Overheard at Table 3: Figgy Pudding

Otis Redwing: ... and about these Christmas carols, just what the hell is 'figgy pudding'?

Lucky Moran: I think it's a euphemism for 'pussy'.

Otis: 'We won't go until we get some'?

Lucky: Exactly!

Overheard at Booth 5: Christmas at 50

Christmas at 50

The kids, gone to the movies,
to see WW84.

The wife, in Washington state,
watching the slow, anguished passing
of her mother.

Me, watching, "It's a Wonderful Life,"
for free on Amazon Prime.


MR
2020-1225

Overheard at Table 4: Christmas Poem to a Man in Jail

hello Bill Abbott:

I appreciate your passing around my books in
jail there, my poems and stories.
if I can lighten the load for some of those guys with
my books, fine.
but literature, you know, is difficult for the
average man to assimilate (and for the unaverage man too);
I don’t like most poetry, for example,
so I write mine the way I like to read it.

poetry does seem to be getting better, more
human,
the clearing up of the language has something to
do with it (w. c. williams came along and asked
everybody to clear up the language)
then
I came along.

but writing’s one thing, life’s
another, we
seem to have improved the writing a bit
but life (ours and theirs)
doesn’t seem to be improving very
much.

maybe if we write well enough
and live a little better
life will improve a bit
just out of shame.
maybe the artist haven’t been powerful
enough,
maybe the politicians, the generals, the judges, the
priests, the police, the pimps, the businessmen have been too
strong? I don’t
like that thought
but when I look at our pale and precious artists,
past and present, it does seem
possible.

(people don’t like it when I talk this way.
Chinaski, get off it, they say,
you’re not that great.
but
hell, I’m not talking about being
great.)

what I’m saying is
that art hasn’t improved life like it
should, maybe because it has been too
private? and despite the fact that the old poets
and the new poets and myself
all seem to have had the same or similar troubles
with:
women
government
God
love
hate
penury
slavery
insomnia
transportation
weather
wives, and so
forth.

you write me now
that the man in the cell next to yours
didn’t like my punctuation
the placement of my commas (especially)
and also the way I digress
in order to say something precisely.
ah, he doesn’t realize the intent
which is
to loosen up, humanize, relax
and still make as real as possible
the word on the page. the word should be like
butter or avocados or
steak or hot biscuits, or onion rings or
whatever is really
needed. it should be almost
as if you could pick up the words and
eat them.

(there is some wise-ass somewhere
out there
who will say
if he ever reads this:
“Chinaski, if I want dinner I’ll go out and
order it!”)

however
an artist can wander and still maintain
essential form. Dostoevsky did it. he
usually told 3 or 4 stories on the side
while telling the one in the
center (in his novels, that is).
Bach taught us how to lay one melody down on
top of another and another melody on top of
that and
Mahler wandered more than anybody I know
and I find great meaning
in his so-called formlessness.
don’t let the form-and-rule boys
like that guy in the cell next to you
put one over on you. just
hand him a copy of Time or Newsweek
and he’ll be
happy.

but I’m not defending my work (to you or to him)
I’m defending my right to do it in the way
that makes me feel best.
I always figure if a writer is bored with his work
the reader is going to be
bored too.

and I don’t believe in
perfection, I believe in keeping the
bowels loose
so I’ve got to agree with my critics
when they say I write a lot of shit.

you’re doing 19 and 1/2 years
I’ve been writing about 40.
we all go on with our things.
we all go on with our lives.
we all write badly at times
or live badly at times.
we all have bad days
and nights.

I ought to send the guy in the cell next to yours
The Collected Works of Robert Browning for Christmas,
that’d give him the form he’s looking for
but I need the money for the track,
Santa Anita is opening on the
26th, so give him a copy of Newsweek
(the dead have no future, no past, no present,
they just worry about commas)
and have I placed the commas here
properly,
Abbott?
,
, , ,
, , , , ,
, , , , , , ,
, , , , , , , , ,
, , , , , , , , , , ,
, , ,
, , ,

Charles Bukowski,What Matters Most Is How Well You Walk Through the Fire

Overheard at Booth 5: Mitch McConnell Meets the Grim Reaper - A Christmas Story

Mitch McConnell Meets the Grim Reaper - A Christmas Story

Mitch McConnell walks into his house after a long Christmas day spent ensuring that many American citizens will have no relief as this year ends.

