Welcome to Letters from Quotidia, 2024 Episode 11, the second of the September editions. Quotidia, is that space, that place, where ordinary people lead ordinary lives. But where, from time to time, they encounter the extraordinary.

The second edition is of course the blue moon edition so without any more ado let’s hear what Pauline Morris on the site oldtimemusic.com has this to say about Billie Holliday’s version of the song– It is a timeless jazz standard that was first introduced to the world by Billie Holiday in 1935. Written by Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart, this heartfelt ballad has captured the hearts of millions with its melancholic lyrics and haunting melody.

Frank and Elvis and Dean, among many others have covered this song but for me, Billie Holliday’s version strikes deepest. The power and passion of her voice were evident to me as a teenager when I remember hearing for the first time her aching lament for victims of lynchings in the American South, Strange Fruit. According to Wikipedia, one version of events claims that Barney Josephson, the founder of Café Society in Greenwich Village, New York’s first integrated nightclub, heard the song and introduced it to Billie Holiday. Holiday first performed the song at Café Society in 1939. She said that singing it made her fearful of retaliation but, because its imagery reminded her of her father, she continued to sing the piece, making it a regular part of her live performances. Because of the power of the song, Josephson drew up some rules: Holiday would close with it; the waiters would stop all service in advance; the room would be in darkness except for a spotlight on Holiday’s face; and there would be no encore. During the musical introduction to the song, Holiday stood with her eyes closed, as if she were evoking a prayer.  

But that is by way of being a respectful aside. The chord sequence for Blue Moon is one I learned when first I picked up a guitar in my mid-teens. It is known as the doo- wop progression and Blue Moon is the first popular song to utilise it according to some sources. Here are a couple of poems about the moon to prepare the stage. First, Moonset by Carl Sandburg, an American poet I have quoted several times before in the Letters, Leaves of poplars pick Japanese prints against the west./Moon sand on the canal doubles the changing pictures./The moon’s good-by ends pictures./The west is empty. All else is empty. No moon-talk now./  Second, Autumn by T. E. Hulme, killed in west Flanders on 28 September, 1917 A touch of cold in the Autumn night-/I walk abroad,/And saw the ruddy moon lean over a hedge/Like a red-faced farmer./I did not stop to speak, but nodded,/And round about were the wistful stars/With white faces like town children.// [insert song]

Looking for a September song, I glanced at Sinatra’s September of my Years but quickly moved on as this is a song for a middle-aged male. So, wistfully, I continued my search. And I’m glad I did for I found a song that referenced the penultimate month that is more suited to one in his 75th year! Written by Irish poet Patrick Kavanagh, I was struck by the serendipity of happening, also, upon a poem by him featuring this month in its title and I’m going to recite it now.

Its title: On an apple-ripe September morning, On an apple-ripe September morning/Through the mist-chill fields I went/With a pitch-fork on my shoulder/Less for use than for devilment.//The threshing mill was set-up, I knew,/In Cassidy’s haggard last night,/And we owed them a day at the threshing/Since last year. O it was delight//To be paying bills of laughter/And chaffy gossip in kind/With work thrown in to ballast/The fantasy-soaring mind.//As I crossed the wooden bridge I wondered/As I looked into the drain/If ever a summer morning should find me/Shovelling up eels again.//And I thought of the wasps’ nest in the bank/And how I got chased one day/Leaving the drag and the scraw-knife behind,/How I covered my face with hay.//The wet leaves of the-cocksfoot/Polished my boots as I/Went round by the glistening bog-holes/Lost in unthinking joy.//I’ll be carrying bags to-day, I mused,/The best job at-the-mill/With-plenty-of-time-to-talk-of-our-loves/As we wait for the bags to fill.//Maybe Mary might call round…/And then I came to the haggard gate,/And I knew as I entered that I had come/Through fields that were part of no earthly estate.//

From Hesiod to John Clare through to Robert Frost and Seamus Heaney the themes found in nature are endlessly fortifying to the human spirit. But even great poets are subject to the fickle whims of romantic yearning. Kavanagh courted a dark-haired medical student, Hilda Moriarty, who was as dismissive of his poetry as of his advances:   Can you not, then, write about anything other than stony grey soil and bogs, Paddy?” Kavanagh replied, “I will immortalise you in poetry, Hilda. And he did. On Raglan Road is one of the greatest love songs. Kavanagh gave it to Luke Kelly of the Dubliners in a pub called Baileys. Released as the B side of a single in 1971, It’s been recorded by a rollcall of singers ever since and it is a fitting song to end this second September Letter. [insert song]

October beckons now, and it is an ambivalent month: The end of summer is not the end of the world. Here’s to October, says A.A. Milne, author of that children’s classic Winnie the Pooh. October was always the least dependable of months- full of ghosts and shadows, opines Joy Fielding, Canadian novelist. So, take care!

