I never feel that my music is sparse or minimalist; the way fat people never really think they're fat. I certainly don't consider myself minimalist at all.
quote by Morton Feldman
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Related quotes
It's meant to reaffirm the validity of that music - clean, minimalist, honest, classic music.
quote by Dwight Yoakam
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Minimalist
Crimson Is The Color.
'Where?
I don't see it.'
The fingerprint.
The artist has signed this painting,
Or lack of it shown...
With just his thumbprint.
'How did you know,
Crimson Is The Color...
Was the title of this 'piece'?
I see absolutely nothing.'
Look at the thumbprint.
What color is it?
They call him 'The Minimalist'.
'But...
Where is the other part of the frame?
Only half of it appears on the portrait.
Or whatever this 'blank' canvas is called.'
That's why he is called, The Minimalist.
You have to find the meaning within yourself.
'At 'that' price?
I can buy a brand new car.'
That's nothing.
I invested in one of his prized portraits.
Entitled, 'Blocked Nose'.
You should see it.
I have it hanging over my mantle.
Right above the fireplace.
'And you can't get one poetry reading?
And this guy is making a fortune?
You need a manager.'
Yeah.
You might be right.
But what I do isn't considered 'art'.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I want to get lean and mean, keep it minimalist.
It looks like you can write a minimalist piece without much bleeding. And you can. But not a good one.
quote by David Foster Wallace
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Except among those whose education has been in the minimalist style, it is understood that hasty moral judgments about the past are a form of injustice.
quote by Jacques Barzun
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Of course we can keep this going, in principle, forever. In practice we will keel over from exhaustion, boredom, or death.
David Adger in Core Syntax: A Minimalist Approach
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But that kind of falls in line; when you think about it, James Brown was a funk minimalist. All of those parts create a sum that's larger than than the individual parts.
quote by Charlie Hunter
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Rumination Haj
Caught in an expressive cul-de-sac,
all imagery goes down the tube
iconoclastically, with lack
of space that curves when artists cube,
on a rumination haj,
searching an interior Mecca
thoughts collected as collage,
minimally like a Necker.
David Hadjou reviews John Adams’s Hallelujah Junction (“Music Lessons: A memoir by the composer John Adams is a collage of memory criticism, theory and ruminations on creativity, ” NYT Book Review, October 26,2008) :
Commonly mistaken for a minimalist, Adams has employed the minimalist aesthetic primarily as a point of departure. He recognized fairly early that “minimalism as a governing aesthetic could and would rapidly exhaust itself, ” as he writes here. “Like Cubism in painting, it was a radically new idea, but its reductive worldview would soon leave its practitioners caught in an expressive cul-de-sac.” Adams’s importance as a composer is rooted not so much in his having done anything new, but, rather, in his having done very well the things he has done: operas (“Nixon in China” and “The Death of Klinghoffer, ” both staged by Peter Sellars) , symphonic choral works (“On the Transmigration of Souls, ” an elegy to the victims of the Sept.11 attacks, which won the Pulitzer Prize for music in 2003) , piano pieces and a dozen or so other major compositions of various kinds. His music is minimal in the sense that Adams employs as few materials as necessary, rather than as few as possible, though he strives for and tends to achieve a maximalism of effect. With “Hallelujah Junction, ” Adams has put in prose an argument against the ideology of aesthetic continuum, a case that his music has always articulated eloquently by example. “That particular continuum I found ridiculously exclusive, being founded on a kind of Darwinian view of stylistic evolution, ” he argues. If a composition “didn’t in some way advance the evolution of the language, yielding progress either by a technological innovation or in the increasing complexity of the discourse, it was not even worth discussing.” Who cares? John Adams. And, so, now do we.
