The Boxer

My record player turntable? record player is changing my life / priorities / schedule. All I want to do is lie next to it and listen to music and think both small and large thoughts, mostly to this one Emmylou Harris album I scored for a buck, more specifically, her cover of The Boxer, which has made me fall in love with that song all over again, or maybe for the first time, because I’m not sure if I ever loved it before. My apologies to the record itself,  and any adjoining neighbors for the 700 times I’ve played it so far.  It’s one of those incredible song that manages to sound like itself. Or feel like the story its telling? I don’t know. I have to go listen to it ten more times.

I am just a poor boy , Though my story’s seldom told, I have squandered my resistance For a pocket full of mumbles such are promises

All lies and jests, Still a man hears what he wants to hear And disregards the rest .

When I left my home and my family I was no more than a boy In the company of strangers, In the quiet of the railway station running scared
Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters  Where the ragged people go. Looking for the places only they would know.

Asking only workman’s wages, I come looking for a job, But I get no offers, Just a come-on from the whores on Seventh Avenue.
I do declare, there were times when I was so lonesome I took some comfort there.

Then I’m laying out my winter clothes And wishing I was gone, Going home Where the New York City winters aren’t bleeding me
Bleeding me, going home

In the clearing stands a boxer And a fighter by his trade, And he carries the reminders Of ev’ry glove that layed him down
Or cut him till he cried out  In his anger and his shame, “I am leaving, I am leaving,” But the fighter still remains.

Leave a Reply