Guest poem submitted by Stephen Pecha:
(Poem #1529) Timid Frieda Timid Frieda
Will they greet her
On the street where
Young strangers travel
On magic carpets
Floating lightly
In beaded caravans
Who can know if
They will free her
On the street where
She comes to join them
There she goes
With her valises
Held so tightly in her hands
Timid Frieda
Will life seize her
On the street where
The new dreams gather
Like fearless robins
Joined together
In high-flying bands
She feels taller
Troubles smaller
On the street where
She's lost in wonder
There she goes
With her valises
Held so tightly in her hands
Timid Frieda
Won't return now
To the home where
They do not need her
But always feed her
Little lessons
And platitudes from cans
She is free now
She will be now
On the street where
The beat's electric
There she goes
With her valises
Held so tightly in her hands
Timid Frieda
Who will lead her
On the street where
The cops all perish
For they can't break her
And she can take her
Brave new fuck you stand
Yet she's frightened
Her senses heightened
On the street where
The darkness brightens
There she goes
With her valises
Held so tightly in her hands
Timid Frieda
If you see her
On the street where
The future gathers
Just let her be her
Let her play in
The broken times of sand
There she goes now
Down the sidewalk
On the street where
The world is bursting
There she goes
With her valises
Held so tightly in her hands
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A few weeks ago you ran a poem about growing up, which made me think of "Timid Frieda" by the French song writer Jacques Brel. Song lyrics, I know, don't sound so well if you don't know the music, but I still think this holds up as poetry. I first heard this when I was in high school. My Language Club had taken a field trip to New York City, it was 1968, and we went to Greenwich Village. The hippie movement was in full swing, and it was incredible fun to buy black-light posters and other similar things, and just to be in the Village. There, at the Village Gate, we heard the revue "Jacques Brel is Alive and Well and Living in Paris." I purchased the album when I was in college, and enjoyed it a lot over the years. "Timid Frieda" always seemed to me to capture the tentative nature of leaving your parents' home and going out into the world, with timid courage. In the heady counterculture days of the late sixties, the lines about being "on the street where the beat's electric" and the "brave new f*** you stand" were strong stuff. If you know the music, you also realize the the slow 3/4 time sounds a little wistful, as if the singers are pitying Frieda and the mistakes she's bound to make, which they know they must let her make. In growing up, we all go out there, with our valises held so tightly in our hands. There are a few websites where you can look up more of Jacques Brel's lyrics, and they make interesting reading. Stephen Pecha.
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