10/26/08
poem by Gershon Hepner
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Sir Duke
Music is a world within itself
With a language we all understand
With an equal opportunity
For all to sing, dance and clap their hands
But just because a record has a groove
Dont make it in the groove
But you can tell right away at letter a
When the people start to move
They can feel it all over
They can feel it all over people
They can feel it all over
They can feel it all over people
Music knows it is and always will
Be one of the things that life just wont quit
But here are some of musics pioneers
That time will not allow us to forget
For theres basie, miller, satchmo
And the king of all sir duke
And with a voice like ellas ringing out
Theres no way the band can lose
You can feel it all over
You can feel it all over people
You can feel it all over
You can feel it all over people
You can feel it all over
You can feel it all over people
You can feel it all over
You can feel it all over people
You can feel it all over
You can feel it all over people
You can feel it all over
You can feel it all over people
You can feel it all over
You can feel it all over people
You can feel it all over
I can feel it all over-all over now people
Cant you feel it all over
Come on lets feel it all over people
You can feel it all over
Everybody-all over people
Notes: corrected by [email protected]
song performed by by Stevie Wonder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Application Poetry Of The Contemporaneity
minimal production of worries and confused steps
minimalist's conceptual design of life
over many years
happiness and comfort have been misused and manipulated
registration research on the use of language, performatives, natural
performances and distilled and redesigned experiences
for the near future without future-oriented desire for granted donations
still an image of horse and elephant-fastness and strength as efficient form
and flexibility of freedom
leading to a beyondness of manifestations of fixed i-initiated beingness
and becomingness.
Let It All Be Music
Music is a mirror
Near around my soul
Music is the spirit
Come on let it roll
Music is my nature
People have you heard
Music is my future
Music is the world
Let it all be music
People sing a song
Let it all be music
Let us sing it on and on and on and on
Lets play the music
My kind of music
Lets play the music
Play it on
Lets play the music
My kind of music
Lets play the music
Play it on and on and on
Music isnt somewhere
Music turns you right
Music is a fever
Leads you day and night
Music is like heaven
Where you wanna be
Music is religion
Music sets you free
Let it all be music
People sing a song
Let it all be music
Let us sing it on and on and on and on
Lets play the music
My kind of music
Lets play the music
Play it on
Lets play the music
My kind of music
Lets play the music
Play it on and on and on
Music is tomorrow
Music is today
Music is forever
Music is the way
Music is for women
Music is for men
Music is for children
Sing it all again
Let it all be music
People sing a song
Let it all be music
Let us sing it on and on and on and on
Lets play the music
My kind of music
Lets play the music
Play it on
Lets play the music
My kind of music
Lets play the music
Play it on and on and on
I can feel it, in my soul
I can feel it, in my heart
Sweet sweet sweet music
Music
Sweet sweet sweet music
Sweet music
Play it on
Play it on
My my my my my kind of music
Play it
Play the music
My my my my my kind of music
Play it
I said play it
On and on and on and on
Music
song performed by by Boney M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The (quiet) ornament of Jakarta
What are belongs to a major city?
Besides of any busy interrupting reverie
At each stop along the sidewalk
There are going to say hello but did not
Above the height of the horror
Phobia looked at the cars passing by
Wind perched atop, the penthouse and a flying heart
Your own!
At the wizened, big cities have always wanted to look pretty
The streets are perforated faces but always returned
Tuter sirens and the hum of cars endlessly
'How would budge, when traffic is just a marker, a symbol
of the metro's and loneliness,
of ignorance? '
Is that a convoy of official cars
or is there a fire?
Common people always serve the extraordinary people
Buildings replacing the peaceful forest clusters
At most, I found a
paintings of the forest impresion
Alexandre-Hyacinthe Dunouy in a GKBI suite
Or minimalist forests paintings of Rusli in Cultural House
It's all just be a display
Decoration of loneliness
and again I found the fossil of humankind
in the TIM (Taman Ismail Marzuki)
who now lives empty benches
Since you stay away..
(May, 2010)
poem by Imam Setiaji Ronoatmojo
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What is music?
What is music?
Music is the rhythm of the soul
Every beat, every tone, every melody
Is in sync with the natural vibe of your body
What is music?
Music is an outlet, from the everyday
It can take away the pain you feel
Or add to the excitement of a new day
What is music?
Music is something that never changes, just Evolves
Music brings people together of all ages
No matter what you believe in, music brings Common ground
What is music?
Music is my name
Music is who I am
Music is my life
Music is something that can’t be taken away
I will always and forever have MY music
poem by Jessica Cole
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Music For Your Soul
Music; Her caress.
Makes me feel comforted.