He walks into his study, pulls the stopper out of the decanter and poured himself two fingers of Old Rip Van Winkle Kentucky Bourbon.  Then, as he takes a sip, he hears a sound, a shift, a slight movement in the chair by the window.

Turning on the overhead light, he sees the figure in the chair, one leg crossed over the other, the black robe shifting from the movement.  The scythe is propped against the chair by his side.

In his famous Kentucky drawl, McConnell says, "Well, well, well, I was wondering when you'd arrive."

Death leans slightly forward in the seat.  "You've been using my name."

McConnell chuckles.  "Didn't think you had a copyright on it."

Death shrugs.  "It's OK.  There have been others with such pretenses across the millennia.  I just wanted you to know that you undershot the term.  Something with such gravitas ... used to deny a few pieces of useless paper?  Quite ... pitiable, actually."

McConnell says, "Is there a point to this?  Are we gone dicker about names here or are we gonna get down to business?'

"Have it your way."  Death stands, picks up the scythe, and says, "Time to go, Bitch."

"The name's Mitch."

Death laughs.  "Not where you're going."

Overheard at Table 3: A Christmas Story

I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus.

Then I told Daddy, and Daddy went to the gun cabinet, got his shotgun, and blew Santa Claus away.

- A Christmas Story

Overheard at Table 2: On GK Chesterton's Christmas Essay and Story

 

https://www.faithandculture.com/home/2019/12/19/g-k-chesterton-and-the-death-of-christmas

http://www.online-literature.com/chesterton/all-things-considered/35/

http://www.gkc.org.uk/gkc/books/shop-of-ghosts.html

The Shop Of Ghosts first appeared in London's Daily News. It was later collected into the book of essays Tremendous Trifles.

Nearly all the best and most precious things in the universe you can get for a halfpenny. I make an exception, of course, of the sun, the moon, the earth, people, stars, thunderstorms, and such trifles. You can get them for nothing. Also I make an exception of another thing, which I am not allowed to mention in this paper, and of which the lowest price is a penny halfpenny. But the general principle will be at once apparent. In the street behind me, for instance, you can now get a ride on an electric tram for a halfpenny. To be on an electric tram is to be on a flying castle in a fairy tale. You can get quite a large number of brightly coloured sweets for a halfpenny. Also you can get the chance of reading this article for a halfpenny; along, of course, with other and irrelevant matter.

But if you want to see what a vast and bewildering array of valuable things you can get at a halfpenny each you should do as I was doing last night. I was gluing my nose against the glass of a very small and dimly lit toy shop in one of the greyest and leanest of the streets of Battersea. But dim as was that square of light, it was filled (as a child once said to me) with all the colours God ever made. Those toys of the poor were like the children who buy them; they were all dirty; but they were all bright. For my part, I think brightness more important than cleanliness; since the first is of the soul, and the second of the body. You must excuse me; I am a democrat; I know I am out of fashion in the modern world.

As I looked at that palace of pigmy wonders, at small green omnibuses, at small blue elephants, at small black dolls, and small red Noah's arks, I must have fallen into some sort of unnatural trance. That lit shop-window became like the brilliantly lit stage when one is watching some highly coloured comedy. I forgot the grey houses and the grimy people behind me as one forgets the dark galleries and the dim crowds at a theatre. It seemed as if the little objects behind the glass were small, not because they were toys, but because they were objects far away. The green omnibus was really a green omnibus, a green Bayswater omnibus, passing across some huge desert on its ordinary way to Bayswater. The blue elephant was no longer blue with paint; he was blue with distance. The black doll was really a negro relieved against passionate tropic foliage in the land where every weed is flaming and only man is black. The red Noah's ark was really the enormous ship of earthly salvation riding on the rain-swollen sea, red in the first morning of hope.

Every one, I suppose, knows such stunning instants of abstraction, such brilliant blanks in the mind. In such moments one can see the face of one's own best friend as an unmeaning pattern of spectacles or moustaches. They are commonly marked by the two signs of the slowness of their growth and the suddenness of their termination. The return to real thinking is often as abrupt as bumping into a man. Very often indeed (in my case) it is bumping into a man. But in any case the awakening is always emphatic and, generally speaking, it is always complete. Now, in this case, I did come back with a shock of sanity to the consciousness that I was, after all, only staring into a dingy little toy-shop; but in some strange way the mental cure did not seem to be final. There was still in my mind an unmanageable something that told me that I had strayed into some odd atmosphere, or that I had already done some odd thing. I felt as if I had worked a miracle or committed a sin. It was as if I had at any rate, stepped across some border in the soul.