Blue Moon (Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart)

      C   Am F

Blue moon,

              G7    C  Am F

You saw me standing alone.

           G7          C  Am F

Without a dream in my heart,

           G7        C Am F G7

Without a love of my own.

      C Am F

Blue moon,

               G7         C     Am F

You knew just what I was there for,

             G7       C      Am F

You heard me saying a prayer for,

            G7      C F C C7

Someone I really care for.

                 Dm        G7       C       Am

And then there suddenly appeared before me.

         Dm                  G7   C

The only one my heart could ever hold.

            C6              Bm7        Em

I heard somebody whisper, please adore me.

             C                   D7        G  G7

And when I looked, the moon had turned to gold.

      C   Am F

[Blue moon,

             G7    C   Am F

Now I’m no longer alone.

            G7          C Am F

Without a dream in my heart,

          G7          C F C C7

Without a love of my own.] final verse in brackets; outro Gm- C “Blue Moon”

                 Dm        G7       C       Am

And then there suddenly appeared before me.

         Dm                  G7   C

The only one my heart could ever hold.

            C6              Bm7        Em

I heard somebody whisper, please adore me.

             C                   D7        G  G7

And when I looked, the moon had turned to gold.

      C   Am F

Blue moon,

              G7    C  Am F

Now I’m no longer alone.

           G7          C  Am F

Without a dream in my heart,

           G7        C F C

Without a love of my own.

Gm                C

Blue………….Moon

On Raglan Road (lyrics Patrick Kavanagh; music trad Dawning of the Day)

D                         G

On Raglan Road, on an autumn day,

  D       G         D

I saw her first and knew

     G                    D

That her dark hair, would weave a snare,

             Bm      A

that I might one day rue

  G               D

I saw the danger, and I passed,

            Bm      A

along the enchanted way,

      D                             G

and I said: ‘Let grief, be a fallen leaf

       D       G      D

at the dawning of the day’

   D                       G

On Grafton Street, in November,

           D        G        D

we tripped lightly along the ledge

     G                  D

Of a deep ravine, where can be seen,

             Bm        A

the worth of passion’s pledge

    G                      D

The Queen of Hearts, still making tarts,

          Bm     A

and I not making hay

      D

Oh, I loved too much and by such,

   G        D         G       D

by such, is happiness thrown away

  D                     G

I gave her gifts of the mind,

  D            G      D

I gave her the secret signs.

       G                     D

That’s known to the artists, who have known,

                 Bm        A

the true gods of sound and stone

    G                  D

And word and tint, without stint,

           Bm       A

I gave her poems to say

         D                                G

With her own name there, and her own dark hair,

     D           G         D

like clouds over fields of May

     D                              G

On a quiet street, where old ghosts meet,

  D       G       D

I see her walking now.

 G              D

Away from me so hurriedly,

          Bm     A

my reason must allow

     G                D

That I had loved, not as I should,

           Bm      A

a creature made of clay

         D

When the angel woos, the clay

     G         D            G       D

he’d lose, his wings at the dawn of day

Credits: All written text, song lyrics andmusic (including background music) written and composed by Quentin Bega unless otherwise specified in the credits section after individual posts. Illustrative excerpts from other texts identified clearly within each podcast. I donate to and use Wikipedia frequently as one of the saner sources of information on the web.

Technical Stuff: Microphone-songs Shure SM58; (for the podcast spoken content) Audio Technica AT 2020 front-facing with pop filter); Apogee 76K also used for songs and spoken text. For recording and mixing down: 64-bit N-Track Studio 10 Extended used; Rubix 22 also used for mixing of microphone(s) and instruments. I use the Band in a Box/RealBand 2023 combo for music composition.