The Song of the Sewing Machine

Thinking of Reznikoff's “Amelia,” and the long essay on this poem by Richard Hyland posted here, and then, yesterday, going to a sewing machine performance of Elena Berriolo, I was remind of a song sung by Fanny Brice (1891-1951) that I have long been planning to write about — as an extension of discussion of Second Wave Modernists in “Objectivist Blues” in Attack of the Difficult Poems. I hope to come back to this song in the context of Brice’s other work, but for now, just the song:

“The Song of the Sewing Machine”: Orch. dir. by Nat Shilkret. (BVE- 41190-2) – 12/20/27. (3:26). Lyrics by Billy Rose (William Samuel Rosenberg  [1899-1966]) and Ballard MacDonald, music by Jesse Greer. MP3 from Archive.org

When I was young, a former son
Of a land that was milk and honey
Where people were rolling in money
All over the billowing sea

And so one day I sailed away
With a heart that was light and sunny
I came to the Land of the Free
I ask you, is this is liberty?

There is no sun, there no moon
There is no May, there is no June
If you listen to the song of the sewing machine

The babbling brook, the summertime
Is just a lazy poet's rhyme
If you listen to the song of the sewing machine

All through the day a drizzling rain
Is playing upon my window pane
And every drop is saying
There is no Lover's Lane

There is no song, there is no birds
And God is just another word
If you listen to the song of the sewing machine

[spoken]
Linen! Linen! Miles of linen!
Stichin', stichin', cotton pinnin'
With no end and no beginning
That's the song of the sewing machine

Cohen, Cohen, ever sewing
Going nowhere, always going
Growing older, without growing
That's the song of the sewing machine
 

Tears, tears and yet more tears
Nights that last a thousand years
Heartaches for my souvenirs
What am I doing? And what does it mean? 

There is no song, there is no birds
And God is just another word
If you listen to the song of the sewing machine