When I was a lot younger than I am now, say 50-plus years ago, I was a huge fan of the writing of Paul Simon. You know, of Simon and Garfunkel.
I frequently used Simon’s song lyrics when I was teaching poetry, telling my students that some of Simon’s lyrics were among the best poetry being written at the time. That was an exaggeration, of course, but using popular songs was an easy way to get kids to examine poetic techniques and to introduce some of the classical poets.
Readers who are quite young may not even know who Simon and Garfunkel are, but readers who are near my age may remember the sort of folk-rock music that made Simon and Garfunkel two of the biggest stars of the late ’50s and all of the ’60s.
They sold more than 40 million albums in the United States with hits such as “The Sounds of Silence,” “Bridge Over Troubled Water” and “Mrs. Robinson.” But they also had some wonderful songs that didn’t make it to the top 10. Some of the “flip sides” and some of the “fillers” in the albums contained some terrific words.
I recently saw some YouTube videos of Simon and Garfunkel, one of which was from a “reunion” tour that the pair did in 2003. They hadn’t recorded together since 1975, but they got together to do this tour. They called the tour “Old Friends,” and one of the central songs of their concerts was the song “Old Friends/Bookends.”
And I was struck again by how great Simon’s writing really is. Listen to these words:
“Old friends, old friends,
Sat on their park bench like bookends.
A newspaper blown through the grass
Falls on the round toes
Of the high shoes of the old friends.
“Old friends, winter companions, the old men
Lost in their overcoats, waiting for the sunset.
The sounds of the city sifting through trees
Settle like dust on the shoulders of the old friends.
“Can you imagine us years from today?
Sharing a park bench quietly.
How terribly strange to be seventies.
“Old friends, memory brushes the same years,
Silently sharing the same fears.
“Time it was and what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence, a time of confidences.
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph.
Preserve your memories, they’re all that’s left you.”
Doesn’t that paint a nice picture?
Maybe it’s because I’m now past the middle of my 70s, and a lot of what I do is look back and “preserve my memories,” but the words of that song really strike me.
“How terribly strange to be seventy.” When Paul Simon was writing these lyrics, he was a young man, and I suppose 70 seemed old. He’ll be 74 in October. I wonder if he still thinks that it’s “terribly strange to be seventies.”
Perhaps being 70 back in the ’60s was older than it is now.
I suppose that I, too, looked at people who were 40 years older than I was and thought they were old. But in the last 40 years my perspective has changed. Now I think 70 is old only if you lack the spirit of youth. I don’t think it’s “terribly strange”; I think it’s pretty wonderful to be 76 and still doing all right.
If you’d like to read some nice poetry, go to a website with Paul Simon’s lyrics and read through the songs. Then go to YouTube and listen to some of those songs. It would be a great way to spend a quiet afternoon.
