Hurtin', Leavin' and Longin' (35)—My Home's in (Alabama)

Click here to read the introduction to the Round and Square series "Hurtin', Leavin', and Longin'..." 

[a] Alabama sunset RF

I'm letting y'all off very eas(il)y today, so you can thank the (solar) New Year holiday for the tameness of these lyrics. That's only part of it, though. What I really wish to explore on this holiday weekend is the peculiar mixture of place, memory, longing, and melancholy that we all will experience at various points in our lives. As a people (as peoples, all over the world) we tend to be itinerant, if not transient. We put down roots, stay awhile, and then, well uproot. This is a powerful social, cultural, and mnemonic process. I know. I have proof.

We write songs about it.

[b] Placefood RL

I have spent the last few days "catching up" on Round and Square, after being crushed by a December steamroller of grading. As I prepared a whole bevy of "Fieldnotes from History" posts, I got to thinking about, well, homesickness. In 1985, during my first extended research trip outside of the upper Midwest (my home's in North Dakota...and Minnesota...and Wisconsin), I spent a great deal of time thinking about the open road, family, and holiday meals. I could fairly smell the lutefisk all of the way to Taipei. I was never particularly homesick, but I thought about place a lot.

That is the theme for today. Alabama is only a "placeholder" today for our own particular memories of home. I will have a bit more to say about these matters after you have listened to the song, but suffice it to say for now that—much as I would like to show diversity of region in this post—there is really not much of a market for "My Home's in Delaware." Rest assured, though, that I will not let this (solar) New Year's Day pass without exploring at least a few other locations that resonate as distinctive places, including a big city on the eastern seaboard. Let us first ponder our core text, though.

My Home's in Alabama 4:05

[c] Gulfplace RF

Everyone who listens to country music knows this song. It is a little like the Mendelssohn Violin Concerto for this this particular musical genre. You will notice that the tone is not miserably sad. Instead, a kind of wistful air weaves its way through a story of striving, journeying, and achieving relative success. No matter where he goes, though, his home's in Alabama. This reminds me that placeholder concepts sometimes stretch the limits of interpretation. Driving through Pennsylvania a few years ago, I was startled to hear a commentator speak of the state's political culture. "You have Philadelphia in the east and Pittsburgh in the west, and it's all Alabama in-between." I take it that the speaker was using "Alabama" in a quasi-synecdochical sort of way. It certainly didn't sound as though he missed it.

This is all a long and circuitous way of getting to today's key issue—home. From Judy Garland to George Carlin, "home" has had weaving connotations that work their way(s) into the very fabric of our lives. In China, there is a word for it. Although everyone can answer specific questions such as "where do you live now?" or "where did you go to high school?", there is a further concept that gives a deeper sense of place than mere experience ever could do. It is called the laojia (老家), and can be translated as "(your) old home" or "(your) venerable home." North Dakota is my laojia. It is the homeland—a little closer in time than Norway (five generations away) and a little further conceptually than Beloit, Wisconsin.

[d] Crossroads RF

The idea of the laojia has persisted for many centuries in China, and it is not too distant from the images of home...in Alabama. Or elsewhere. As a bonus today, I am providing a series of "place songs." I hope that readers will provide more examples in the comments section. I have started with country music and moved on (a little) to others. Enjoy a wistful twinge or two, before the hurtin' starts up in earnest again next week on Hurtin', Leavin', and Longin'. Please note that there are no Texas songs in here. It is not because there is a dearth of them. No, they deserve their very own post, which will follow in a few days.

You will also notice that all of these songs are about states—of mind and of the Union. City songs will have to wait for another day.

Meet Me in Montana 3:56

You're the Reason God Made Oklahoma 3:25

Tennessee Waltz 2:33

Louisiana Woman, Mississippi Man 2:29

California Dreaming 2:34

Georgia on my Mind 2:48

We return this week to our juxtaposed East Asian lyrics. It is not hard at all to find examples of laojia, or "homeplace" in East Asian poetry. The references are everywhere, and many specifically engage the idea we have considered thus far—missing "home." That would be too easy, though. I have chosen a slightly different angle to contrast with the firm senses of place that we have seen in today's songs. Jia Dao's poem, below, conveys a sense of place that is wistful, distant, and other.

       Passing by a Mountain Village: Evening

       Jia Dao (779-849)

          For several miles I have heard the chill waters,

          Homes in the mountain, no one else around—

          Strange birds scream over the broad plain;

          The setting sun puts fear into the traveler's heart.

          A new moon before the twilight's gone,

          Beacons of war never come this far—

          There in the gloom beyond the mulberries

          Are home fires to which I gradually draw closer.

                                               —Translated by Stephen Owen

[e] Otherplace RF

Notes

[1]  Wu-chi Liu and Irving Yucheng Lo, Sunflower Splendor: Three Thousand Years of Chinese Poetry (Bloomington IN: Indiana University Press, 1974),227.

Bibliography

Liu Wu-chi and Irving Yucheng Lo. Sunflower Splendor: Three Thousand Years of Chinese Poetry. Bloomington IN: Indiana University Press, 1974.

Next

January 15th

Upbeat, Downcast

Two weeks from now, we'll explore painful lyrics that happen to be "told" in an upbeat sort of way. It provides an interesting contrast between the language of misery and jaunty tunes.