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Garden Dreams

by Aaron Marcus

supported by
Ellen B. (Elly) Marshall
Ellen B. (Elly) Marshall thumbnail
Ellen B. (Elly) Marshall Artful, touching, good grief of the best kind, these original tunes and poems of my friends in the Northeast have come at the best time. Listen here on Bandcamp. Buy for yourself. Share with your circles of friends. This heals with words that need to be shared.
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  • Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    Includes liner notes and a booklet insert with text of all the poems. Front cover artwork by Noble Chute, overall design by Dana Dwinell-Yardley. Back cover is a montage of showy ladyslipper orchids in a fen, Berta the Steinway Model B piano, and Aaron and Sam.

    Includes unlimited streaming of Garden Dreams via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 10 days

      $15.50 USD or more 

     

  • Streaming + Download

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

    Aaron Marcus and Sam Sanders have searched for - and found - 18 exquisite poems, mostly by contemporary rural poets, and Aaron has clothed them in original music, partly structured, partly improvised. Winner of a Times Argus Rutland Herald Tammie Award, this album can be a healing journey for our times, one that will stir the emotions, open the heart, ground the soul, and awaken the senses. Digital CD download includes a digital booklet with the text of all the poems.
    Purchasable with gift card

      $12 USD  or more

     

1.
It drives me crazy When I can’t get at the object of my desire. I know you understand. I hear you talking to yourself. I can see what I want; Hear it, Muffled through glass; Almost . . . taste it: Pretty fluttering songs, Quick, darting, chattering fur, Tantalizing motion. I remember my youth When I could pluck sweet birds from the sky, Take down big, feeder-fat greys, with their trophy-plume tails. Now I watch, Eating too much, (For consolation, you understand) Dreaming here on the bed by the window, Opening one eye to the apple tree, Cocking an ear to cardinals and chickadees across the street, Knowing, wishing I could . . . I cry now and then For the open door, For the young, lean days, For desire Of the sweet, long ago hunt. I know you understand. I’ve heard you cry too. Why don’t you get up? We can eat breakfast; You could open that door; and we could go out Hunting our dreams. _______________________________ On the neighbor’s porch Hot pink, plastic sled, Color of childhood, Like bubblegum Stretched over a ten year old’s tongue, Impossible to miss, Even half-buried in snow. The thin plastic, Hardly a wall at all Between buttocks and bumps, Earth and bones. As direct as we were then, Launching ourselves two and three deep To shriek and jolt down the hard packed hill, Uncomplicated as puppies. Taking in the winter world On our tongues, through our bottoms and bellies, Our wet, frozen mittens and snow-filled boots. Now We walk upright, or drive, Keeping to paths, Sedate. No longer giving ourselves over to the speed and bubblegum frivolity of the winters of childhood, When we knew the air, earth and snow With intimate innocence.
2.
Last night I dreamed Of going out to my neglected garden To find onions in need of thinning, Tall, fragrant dill, And beets. I never plant beets But there they were. And just at the edge Were some bright, wild berries To catch my eye and bring me To look. As I knelt to touch the hollow, blue-green onion tips And feathers and seeds of dill I felt forgiven For my neglect, As if the earth and rain And sun had given me A late-summer chance To make something of the casual seeds
3.
As each one shed its chrysalis Poised, unbound, they spread Their tissue wings to greet the sun. I waited for the morning heat to run off any fog Then turned both out into the meadow To flounce on the wind, to prance in the weeds With wings of rainbow colors giving them away, Skipping off to hide and lose their old man Or leap and scare me as I feigned blindness yet A cherry cheek or blond curl was easy enough to see And close I lumbered to chase them up again, A father troll in reach of son and daughter, Pretending I was one step slower, their Dizzy flight too quick for me. And in that moment, as I caught my breath, Both had flown to far-off scented air, Grown, with little thought of home in mind. Years I walk these fields alone and find No colors in the bushes or rustle in the reeds; Behind the trees, no one waits to pounce on me. I seem to hear their romping games - the bounce and tease - Whisper then, unfurl their names into the breeze… And dream of catching butterflies again.
4.
Imagine That 03:27
