I had no idea this was an actual bird until I heard my grandmother mention it. I did find some details that kinda add to the song. What can I say? I've got a thing for dirty birds:
The
whip-poor-will is a North American species of bird known for its distinctive song (Which sounds like it's name, and which Gord took to imitating during the 2004 arena tour. You can hear it at the above link) and unique yellow markings. The night-flying bird was once thought to possess powers of witchery, and was often blamed for poor agricultural production or strange behaviour in animals. It's eyes glow red when struck with light.
Stephen Dame Wrote:I had no idea this was an actual bird until I heard my grandmother mention it.
STEPHEN STEPHEN STEPHEN!!! You need to get out of the city more often
:lol:
Caprimulgus vociferus hmmm....Caprimul
gus 
hock:
thats pretty cool, I had no idea what the hell Gord was doing when he sang that, I thought it was just another thing he made up, pretty neat insight.
and how it ties into music/art/philosophy...
Quote:Another form of natural music which really rises to the plane of instinctive art is bird-song. Here rhythm is definitely used, and the element of simple, brief melody is highly developed. Technical harmony is absent. Perhaps for that very reason bird-song shows clearly the type of sensuous and emotional appeal made by music. I need not dwell on the pure sensuous delight we have in such music, nor upon the fact that bird-song lifts us generally to an emotional state of glad joy. Still, different bird songs produce moods widely apart, as is evident if one will compare the weirdly somber feeling with which one hears at night the reiterated three melodic notes of the whip-poor-will, with the tender mood wakened by the song of the hermit thrush. It is a further clue to the nature of music that bird songs spring from specific states of feeling, as particularly that of love-making, in the birds themselves.
not to overanalyze or anything :roll:
source: <!-- m --><a class="postlink" href="http://www.oldandsold.com/articles28/art-philosophy-11.shtml">http://www.oldandsold.com/articles28/ar ... y-11.shtml</a><!-- m -->
I had no idea Gus was an actual polar bear! I guess I should have listened to my old English professor when he said "stop looking for symbology! The meaning is smacking you right in the face in plain English!"
Gus: the metaphor from centre park
Like Gord said at the grey cup. "find out what's troubling Gus and then you'll find out what's troubling us"
Or something to that effect.
btw, Gord got the inspiration from reading a story in a paper about the real bear really named Gus in the Central Park Zoo. I've read about him and it's quite interesting. Poor Gus:-(
I might be going to NYC in the next few months. Maybe I'll stop by and see Gus!!!!
This thread coincides with my recent hearkening of a whip-poor-will’s song as it pierced the still of the Bluegrass twilight.
Two weekends ago, on a fair-weather whim, I got a hankerin’ for a wilderness excursion, so I loaded my Marmot® with gear and headed for the Red River Gorge Geological Area, located in the Daniel Boone National Forest in Eastern Kentucky. Since I couldn’t recruit any companionship on such short notice (the idea grabbed me late Friday afternoon) I prepared for solo-flight rather than scrap the idea. I am so glad I did.
Solitary wilderness camping isn’t for everyone; it can be rather dangerous, as encountering other hikers is rare where I was headed. In such rough topography, an emergency extraction would be quite an ordeal, given you even are discovered in the event of a mishap. But I relish the feeling of complete isolation and solitude in the wilderness - it’s liberating, and instills oneself with the satisfaction of self-sufficiency. I was well-prepared; aside from the tent, bedroll, extra clothing (lows in the 30's), hatchet, knife, food & a gallon of water, I had also brought 6 frozen cans of beer in a small collapsible cooler. This was a truly novel idea.
My pack was heavy, but I managed to grind out 6 hours of hiking on that beautiful Saturday, covering nearly 10 miles of challenging trail. When the shadows grew tall, I scrambled 30 feet up elevation to a rock outcrop on the ridgeline of the Gorge, and pitched camp. The view was breathtaking, (sorry - no camera) as newly-budding vegetation in the valley below softened the appearance of the rocky landscape in the glow of the sinking sun. Blossoming redbuds and dogwoods dotted the hillsides in confetti-contrast, and a half-moon hung overhead.
The next six hours were nothing short of sacred. A bellyful of hot chicken soup, the warmth of the flickering fire on my face, the slow numb of malted hops & barley mingling with the opulent ware of a certain indigenous herb...nothing can rival that utter stillness - that blanketing calm - of that lonesome Kentucky hilltop, standing miles from anything.
Just as violet firmament surrendered to starlight ensemble, I heard her. A clear, shrill, solemn cry wailed through the serene spring evening air : “wik-oh-WEE.....wik-oh-WEE.....” . It commanded acknowledgment, almost as if addressing me, personally. I became fixated upon it - nearly haunted by it’s stark declaration of melancholy, when sure enough - right on cue - the lyric and melody simultaneously seeped into my sedate consciousness: “the whip-poor-will at duh-uh-uh-usssk...tells you no one is aaaaa-fraid.....”
Just another testament to the indelible impression left by great works of music; I was miles from nowhere, yet I could not escape being moved by The Hip.