To shake off this dangerous and dreamy sense I went into the shop and tried to buy wooden soldiers. The man in the shop was very old and broken, with confused white hair covering his head and half his face, hair so startlingly white that it looked almost artificial. Yet though he was senile and even sick, there was nothing of suffering in his eyes; he looked rather as if he were gradually falling asleep in a not unkindly decay. He gave me the wooden soldiers, but when I put down the money he did not at first seem to see it; then he blinked at it feebly, and then he pushed it feebly away.

"No, no," he said vaguely. "I never have. I never have. We are rather old-fashioned here."

"Not taking money," I replied, "seems to me more like an uncommonly new fashion than an old one."

"I never have," said the old man, blinking and blowing his nose; "I've always given presents. I'm too old to stop."

"Good heavens!" I said. "What can you mean? Why, you might be Father Christmas."

"I am Father Christmas," he said apologetically, and blew his nose again.

The lamps could not have been lighted yet in the street outside. At any rate, I could see nothing against the darkness but the shining shop-window. There were no sounds of steps or voices in the street; I might have strayed into some new and sunless world. But something had cut the chords of common sense, and I could not feel even surprise except sleepily. Something made me say, "You look ill, Father Christmas."

"I am dying," he said.

I did not speak, and it was he who spoke again.

"All the new people have left my shop. I cannot understand it. They seem to object to me on such curious and inconsistent sort of grounds, these scientific men, and these innovators. They say that I give people superstitions and make them too visionary; they say I give people sausages and make them too coarse. They say my heavenly parts are too heavenly; they say my earthly parts are too earthly; I donÕt know what they want, I'm sure. How can heavenly things be too heavenly, or earthly things too earthly? How can one be too good, or too jolly? I don't understand. But I understand one thing well enough. These modern people are living and I am dead."

"You may be dead," I replied. "You ought to know. But as for what they are doing, do not call it living."

A silence fell suddenly between us which I somehow expected to be unbroken. But it had not fallen for more than a few seconds when, in the utter stillness, I distinctly heard a very rapid step coming nearer and nearer along the street. The next moment a figure flung itself into the shop and stood framed in the doorway. He wore a large white hat tilted back as if in impatience; he had tight black old-fashioned pantaloons, a gaudy old-fashioned stock and waistcoat, and an old fantastic coat. He had large, wide-open, luminous eyes like those of an arresting actor; he had a pale, nervous face, and a fringe of beard. He took in the shop and the old man in a look that seemed literally a flash and uttered the exclamation of a man utterly staggered.

"Good lord!" he cried out; "it can't be you! It isn't you! I came to ask where your grave was."

"I'm not dead yet, Mr. Dickens," said the old gentleman, with a feeble smile; "but I'm dying," he hastened to add reassuringly.

"But, dash it all, you were dying in my time," said Mr. Charles Dickens with animation; "and you don't look a day older."

"I've felt like this for a long time," said Father Christmas.

Mr. Dickens turned his back and put his head out of the door into the darkness.

"Dick," he roared at the top of his voice; "he's still alive."

Another shadow darkened the doorway, and a much larger and more full-blooded gentleman in an enormous periwig came in, fanning his flushed face with a military hat of the cut of Queen Anne. He carried his head well back like a soldier, and his hot face had even a look of arrogance, which was suddenly contradicted by his eyes, which were literally as humble as a dog's. His sword made a great clatter, as if the shop were too small for it.

"Indeed," said Sir Richard Steele, "'tis a most prodigious matter, for the man was dying when I wrote about Sir Roger de Coverley and his Christmas Day."

My senses were growing dimmer and the room darker. It seemed to be filled with newcomers.

"It hath ever been understood," said a burly man, who carried his head humorously and obstinately a little on one side (I think he was Ben Jonson) "It hath ever been understood, consule Jacobo, under our King James and her late Majesty, that such good and hearty customs were fallen sick, and like to pass from the world. This grey beard most surely was no lustier when I knew him than now."

And I also thought I heard a green-clad man, like Robin Hood, say in some mixed Norman French, "But I saw the man dying."

"I have felt like this a long time," said Father Christmas, in his feeble way again.

Mr. Charles Dickens suddenly leant across to him.

