We depart from our series of Video lectures to explore some great writing expressed as song lyrics.

First, a tragically romantic evocation from the pen of tragic romantic Billy Strayhorn:

They say into your early life romance came
And in this heart of yours burned a flame
A flame that flickered one day and died away
Then, with disillusion deep in your eyes
You learned that fools in love soon grow wise
The years have changed you, somehow
I see you now

Smoking, drinking, never thinking of tomorrow, nonchalant
Diamonds shining, dancing, dining with some man in a restaurant
Is that all you really want?
Oh no, sophisticated lady,
I know, you miss the love you lost long ago
And when nobody is nigh you cry

A poem with great structural layout, by James Taylor:

There is a young cowboy,
he lives on the range.
His horse and his cattle are his only companions.
He works in the saddle and he sleeps in the canyons,
waiting for summer,
his pastures to change.

And as the moon rises, he sits by his fire,
thinking about women,
and glasses of beer.
And closing his eyes as the doggies retire,
he sings out a song which is soft, but it's clear,
as if maybe someone could hear.

"Goodnight, you moonlight ladies.
Rock-a-bye sweet baby James.
Deep greens and blues are the colors I choose,
won't you let me go down in my dreams,
and rock-a-bye sweet baby James."

Now the first of December, was covered with snow.
So was the turnpike from Stockbridge to Boston.
Lord, the Berkshires seemed dream-like
on account of that frosting,
with ten miles behind me, and ten thousand more to go.

There's a song that they sing when they take to the highway,
a song that they sing when they take to the sea,
a song that they sing of their home in the sky,
maybe you can believe it, if it helps you to sleep,
but singing works fine for me.

"So, goodnight, moonlight ladies.
And rock-a-bye sweet baby James.
Deep greens and blues are the colors I choose,
won't you let me go down in my dreams,
and rock-a-bye sweet baby James."

Graeme Edge gives us:
Late Lament (Recitatif - Nights in White Satin)

Breathe deep the gathering gloom,
Watch lights fade from every room.
Bedsitter people look back and lament,
Another day's useless energy spent.
Impassioned lovers wrestle as one,
Lonely man cries for love and has none.
New mother picks up and suckles her son,
Senior citizens wish they were young.

Cold hearted orb that rules the night,
Removes the colours from our sight.
Red is grey and yellow white,
But we decide which is right.
And which is an illusion?

As in exploring humor with Eddie Izzard, we note that sudden transition, either as to time or place, is a feature of each lyric. Strayhorn leads us from a romantic past to a blasè, sophisticated present, then back again. Sweet Baby James takes us from a lonely cowboy to a Massachusetts turnpike, with a unifying theme about singing and sleep. Graeme Edge's poem moves from ordinary people preparing for the coming night to the optical illusion of moonlight, and the existential choice it presents to us.

If you'd like to try your hand at it, please pen a short piece - poem, flash fiction, or memoir, in which you suddenly shift the scene to a different time or place. Do so in the comments section if you wish, or post on your own blog if you prefer.

I'll post my own effort tomorrow.