The prelude to Tristan and Isolde reminds me of the Italian painting of the martyr whose intestines are slowly being unwound from his body on a reel.
quote by Eduard Hanslick
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
The prelude to Tristan and Isolde sounded as if a bomb had fallen into a large music factory and had thrown all the notes into confusion.
Tristan and Isolde were lucky to die when they did. They'd have been sick of all that rubbish in a year.
quote by Robertson Davies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pretty Beautiful
Beautiful rainbow
Its colourful style
If only upside down
Reminds me of your smile
Beautiful Sunset
It made me stare
Rich in bright goldness
Reminds me of your hair
Beautiful Moon
Shining from space
Shining so bright
Reminds me of your face
Beautiful Stars
Filling the sky
Luminously glowing
Reminds me of your eyes
Beautiful Guitar
Sweet acoustic melodies
Its perfect toned curves
Reminds me of your body
Beautiful Night
Filled with twinkling stars
Reminds me of.
How pretty you are!
poem by Le Tu Quang
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Painting The Walls
painting the walls,
rolling over handprints,
cobwebs, and smoke stains....
over splashes of color,
over peels of time.
painting over the sounds
of voices whispering, laughing....
painting over tears hidden
from the world, from each other.
painting over running, and working,
working all day and half the night.
painting over children, and dreams,
folded like old clothes, and put away.
painting over notes from God,
that were often barely noticed...
painting over the nail that held
up the clock, hands moving slowly,
turning the seasons of living....
painting over the final words,
the last breath held in the hands,
of lives written in the grain....
the testimony of each feeling....
painting the walls,
and brushing the corners,
as if we never lived!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Everything Reminds Me Of Her
I never really had a problem because of leaving
But everything reminds me of her this evening
So if I seem a little out of it, sorry
But why should I lie?
Everything reminds me of her
The spin of the earth impaled a silhouette of the sun on the steeple
And I got to hear the same sermon all the time now from you people
Why are you staring into outer space, crying?
Just because you came across it, and lost it
Everything reminds me of her
Everything reminds me of her
Everything reminds me of her
song performed by by Elliott Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Let my heart always reminds me of you....
Let the morning bring freshness for me
Let the sun bring brightness for me
Let the gentle breeze bring softness for me
Let the nature brings beauty for me
But let my heart always reminds me of you
Let my day pass without problems
Let my work complete without errors
Let my thoughts scattered without pain
Let my wishes come true without barrier
But let my heart always reminds me of you
Let the sun disappear slowly in the sky
Let the moon appear slowly in the sky
Let the stars start twinkling in the sky
Let the night birds hover in the sky
But let my heart always reminds me of you
Ravi Sathasivam / Sri Lanka
Copyright @2004 Ravi Sathasivam
poem by Ravi Sathasivam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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As I Enjoy the Joy of Knowing You
AS I ENJOY THE JOY OF KNOWING YOU
Nestor endured two hundred years despair
Awaiting joy, anticipating you.
Tristan Isolde took within his care
As compensation for not knowing you.
Sweet Capulet with Montagu did share,
Hero Lysander loved, - both ill did fare,
As neither knew the joy of knowing you.
Nature rests its case, perfection fair,
As now I know the joy of knowing you.
To be! - a miracle beyond compare,
As I enjoy the the joy of knowing you.
Soul sends to soul, serenity to share
Here on this earth as shed is every care,
All through true joy of knowing you for YOU!
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Unwound
Give me a bottle of your very best
cause Ive got a problem Im gonna drink off my chest
Gonna spend the night gettin down
cause that woman I had wrapped around my finger just come unwound
That woman I had wrapped around my finger just come unwound
She kicked me outta the house and tonight Im whiskey-bound
Im gonna be the drunkest fool in town
cause that woman I had wrapped around my finger just come unwound
Well she packed my bags and opened up the door
And I got the feeling she didnt want me around no more
She caught me in a lie, I was messin around
And that woman I had wrapped around my finger just come unwound
That woman I had wrapped around my finger just come unwound
She kicked me outta the house and tonight Im whiskey-bound
Im gonna be the drunkest fool in town
cause that woman I had wrapped around my finger just come unwound
song performed by by George Strait
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Give It To Me Strait
(reese wilson/stephen grauberger)
(track 2 - time 2:46)
Bartender I may sit here on this barstool all night long
But I wont need much attention
I just need some time alone
So if youll give me some quarters and a bottle of your best
You can just sit back and let the jukebox do the rest
Give it to me strait
Sing am I blue while I sit here and cry
And tell me how my babys gotten so good at goodbye
Its gonna take a fireman to put this old flame out
So come on give it to me strait
Before I come unwound
Lets start off nice and easy
Something like if I know me
And well work our way up slowly to fool hearted memory
Yeah Ive got all night long to sit right here and fall apart
So dont leave out one single song
I know em all by broken heart
Give it to me strait
Sing am I blue
While I sit here and cry
And tell me how my babys gotten so good at goodbye
Its gonna take a fireman to put this old flame out
So come on give it to me strait
Before I come unwound
There aint one country singer
That aint good for a bad heartache
And for me theres nothing smoother
Than a good stiff shot of strait
Its gonna take a fireman to put this old flame out
So come on give it to me strait
Before I come unwound
So come on give it to me strait
Before I come unwound
song performed by by Tim McGraw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pieces Of You In A Pair Of Dreams (chapter two)
'So, I've decided to write in this language, instead of my own,
not to madden you, but to make it less personal.
