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about

Music by Jonathan Zorn

lyrics

Sunday Morning in a Port Town

Sunday morning on the curve
Of a port town past its prime
Where each dry stone found a cat
To nod wisely at the rain
I was the solace
Of a garrulous old woman
She’d clearly rather talk than listen
She knew I would not interrupt

Drawing the view
The first line has to go somewhere
And so I separate the sky from the sea
This false boundary
Exists only in my mind
As a mark of my insecurity

I protested that I
Did not speak the language
Didn’t seem to matter
She’d clearly rather talk than listen
I smiled and peeled an orange
I justified her monologue
Understood as best I could
The contents of her small gray eyes

Drawing the view
The first line has to go somewhere
And so I separate the sky from the sea
This false boundary
Exists only in my mind
As a mark of my insecurity

The following day I boarded a bus at random and rode to a village called Paleokastritsa.

I climbed a steep stone-cobbled path. Passed goats and sheep being led down by an old woman with a stick. Bells clanking, bleating “yah yah, ah yah,” spindly legs clacking on the stones. At a certain point, I was walking on olives that had fallen on the ground. They are surprisingly juicy and red inside like a berry. The path led to a monastery where I briefly watched monks squeezing oil out of olives with a squeaking wooden press. Then I walked to the edge of a cliff and looked down upon the shifting sea; I had suddenly arrived in “Contempt.” (Audio from the film.) The landscape resembled exactly that which I’d seen in the film, but it was deeper and more resonant, a great blue world of air and sky and water and rock, atwitter with bird sounds and redolent of almond blossoms and something like oregano. Remarkably, these islands and this sea outdid their romanticized depictions in films and travel posters.

credits

from Path Through the Wilderness, released September 7, 2019
Reid Kruger - Drums
Tom Schroeder - Guitar
Jonathan Zorn - Bass, Vocal

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Tom Schroeder Saint Paul, Minnesota

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