CONNECTICUT LIBRARIES
June 2004, Vol. 46, No. 6
Tecton listened intently as the storyteller approached the end of his song. The teenager felt the nudge of a strong hand on his back. Tecton turned his head to meet his father's smile and then looked down at his younger brother, asleep and resting on his shoulder. Poor Phylas! He had been so excited about joining the men of the village this evening that he had been unable to sleep all last night. Tecton remembered evenings, not many years ago, when he, like Phylas, dozed off, dreaming of the warrior heroes-of-old and of brave sailors challenging the treacherous, wine-dark sea. Tecton still thrilled to the blind poet's tales of adventure, but, at fifteen, he saw that Homer sang of duty and responsibility, too. Tecton honored the gods, respected his elders, and treated guests with generosity. He would fiercely defend his polis and his neighbors against any enemy. He understood that battles were won with both wisdom and strength of arms.
Those of us who enjoy the written word of Western culture sometimes forget that we owe our black and white heritage to an earlier oral tradition. The poems we attribute to Homer were heard long before the Greeks could read them. Homer and others like him told great stories, stories that carried meaning. They educated the young and linked the people of autonomous city-states to the common values of Greek history and culture. Hundreds of years later, in the middle ages, troubadours crisscrossed an illiterate and disunited Europe. They entertained with song and story, but also propagated art and culture.
Reading Robert Coles' book, Bruce Springsteen's America, is a good reminder of how powerful the oral story-telling medium remains. It takes a great deal of work for us librarians to bring people together to discuss literature, a task not easy even for Oprah Winfrey. Bruce Springsteen assembles audiences numbering in the thousands night after night to hear his stories. Granted, "The Boss" is a rock star. However, author Coles shows us that Springsteen's music is laden with narrative, with emotion, and with meaning. A good portion of America listens to Springsteen and relates to what he has to say. They recognize his themes as solidly American.
Affection for America and its people comes through loud and clear. But the love Springsteen sings of is neither blind nor uncritical. Like John Steinbeck and Woody Guthrie, Springsteen sees injustice, prejudice, and poverty. He does not look away, nor does he let us. Still, Springsteen sees America as a land of hope, as do his listeners. He wrote "The Promised Land" over twenty-five years ago and includes it in his concerts today. No doubt, listeners relate to the angry youth who "gets up every morning and goes to work each day" at some unsatisfying job, but still believes in the "promised land."
Even people who would not attend a Springsteen concert find themselves studying his lyrics, trying to better understand what the poet and storyteller is saying through his songs. Coles introduces us to several. Many who disagree with The Boss' point of view find themselves going over his wording and phraseology again and again, wringing out as much meaning as they can. A business consultant who regularly travels across the country may not sound like a member of Springsteen's target audience, but he is. Unlike many who have never listened carefully to the words of the popular hit, "Born in the U.S.A.," this listener has gone over the lyrics many times. He is angry about what The Boss has to say. His brother fought in Vietnam. His brother was not a racist who went there to "kill the yellow man." His brother survived. His brother did not come home to a jobless, crime-filled existence. He wants to know how Springsteen could get things so wrong. Still, the listener is hooked. Despite his protests, he cannot ignore the singer's tale of Vietnam-era America.
A small-town policeman struggles to come to grips with Springsteen songs involving police. He quickly recognizes the people and situations in several songs. However, when he comes to "American Skin," a song written about the "forty-one shots" fired by New York City police officers into an unarmed black man named Amadou Diallo, he parts company with Springsteen. Still, the policeman-listener's complaints sound almost like lyrics to a Springsteen song: "[He] forgets about a hell of a lot of people, who also live in our American skin and who go about their lives ... trying to hold onto work, and make ends meet!"
One listener calls Springsteen, "a novelist who's out there holding up right and wrong." In a high-tech and information-savvy world, whether novelist or poet, storyteller or rock star, Bruce Springsteen conveys messages and meaning to a twenty-first century audience in ways that Homer would appreciate.
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