"Since when?" he asked. "Since you were born?"

"Yes," said the old man, and sank shaking into a chair. "I have been always dying."

Mr. Dickens took off his hat with a flourish like a man calling a mob to rise.

"I understand it now," he cried, "you will never die."

Overheard at Table 1: Poem "Gifts"

 

Gifts

 

One baby, born on one day, on one specific year,

The embodiment of grace,

The gift,

Given freely from a bountiful God, saying,

“Here I am,

For you,

Innocent.

Kill me.”

 

And we do,

With every keystroke Amazon purchase,

With every overstuffed Outlet Mall shopping bag,

With every liqueur-filled chocolate,

With every glass raised at the family feast

To toast family and friends and food.

MR

2020-1209

Overheard at Booth 2: Lucky's Take on Santa Claus

Lucky Moran: I don't really see how Santa can be such a 'right jolly old elf.'

Otis Redwing: Because he only comes once a year?

Lucky:  HEY!  How did you know I was gonna say that.

Otis: The year may change, but your jokes stay the same.

Lucky: The classics never go out of style!

Otis: Keep telling yourself that.

Overread at the Counter: The Day After Christmas

The day after Christmas

and all through the cafe,

not a guitar was strumming,

All were quiet today.

The beans were still nestled

all sacked on the shelf,

and Verble was taking inventory,

like a right jolly old elf.

He enjoyed this time,

when the cafe was empty,

knowing that all patrons

were with friends and family.

Verble hung up the mugs

with all of great care,

knowing that by tomorrow,

the cupboards would be bare,

For the coffee would be flowing,

and music would fill the cafe

for everyone would return

with more stories to fill the day.

And among all the tales

of adventures of the weekend,

he knew there would be at least one

about a love with no end:

A love that came down

Like a hole torn through Time,

to be born as a child,

Just to walk through this Life.

MR

2010-1226

360s

Verble at the Counter: Why "Fairytale of New York" is the best Christmas song . . .

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j9jbdgZidu8

This song has enchanted me for years, not just because it's a perfect piece of music, but because of what it means on a more spiritual scale

It's all about taking second chances and failing.  It's about relationships that start with dreams and fantasies that come crashing to the ground.  It's about our addictions, our inabilities, our disabilities, our fortitudes, our desires, our misplaced intentions.

It reminds me of a sort of anti-Song of Solomon.  That book of the Bible is a call-and-response between two lovers, in their bedchambers, out in the streets, even wandering through the fields.  All through that book there is a chorus of singers encouraging the lovers, cheering them on.  It's almost like a Greek play.

This song takes that literary device and turns it on its head.  The two lovers are long past redemption, yet they feel trapped by each other.   They despise each other because they remind each other persistently of their failure.   The chorus (The boys of the NYPD choir) are singing on in the background, not cheering them on, just spinning the world on its normal way.  The world continues without us.

Yet, it's Christmas Day, and the bells are ringing out, and these two can not hear it.  The bells are there, the day has come, yet they are so numb to the advent of the Saviour and the King that it's just a dead refrain.  They are lost in the despair of being alone together.

That's what I love about this Christmas song: because it shows us who we are as humans.  It shows us of what we miss in the full experience of life and the full experience of what this day truly means.

So . . . Happy Christmas everyone!  Have yourselves some cheer, celebrate the birth of God wrapped in human skin, and my prayer is that you never wind up like Shane MacGowan!  ;-)

It was Christmas Eve babe
In the drunk tank
An old man said to me,
Won't see another one
And then he sang a song
The Rare Old Mountain Dew
I turned my face away
And dreamed about you

Got on a lucky one
Came in eighteen to one
I've got a feeling
This year's for me and you
So happy Christmas
I love you baby
I can see a better time
When all our dreams come true

They've got cars
Big as bars
They've got rivers of gold
But the wind goes right through you
It's no place for the old

When you first took my hand
On a cold Christmas Eve
You promised me
Broadway was waiting for me

You were handsome
You were pretty
Queen of New York City
When the band finished playing
They howled out for more
Sinatra was swinging
All the drunks they were singing
We kissed on the corner
Then danced through the night

The boys of the NYPD choir
Were singing 'Galway Bay'
And the bells are ringing
Out for Christmas day

You're a bum
You're a punk
You're an old slut on junk
Living there almost dead
On a drip in that bed

You scum bag
You maggot
You cheap lousy faggot
Happy Christmas your arse
I pray God
It's our last

