Sometimes I think about Eva Cassidy
whose voice was ointment to me,
who sang cover songs,
painting them with her own soaring colours
while honouring their creators.
Whose interpretation of Time after Time, Wade in the Water,
Woodstock, Autumn Leaves and Fields of Gold,
pulled me through
two years in a windowless office
where I thought my life had abruptly been buried.
Later, when I looked her up and found that she died of melanoma
in 1996 when she was just 33, I’m not ashamed to say
I closed the door, sat in the dark and welled up.
Sometimes I hear Eva,
above the cries of the city,
sing into the shadows of night,
and think that if there is any justice,
any purpose, any fulfillment of beauty,
she’s alive somewhere other than in my failing memory,
preserved, rearranged, re-covered by divine memory,
alive and dusting the molting earth with her own atoms.
And maybe I have proof of that.
Because the other morning
I was awakened by someone singing
and found that it was me.
voice rescue and words saving inner sight.
Thanks Gordon.
This poem really turns a corner and comes back, not an indulgent, melancholy reflection, but a gentle reminder of the reassurance of immortality in art.
Nice.
High five.
Thanks for that Tiffany.
Well done. The last line touched deep.
Thank you Joyce.
Did she ever.
Thank you Stephen.
Thanks James.
Hi Stephen. I’ve never heard of Eva before but watching the YouTube video you attached gave me a sense of her sensitivity and artistry. I love the stripped-down, acoustic versions of all great songs and she does this masterfully. May she rest in peace.
Thanks Sheldon. Very happy to introduce her to you. There is a fine little documentary on YouTube about her as well.
So nice to discover we have a shared love for this woman and her particular way of expressing herself. My fave is the gospel tune, “How Can I Keep From Singing.” I’m cheered to know that someone or someones in her life worked hard to make sure her voice was heard after she died. She continues to enrich my life and spirit. Thanks for helping me remember.
Like most of her fans I was immediately drawn to the natural purity of her gift.
I love her version of that gospel song as well.
Thanks for this Wenda.
As an habitue of windowless offices – I can bear witness to the possibility of discovering oneself singing. Beautiful words beautiful tribute beautiful music.
(smiling) Thanks Sam!