Stephen

Stephen Let me confess, this song was directly inspired by Cordelia’s Dad’s The Frozen Girl; I just loved the long, story-telling ballad, so reminiscent of the Swedish Skillingtryck (things that cost a shilling to print/buy—a broadsheet ballad) which my dad loved and which I used to sing as a child, all sad, all about winter and death and alcoholic fathers letting their daughters freeze to death (or starve to death) while they drank themselves to a stupor in the local ale house. Very cheery stuff. So, I tried my hand at this particular genre, and since I rarely manage to write any songs under seven minutes long, now that I was to write a long one, well, it turned out to be at least twice that long. It’s almost like a short story set to music; more a telling than a song. ____________________ The Words: Stephen was born on the First of July rosy of cheek and a brightness of eye all heart and lung and a breath and a cry glad to arrive maybe sad to have parted Ten little fingers and ten little toes two eyes and ears and a delicate nose though with ten brothers and sisters and those soon on the way he was erelong forsaken Being the youngest not counting the twins meant threadbares and hand-me-downs patches and pins asking for little he cowers and grins just for a smile or a pat on his shoulder Last to a supper of gristle and crumb leaving a hunger and cold that benumb leaving his heart and his soul to succumb into the world of his dreams and his demons Sensing a light within story and song gathering words where those meanings belong scavenging books he would read before long learning to fly above paper and letters Caught by his father asleep on the page startled and frightened he woke to his rage told by the fist boys don't read at your age told by the cane you're no better than others Still, by the light of a well-hidden flame Stephen would travel the worlds he became seeing no crime in his lettery game tracing its ink and its papery byways High over mountains and oceans he flew deep within jungles and deserts he grew racing by night for the kingdom he knew spreading the wings of his heart and its hunger One tiny pencil an inch maybe two that and some yellowy paper would do home to the words where his dream would shine through home to the song of his soul and its rising Sam was his brother and older by four Sam was a monger in secrets and more he brought the father one night to the door leading to: See, what a crime I’ve uncovered Damn, Stephen, damn you you'll come to no good Damn you, I'll make you behave like you should father was shaking with rage where he stood breaking his pencils then breaking his fingers Writhing he moaned in his fingery pain black, blue and bleeding they won't write again pleading for help though he whispered in vain no one would come to the aid of his darkness Beggar boy beggar boy lumps for his hands Stephen now cowers and grins where he stands cap on the ground for the coin as it lands ringing the news he may yet have his supper Beggar man beggar man lumps for his hands Stephen still cowers and grins where he stands cap on the ground for a coin as it lands telling anew he may yet have his supper Beggar man dreamer grown into a tree roots in the earth where his feet used to be willowy branches forgiving and free widen the sky of his heart and its soaring Stephen still travels his kingdom of dream of sea shore and valley of forest and stream closing his eyes he can sense every gleam to nurture them all into memorized phrases Heartbeat by heartbeat he adds to his song glimmer by glimmer he guides it along rising by rising it will before long open the gate he has hungered and prayed for Stephen would die on a cold winter's day all knots and bark on his bed where he lay no one to hold him or beg him to stay no one to see he was glad to have parted Ulf Wolf July 1997/May 2015 Copyright © 2015 by Wolfstuff