Modern Poetry Edition #45 {Jailbait}

Yo, Happy New Year! Thanks for the votes.
It was awesome this week. Everyone Voted!

Except one person!

That is wonderful support indeed
(except for the one person --
you know who you are!).

This week the winner is the Welsh Witch, Stevie Nicks.
Edge of Seventeen is perhaps not her best, but it was
good enough to beat this week's field, led by Harry
Chapin, who got lots of votes -- even some from voters
who aren't tree-huggin'-chicks.

Coincidently, my interior decorator is named
Nicky Steves, so Stevie, if your award
(MPulitzer #45) does not arrive pretty soon,
check with me and I will see if Nicky got it
by mistake. Enjoy more modern poetry.

It's too late to stop now!

The next MP will be along in el jiffo.

--Sean


Modern Poetry #45 {Jailbait}
[12/29/05]
Sweet Little Sixteen by Chuck Berry
Seventeen by Winger
**Edge of Seventeen by Stevie Nicks
Only Sixteen by Sam Cooke
She Is Always Seventeen by Harry Chapin

**Winner of MPulitzer

---------------------------------------------------------------------

'She was too young to fall in love, and I was too young to know.'

This is the time on MP when we discuss the jailbait. Do you like yours sixteen or seventeen?

Chuck Berry likes sixteen, Kip Winger likes seventeen (or dix-sept in France), Stevie Nicks' seduction of a 17-yr old isn't going to be a legal problem for anybody, Sam Cooke puts the most fabulous voice to his story of the too young (sixteen), and no one is sure if anything good is going on in Harry's poem, but we love Harry, and once again, it's one the ultra-lib/tree-hugger chicks like.

Personally I could not read the Winger selection in English. It is awful. I preferred the French. Look:

J'ai seulement dix-sept ans, mais je vous montrerai l'amour comme vous n'avez jamais vu
Elle a seulement dix-sept ans, le papa dit qu'elle est trop jeune, mais elle est assez vieille pour moi

Isn't that better than the crude Amercian-English version? Okay, okay. Who am I to judge?

No, no, really, though. Welcome to the Modern Poetry, Edition #45. Now we all have something to talk about on NYE waiting for the ball to drop.

Without jailbait, we wouldn't have one R. P. McMurphy in jail and then the mental institution in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. Here R.P. (the Jack Nicholson char.) explains:

"She was fifteen years old, going on thirty-five, Doc, and she told me she was eighteen, she was very willing, I practically had to take to sewing my pants shut. Between you and me, uh, she might have been fifteen, but ... ... I don't think it's crazy at all and I don't think you do either. No man alive could resist that, and that's why I got into jail to begin with."

Now, the Harry Chapin one isn't exactly like the others, but it's the exception-to-the-rule 'Seventeen Song,' and one I learned from an eight-track player in a blue (fake) wood panelled '76 station-wagon that was called a Gran Torino. See a picture of one here: http://www.macdart.com/images/76squire_GranTorino.jpg 

Please vote! And get crackin'. Or we could just all wait to see what Dan-O says...

We've got to get through seven more editions before the poetic year is up in March. Anyone got a guest edition ready or close to it? Brandon? Dan? Steve? Megan?

Appréciez la poésie, mes petits ventilateurs de sports (Enjoy the poetry, my little sports fans).


Sweet Little Sixteen by Chuck Berry
===============================================
They're really rockin Boston
In Pittsburgh, P. A.
Deep in the heart of Texas
And 'round the Frisco Bay
All over St. Louis
Way down in New Orleans
All the Cats wanna dance with
Sweet Little Sixteen

Sweet Little Sixteen
She's just got to have
About half a million
Framed autographs
Her wallet's filled with pictures
She gets 'em one by one
She gets so excited
Won't ya look at her run

Oh Mommy Mommy
Please may I go
It's such a sight to see
Somebody steal the show
Oh Daddy Daddy
I beg of you
Whisper to Mommy
It's all right with you

Cause they'll be rockin on bandstand
In Philadelphia P.A.
Deep in the heart of Texas
And 'round the Frisco Bay
All over St. Louis
Way Down in New Orleans
All the Cats wanna dance with
Sweet Little Sixteen

Sweet Little Sixteen
She's got the grown up blues
Tight dress and lipstick
She's sportin' high-heeled shoes
Oh, but tomorrow morning
She'll have to change her trend
And be sweet sixteen
And back in class again

Cause they'll be rockin on bandstand
In Philadelphia P.A.
Deep in the heart of Texas
And 'round the Frisco Bay
All over St. Louis
Way Down in New Orleans
All the Cats wanna dance with
Sweet Little Sixteen

Seventeen by Winger
===============================================
I saw sparks fly, from the corner of my eye
And when I turned, it was love at first sight
I said, "please excuse me, I didn't catch your name"
Oh it'd be a shame not to see you again

And just when I thought she was comin' to my door
She whispered sweet and brought me to the floor, she said
I'm only seventeen, but I'll show you love like you've never seen
She's only seventeen, daddy says she's too young, but she's old enough for me

Come to my place, we can talk it over, oh everything going down in your head
She said take it easy, I need some time, time to work it out, to make you mine
And just when I thought she was comin' to my door
She whispered sweet and brought me to the floor, she said
I'm only seventeen, you ain't seen love, ain't seen nothing like me

