June 10th, 2008

marianne

(earlier) today was Cole Porter's birthday

He'd have been 117 this year.

His super-clever stuff with the lyrics is well and good---rarely is there weller or gooder that way---but I'm gonna plink up this one we just about all know, which is not a flashy wordy one, but a great lyric. It's one of those just perfect songs, and he does amazing stuff in these words, ever so quietly, simply.

Every time we say goodbye
I die a little
Every time we say goodbye
I wonder why a little
Why the gods above me
who must be in the know
think so little of me
they allow you to go

When you're near there's such an air
of Spring about it
I can hear a lark somewhere
begin to sing about it
There is no love song finer
but how strange the change
from major to minor
every time we say goodbye