I owe very, very much to Mozart; and if one studies, for instance, the way in which I write for string quartet, then one cannot deny that I have learned this directly from Mozart. And I am proud of it!

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The revolutionary Mozart is the Mozart of his last eight years.

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That Music Extraordinaire, Mozart

That music extraordinaire, Mozart,
Who from his tender days, played with desire
Musical from the bottom of his heart.

Sweet notes from his music he did impart
That captivated audience to admire
That music extraordinaire, Mozart,

Whose tones can set an emotion to start
With a charm to have their hearts raised on fire
Musical from the bottom of his heart.

With pleasant pace from his great style of art
Is such that shows he was such a live wire,
That music extraordinaire, Mozart,

Whose harmony when heard is nice and smart
Can cheerfully raise hearts to go much higher
Musical from the bottom of his heart.

Joy occurs from such wonders that does chart
In tremendous ways that truly inspire.
That music extraordinaire, Mozart,
Musical from the bottom of his heart.

poem by Obinna Kenechukwu EruchieReport problemRelated quotes
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Mozart Clarinet Quintet

For six months in Berlin he languished
as inspiration fled,
in Prussia feeling very anguished,
until into his head
the sound of strings with clarinet
restored his spirit and
blew wind to make, with string quartet,
a quintessential band.
For this we must offer our thanks
to clarinetist, Stadler,
who, as inspirer, ranks
above this grateful bardler.


In 1788 Mozart spent six months in Berlin, where he went after his success with “Le Nozze di Figaro”. In that period he wrote only one work––but what a work! He was inspired to write it after hearing Anton Stadler playing the clarinet in Vienna. Not until Brahms would anyone come close to the inspiration that he showed in the divine Quintet for Clarinet and Strings.

1/15/2001

poem by Gershon HepnerReport problemRelated quotes
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If you go to Japan for instance, you should know that they have a different way of playing Beethoven or Brahms. But if you play with them Mozart, Debussy, Mendelssohn, they have a wonderful light feeling for that.

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Amadeus Mozart, con.k-365

What they adore
Is his genius
His music
Soaring to the heavens
Without so much
Effort

Effortlessly magnificent
Amadeus Mozart
And his music
Tossing me
From sea cap to sea cap
In my sea dreams

Piano notes ruffling
Like the windy beach
Waffling to the shore

Piano notes
Trickling
On my window pane
Like a soft rain
Playful
To the vines
On my window pane

What they adore
Is his genius
Soaring to the heavens

I envy him
Amadeus Mozart
His music grows like a river forever flowing

I do not mind if in there I drown
And die with a single note

He died in the sea drinking all the salty notes
Of Amadeus Mozart

Dehydration in the most musical fashion.

poem by Ric S. BastasaReport problemRelated quotes
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If Mozart were around now he would write a killer rock song.

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Frederic Chopin

...the Official Bulletin declared that the Poles should be as proud of me as the Germans are of Mozart; obvious nonsense.

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Mozart wrote so many works in his thirty-five years that it would take a lifetime just to write out the notes. We literally do not know how he did it.

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Unheard Music

Unheard Music (Mozart)

The fingers on my left hand move all by themselves
like they are playing piano that produces music
I cannot hear. I watch my fingers play but it makes no
sense so I try to stop by holding them still with my
right hand’s fingers. So I sit like a vicar contemplating
the Sunday sermon, a mild one who hasn’t an arsenal
of fire and brimstone speeches, but would rather talk
about the coming spring. My wife brings me a glass of
water and a pill, fingers rest, but I would liked to have
heard the music they played, for all I know it could
have been music brought to me in a dream by Mozart
who died so young that he can’t believe it yet, and
tries trough, me to play his latest masterpiece.

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mozart's piano concerto 26 in D

what you do not know is that when i write a poem
i have mozart's piano music behind my mind
for instance take this one,
what is the plan? what is the theme of this one?
i am focused on the notes of beethoven
running wildly on the screen
of this computer
which of course, you may conclude, like an ordinary mortal,
that these notes somehow cannot be seen
running and running as they seem to be
for they are just in the imagination of my mind
like this poem
what do you think is this all about?
is this going to be about something
as you
and all of you would like to have,
a poem in utility like your car that finds significance only
for as long as it starts to run
like your tissue that you take without so much fuss
when you sneeze and you need it badly to cover your mouth?
this poem is not about it
it is simply a musical piece that plays itself
stays in the middle of your thoughts
fertilizes your imagination
and yet fruitlessly, it merely passes in your mind
and then stops
and then you say, it is not like my car, not like my tissue

just this one: nothing at all for use, but for time to let it pass itself,
to survive the stagnancy of your hours

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Because of Mozart, it's all over after the age of seven.

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Richard Wagner

I believe in God, Mozart, and Beethoven.

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There is no affectation and hypocrisy in Mozart.

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Antonin Dvorak

Mozart is sweet sunshine.

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Well, I don't know any piece by heart, but Mozart goes something like this... What do you think?

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Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

New friends, new pains.

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Mozart is expressing something that is more than human.

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It is sobering to consider that when Mozart was my age he had already been dead for a year.

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Friends Within The Darkness

I can remember starving in a
small room in a strange city
shades pulled down, listening to
classical music
I was young I was so young it hurt like a knife
inside
because there was no alternative except to hide as long
as possible--
not in self-pity but with dismay at my limited chance:
trying to connect.

the old composers -- Mozart, Bach, Beethoven,
Brahms were the only ones who spoke to me and
they were dead.

finally, starved and beaten, I had to go into
the streets to be interviewed for low-paying and
monotonous
jobs
by strange men behind desks
men without eyes men without faces
who would take away my hours
break them
piss on them.

now I work for the editors the readers the
critics

but still hang around and drink with
Mozart, Bach, Brahms and the
Bee
some buddies
some men
sometimes all we need to be able to continue alone
are the dead
rattling the walls
that close us in.


Anonymous submission.

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It is a sobering thought that when Mozart was my age, he had been dead for two years.

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