I took up violin because my best mate had taken it up, so I did likewise.
quote by Noel Redding
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Violin
Four strings across the bridge,
Ready to carry me over,
Over the quavers, drunk in the bars,
Out of the realm of the orchestra,
Out of the realm of the orchestra.
Filling me up with the shivers.
Filling me up with the shivers and quivers.
Filling me up with the shivers.
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
Paganini up on the chimney,
Lord of the dance,
With nero and old nicky.
Whack that devil
Into my fiddlestick!
Give me the banshees for b.v.s,*
Give me the banshees for b.v.s.
Jigging along with the fiddle, oh, johnny.
Jigging along with the fiddle-dee-dee.
Jigging along with the fiddle, oh, johnny.
Jigging along with the fiddle-dee-diddle-dee-dee!
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Don't let that horse
Don't let that horse
eat that violin
cried Chagall's mother
But he
kept right on
painting
And became famous
And kept on painting
The Horse With Violin In Mouth
And when he finally finished it
he jumped up upon the horse
and rode away
waving the violin
And then with a low bow gave it
to the first naked nude he ran across
And there were no strings
attached
poem by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I was playing violin for a long time, about 6 years. It takes a while. You need very patient people in your house when you have a violin.
quote by Kevin Eubanks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You're My Mate
Ill tell you what I think, I think shes a cow
Shes let you down too many times now
Lets go for a drink, forget it for now
Put It behind you, I think its your round
Cause youre my mate and I will stand by you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
And in the face of things that could hurt you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
Cause youre my mate and I will stand by you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
And in the face of things that could hurt you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
Cause youre my mate
Ill tell you what I think, I think hes a pain
He aint got a car, but he drives you insane
Lets go for a drink and sink a few
Enough about him lets talk about you
Cause youre my mate and I will stand by you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
Cause youre my mate and I will stand by you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
And in the face of things that could hurt you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
Cause youre my mate
All I wanna do is get drunk here with you
All I wanna do is get drunk here with you
All I wanna do is get drunk here with you
All I wanna do is get drunk here with you
Cause youre my mate and I will stand by you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
And in the face of things that could hurt you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
Cause youre my mate and I will stand by you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
And in the face of things that could hurt you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
Cause youre my mate
Cause youre my mate
Cause youre my mate
Cause youre my mate
Cause youre my mate
TAXI
song performed by by Right Said Fred
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Third Quartet I made the instruments in pairs - Two different pairs - Violin and viola, and violin and cello. They played very different things from each other all through the whole piece.
quote by Elliott Carter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Father, With His Arthritic Hands
My father, with his arthritic hands
Closes his door, picks up the bow
Tucks the bit under his chin
Tunes it real low
My father can compete with the world's best bands
My father plays the violin.
His eyes are dim but the notes are clear
His hearing is faulty but we can hear
The songs that pour out from within
People outside stop to listen
When my father plays the violin.
He opens up another world
Far from stress and pain
I become a child again
As without a word
He picks up the bow, tunes it real low
My father plays the violin.
My father with his arthritic hands
Holds a magnifying glass to his eyes to read
He sits out there under the clear blue skies
Now that he can hardly walk
(Luckily my sisters are there when he needs to talk) .
And when its dusk and he enters within
Then with his arthritic hands
Father picks up his violin.
poem by Rani Turton
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Violin Love
Violin whisperer
Taming the wild beast
Sounds unearthly
Majestic notes surround
She closed her eyes
Swept away in a rush
Burst of emotion
Tears flowing
She says "Play me
I want to be your violin
Pluck my strings
Make me sing
Run your bow over me"
poem by Paul H Nelson
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Bow and Strings
What heavy, dark delirium!
What dim and moonlit heights!
To touch the violin for years
And not to know the strings by light!
Who needs us now? And who lit up
Two hollow, melancholy faces...
And suddenly the bow felt
Someone take them up, unite them.
"How long it's been! Amidst this gloom
Just tell me this: are you still the same?"
The strings caressed the bow,
Rang out, caressed it slightly trembling.
"Is it not true, that we will never more
Be parted. It's enough..."
Yes, replied the violin,
But pain was throbbing in her heart.
The bow discerned it and grew mute,
The echo still continued in the violin...
What was a torture to them both
The people heard as music.
But the violinist didn't snuff
The candles out 'til dawn...The strings sang on...