It was silly of me to think that in your eyes I'm more than the hero that killed your butterflies.
I can't even write.
Look at my poems.
They're ridiculously ugly, just like me.'
That night,
I saw the giant white moon reflected on your lips,
and I kissed It.
It tasted more like you, than like her.
It had your parfume too,
and the whole world was jelous,
on me and on you, for we were happy
like Romeo and Juliet, like Adam and Eve, like Tristan and Isolde, and like Dante and his Beatrice,
one meant for the other.
Wearing the black dress of night
you were like the queen of the giants,
a flower that huged the sun without the fear that has you now.
And now, well is different,
but I still write of your stories from the land of my dreams.
And as like before, when I write
I'm not brave, I'm just scared of calling you.
poem by Serban Raducu Bogdan
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Wagner (Life Poem)
Running rings around thirteen hours of opera
I sit spell-bound absorbing the angry music
Suppressing an urge to re-conquer Poland
Music a direct expression of world’s essence
Nazi passion means Israel is Wagner-free
Tristan and Isolde unplayed before Ludwig
Love and death and passion for Mathlde
Eros and Thanathos that predate Freud
Arthurian love story interrupted by Minna
Overwhelming influence frustrates his peers
Worried that his brilliance is simply anger
That guarantees you feel undead tonight.
poem by Ian Beckett
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Definition of Creative Art
With shirt wide open at the collar,
Maned as Beethoven's bust, it stands;
Our conscience, dreams, the night and love,
Are as chessmen covered by its hands.
And one black king upon the board:
In sadness and in rage, forthright
It brings the day of doom.-Against
The pawn it brings the mounted knight.
In gardens where from icy spheres
The stars lean tender, linger near,
Tristan still sings, like a nightingale
On Isolde's vine, with trembling fear.
The gardens, ponds, and fences, made pure
By burning tears, and the whole great span,
Creation-are only burst of passion
Hoarded in the hearts of men.
poem by Boris Pasternak
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Large Intestine
Look in the mirror. Let us both look.
Here is my naked body.
Apparently you like it,
I have no reason to.
Who bound us, me and my body?
Why must I die
together with it?
I have the right to know where the borderline
between us is drawn.
Where am I, I, I myself.
Belly, am I in the belly? In the intestines?
In the hollow of the sex? In a toe?
Apparently in the brain. I do not see it.
Take my brain out of my skull. I have the right
to see myself. Don’t laugh.
That’s macabre, you say.
It’s not me who made
my body.
I wear the used rags of my family,
an alien brain, fruit of chance, hair
after my grandmother, the nose
glued together from a few dead noses.
What do I have in common with all that?
What do I have in common with you, who like
my knee, what is my knee to me?
Surely
I would have chosen a different model.
I will leave both of you here,
my knee and you.
Don’t make a wry face, I will leave you all my body
to play with.
And I will go.
There is no place for me here,
in this blind darkness waiting for
corruption.
I will run out, I will race
away from myself.
I will look for myself
running
like crazy
till my last breath.
One must hurry
before death comes. For by then
like a dog jerked by its chain
I will have to return
into this stridently suffering body.
To go through the last
most strident ceremony of the body.
Defeated by the body,
slowly annihilated because of the body
I will become kidney failure
or the gangrene of the large intestine.
And I will expire in shame.
And the universe will expire with me,
reduced as it is
to a kidney failure
and the gangrene of the large intestine.
poem by Anna Swirszczynska
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A Song Of Spring
The Spring comes slowly up this way,
Slowly, slowly,
Under a snood of hodden grey.
The black and white for her array,
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.
Where is her green that was so gay?
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.
Unto a world too sick for May,
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.
Where are the lads that used to play?
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.
She has no heart for holiday,
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.
The trees are out in Heaven they say.