The boys of the NYPD choir
Still singing 'Galway Bay'
And the bells are ringing
Out for Christmas day

I could have been someone
Well, so could anyone
You took my dreams
From me when I first found you
I kept them with me babe
I put them with my own
Can't make it all alone
I've built my dreams around you

The boys of the NYPD choir
Still singing 'Galway Bay'
And the bells are ringing
Out for Christmas day

Song performed by the Pogues and Kirsty MacColl

written by Jem Finer and Shane MacGowan

Overheard at the Counter: The Weepies "All That I Want"

Verble says, you know, it's never too early for Christmas Carols!   I've been listening to these guys for years and I can't believe I never realised that this is a Christmas Carol.

It goes on this year's compilation.   In fact, I'm gonna go to Cali and beg these two to play the Z&T this year


All That I Want

Out in the harbor
The ships come in, it's Christmastime
The kids all holler carols 'cross the water
Stars that shine

All that I want, all that I want

Above the rooftops
The full moon dips its golden spoon
I wait on clip-clops, deer might fly
Why not? I met you

All that I want, all that I want

And when the night is falling
Down the sky at midnight
Another year is stalling
Far away a good bye, good night

All that I want., all that I want, all that I want

So small a turning
The world grows older every day
An ache, a yearning
Soften when I hear you say

All that I want, all that I want

And when the cold wind's blowing
Snow drifts through the pine trees
In houses lights are glowing
Likewise in your eyes that find me here

With all that I want.

Out in the harbor
The ships come in, it's Christmastime
It's Christmastime
It's Christmastime.

Overheard at Booth 2: A Christmas Mixture

"You know, I'm really getting tired of all the same Christmas Carols over and over and over and over again, and I was hearing some stuff the other day, mainly on the alternative radio station, and it brought to mind some of the other songs that are Christmas songs, but not your usual stuff, and so I wrote 'em down on this list, here, check it out . ..


Los Straightjackets - Sleigh Ride
AC/DC - Mistress for Christmas
Fleming and John - Misty Mountain Wonderland
The Vandals - Grandpa's Last Christmas
Chris Rea - Driving Home for Christmas
Collin Raye - What If Jesus Came Back Like That?
Bob Rivas - Jingle Hells Bells
Neil Diamond - You Make It Feel Like Christmas
Dar Williams - The Christians and the Pagans
Royal Crown Revue - Hey Santa
Frank Kelly - Christmas Countdown


enjoy!!!!!!

Overheard at Table 3: Robert Earl Keen "Merry Christmas from the Family"

"heard this song the other day, this reminded me so much of growing up in Oklahoma, it was just like this guy had been in my grandparents' house all those years!  Especially reminded me of those overflowing ashtrays out in the back of the garage that granddad had converted into a pool room, freezing our butts off while I shot pool with my uncles, as they drank more and more beer and swapped old war stories . . .

"ah, those were the times!"

MERRY CHRISTMAS FROM THE FAMILY
Robert Earl Keen

Mom got drunk and Dad got drunk at our Christmas party
We were drinking champagne punch and homemade eggnog
Little sister brought her new boyfriend
He was a Mexican
We didn't know what to think of him until he sang
Feliz Navidad, Feliz Navidad

Brother Ken brought his kids with him
The three from his first wife Lynn
And the two identical twins from his second wife Mary Nell
Of course he brought his new wife Kay
Who talks all about AA
Chain smoking while the stereo plays Noel, Noel
The First Noel

Carve the Turkey
Turn the ball game on
It's margaritas when the eggnog's gone
Send somebody to the Quickpak Store
We need some ice and an extension chord
A can of bean dip and some Diet Rites
A box of Pampers, Marlboro Lights
Halelluja everybody say cheese
Merry Christmas from the family

Fred and Rita drove from Harlingen
I can't remember how I'm kin to them
But when they tried to plug their motor home in
They blew our Christmas lights
Cousin David knew just what went wrong
So we all waited out on our front lawn
He threw the breaker and the lights came on
And we sang Silent Night, Silent Night, Oh Holy Night

Carve the turkey turn the ball game on
It's Bloody Marys
Cause We All Want One!
Send somebody to the Stop 'N Go
We need some celery and a can of fake snow
A bag of lemons and some Diet Sprites
A box of Tampons, some Salem Lights
Halelluja, everybody say cheese
Merry Christmas from the Family

Feliz Navidad!

