Too soon ...
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Too soon ...
Bummer. RIP
put a lot of + into the world
A writer as magical as he was deserves two threads.
RIP Mr. Hunter. You played a hudge role in my life, it wouldn't have been the same without you. And I am one of thousands and thousands of people that would say that.
Just saw this post from John Kadlecik on his FB page.
"Terrapin Station...
Jerry and the band built the engine, stoked the firebox, and blew the whistle...
Robert Hunter showed us the map, laid the tracks, and gave us an itinerary. I am truly sad this fountain of timelessly relevant and beautiful words, this icon of American literature, has passed, but grateful for all he gave us. May he rest in peace."
I thought this was good from Trey:
Some of the most beautiful memories of my youth are of standing at concerts listening to Jerry sing Robert Hunter’s lyrics. The combination of those lyrics, always from the point of view of the outsider, the broken, the confused, the outlaw, the dying, the man on the street, and Jerry’s aching vulnerable voice, full of pain and spirit, was indescribable. Black Peter, Wharf Rat, Stella Blue, China doll, far too many to even name. I often find myself trying to describe those moments to younger musicians who didn’t get a chance to actually experience it. The songs live on, but for me the friendship and the connection between those two masterful artists will be the memory I’ll carry for the rest of my life. An entire arena caught in a collective gasp, tears running down peoples cheeks, all over one simple line. “A pistol shot, at five o clock, the bells of heaven ring” It was so profound and powerful. I am so grateful to Robert Hunter. Rest In Peace
Yeah ... 2 threads at least.Quote:
Originally Posted by Danno
I don't have words at the moment for how much his genius was woven into the tapestry of my life.
Listening to "The Flight of the Marie Helena" seems appropos.
http://www.hunterarchive.com/files/P...lightofMH.html
Those not disposed to vision gather on the west deck, trade yarns and speak of remarkable spitballs, delivered with a touch of fire.
I go among them and speak
of innings, runs and scores.
We will speak of "going back for
a long one" and derive some
simple creature comfort therefrom.
Slam down the visor!
The moon becomes again a moon
of gentle incandescence
over the smooth, lapping swells.
The lion of the ocean sleeps.
.
.
.
True dawn.
Sea and sky, then
sky and sea,
fleck, foam, wave -
luminous blue rose.
An island lies
off stern - inviting.
Ah! If we could only
swing the Marie Helena!
But no, we are engaged to
ride the mighty raft where
wind and wave command!
Mark it on the map and wave farewell.
The perfume of its trees
ride on the breeze which
gently, firmly, sadly
bars our entry.
A very blue island
beneath blue clouds
against blue sky
rising from blue sea.
It is not a dream.
Ah no, it is another thing.
It is a sunlit vision
seen through rain.