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up our way.
poem by Katharine Tynan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When I Look At The Rainbow
Lord when I look at the Rainbow you have placed in sky so
blue, it reminds me that all your promises are true
Your Rainbow reminds me that those who believe on you
are few, yet you have called us your little Ewe
Lord when I look at the Rainbow I see it's hue, it reminds
me that your love for us true
Your Rainbow in sky so blue, reminds me to keep praying
through
Lord when I look at the Rainbow it reminds me of your
promise to all of your creatures some of whom are of
different features
Your Rainbow and it's many colors reminds me that it
represents some whom are called colored
Lord when I look at your Rainbow and see how it's colors
are bright, it reminds me to do what is right
Your Rainbow I have never seen at night, this reminds me
to stay in the light
Lord when I look at your Rainbow it reminds me of your grief
because of our unbelief
Your Rainbow have no pot of gold, but your wonderful story
of love it has told
Lord when I Look at your Rainbow it reminds that you
promised to never again destroy the World with a flood
Your Rainbow to me is a sign of your love it represents
your Son's life Blood
poem by Vincent G. Mead
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Martyr
Why, why was I born to know what I must know
I can see the sky, but I cant see the ground below
Where do I go
Falling in a trap where traitors wait
Lost love is the bait
But the martyr never knows
He is caught in a dream of his own
When its over where does he go
Who really knows
Time stands between me and my home
So long ago
I cant stand to wait
But I cant force my body to go
Where do I go
Crying, he is blind to everyone
And thats how its done
And the martyr never knows
Who really knows
I know in my heart
I could change the world
With just this guitar
Who really knows
song performed by by Utopia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Prelude To A Kiss
Duke ellington / irving gordon / irving mills
If you hear a song in blue like a flower crying for the dew
That was my heart serenading you
My prelude to a kiss
If you hear a song that grows from my tender sentimental woes
That was my heart trying to compose
A prelude to a kiss
Though its just a simple melody with nothing fancy, nothing much
You could turn it to a simphony a schubert tune with a gershwin touch
Oh! how my love song gently cries for the tenderness within your eyes
My love is a prelude that never dies
A prelude to a kiss.
song performed by by Billie Holiday
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Very Slowly
Tick tock
The moonlights hummin
My fingers on the button and my hob-nobs drummin
Slow down were moving too fast
Better wait a minute make the good times last
Ive learned something bout livin
You dont get nothing if you dont stop givin
We both know that we got so much but there aint no rush
Wanna love you slowly
When you slide on down
Wanna love you slowly turn that body round
You wont be able to control me
When your love slow down
Wanna love you slowly slowly slowly slowly
Slowly..
Hold tight
Love is all I need I guess its sweeter when its more than just a tease
Let me hold you close enough to stick
Love is an illusion lets play that trick
Slow hand moving down my back
If you get a chance u feel my heart attack
Real love has never been a crime
Wanna take my time
Wanna love you slowly
When you slide on down
Wanna love you slowly
And turn that body round
You wont be able to control me
When your love slow down
Wanna love you slowly slowly slowly slowly slowly...
Aah...oah...uah...
Slowly...aah...oah...uah...
Slowly... yeah...aah...oah...uah...
If you get a chance you feel my heart attack
Aah...oah...uah...
Real love has never been a crime
Wanna take my time
Wanna love you slowly
When you slide on down
Wanna love you slowly
And turn that body round
You wont be able to control me
When your love slow down
Wanna love you slowly slowly slowly slowly slowly...
Slowly...aah...oah...uah...slowly...aah...oah...uah...
Slowly... yeah...aah...oah...uah...aah...oah...uah...
song performed by by Geri Halliwell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If Tristan was mending his girlfriend's jewelry, would he use an Isolde-ring Iron?
I wondered, if the hero had been overweight or baldy
would women weep, perhaps lose sleep, o'er Tristan and Isolde?
And then I pushed derision from my vision of the plot
and asked my heart to seek the part, wherein the story got
its hook and held my interest. The part where it took hold.
The crux of what draws in the masses, since the days of old.
How can we find a modern link, a crude analogy
compared to such medieval ink which peppered History.
I thought then of a trinket. A desk-top toy per chance,
those cradles of ball bearings swinging in hypnotic trance.
For love to last eternally, would mirror this toy's mission
and live within the pleasing din that chimes with each collision.
And just as in enchanted forests, mystic wood or copse...
The forces great will separate them, till at last,
the cradle stops.
poem by Hola Mentirosa
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We were raised in an Italian-American household, although we didn't speak Italian in the house. We were very proud of being Italian, and had Italian music, ate Italian food.
quote by Francis Ford Coppola
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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