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Seven Songs EP

by Cornelius Eady

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1.
Unconfirmed 03:46
Unconfirmed Step aside, step aside Trouble’s coming, step aside Step aside, step aside Trouble’s coming, step aside. Left, right, up down Back and forth, town to town I’m a torn coat, a wild seed Unconfirmed, a bad breeze I am a pilgrim on that lonesome highway Beneath an endless sky I am a pilgrim on that lonesome highway Never thought I’d be that guy. Left, right, up down Back and forth, town to town I’m a torn coat, a wild seed Unconfirmed, a bad breeze Step aside, step aside Trouble’s coming, step aside Step aside, step aside Trouble’s coming, step aside. Left, right, up down Back and forth, town to town I’m a torn coat, a wild seed Unconfirmed, a bad breeze I am the dust that stalls the engine The grit that floats in your eye I am the flat note in the choir Never thought I’d be that guy Left, right, up, down Back and forth, town to town I’m a torn coat, a wild seed Unconfirmed, a bad breeze. Step aside, step aside Trouble’s coming, step aside Step aside, step aside Trouble’s coming, step aside. Left, right, up down Back and forth, town to town I’m a torn coat, a wild seed Unconfirmed, a bad breeze
2.
Maumee Ruth 02:39
Maumee Ruth Might as well bury her And bury her deep Might as well put her Where she can sleep Might as well lay her Out in her shinny black And for the love of God Not wish her back Maum Sal may miss her— Maum Sal, she only --- With no one now to scoff Sal may be lonely…. Nobody else there is Who will be caring How rocky was the road For her wayfaring Nobody be heeding in Cabin, or town That she is lying here In her best gown Boy that she suckled--- How should he know, Hiding in city holes Sniffling the ‘snow’? And how should the news Pierce Harlem’s din, To reach her baby gal, Sodden with gin? To cut her withered heart They cannot come again, Preach her the lies about Jordan, and then Might as well drop her Deep in the ground Might as well pray for her That she sleep sound
3.
Twilight Is The Hour The lamps in Bryant Park glow like fireflies Duende floats under the trees. A group of poets sing the blues To fill in the space where you ought to be Twilight is the hour of the Motherless Child Another man gone, gone down that lonesome mile. Twilight is the hour. There’s a tongue we use to let things go There’s a song that we shake at danger. There’s a way to wash a body down, Even if he’s a stranger. Twilight is the hour of the Motherless Child Another man gone, gone down that lonesome mile Twilight is the hour. There are words we spin to shadow a hearse, A prayer to un-jumble the mad universe. The poets breathe Trayvon into the wind. It could happen to you like it happened to him. For Trayvon Martin
4.
Painting Song There’s a sea in a bottle, There are pigs in the sky. There are clouds where your lungs were, But don’t ask me why. You just do what you have to, You just see what you see. Scratch your head, if you want to, Makes no difference to me. I’m unscrambling my head, Painting, painting Decoding what the light just said, Painting, painting Pushing breath through my brush Filling in the blanks, as we must. Maybe you’d like a postcard, Or a slap on the back. You made the wrong turn, buddy, Your trains on the wrong track. You keep looking for Whistler, You get ghouls at the mall. A woman’s accusations, Holy warts, and all. I’m unscrambling my head, Painting, painting Decoding what the light just said, Painting, Painting Pushing breath through my brush, Filling in the blanks, as we must. You just do what you have to, You just see what you see. Scratch your head, if you want to, It’s just music to me. For Susan Micklem
5.
Leaving Sickness Can’t tell the wind From the breeze Can’t tell the forest From the trees Can’t tell a diamond From a stone Can’t tell a snake From a bone. You give me Leaving sickness Can’t tell piss From the rain Can’t tell a dummy From a brain Can’t tell happy From a drag Can’t tell a silk scarf From a rag. You give me Leaving sickness Can’t tell hunger From a piece of pie Can’t tell truth From a pack of lies Can’t tell love From a kick in the ass Can’t tell your future From my past. You give me Leaving sickness Can’t tell a wise man From a fool Can’t tell a teacher From a school Can’t tell a switch blade From a tool Can’t tell a shark tank From a wading pool You give me Leaving sickness. Can’t tell a sinner From a priest Can’t tell a bullet From total peace Can’t tell what’s living From what’s deceased. Can’t tell gristle From a piece of meat. You give me Leaving sickness. Can’t tell champagne From soda pop Can’t tell love From a broken heart Can’t tell a doodle From a piece of art Can’t tell what’s started From what’s stopped You gave me Leaving sickness.
6.
A Poet Forgets His Library Look at all those lovely books. What are all those books to me? Words are wriggle-fish in an endless sea. I over-hear them talking, Sometimes I think They’re talking about me. All this time, all this time All this time at sea. They say it has no memory. A poet forgets his library. Something was written long ago. A voice I should know says it was written by me. Something like a hymn, almost holy song, Some face on the cover, but they’ve Got it all wrong. Tell me what this nonsense Has to do with me? All this time, all this time All this time at sea. They say it has no memory. A poet forgets his library. My name they say, is a man beloved, A man with a printed history. Here I sit, and here they try To read it back to me. What’s this accusation? The hell is poetry? All this time, all this time All this time at sea. They say it has no memory. A poet forgets his library. For Jack Agueros
7.
Last Known Address John Snowden’s been pardoned Where can we find him? Deep in the woods, down some gully Wind, lifting leaves In some Potter’s field Send the news to the ones He loved best Mail the letter To his last known address. John Snowden’s been pardoned Who’s gonna tell him? The un-mowed grass On his un-marked grave, The butterflies floating Heavy with nectar. Send the news to the ones He loved best Mail the letter To his last known address John Snowden’s been pardoned Who’ll say we’re sorry? Maryland then ain’t Maryland now, A white girl’s dress Was a black man’s burden. Send the news to ones He loved best Mail the letter To his last known address John Snowden been pardoned His hard times are over A black man dead since 1919 A free man now, He’s a free man now. Send the news to the ones He loved best Mail the letter To his last known address John Snowden’s been pardoned The insult forgiven The technicality of a wandering eye The skin that couldn’t hold His alibi. Send the news to the ones He loved best Mail the letter To his last known address.

credits

released January 22, 2014

Cornelius Eady: vocal, (acoustic guitar on "Maumee Ruth" and "Twilight Is The Hour")
Robin Messing: vocal (lead on "Maumee Ruth")
Charlie Rauh: electric guitar
Concetta Abbate: violin & vocal
Emma Alabaster: bass & vocal
Leo Ferguson: drums

All tracks Recorded, Produced and Mixed by Leo Ferguson except "Twilight Is the Hour." Recorded at Leo Ferguson’s loft, Staten Island, NY

"Twilight Is the Hour" recorded by Cornelius Eady at CE’s apt., Jane St. NYC, mixed by Sebastian Sanchez.

All tracks mastered by Sebastian Sanchez, Acme Studios, Rochester, NY.

"Maumee Ruth" is from The Collected Poems of Sterling A. Brown, Selected by Michael S. Harper (Harper/ Colophon Books 1983).

Cover Photos: Carla Licavoli
Cover Design: Sarah Micklem

A City of the Id Production

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Cornelius Eady New York, New York

Cornelius Eady is the author of 8 books of poetry, lives in NYC and is the co-founder of Cave Canem. The band Rough Magic came out of the sessions for his CD/Chapbook BOOK OF HOOKS. (Kattywompus Press, Jan. 2013)

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