What it is

Jane Monheit



The lyrics, in case you can't follow:


A stick, a stone
It's the end of the road
It's the rest of a stump
It's a little alone.
It's a sliver of glass
It is life, it's the sun
It is night, it is death
It's a trap, it's a gun.

The oak when it blooms,
A fox in the brush
A knot in the wood
The song of a thrush
The wood of the wind
The cliff, a fall
A scratch, a lump
It is nothing at all.
It's the wind blowing free
It's the end of the slope
It's a beam, it's a void
It's a hunch, it's a hope

And the riverbank talks
Of the waters of March;
It's the end of all strain
It's the joy in your heart.

The foot, the ground
The flesh and the bone
The beat of the road
A slingshot stone
A fish, a flash
A silvery glow.
A fight, a bet
The range of a bow.
The bed of the well,
The end of the line,
The dismay in the face.
It's a loss, it's a find.
A spear, a spike
A point, a nail,
A drip, a drop
The end of the tale.
A truckload of bricks
In the soft morning light,
It's the shot of the gun
In the dead of the night.
A mile, a must
A thrust, a bump
It's a girl, it's a rhyme
It's a cold, it's the mumps.
The plan of the house.
The body in bed.
And the car that got stuck
In the mud, it's the mud.
A float, a drift
A flight, a wing
A hawk, a quail
The promise of spring

And the riverbank talks
Of the waters of March
It's the promise of life
It's the joy in your heart.

A snake, a stick
It is John, it is Joe
It's a thorn in your hand
Or a cut on your toe,
A point, a grain
A bee, a bite
A blink, a buzzard
A sudden stroke of night.
A pin, a needle
A sting, a pain
A snail, a wasp
A riddle, a stain.

A pass in the moutains
A horse and a mule,
In the distance the shelves
Grow three shadows of blue.

And the riverbank talks
Of the waters of March
It's the promise of life
In your heart, in your heart.

A stick, a stone,
The end of the load,
The rest of the stump,
A lonesome road.
A sliver of glass,
A life, the sun,
A night, the death,
The end of the run.
And the riverbank talks
Of the waters of March,
It's the end of all strain,
It's the joy in your heart.
It's the joy in your heart.
It's the joy in your heart.
It's the joy in your heart.

Words and music by: Antonio Carlos Jobim

From the Wikipedia entry:

In Jobim's English version, "it" is a stick, a stone, a sliver of glass, a scratch, a cliff, a knot in the wood, the wind blowing free, a fish, a pin, a buzzard, the end of the road, and many other things. All these details swirling around the central metaphor of "the waters of March" can give the impression of the passing of daily life and its continual, inevitable progression towards death, just as the rains of March mark the end of summer and the beginning of the colder season [in the southern hemisphere]. However, Jobim's English lyrics also speak of the water being "the promise of life / ... the joy in your heart," which allows for other, more life-affirming interpretations.

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"Take the world lightly, and your spirit will not be burdened. Consider everything minor, and your mind will not be confused. Regard death and life as equal, and your heart will not be afraid."

–– The Taoist Book of Leadership and Strategy,
2nd century BCE,
translation by Thomas Cleary

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I guess I can stop being maudlin now.