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news from
the cockburn project
at
www.cockburnproject.net
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21 December 2002

Greetings!

As we course our way through the Holiday Season we at The Cockburn
Project want to wish all of our readers a warm greeting and feelings
of good cheer. May this coming year bring us all peace and
understanding. May we each take our gifts that we were born to share
and 'give them away', because as Bruce himself said: I doesn't work
unless you give it away.....

There is Cockburn-related news to report though. Dave Hedenstrom
reports that two samples of Bruce's songs from Andy Milne's upcoming
CD are available in Real Audio on the Andy Milne web site:

http://www.andymilne.com/dapp_site/recordings.htm

The songs, as you might guess, are "Trickle Down" and "Let the Bad
Air Out." According to the web site the new album should be
available in Jan. 2003.

Editor David Newton has added a whole bunch of 'new' (a lot from the
80's) setlists for your perusal, be sure to check them out and send
in any that you may have the we don't have!

Editor Bobbi Wisby has done some updates as well, adding another in
our series of 'One Man's View' album reviews by contributor Wilfred
Langmaid for the album You Pay Your Money and Take a Chance.

She's also added the 'final lyrics' to "Postcards From Cambodia",
which orginally started out as a poem in 1999. Bruce shared the poem
with listeners on Vin Scelsa's Idiot's Delight radio show on Sunday
19 September 1999. Cockburn mentioned the poem was untitled and "may
or may not end up as a song," calling it "Cambodia" for now.

By 24 August 2002 Bruce was now calling "Cambodia", "Postcards From
Cambodia". This version of the song was first played in concert at
the 24 August 2002 show at The Birchmere, in Alexandria, Virginia.
And now a new version was played on the 25 August 2002 XM Radio
Broadcast. The lyrics were transcribed from the XM radio broadcast
and contributed to the Project by Blair Frodelius and appear below.

They ring so true with the impending threat of war, that perhaps
they'll help people see a little ahead in time from where they stand
right now while they still can do something to change their way
of 'doing business' in the world.

Postcards From Cambodia

Abe Lincoln once turned to somebody and said,
"Do you ever find yourself talking with the dead?"
There are three tiny deaths heads carved out of mammoth tusk
On the ledge in my bathroom
They grin at me in the morning
When I'm taking a leak
But they say very little.

Outside Phnom Penh there's a tower
Glass paneled, maybe ten meters high
Filled with skulls from the killing fields
Most of them lack the lower jaw
So they don't exactly grin
But they whisper as if from a great distance
Of pain and of pain left far behind

18,000 empty eyeholes peering out at the four directions
Electric fly buzz, green moist breeze
Bone-colored brahma bull grazes
Wet eyed, hobbled in hollow of mass grave
In the neighboring field
A small herd of young boys plays soccer
Their laughter swallowed in expanding silence

And this is too big for anger and it's too big for blame
We stumble through story so humanly lame
So I bow down my head
Say a prayer for us all
That we don't fear the spirit when it comes to call

The sun will soon slide down into the far end of the ancient reservoir
Orange ball merging with its water-borne twin
Below air-brushed edges of cloud
But first, it spreads itself a golden scrim
Behind fractal sweep of swooping fly catchers
Silhouetted dark green trees, blue horizon

The rains are late this year
The sky has no more tears to shed
But from the air, Cambodia remains a disc of wet green
Bordered by bright haze
Water-filled bomb craters
Sun streaked gleam stitched in strings
Across patchwork land
March west toward the far hills of Thailand
A macro analogue of Ankor Wat's ancient temple walls
Thousand year old bas reliefs and battle scenes
Pitted with AK rounds

And under the sign of the seven headed cobra
The Naga who sees in all directions
Seven million landmines lie in terraced grass,
In paddy, in bush
Call it a minescape now
Sally holds the beggar's hand and cries
At his scarred up face and absent eyes
And right leg gone from above the knee
Tears spot the dust on the worn stone causeway
Whose sculpted guardians row on row
Half frown, half smile
Mysterious, mute

And this is too big for anger and it's too big for blame
we stumble through story so humanly lame
so I bow down my head
say a prayer for us all
that we don't fear the spirit when it comes to call

This is too big for anger and it's too big for blame
we stumble through story so humanly lame
so I bow down my head
say a prayer for us all
that we don't fear the spirit when it comes to call

Wishing for peace for all,
Suzanne Myers
editor@...