Filmmakers and critics wrote about each other and sometimes very harshly. This no longer exists.
quote by Wim Wenders
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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'Hunger' definitely changed my life, in terms of being recognized by filmmakers, since that was very much a filmmakers' film.
quote by Michael Fassbender
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Men at war
Critics of him wrote volumes more
Than what W. Shakespeare himself wrote.
So did in miles more, preachers of Geeta,
Than Sage Vyasa himself narrated.
Men lost their head on women much more
Than Creator intended them to.
Men at war, woman the cause.
17.05.99, Palakkad
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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All The Critics Love U In New York
U can dance if U want 2
All the critics love U in New York
U don't have 2 keep the beat
They'll still think it's neat in New York
U can wear what U want 2
It doesn't matter in New York
U could cut off all your hair
I don't think they'd care in New York
All the critics love U in New York
Why U can play what U want 2
All the critics love U in New York
They won't say that U're naive
If U play what U believe in New York
Purple love-amour is all U're in it 4
But don't show it
The reason that U're cool
Is cuz U're from the old school and they know it
All the critics love U in New York
U can dance if U want 2
All the critics love U in New York
U can dance if U want 2
All the critics love U in New York
All the critics love U
song performed by by Prince from 1999
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Living In The Past
Isn’t it strange
That everything looks
exactly the same…
Yet It all changes
In the instant
You perceive it
That you are looking
Into the past of all
That you see
And that it’s quite
Impossible to see
What really is…
And only possible
To see what was…
In the blink of time before…
Impossible for humans
To see the difference
But the difference is there for sure
Does it matter? Not a whit!
It’s just an interesting fact
That what we think we see
And everything and everyone
that we see … has changed…
and no longer exists
Exactly as they were…
and that every second
Of every day
We exist… only in the past
And our reality
No longer exists at all
So what we see
Is only memory
Are we time travelers after all?
poem by David Whalen
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In the South where slavery still exists, the Negroes are less carefully kept apart they sometimes share the labors and the recreations of the whites the whites consent to intermix with them to a certain extent, and although legislation treats them more harshly, the habits of the people are more tolerant and compassionate.
quote by Alexis de Tocqueville
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No More
I wrote my name on the seashore
The waves came and it was no more
I wrote my name in the air
The wind came and it was no more
I wrote my name in the sky
The clouds came and it was no more
I wrote my name in the puddles
The sun came and it was no more
i wrote my name in the dust
The rain came and it was no more
One day Gabriel wrote my name
and alas! i was no more
poem by Humna Hamid
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So I Wrote You A Song
Words and music by bob seger
I woke up with this feeling
There was something I wanted to say
So I wrote you a song.
Lately girl Ive been dreamin
Dreamin bout you all through the day
So I wrote you a song.
Hope the words will be right
When I see you tonight,
Youll know how I feel.
Im no longer alone,
Think Ive found me a home
And I think its real.
I woke up with this feeling
Havent felt it for quite some time,
So I wrote you a song.
All these thoughts Ive been dreaming
Somehow Ive got to make them right,
Got to make them belong.
Everytime that youre here
Everytime that youre near
Everything is real.
Im no longer alone,
Think Ive found me a home,
And I think its real,
So I wrote you a song.
song performed by by Bob Seger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My second play, The Birthday Party, I wrote in 1958 - or 1957. It was totally destroyed by the critics of the day, who called it an absolute load of rubbish.
quote by Harold Pinter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thank God For The Critics
It use to bother me when I heard others say,
Who did or did not have talent.
And I believe one who breathes has skills,
Of some kind.
I like to stay in that frame of mind.
Then it dawned on me,
If those who had time to speak negatively...
Of course they would have time to pass judgement too.
And with a 'light' of insight,
I was introduced!
'These are the critics! Enjoy.'
And they seem to despise those who have gifts,
That attracts the attention they wish their efforts could.
If efforts of creativity within them exists.
Rehearsed and practiced until they are driven into fits.
But they don't work at it.
To know the experience.
Nor the requirements of self examination and honesty.
With a mix of naïveté and vulnerability unbelieved.
Keeping an accepted freshness alive.
And talents shine when this is done!
This also inspires and encourages at least 'someone'.
Thank God for the critics.
And those with talents who are inspired to resist,
The exchange done of sharp tongues.
And those with frowning lips.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Critics?
Critics?
They do what they do best...
Undress those who create.
It is easier for them to probe,
Than appreciate.
It is a frustration of sorts,
To be boxed within boundaries.
Not knowing or understanding...
What the force behind creativity means,
Or where it begins...
With perceptions taught and conceived.
They have an awareness of it.
