Seven Songs EP

by Cornelius Eady & Rough Magic

supported by
/
  • Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

     $7 USD  or more

     

1.
03:46
2.
02:39
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.

credits

released 22 January 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

tags

license

all rights reserved

feeds

feeds for this album, this artist

about

Cornelius Eady & Rough Magic New York, New York

Cornelius Eady is the author of 8 books of poetry, lives in NYC and MO 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)

contact / help

Contact Cornelius Eady & Rough Magic

Streaming and
Download help

Track Name: Unconfirmed
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
Track Name: Maumee Ruth
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
Track Name: Twilight Is the Hour
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
Track Name: Painting Song
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
Track Name: Leaving Sickness
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.
Track Name: A Poet Forgets His Library
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
Track Name: Last Known Address
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.