Oh children We sat outside on just such A perfect summer night When the air was cool, Smelling of green gardens, When the moon was a golden crescent Like this one. We played tunes from across the sea On fiddle, harp and guitar And for a few moments Drove away the weight Of our dangerous times, of the pandemic, And looming struggle We knew the flood was coming. The wave you now see behind you The one that changed the world But we could not see How large it would grow. We could not see what lay beyond its looming Or know if we could come through Unharmed, if at all. We only knew that somehow We would be changed Before summer came again Sit with me on this sweet summer evening When the world looks so much the same As it did before. Lean back into that evening Before we knew What the wave would sweep away Or leave behind. Imagine that.
5.
Bonfire 02:47
One summer, when the children were still small, We built a bonfire from brush around the cabin Pulling and piling dead branches high and higher, Gathering long sticks, marshmallows and lawn chairs Then lit dry tinder and watched, horrified as fire leapt and roared, echoing off the woods. This was no tame cooking fire for s’mores No cozy blaze for ghost stories or songs We stood in small groups in the flickering heat Trying to act like we were having a good time, But really, we were ready to put out sparks Or run for the cool and sheltering pond Later, after the young ones slept The flames sank down to a sullen glow. The parents stayed up all night to make sure New fire wouldn’t rise from hot ash Every day when I wake to hear The roaring flames of the morning news, I recognize that feeling of tense waiting Keeping watch Ready to beat at the flames, Or run.
6.
Trust. Sometimes I want to tattoo it on my finger Or backwards across my forehead, So that every glance in the mirror is a reminder. Trust. Because a life of fear is not so much fun, A dynamic vessel frozen Like the Tin Man after the rain, Forgetting about the heart He had all along. Trust. Because the way it is Is the only way it can be This moment. And fighting that Hurts. It may take a billion passes. I can learn to trust the process again.
7.
Being sent poetry this morning, and here is the poem that was sent: Let us imagine every statehouse steps surrounded by a rainbow of food gardening. Every lawn filled with perennial medicine, and fruits, and good foods. Every baby with a fair start, via free nurturing nutrition, their Earth right/ Birth right, the human right to Breathe free! Imagine seeds for all and all for seeds and clean air clean water and sunlight gentle warm rains, and the dark soulful soil of the people! Imagine Restorative Justice! Imagine us living in peace, Breathing our prayers.
8.
To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee, One clover, and a bee, And revery. The revery alone will do, If bees are few.
9.
Ya know, This northern job is the pits! Down south they give me thee months In the midwest it’s at least two. I can do the job in some kinda order. First the bluets, Then the forsythia, Then tulips, I can bring in the subcontractors Like, one at a time, Get the peeper guys in, Then drain the vernal pools, Get everyone out sunning on the rocks, Then bring in the mosquitoes. Have a little greenery up before the birds come in, Bring ‘em in gradual like, So they aren’t fighting over building materials, grabbing each other’s orders, ripping worms in half. I can take a little lunch break, Sit back while the sun does a little work, Ruffle some nice lake, Breathe a little. Up here, up north, Winter just won’t let me start work He drags his damned feet, freezes the permitting Puts up big, dirty snow banks Creates one ice jam after another, ’til I have a month, A MONTH! To do the whole job! Sub contractors stepping on each other’s toes, Getting peepers in with the black flies, Turtles getting run over, Birds fighting over the first shipment of twigs Lilacs, daffodils, Apple blossoms all at once And no time for peaches Or even wisteria Unless I get that new experimental stuff Not the same at all. And summer saying “C’mon! C’mon! Only ninety days ’til frost! Get a move on!” And now some bozo is paging me Says the sugaring season’s too short If winter had just moved his butt! Oh and if you had believed The global warming memo. Hello! And there’s some woman on the line wondering if I forgot the fiddleheads “No! I didn’t forget the Fricken’ Fiddleheads Some commercial picker got ‘em all in that spot last year. Check somewhere else. Just a minute. You want what?! More lady’s slippers? You don’t care that they’re endangered, hard to find, on back order? Alright That does it! I’m done D.O.N.E. DONE!
10.
If I told you I saw your soul, Would you judge me inappropriate, too intimate for comfort — or disbelieve me? If you asked for a description, would I admit you glowed, golden as these late northern afternoons, whose slanted autumn light makes green fire of a backlit tree’s shimmering leaves, and balances me perfectly, on the tightrope between yearning and content, as if I finally understood what beauty meant to tell me?
