We watched Springsteen on Broadway last night, and I’ve been listening to the soundtrack all day, especially “Tougher than the Rest, ” a duet with his wife Patti.
There are some powerful dichotomies in his music. The dichotomy of earthiness and the Divine. The archetype of both leaving home and coming back to it. The startling reality that, to ascend to the heights, we have to descend to the depths. As the poet Billy Collins says, “The message of poetry is, ‘Life is beautiful, and we’re going to die.’” And the poet Wallace Stevens: “No ideas, but in things.” Bruce gets this all right. You can reach out and touch the details, the things, in his songs, and the details are all the more beautiful because they are temporal.
I’ve been in a lovely Bruce-induced coma all day long, thankful for my passage through this earth where music is made and listened to, where people can tell their stories with such love and passion. I’m too tired to write a poem, but this little entry is my ode. An ode to the storytellers and musicians of the world, to my place among them, and to being inspired. To feeling God. If that’s not possible, I’m not interested.