the poetry of john prine

About 4 years ago, my father introduced me to a songwriter who would quickly become a favorite of mine: John Prine. A storyteller with a penchant for giving laughable monologues before live performances, prine had an incredible gift. Some of the most profound lessons of my recent years can be in some way traced back to his lyrics. Here are a few pieces of his poetry and what they’ve meant to me.

“the lonesome friends of science say

the world will end most any day

well if it does, then that’s okay,

‘cause i don’t live here anyway”

- the lonesome friends of science

“i wish you love and happiness

i guess i wish you all the best

i hope you don’t do like i do

and never fall in love with someone like you”

- all the best

“today i walked down the street i used to wander

yeah, shook my hand and made myself a bet

there was all these things that i don't think i remember

hey, how lucky can one man get?”

- lucky

“got no future in my happiness,

the regrets are very few

sometimes a little tenderness

was the best that i could do”

- i remember everything

This song was released on prine’s final album before he died. I remember listening to this for the first time and feeling seen in a unique way. Being both a very religious person person and quite progressive, I’ve struggled between the anxiety of climate change and the responsibility to lovingly steward the earth, and the reality that this is not my forever home. Earth is both a temporary dwelling and a sacred trust.

This bleeds into further personal pulls between tradition and progression for me. I often feel as though i live with one foot in the door to each camp; finding reverence and profound novelty in the tradition of my religion, whilst my mind wanders with an ever-changing world and seeks to embrace new identities and experiences. Perhaps that’s where the bleeding and sacred heart of Jesus is found — right in the middle of the two doors.

I’ve wrestled with this recently — falling in love (or into something adjacent), caring so deeply about a person, having it fall apart, then reckoning with the love and consideration that remains. No matter how much they hurt me, I still loved them, and I still wish them future love and happiness. It’s an uncomfortable and frustrating limbo to sit in. It’s easier to say “I hate this person” and move on in indifference, or even in complete anger. But that’s not this situation, and it’s not who I am (for better or for worse). Sometimes, I wish it was.

Reflections of past memories flood my mind constantly. But that’s what they are — reflections. I’ve done enough learning about the memory retrieval process to know that the memories I hold are not untouched by my imagination. Sometimes that makes me sad — like I’ve lost something irreplaceable and have no prospect of finding the real thing ever again.

But how lucky am i to have memories, touched or untouched, at all? I can recall the smell of the lilies in the franciscan monastery in salzburg from my time there. I remember holding hands dancing with my friends on a friday night. I can still feel the softness of my old family dog’s fur and hear his sighs. I can still see my father in tears, dropping me off on my first day of boarding school, and I remember the phone conversation where i told my mom “I don’t think I can do this'“ five minutes after they left that day. I see the smiles of lovers past and hear the music blasting on backroads car rides with my best friend in high school. I can feel the joy of seeing the baby in a stroller on the barcelona metro smile at me as I waved hello. How lucky am I?

This was the final song prine wrote before he passed in 2020.

Upon first listening to this song, I found the line “got no future in my happiness” quite unsettling. Well that’s depressing, I thought. After listening to the song more and more, I’ve grown quite fond of that line. It’s not that there will be no happiness to come. No, rather it’s that joy is current. the happiness you experience right now belongs to this moment — savor it. appreciate it. I fall prey to running after future happiness all the time and to be truthful, it precludes me from feeling grateful for what’s directly in front of me. Conversely, dwelling on things you would’ve changed, things you would’ve said or would’ve kept to yourself, opportunities you would’ve taken or let go — it’s all futile. Sure, looking back can be a novel experience. learning from the past is paramount to the human condition. But staying there — whether in an effort to chastise oneself or romanticize earlier times — is dangerous territory.

Maybe soon I’ll learn to take my own advice on this.