11.
Virgin Mary 02:39
Her favorite figurine now a sad pile of broken blue-and-white porcelain heaped on the counter and my wife implores a resurrection be performed by me a simple Jew armed only with Super Glue and trepidation but setting mind and jaw squarely to the task of all mankind I do manage restoring her slightly-cracked sly smile to its proper place the same smile that smashed me open more than thirty years ago still thrilling in random glances over a sandwich or pillow and though we’ve been broken a few times as may happen to most things brittle when hit by something hard the scattered china always beckons us to the bare floor on bent knees searching eye-to-eye under chair and table for the missing piece with jagged hands sparkling blue-and-white and soft in prayer
12.
Fear is a damaged heart Beating a rhythm of lies with no tempering joy Growing hard and brittle from overwork Beating a rhythm of lies to keep the ghosts away Growing hard and brittle from overwork Taking pale solace in easy blame. To keep the ghosts away and banish the nightmare of change Taking pale solace in easy blame shaking at the boogeyman of other Banishing the nightmare of change Without benefit of light or knowledge the boogeyman of other Dispelled by closed eyes hidden under the covers. without the benefit of light or knowledge with no tempering of joy with closed eyes, hiding under the covers, Fear is a damaged heart
13.
Last night, the crickets were still singing. And summer still hung by a thread, Green under foot, Soft on the air. No matter the red apples Out my window, Or early morning fog, cold and close. Even that week of pewter sun and cloud has not overruled the crickets The date is worrisome The crickets and I know That the end is coming soon. They sang through the dark Doing whatever crickets do for survival or joy. And I began a poem In the middle of the night The words And cricket song in my head, too strong and urgent for sleep Frost and silence Will come soon enough. But not yet. Not quite yet.
14.
Do not try to save the whole world or do anything grandiose. Instead, create a clearing in the dense forest of your life and wait there patiently, until the song that is your life falls into your own cupped hands and you recognize and greet it. Only then will you know how to give yourself to this world so worthy of rescue.
15.
[Tennessee Williams's text for "I think the strange, the crazed, the queer" is included with physical CD only] ______________________ It was the year gentleness died. Larry was the first to go the sweet young man covered with purple lesions. He was the sweetest. Men can be sweet, you know. Then it was Keith’s turn. He was a rebel rouser, full of righteous anger. But at his core he was all gentleness. And it was a plague against the gentle. And then Frederic went, dear lovely Frederic. His spirit was like a puppy’s bouncing and joyful, always joyful, and now gone. I could tell you about Bill and his love of angels because he was one, and if you never met Kerry — I could do this all day, telling you all whom we lost the year gentleness died. They went in the tens, then the hundreds, we lost them by the thousands, then ten times that across all the lands. They kept falling, all the gentle ones.
16.
Before a shattered world can begin to heal it might first float here amid moss and minnows in the shimmering mist of an approaching dawn We have only this body and only one earth made from flesh and blood of porous mountains where a doubtful heart may soak in warm uncertainty You could stay awhile with breath and gravity your only guides a primal sound pooling and rising from somewhere deep within your belly If you believe in stars then here is the infinite dance of light upon a shrine of rippling water

credits

released November 14, 2021

Aaron Marcus: Piano, original compositions
Sam Sanders: Spoken word (poetry by many authors)
Ama Peyman: Spoken word (original poetry) on Track 7

Dana Billings: Sound engineering, mixing, mastering, co-producing
Poets: Susan Reid, Ama Peyman, Danny Dover, Noble Chute (+ cover art), Emily Dickinson, Michael Kiesow Moore, April Ossmann, Martha Postlethwaite, David Stauffer, Tennessee Williams (by special arrangement with The University of the South, Sewanee, Tennessee)

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Aaron Marcus Vermont

Aaron (they/them) is an extraordinary pianist, concertinist, tune-writer and practitioner of traditional community dance styles. They tour across the US with "Frost & Fire," "Giant Robot Dance," & "The Turning Stile." Aaron believes in the deep emotive healing power of music. Their infectious exuberance, Earth grounding, and subtle lyricism all connect with the strong rhythms of the dance floor. ... more

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