Overheard at the Counter: Robert Earl Keen's Merry Christmas from the Family

Lucky Moran: Hey, Verble! Are you still taking songs for your ultimate Christmas album?

Verble: Niall, my fine sir, Christmas is a daily state of mind at the Z&T Acoustic Cafe. Whaddaya got?

Lucky: Well, I heard this on my leftie liberal pinko progressive radio station the other day, and as ashamed as it makes me to say, it just took me back to my ute.

John Steppenwolf: Your "ute" ?

Lucky: Yeah, my sordid ute, only my uncle's third wife didn't smoke Salem lights. She thought she was classy because she chainsmoked Virginia Slims.

Niall Carter (after a pause): That's not classy?



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P37xPiRz1sg


Mom got drunk and Dad got drunk at our Christmas party
We were drinking champagne punch and homemade eggnog
Little sister brought her new boyfriend
He was a Mexican
We didn't know what to think of him until he sang
Feliz Navidad, Feliz Navidad

Brother Ken brought his kids with him
The three from his first wife Lynn
And the two identical twins from his second wife Mary Nell
Of course he brought his new wife Kay
Who talks all about AA
Chain smoking while the stereo plays Noel, Noel
The First Noel

Carve the Turkey
Turn the ball game on
It's margaritas when the eggnog's gone
Send somebody to the Quickpak Store
We need some ice and an extension chord
A can of bean dip and some Diet Rites
A box of Pampers, Marlboro Lights
Halelluja everybody say cheese
Merry Christmas from the family

Fred and Rita drove from Harlingen
I can't remember how I'm kin to them
But when they tried to plug their motor home in
They blew our Christmas lights
Cousin David knew just what went wrong
So we all waited out on our front lawn
He threw the breaker and the lights came on
And we sang Silent Night, Silent Night, Oh Holy Night

Carve the turkey turn the ball game on
It's Bloody Marys
Cause We All Want One!
Send somebody to the Stop 'N Go
We need some celery and a can of fake snow
A bag of lemons and some Diet Sprites
A box of Tampons, some Salem Lights
Halelluja, everybody say cheese
Merry Christmas from the Family

Feliz Navidad!


Mom got drunk and Dad got drunk at our Christmas partyWe were drinking champagne punch and homemade eggnogLittle sister brought her new boyfriendHe was a MexicanWe didn't know what to think of him until he sangFeliz Navidad, Feliz NavidadBrother Ken brought his kids with himThe three from his first wife LynnAnd the two identical twins from his second wife Mary NellOf course he brought his new wife KayWho talks all about AAChain smoking while the stereo plays Noel, NoelThe First NoelCarve the TurkeyTurn the ball game onIt's margaritas when the eggnog's goneSend somebody to the Quickpak StoreWe need some ice and an extension chordA can of bean dip and some Diet RitesA box of Pampers, Marlboro LightsHalelluja everybody say cheeseMerry Christmas from the familyFred and Rita drove from HarlingenI can't remember how I'm kin to themBut when they tried to plug their motor home inThey blew our Christmas lightsCousin David knew just what went wrongSo we all waited out on our front lawnHe threw the breaker and the lights came onAnd we sang Silent Night, Silent Night, Oh Holy NightCarve the turkey turn the ball game onIt's Bloody MarysCause We All Want One!Send somebody to the Stop 'N GoWe need some celery and a can of fake snowA bag of lemons and some Diet SpritesA box of Tampons, some Salem LightsHalelluja, everybody say cheeseMerry Christmas from the FamilyFeliz Navidad!

Overheard at Table 3: Dar Williams The Christians and the Pagans

I know it's already February but I'm still thinking of the perfect Christmas album mix, and I definitely want to include Dar Williams' "The Christians and the Pagans"


ARTIST: Dar Williams
TITLE: The Christians and the Pagans
Lyrics and Chords


Amber called her uncle, said "We're up here for the holiday
Jane and I were having Solstice, now we need a place to stay"
And her Christ-loving uncle watched his wife hang Mary on a tree
He watched his son hang candy canes all made with red dye number three
He told his niece, "It's Christmas eve, I know our life is not your style"
She said, "Christmas is like Solstice, and we miss you and it's been awhile"

/ G C Am D / / Em C Am D / / G C Am D / /

So the Christians and the Pagans sat together at the table
Finding faith and common ground the best that they were able
And just before the meal was served, hands were held and prayers were said
Sending hope for peace on earth to all their gods and goddesses

