The sea was full of sheep | Joni Mitchell, Matala, Crete, 1970

Joni Mitchell  

The wind is in from Africa
Last night I couldn't sleep
Oh you know it sure is hard to leave here
But it's really not my home

Oh Carey get out your cane
And I'll put on some silver
Oh you're a mean old Daddy
But I like you

Last night I couldn’t sleep, the sea was full of sheep.

Joni Mitchell, Carey, 1970

Joni Mitchell playing the dulcimer, October 9, 1970

Joni Mitchell, Carey, Live At The Carnegie Hall, 1972 & Narration

When Joni Mitchell met Cary Raditz in early 1970, he was living in a cave in Matala, Crete.

When did you first hear ''Carey'' ?

On April 19, 1970 - my 24th birthday - in my cave. Joni played it for me as a present. She also 
gave me 10 Mickey Mouse chocolate bars. They came with these Disney character cards that 
the cave people traded. When she sang the song, I was surprised by it, since I’m the subject. 
But I wasn’t blown away. It sounded like a ditty, something she had tossed off. I believe the 
song went on longer than the final version on “Blue.” I think she changed some of the 
lines, too. As I recall, she sang something like, “Last night I couldn’t sleep, the sea was 
full of sheep.” One of the local expressions was that when the sea was choppy, the 
whitecaps looked like sheep.

Cary Raditz interview on Marc Myers

Joni Mitchell playing the dulcimer October 9, 1970

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Swiftly walk o'er the western wave,
Spirit of Night!
Out of the misty eastern cave,
Where, all the long and lone daylight,
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear,
Which make thee terrible and dear,—
Swift be thy flight!

Wrap thy form in a mantle gray,
Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day;
Kiss her until she be wearied out,
Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land,
Touching all with thine opiate wand—
Come, long-sought!

When I arose and saw the dawn,
I sighed for thee;
When light rode high, and the dew was gone,
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,
And the weary Day turned to his rest,
Lingering like an unloved guest.
I sighed for thee.

Thy brother Death came, and cried,
Wouldst thou me?
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmured like a noontide bee,
Shall I nestle near thy side?
Wouldst thou me?—And I replied,
No, not thee!

Death will come when thou art dead,
Soon, too soon—
Sleep will come when thou art fled;
Of neither would I ask the boon
I ask of thee, belovèd Night—
Swift be thine approaching flight,
Come soon, soon!

To Night / Percy Bysshe Shelley / 1821


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