The Iowa Goatsinger's Intro to April's Goatsinger Show

Before the Dawn

Up in the morning before the dawn – splashing off the porch and on to a wet sidewalk, running under stars dancing like children.

Up in the morning before the dawn: there are folks asleep – a tall, intense father with a gentle voice, his long-limbed daughter asleep behind another door, or the bearded songwriter with the wild voice and his anger at the world he loves so much. Or the out-of-town poet with the quick tongue and remembered song – she sits awake in the darkness somewhere, wondering about cigarettes and street signs, remembering moments and music.

Up in the morning before the dawn, past the pond and the frog blinking and thinking his cold amphibious thoughts and remembering a lean and mean blonde who knew all the wrong things to say at the right moment.

The goatsinger runs the darkness in the morning before the dawn, up and around the streets of his home, past library and chapel, past theater and high garden, before turning back and running, returning at last to his porch, even as the first birds wake and begin crying out their morning song.

He's brought them all here for you tonight, the goatsinger has: stars that dance like children; intense father and long-limbed daughter; angry-voiced songwriter, remembering poet, frog and lean-mean blonde.