Or so some believe.
Although a conformity upon them visits.
But to comprehend what it is...
And why some have it and they don't,
Really makes them pissed.
Although an 'intelligence'
Once applied can hide this.
Is that why they delight in being critics?
As creators sweat to expand their wits,
Critics enjoy deploying...
A complete misunderstanding of it!
As they assist others like themselves...
Attempting to expand minds of limited demands.
Hoping this attachment,
Delivers to them someone's attention span.
And they get it!
That is why there is so many critics.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Used
This is more than once
Wat more can i say
you used me once
you used me twice
An i am done.
I'm threw
Go take ur problems to sumone who cares.
Cuz i got bad new I no longer do.
Were no longer friends
this one of the first poems i wrote
poem by Heather Noble
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Jesus, The Crucified Poet
My pens have nailed me to the tree; red ink pours from my veins...
Though in the distance, fancy free, lost singers voice refrains...
If I had written songs instead, a hero I would be!
If I had known what lay ahead, would I know Calvary?
Yet here I am, now hoisted high, for all the world to scoff!
I asked, Who? What? Where? When? And Why? I couldn't shake them off!
Thus day-by-day and night-by-night I wrote my poems down...
Perchance that others would delight and somehow soothe each frown...
Alas, my critics sought my death, 'What purpose does he serve? '
It seemed they loathed my every breath, 'He has no place on Earth! '
Thus I was hunted like a fox until my final day -
And then they laid me in a box awaiting Judgement Day!
Prophetic poetry won't be slain! Its spirit will live on!
By God, its power will still remain when all my critics are gone...
poem by Denis Martindale
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We are here to add to the sum of human goodness. To prove the thing exists. And however futile each individual act of courage or generosity, self-sacrifice or grace-it still proves the thing exists. Each act adds to the fund. It needs replenishment. Not only because evil flourishes, and is, most indefensibly, defended. But because goodness is no longer a respectable aim in life. The hound of hell, envy, has driven it from the house.
Josephine Hart in Sin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Critics
dont look for
critics who treat
your work as an
extension of
themselves
look for critics who
give you a field
for your talent
to grow
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The critic
The status of critics has changed,
The most important critics were those who stood on street
corners
Full of gossip and finger wagging
Or the busty burly matrons whispering over washing lines
These critics were the slanderers
The little vipers who hung by the school gate
Some still do,
This time they sink a pint or two,
In the pub with a couple of pug nose friends
But there is a class of critics
That whitewash your pale white words
Austere and aloof from the proof,
Scrubbed clean and mean,
They murder sentiment
Mock fools without 'a scene'
Redefining the 'new' 'illiterattii, ' who never went to school'
These critics wear brogues.....? ?
Am I being cruel? [or just ironic? ]
The men drink whisky
The women a gin/ vodka and tonic!
Fifty years ago they would 'parade'
In a uniforn of tweed and plaid
Post public school
But some critics just thumbnail through
Half asleep over scripts they render dead/ unread
'They are not amused'
So don't lose any sleep
They have no time you
yvette smith may 2009
poem by Yvette Smith
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It is not half cooked
Having heard and read, I wrote.
Having seen and felt, I wrote.
I wrote of love and romance
From experience and perception.
As I wrote I was soothed.
Don’t scorn my writings as half cooked.
10.10.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Scrutinized For Their Blemishes
It is easy for many to sit back and critique,
With a judging done of those tasks...
Others produce with a doing to complete.
And if some people are prolific,
From experiences live that dictate this...
The critics are quick,
To stampede out from nowhere it seems...
With criticsms prepared,
Not to uplift or encourage...
But instead,
Demean.
But when given the opportunity to highlight their gifts,
Critics often spew excuses...
As those under microscope,
Are scrutinized for their blemishes.
Although,
Even those who enjoy themselves as critics...
Have moments they don't admit but wish,
An attention given to be critiqued...
Would validate a reason to rid their insecurities,
With a purpose in their minds that solidified their existence.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Where Have You Deposited Your Sweat?
There are those with beliefs,
What I have managed to do...
Without there consent or approval.
Can be better accomplished...
IF what I had done was left to them.
But...
There is one thing missing,
In this equation!
Those creations were of my making.
Where are those contributions made by critics?
Not one has ever volunteered,
Any proff at all...
Something they've done actually exists.
'Show me where have you deposited your sweat?
And in what did you toil,
To bring to life to give it breath?
Show me 'that'...
And I 'may' consider your suggestions.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Many filmmakers pretend that they never see anything, which has always seemed odd to me.
quote by Jacques Rivette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I think filmmakers want their movies to be seen.
quote by Alex Winter
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