《Tanya Jean》是由Kurt Elling演唱的一首歌曲，收錄於專輯《The Messenger》
基本介紹
- 歌曲：Tanya Jean
- 語種：英語
- 發行日期：1997年04月08日
- 歌手：Kurt Elling
- 所屬專輯：The Messenger
鍩縃ips swayin鈥 to the beat （lip smackin鈥, honey-sweet）.
Magnolias in the street 鈥 dust under Tanya鈥檚 feet.
Melody:
Dig with me this chick lording every clique, name of Tanya Jean.
Even in the thick she鈥檒l never miss a trick. She鈥檚 a royal queen.
Swingin鈥 down the block, stoppin鈥 every clock, wiggin鈥 every scene -
She鈥檚 got a flock （a man in every dock） diggin鈥 Tanya Jean.
But if she ever would think, for once, she would see that she has been a dunce -
never digging her brains and her beauty are more than the usual front.
She could be swinging ad libitum 鈥檚tead of just acting like she was dumb.
（Up and running to run all the savages鈥檚 no more than just a stunt.）
Solo:
鈥淐ome dancing with me in a little dream, Tanya Jean,鈥 said Prophet-Man-With-One-Hand-Put-Away. 鈥淎nd we will seek together the stolen vision （vision that was hidden by lovers gone and poets buried）. Time, swing over: gonging and banging late-in-life clock assembling a three-ring, peddling a new thing. Telling time, telling tales, telling sights, filling pails with alabaster springing. Here鈥檚 your life upon a plate regarding its fate. Senility鈥檚 rumored.鈥
鈥淗ow can you eat that,鈥 asks the girl, with a smirk. 鈥淒on鈥檛 you see how every day, come what may, it鈥檚 growing 鈥 you jerk, you. And thirty centuries of sleeping won鈥檛 make a dent in giving the time that it鈥檚 needing. Flipping to appendices, Demosthenes, won鈥檛 bring about the stumbling of a Beast with weaker knees. This I tell you. So dig it.鈥
鈥淒on鈥檛 wig it. Come along with me and envision the vision. Maybe then, you will feel. Like the rumbling of a train on tracks a hundred miles away, you can hear pretty clear 鈥 like the echoes of the footfalls of childhood in rooms 鈥 like a fire, sire, like a pyre; a singing out of desire. Dark angelic bodies in a flying circus come bombing over Flander鈥檚 Fields.
鈥淎nd what if darkened drummers who can play just like Elvin never escape the mandibles of their mothers, keeping silence when screaming upwards from deep within his inner voice 鈥 crying into the vortex of night, subtle terrors make writing a scrawling of dying-wish notes? Time to make another adversary list up to the sky as you travel by.
鈥淪uddenly bidding is asking. And then it鈥檚 wishing. You can鈥檛 stretch your arms out like a lord enfolding thousand stars. So dig it. And lonliness is rolling over levees like a suicidal tidal surge 鈥 upending illusiories, strong, of living as defensive. Meanwhile, intimacy calls us into dangers with a siren song of loving long in luxury-to-be （secret, unnameable surging of love into what must always be）. It鈥檚 spilling over infinity to become behemoth: everything, everywhere, everyone, everytime. The kingdom comes from ancient, howling cries of MotherGods.
鈥淪creaming across the open plains of nothingness comes everything that might have been, like great comets blasting through every dark sky. So what if L.T. Dexter鈥檚 swinging has rarified Mid-Atlantic sounds of Jazz in silk scarves and all fall-colored Paris nights? And Charlie Parker鈥檚 with him, blowing on his over-grown pitoodle stick and reaching through the thicker places in our heads （intelligence was never, ever, surely, this hard to find）. Dig what I鈥檓 saying: just because we鈥檒l never know The Secret doesn鈥檛 mean that we should find that we have sold ourselves, like Joseph, into bondage again 鈥 time and again, until the end.
鈥淢y friend, take your practiced powers and stretch them across the void until everything living has a chance to ponder every contradiction. That might be everyone鈥檚 doable mission. Just like when Herbie鈥檚 playing piano 鈥 then you can hear it, 鈥檆ause he can play it. You don鈥檛 forget it 鈥檆ause Herbie said it when he spoke like a child playing jacks on the floor of a kitchen. And Hermann Hesse said it: 鈥榊ou鈥檒l search for truth among the planets and never find a truer voice than that voice which is calling it out to you 鈥 calling you to at least become a human. Instead of being confounded by being. Instead of surfing in the dirt like a serpent, go dance in the whirlwind.鈥 For those who have heard it, God becomes a silence, huge and glowing, flowing from the deepest inner places inside of your heart.
鈥淚t鈥檚 saying, 鈥楪o moaning and groaning, alone-ing. Go rolling on the breast of earth. Report you truly all the lives you see there, like a song growing golden-ripe, like the wheat. Take it! Take this cup I鈥檓 passing to you. Drink it. Think it way down into the entrails of your thinking. What moves in secret is not ever nothing. If gateways of seeing were opened, then we could see that everything is just as it always is; infinitely infinite.鈥
鈥淏ut now, you see? Time is growing short for me.鈥
Pow! Poof. The dreaming was over. But Prophet-Man had put mind into motion: Tanya Jean was then, hereafter seen to be the queen of what we later called the scene in which a body haverim careen like on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Wow.
