idea of the Poet. In his essay "The Poet," Emerson called for someone to give voice to the American tapestry, to describe those things that are specific to the United States. This bulletin for a revolutionary figure was answered by Walt Whitman in his 1855 collection Leaves of Grass. When I read "Song Of Myself," I saw the same twisting lines of American grit captured by Bruce Springsteen in "Blinded By The Light" and the mystifying imagery of Bob Dylan's "A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall."

I believe that there exists a lineage of great American poets -- writers and musicians, artists and filmmakers -- who can see this country and capture it, distill the world they see into words and sounds and images for others to use as springboards. These readers and viewers dive into the pool of the American consciousness and discover depths previously undiscovered while the ripples affect the other swimmers, all of them in a body of constant change.

But what about the tramp in my song? This allusion to the plays of J. M. Synge, an Irishman whose work helped do for the Irish sense of its creative world what Emerson did for the American one: demand a refocusing on what forms our identity. Still, he's not American. I hope that this helps include some diversity in my song. Instead of focusing on what makes America great, I highlight the search for greater understanding of ourselves that is common in so many literary greats.

But notice the lack of women in my song. I think this, more than anything else, hurts it and its message. If I am trying to promote the notion of the American identity, I must include all that is American -- its women, its races and religions, its sexual orientations and gender identities. I have much to learn and explore with these concepts and I must grow more illuminated in my understanding of this country and this world, and I hope to share my discoveries with you all.

-Paul