Robert Bly and Honeyboy Edwards would have
understood each other well, I think.
When I saw Honeyboy, already in his 90s
shining through, his skin polished to
an elegant sheen that only comes with age,
he was playing to a small lecture hall
at the university, and when called back
for an encore, proceeded to play the same tune
he had played two songs in. He must have
known hundreds of songs by then, dating back
to the beginning of this American century,
but he wanted us, for whatever reason, to hear
that one again -- or he was simply playing it
for his own amusement, the particular joy and beauty
of doing whatever you damn well please,
another gift granted only to those who endure.
It reminded me of Bly, reading the same line
of poetry over again, pausing, gazing up
to see if it had resonated with those in attendance.
This, too, is the blues after all -- repeating
the refrain one has just sung, letting it linger,
roll off the tongue once more, in no hurry
for the resolution that may or may not come.
There is no end to this kind of song.
When a great singer says, "Take it from the top,"
what they mean is, "Go back all the way."