Music; Her love.
Makes me feel wanted.
Music; Her kiss.
Makes me feel stronger.
Music; Her drug.
Makes me feel further from life.
Music; Her own brand of alcohol.
Makes me feel drowned in comfort.
Music; Her gun.
Makes me feel my thoughts blasted out of my head.
Music; Her pain.
Makes me feel what others feel.
Music; Her ice cold.
Makes me feel as lonely as space.
Music; Her heat.
Makes me feel impassioned.
Music; Our connection.
Makes us feel as one.
~Osayamen.E Simon~ Copyright ©
All rights and privileges reserved by author
poem by Osayamen Evbuomwan
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Levenslang Stil
.
Here within lies
a recollection
of large talons
that tear smooth
creamy flesh
a cadence ricochets
off paint peeled walls
of the clatter as soles
strike dry dirt and stone
blood rushes
two sets of eyes
squint and scan
backs hunched low
only darkness shields
momentary peace
words mumbled
in restless sleep
betray the vessel
of secrets deep
burial crypt
posterity's portal
reveals a clue
gravestone cipher
the silent cue.
.
Speak now or forever still.... The title would suggest in Nederlands, a lifetime of silence. Minimalist punctuation attempts to achieve internal natural punctuation cues and a broader/more extensive use of line breaks and spaces.
poem by Frederick Kesner
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All i got to my name.
All I got to my name,
Is my music
It's all i ever am
and all i will be
you can't take it away
it's all i got to my name
My music is my life
my music is my love
my music is my fire on a cold day
my music is my castle where i stay all the day
my music is home
where i feel safe
It's all I got to my name
don't you dare take it away
it's what makes me me and not you
My music is my best friend
my music is my nae
it's all I own that matters to me
My music is all i got to my name
no family
no friends
all i need is my music
I need nothing but my music
it's what I do all the day
all I can say
My music My music
all i got to my name...
poem by Alice Lion
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Sparse
Sparse.
But so effective.
Your trimmings,
And that masterful touch...
The one you do that means so much,
Than a smothering of promises...
Never to be delivered.
Sparse with an igniting of sparks,
Directed to implant within my heart...
With such a precise understanding.
You know me in a way,
I've grown to anticipate whatever it is you give!
You bring to me what it is I get.
And what I have to give is unmistakably yours.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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(Memory Chest) Salvaging the Past
How surprised the sea-chest must have been
when it left the sea
began voyaging with me.
No more travelling in the creak of the hold,
bringing home trinkets
from Sorrento and Port Said
Instead
the trunk set out on my Rake's Progress through
West London's bedsits and flatshares,
painted white in my minimalist period,
covered with a kilim in my exotic Ealing phase,
acquired the status of the Holy Ark
when my childhood's relics, unearthed
from my parents' attic,
found no other home than this dark space,
doubly dark, it rested under my own roof
when for three decades my life I
threw down an anchor, moored
and grew stiff with barnacles
When the storm broke.
the trunk was salvaged, and
I added relics of another childhood to its store.
These little shoes that danced,
these pictures from distant Mothers' Days,
concrete evidence of time gone..
And now., what is its fate?
This little chest has held my past
for over forty years. Shall I now inter more relics there?
Or...................?
poem by Janice Windle
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I believe honesty comes across in music because for people that music isn't just something to dance to. For people for whom music is something that they feel, they understand what I'm talking about.
quote by Willa Ford
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Editing Bukowski, Without His Permission
i
Long walks at night-
that's what good for the soul:
peeking into windows
watching tired housewives
trying to fight off
their beer-maddened husbands.
ii
(i am a minimalist, how about removing the last line,
ok, i will try)
Long walks at night-
that's what good for the soul:
peeking into windows
watching tired housewives
trying to fight off
iii
(hey, how about removing the first line,
the long walks are not really necessary,
ok)
that's what good for the soul:
peeking into windows
watching tired housewives
trying to fight off
iv
(hmm
why not remove the third and fourth,
it sounds good to me...
yeah, i will)
that's what good for the soul:
watching tired housewives
v
(what about using only one word
to make the poem
very brief?
ok.. i will leave the most important one)
-nothing follows-
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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