Hurtin', Leavin' and Longin' (39)—Sunday Morning Coming Down

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

[a] Sunday Morning RF

Unless you need your hurtin' in the most direct of forms (for example, "I'd be better off in a pine box"), you'll realize that, after about a month of sorta-sad songs, we're back. Hurtin' is back, and how better to return to the miserable fold than with the dark velvety voice of Johnny Cash? He is singing Kris Kristofferson's (=best) song. The multiple and mellifluous windings of this narrative just leave you sad. Sunday morning (hung over) sad. That kind of sad. Take a listen, and pay very close attention to the lyrics. Kris Kristofferson is not generic when it comes to lyrics. He knows how to write. Really listen. If you do...you'll be depressed.

Sunday Morning Coming Down 4:30
Sunday Morning Coming Down 3:47
Sunday Morning Coming Down (Cash/Kristofferson) 3:40

Sunday Morning Coming Down

[b] Sunrise RF

Artist: Johnny Cash
Songwriter: Kris Kristoferson
Well, I woke up Sunday 
         morning
With no way to hold my head
         that didn't hurt.
And the beer I had for 
         breakfast wasn't bad,
So I had one more for dessert.
Then I fumbled through my 
         clothes
And found my cleanest dirty 
         shirt.
Then I washed my face and 
         combed my hair
And stumbled down the stairs 
         to meet the day.
 
I'd smoked my mind the night before
With cigarettes and songs I'd been picking.
But I lit my first and watched a small kid
Playing with a can that he was kicking.
Then I walked across the street
And caught the Sunday smell of someone frying chicken.
And Lord, it took me back to something that I'd lost
Somewhere, somehow along the way.

On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down.

In the park I saw a daddy
With a laughing little girl that he was swinging.
And I stopped beside a Sunday school
And listened to the songs they were singing.
Then I headed down the street,
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing,
And it echoed through the canyon
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday.

On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down.

"I smoked my mind the night before." Now that's writin' (and something that looks a lot like clinical depression). "And it echoed through the canyon/Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday."

[c] Morning RF

Now that's lonesome.

Kris Kristofferson and Johnny Cash don't need loads of analysis. These lyrics are so strong, so well-written, and so poignant that they speak for themselves. How on earth are we going to do a juxtaposition with East Asian poetry? Well, next-morning misery following an evening of writing and worrying is hardly unusual in the Chinese, Japanese, and Korean poetic traditions. Without trying to parallel Kristofferson's lyrics (or Cash's renderings) too closely, I have looked at my favorite genre, the Song (宋) dynasty lyric. I have chosen a wistful and autumnal song by the great eleventh century scholar-official, Ouyang Xiu (1007-1072). It parallels, but does not echo "Sunday Morning Coming Down." If you are not sure of that, recheck the references to Northern Song dynasty weakness in the face of northern (Tartar) aggression (from the perspective of Ouyang Xiu). It's sort of like a Sunday morning, smelling (stir-) fried chicken and reeking of beer (plum wine)...with fears of marauding Tartars pouring over the sidewalk...or great, big wall.

      Thoughts on the First Day of Autumn,
      Sent to Su Zimei
          Ouyang Xiu 歐陽修 (1007-1072)
          The tree in the courtyard turns color suddenly,
          As autumn wind stirs among the branches.
          But I'm already inclined to feel sad.
          It's true I dread the flowers' fading,
          Still the return of cool days makes me glad.
          As I get up and pace, the moon is obscured by clouds;
          As I look around, the stars and the Dipper shift positions.
          The four seasons revolve with great regularity;
          Who can arrange the appointment of myriad things?
          My old friend is a thousand miles away,
          The months and years have caused me grief—
          Distressed that great works come off too tardily,
          I begrudge not merely the fading of rosy-cheeked youth.
          What is the great plan today for recovering the lost territory?
          The Tartar horses are daily growing more sleek.
                                               —Translated by Irving Y. Lo

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.

[d] Sunrise RF

NEXT
Sunday, February 12th
I Never Promised You a Rose Garden

Stay with us next week, when we learn more than we might have thought...about broken promises (and roses...and gardens).