Greg Brown is a folk musician from Iowa, USA. His "Iowa Waltz" has been (unsuccessfully) proposed to replace the state song of Iowa.
During the 1980s, his reputation was established through frequent touring and recurring performances on A Prairie Home Companion. Subsequently, his work has been nominated for Grammy awards. He also founded his own record label and named it Red House Records after a home he lived in in Iowa. Red House Records is an independent record label specializing in folk music, based in St.
Four years of hard work!This month of May we celebrated four years on the air. We continue working on the dissemination of this wonderful instrument, thank you for participating in our story!
#----------------------------------PLEASE NOTE---------------------------------# #This file is the author's own work and represents their interpretation of the # #song. You may only use this file for private study, scholarship, or research. # #------------------------------------------------------------------------------## From: [email protected] (Bob Steidl)
The Poet Game - by Greg Brown From "The Poet Game"
GGmaj7G6G open Down by the river junior year walking with my girl,
D7G and we came upon a place
GGmaj7G6G open There in the tall grass, where a couple had been making love
CD7 and left the mark of their embrace
CEm I said to her, "Looks like they had some fun"
AD7 She said to me "Let's do the same"
GGmaj7G6G open And still I taste her kisses and her freckles in the sun
G7 when I play the poet game.
To Intro:
A young man in the hill country in the year of '22 went to see his future bride. She lived in a rough old shack that poverty blew through She invited him inside. She'd been cooking, ashamed and feeling sad, she could only offer him bread and her name. Grandpa said that was the best gift a fella ever had and he taught me the poet game.
I had a friend who drank too much and played too much guitar and we sure got along. Reel-to-reels rolled across the country near and far with letters, poems, and songs but these days he won't talk to me and he won't tell me why. I miss him every time I say his name. I don't know what he's doing or why our friendship died while we played the poet game.
The fall rain was pounding down on an old New Hampshire mill and the river wild and high. I was talking to her while leaves blew down like a sudden chill. There was wildness in her eyes. We made love like we'd been waiting all our lives for this Strangers know no shame. But she had to leave at dawn and with a sticky farewell kiss left me to play the poet game.
I watched my country turn into a coast-to-coast strip mall and I cried out in a song. If we could do all that in 30 years, then tell me you all Why does good change take so long? Why does the color of your skin or who you choose to love still lead to such anger and pain? And why do I think it's any help for me to still dream of playing the poet game?
Sirens wail above the fields, another soul gone down another sun about to rise. I've lost track of my mistakes, like birds they fly around and darken half my skies. To all of those I've hurt, I pray you will forgive me. I to you will freely do the same. So many things I didn't see, with my eyes turned inside, playing the poet game.
I walk out at night to take a leak underneath the stars. Oh yeah that's the life for me. There's Orion and the Pleiades and I guess that must be Mars. All as clear as we long to be. I've sung what I was given, some was bad and some was good. I never did know from where it came and if I had to do it all again, I am not sure I would play the poet game.
===+===+===+===+===+===+===+===+===+===+===+===+=== Bob Steidl Dept. Fisheries and Wildlife Oregon State University