She's only seventeen, seventeen

Such a bad girl, loves to work me overtime
Feels good (ha), dancin' close to the borderline
She's a magic mountain, she's a leather glove
Oh she's my soul, it must be love

She's only seventeen, still she gives me love, like I've never seen
She's only seventeen, daddy says she's too young, but she's old enough for me
She's everything I need, daddy says she's too young
But she's old enough, old enough for me

Edge of Seventeen by Stevie Nicks
===============================================
Just like the white winged dove... sings a song ...
Sounds like she's singing... whoo...whoo...whoo
Just like the white winged dove... sings a song...
Sounds like she's singing... ooo...baby...ooo...said ooo

And the days go by....
like a strand in the wind
In the web that is my own...
I begin again
Said to my friend, baby...
Nothin' else mattered

He was no more...than a baby then
Well he... seemed broken hearted...
something within him
But the moment...that I first laid...
Eyes...on...him...all alone...
On the edge of...seventeen

Just like the white winged dove... sings a song ...
Sounds like she's singing... whoo...whoo...whoo
Just like the white winged dove... sings a song...
Sounds like she's singing... ooo...baby...ooo...said ooo

I went today...maybe I will go again... tomorrow
And the music there it was hauntingly... familiar
And I see you doing... what I try to do for me
With the words from a poet... and the voice from a choir
And a melody...nothing else mattered

Just like the white winged dove... sings a song ...
Sounds like she's singing... whoo...whoo...whoo
Just like the white winged dove... sings a song...
Sounds like she's singing... ooo...baby...ooo...said ooo

The clouds...never expect it... when it rains
But the sea changes colours... but the sea... Does not change
And so...with the slow...graceful flow... of age
I went forth...with an age old... desire...to please
On the edge of...seventeen

Just like the white winged dove... sings a song ...
Sounds like she's singing... whoo...whoo...whoo
Just like the white winged dove... sings a song...
Sounds like she's singing... ooo...baby...ooo...said ooo

Well then suddenly... there was no one...left standing
In the hall...yeah, yeah...
In a flood of tears
That no one really ever heard fall at all
Oh I went searchin' for an answer... Up the stairs...and down the hall
Not to find an answer... just to hear the call
Of a nightbird...singing... come away...come away...

Just like the white winged dove... sings a song ...
Sounds like she's singing... whoo...whoo...whoo
Just like the white winged dove... sings a song...
Sounds like she's singing... ooo...baby...ooo...said ooo

Well I hear you in the morning...
and I hear you... At nightfall...
sometime to be near you... Is to be unable...to hear you...
my love... I'm a few years older than you...
are (I'm a few years older than you) my love

Just like the white winged dove... sings a song...
Sounds like she's singing... ooo baby...ooo...said ooo

Only Sixteen by Sam Cooke
===============================================
She was only sixteen, only sixteen
I loved her so
But she was too young to fall in love
And I was too young to know

We'd laugh and we'd sing
and do the little things
That made my heart glow
But she was too young to fall in love
And I was too young to know

Why did I give my heart so fast
it never will happen again
But I was a mere lad of sixteen
I've aged a year since then

She was only sixteen, only sixteen
with eyes that would glow
But she was too young to fall in love
and I was too young to know

(Then why did you give your heart so fast)
Boy, it never will happen again
(But you were a mere lad of sixteen)
Oh, I've aged a year since then

She was only sixteen, only sixteen
With eyes that would glow
But she was too young to fall in love
And I was too young to know
She was too young to fall in love
And I was too young to know

She Is Always Seventeen by Harry Chapin
===============================================
For the future's just beginning when you're always seventeen.

It was nineteen sixty-one when we went to Washington;
she put her arms around me and said, "Camelot's begun."
We listened to his visions of how our land should be;
we gave him our hearts and minds to send across the sea.
Nineteen sixty-three, white and black upon the land;
she brought me to the monuments and made us all join hands.
And scarcely six months later she held me through the night
when we heard what had happened in that brutal Dallas light.

Oh, she is always seventeen;
she has a dream that she will lend us and a love that we can borrow.
There is so much joy inside her she will even share her sorrow;
she's our past, our present, and our promise of tomorrow.
Oh, truly she's the only hope I've seen, and she is always seventeen.

It was nineteen sixty-five and we were marching once more
from the burning cities against a crazy war.
Memphis, L.A. and Chicago we bled through sixty-eight
till she took me up to Woodstock saying with love it's not too late.
We started out the seventies living off the land;
she was sowing seeds in Denver trying to make me understand
that mankind is woman and woman is man,
and until we free each other we cannot free the land.

Oh, she is always seventeen;
she has a dream that she will lend us and a love that we can borrow.
There is so much joy inside her she will even share her sorrow;
she's our past, our present, and our promise of tomorrow.
Oh, truly she's the only hope I've seen, and she is always seventeen.

Nineteen seventy-two, I'm at the end of my rope,
but she was picketing the White House chanting,
"The truth's the only hope."
In nineteen seventy-five when the crooked king was gone
she was feeding starving children saying the dream must go on.
she is always seventeen;
she has a dream that she will lend us and a love that we can borrow.
There is so much joy inside her she will even share her sorrow;
she's our past, our present, and our promise of tomorrow.
Oh, truly she's the only hope I've seen, and she is always seventeen