Love, A Killin' Thing

Every now and then I have one of "these" nights in, when I kind of indulge in a movie, a glass of wine, and, you know, overthinking.

I watched a beautiful American tragedy, "Mystic River."

Depressing? No, not really. Beautifully human. So human. Tragic. But, not depressing. Just as the climax got underway, and I figured out where it was going, I had to stop it, just for a few minutes, so that I could go into my kitchen, lean on the counter, and cry so hard I couldn't breathe.

Then I calmly watched the rest of the movie. If you haven't seen it, and you have a certain constitution, you should.

This story was not a new one. It has been played over and over in folklore and legend. It was part twisted Romeo and Juliet, part Lear, part Hamlet. The best stories are made of this: there is no greater killin' thing as the likes of love.

As I first began to wind my way through the many songs and ballads handed down through the mountains and into the hands of Kentucky bluegrass pioneers, I learned that there's this big batch of songs, known as the Killin' Songs. Now, mind you, I wasn't too thrilled that most of the killin' was done by men, and most of the killed were, of course, women. Since then I have found, and learned, a few songs where the woman has her day, and I'll be sure to honor those here.

Right now, I'm just going to share this classic, Pretty Polly. I have heard a number of different versions but my favorite is sung by Tim O'Brien, on a recording released by Dirk Powell in 1996. I want to thank these men for lighting the way, and to Dirk especially for producing and supporting so many trad musicians. (Before I die, Lord, grant me one wish: I want to work with Tim and Dirk, on something. Anything.)

(Above: Tim and Dirk pictured at the Kennebunk
Coffee House, 2003, probably singing Deux Voyages, if I had to make a guess.)

Pretty Polly
Oh Polly, Pretty Polly, come go along with me.
Polly, Pretty Polly, come go along with me.
Before we get married some pleasures to see.

She got behind him and away they did go,
She got behind him and away they did go,
Over the hills and mountains to the valley below.

He rode her over hills and valleys so deep.
He rode her over hills and valleys so deep.
Pretty Polly mistrusted and then began to weep.

Oh Willie, Oh Willie, I’m afraid to of your ways.
Willie, Oh Willie, I’m afraid of your ways.
The way you’ve been acting, you’ll lead me astray.

They went up a little farther, and what did they spy,
They went up a little farther and what did they spy,
A newly-dug grave, and a spade lying by.

Oh Polly, Pretty Polly, your guess is about right.
Polly, Pretty Polly, your guess is about right.
I dug on your grave the best part of last night.

She knelt down before him pleading for her life.
She knelt down before him pleading for her life.
Please let me be a single girl if I can’t be your wife.

He stabbed her in the heart and her heart’s blood did flow.
He stabbed her in the heart and her heart’s blood did flow.
And into the grave Pretty Polly did go.

He threw something over her and turned to go home,
He threw something over her and turned to go home,
Leaving nothing behind him, but the girl left to mourn.

He went down to the jailhouse and what did he say.
He went down to the jailhouse and what did he say.
I killed Pretty Polly and tried to get away.

Oh gentlemen and ladies, I bid you farewell.
Oh gentlemen and ladies, I bid you farewell.
For killing Pretty Polly my soul will go to hell.