/ G C Em D / / Em C Am D / Em C Am D G - /

The food was great, the tree plugged in, the meal had gone without a hitch
Till Timmy turned to Amber and said, "Is it true that you're a witch?"
His mom jumped up and said, "The pies are burning," and she hit the kitchen
And it was Jane who spoke, she said, "It's true, your cousin's not a Christian"
"But we love trees, we love the snow, the friends we have, the world we share
And you find magic from your God, and we find magic everywhere"

So the Christians and the Pagans sat together at the table
Finding faith and common ground the best that they were able
And where does magic come from, I think magic's in the learning
Cause now when Christians sit with Pagans only pumpkin pies are burning

When Amber tried to do the dishes, her aunt said, "Really, no, don't bother"
Amber's uncle saw how Amber looked like Tim and like her father
He thought about his brother, how they hadn't spoken in a year
He thought he'd call him up and say, "It's Christmas and your daughter's here"
He thought of fathers, sons and brothers, saw his own son tug his sleeve saying
"Can I be a Pagan?" Dad said, "We'll discuss it when they leave"

So the Christians and the Pagans sat together at the table
Finding faith and common ground the best that they were able
Lighting trees in darkness, learning new ways from the old, and
Making sense of history and drawing warmth out of the cold

Overheard at the Counter: Christmas Cards from Hookers

"Verble!" says Steppenwolf, "I can't believe you missed this one: Tom Waits's 'Christmas Card from a Hooker in Minneapolis'!"

Niall Carter says, "Dude I didn't know you were into Tom Waits!"

"Not much," he says, "But Neko Case did a cover, and man am I in love with that lady!"

"I remember that song," says Lucky Moran. "I thought it was way cool, every song on that album was pure poetry. Totally blues and beatnik combined. I even read it in my junior year creative writing class in high school."

"I bet that went over well," says Niall.

"Not really. Teacher chewed me out in front of the class. Told me I always seemed to act with 'questionable intent.' Strange, though, after class, she handed me a book. Anais Nin's Delta of Venus. Told me to read it, if I were really interested in such things."

"Lucky!" said John, "She was totally hitting on you!"

"Took me years to realize that, yeah," Lucky said. "A decade after I graduated, one day it suddenly hit me."




hey Charley I'm pregnant
and living on 9-th street
right above a dirty bookstore
off cuclid avenue
and I stopped taking dope
and I quit drinking whiskey
and my old man plays the trombone
and works out at the track.

and he says that he loves me
even though its not his baby
and he says that he'll raise him up
like he would his own son
and he gave me a ring
that was worn by his mother
and he takes me out dancin
every saturday nite.

and hey Charley I think about you
everytime I pass a fillin' station
on account of all the grease
you used to wear in your hair
and I still have that record
of little anthony & the imperials
but someone stole my record player
how do you like that?

hey Charley I almost went crazy
after mario got busted
so I went back to omaha to
live with my folks
but everyone I used to know
was either dead or in prison
so I came back in minneapolis
this time I think I'm gonna stay.

hey Charley I think I'm happy
for the first time since my accident
and I wish I had all the money
that we used to spend on dope
I'd buy me a used car lot
and I wouldn't sell any of em
I'd just drive a different car
every day dependin on how
I feel.

hey Charley
for chrissakes
do you want to know
the truth of it?
I don't have a husband
he don't play the trombone
and I need to borrow money
to pay this lawyer
and Charley, hey
I'll be eligible for parole
come valentines day.

Overheard at the Counter: Christmas in the Trenches

One song that just be sung during the Christmas season, and one story that should retold more than any other story, except of course, the Nativity story, is the story of the Christmas truce during World War One. This story might be already known to all war aficionados and folk singers alike, and it tells of how the German and English troops stopped fighting on Christmas Day, and spend this holy day sharing beer and cigarettes, chocolates and pudding, singing Christmas carols together and playing soccer,

When reinforcements arrived after Boxing Day, they were back to the same old dirty war, but at least this story tells of how men who obey their earthly masters (like the obedient dogs they are) can occasionally, if only briefly, heed the call of Peace and Love from their TRUE Master, our Lord and SaviorJesus Christ

Overhears at Booth 1: Yes's "Run with the Fox"

And another you can't forget to add is that Yes song "Run with the Fox" I have no idea what the lyrics are talking about, but then, nobody ever knows what Yes lyrics are all about, but it does mention Christmas by name, and it's just simply completely cool, so it should go in the compilation.

Overheard at the Counter: Dan Fogelberg's "Same Auld Lang Syne"

Lucky Moran says, "I got one for your Christmas comp, but I'm kind of ambivalent toward it, because I love the song but I hate the singer."

"What is it?" asks Steppenwolf.

"'Same Auld Lang Syne' by Dan Fogelberg," says Lucky.

"Yech!" says Otis Redwing. "That syrupy piece of weak drippy French toast."

"But you don't hear it the way I hear it. I hear it with Tom Waits singing it."

"I have to admit," says Verble, looking up from his iPad, "The lyrics fit the overall theme."


Same Auld Lang Syne
Dan Fogelberg


Met my old lover in a grocery store
The snow was falling Christmas Eve
Stole behind her in the frozen foods
and I touched her on the sleeve

She didn't recognize the face at first
but then her eyes flew open wide
Tried to hug me and she spilled her purse
and we laughed until we cried

Took her groceries to the checkout stand
The food was totaled up and bagged
stood there lost in our embarrassment
as the conversation dragged

Went to have ourselves a drink or two
but couldn't find an open bar
Bought a six-pack at the liquor store
and we drank it in the car

We drank a toast to innocence, we drank a toast to now
Tried to reach beyond the emptiness but neither one knew how

She said she'd married her an architect
Kept her warm and safe and dry
She said she'd like to say she loved the man
but she didn't want to lie

I said the years had been a friend to her
and that her eyes were still as blue
But in those eyes I wasn't sure if I saw doubt or gratitude
She said she saw me in the record store
and that I must be doing well

I said the audience was heavenly
but the traveling was hell
We drank a toast to innocence we drank a toast to time
We're living in our eloquence, another old lang syne

The beers were empty and our tongues grew tired
and running out of things to say
She gave a kiss to me as I got out
and I watched her drive away

Just for a moment I was back in school
And felt that old familiar pain
And as I turned to make my way back home
the snow turned into rain


"Man, even if it were redone by Paul Simon, circa 1972 or something," says Steppenwolf, "that'd be better than the Fogelberg version, which is so sad to say about the guy who WROTE the song!

Overheard at Table 4: 1913 Massacre

While this isn't considered a Christmas song, it should be: it tells a story of something that happened at a Christmas party. It's something that we should never forget, even though we already have.

This song should be on every Christmas compilation, if only to show ourselves what can happen when the corporations have the brazen impunity to kill their own workers.

Thank you, Mr. Guthrie, for keeping this gem in our catalog.


1913 Massacre
by Woody Guthrie

Take a trip with me in nineteen thirteen
To Calumet, Michigan in the copper country
I'll take you to a place called Italian Hall
And the miners are having their big Christmas ball

I'll take you in a door and up a high stairs
Singing and dancing is heard ev'rywhere
I'll let you shake hands with the people you see
And watch the kids dance 'round the big Christmas tree.

There's talking and laughing and songs in the air
And the spirit of Christmas is there ev'rywhere
Before you know it you're friends with us all
And you're dancing around and around in the hall

You ask about work and you ask about pay
They'll tell you they make less than a dollar a day
Working their copper claims, risking their lives
So it's fun to spend Christmas with children and wives.

A little girl sits down by the Christmas tree lights
To play the piano so you gotta keep quiet
To hear all this fun; you would not realize
That the copper boss thug men are milling outside

The copper boss thugs stuck their heads in the door
One of them yelled and he screamed, "There's a fire"
A lady she hollered, "There's no such a thing;
Keep on with your party, there's no such a thing."

A few people rushed and there's only a few
"It's just the thugs and the scabs fooling you."
A man grabbed his daughter and he carried her down
But the thugs held the door and he could not get out.

And then others followed, about a hundred or more
But most everybody remained on the floor
The gun thugs, they laughed at their murderous joke
And the children were smothered on the stairs by the door.

Such a terrible sight I never did see
We carried our children back up to their tree
The scabs outside still laughed at their spree
And the children that died there was seventy-three

The piano played a slow funeral tune,
And the town was lit up by a cold Christmas moon
The parents, they cried and the men, they moaned,
"See what your greed for money has done?"

©1961 (Renewed) by Fall River Music Inc.
All Rights Reserved.