The sun found them worn out
On the black velvet of their bed.
poem by Innokenty Fedorovich Annensky
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A Military Incident
Dawn heralded the coming sun
Fort Douglas was computing
The minutes-and the sunrise gun
Was manned for his saluting.
The gunner at that firearm stood,
The which he slowly loaded,
When, bang!-I know not how it could,
But sure the charge exploded!
Yes, to that veteran's surprise
The gun went off sublimely,
And both his busy arms likewise
Went off with it, untimely.
Then said that gunner to his mate
(He was from Ballyshannon):
'Bedad, the sun's a minute late,
Accardin' to this cannon!'
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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A Mate can do no Wrong
We learnt the creed at Hungerford,
We learnt the creed at Bourke;
We learnt it in the good times
And learnt it out of work.
We learnt it by the harbour-side
And on the billabong:
'No matter what a mate may do,
A mate can do no wrong!'
He’s like a king in this respect
(No matter what they do),
And, king-like, shares in storm and shine
The Throne of Life with you.
We learnt it when we were in gaol
And put it in a song:
' No matter what a mate may do,
A mate can do no wrong!'
They’ll say he said a bitter word
When he’s away or dead.
We’re loyal to his memory,
No matter what he said.
And we should never hesitate,
But strike out good and strong,
And jolt the slanderer on the jaw –
A mate can do no wrong !
poem by Henry Lawson
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My hut
My house in a slum is a hut.
To it I return every night.
In it lives as grown stale my mate.
My hut and my mate are a safe bet
To me who am shut to other huts.
To sleep in I return to my hut.
To sleep with, I return to my mate.
I am used to it, though a hut.
19.03.2007.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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I'm In Love With a Poet
You’re my soul mate
I know it, I feel it, its fate
You were born June 8,1977
I was born June 1,1977
You’re a poet by heart, it’s your destiny
You caress each word with your creativity
Spilling your soul like no other brother
Chilling the heart of this sister
You broke up with her again
Maybe you weren’t meant to be friends
Because you’re my soul mate
Although you’re a college dropout
I am here to catch you
To take you to your graduation
So don’t worry about the late registration
And all the heartbreaks
Cause I have what it takes
Cause you’re my soul mate
Let’s date
Maybe consummate
All those other girls
Girly girls
Or guys looking like girls
Don’t player-hate
Cause he’s my soul mate
No more bitter sweet loving
For my American boy
Cause he has found his soul mate
poem by Tracey Tucker
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You're The Violin
You're the violin
Nazareth
Some beat me like a drum
Some stroke me like a guitar
Some shake me like a tambourine
Some beat me into the wall
In the song of my life
Baby, you're the violin
Some blow me like a horn
Some slide me like a trombone
Some smoke me like a tuba dude
Some cut me like a saxophone
In the song of my life
Baby, you're the violin
When you touch me like you touch me
Don't it feel like a summer breeze
When you lay down in my lonely soul, ya
It brings me to my knees
Think i'm makin' love to you
Sweet baby, ya
When you touch me like you touch me
Well, don't it feel like a summer breeze
When you lay down in my lonely soul, ya
It brings me to my knees
Think i'm makin' love to you
Sweet baby, ya
Some beat me like a drum
Some stroke me like a guitar
Sh-sh-sh-shake me like a tambourine
Some beat me into the wall
In the song of my life
Baby, you're the violin
In the song of my life
Baby, you're the violin
(words and music by nazareth)
Copyright 1975 jenevieve music (bmi)
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mate Soul
To find mate soul
Its like asking a dream
to become reality
becouse mate soul is
that what you feel
to someone
the fluid that carries
little butterflies in stomach
sweet drunkennes without alcohol
Mate soul is
when you see reality
sometimes feel that
his mouth stinks
you do not like the same
music every day
to go fishing even
when his mother
came to guests
but he makes same good cofee
its still buys you gifts
stands up to kiss you
when you come tired from work,
and when you sober of
sweet drunenness
and still feel a sweet taste.
This is mate soul
poem by Jankovic Zoran
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Itzhak Perlman
HE loves most
the violin
because
it is sad
and all he cared
most of the time
was nursing his sadness
like it were
a very important visitor
in her house feeding it
with so much nice
accommodations
caring for it
nursing a wound
wishing that it
will not heal
there is something
strange about you
itzhak
while all the rest have
gone to the beach
to play
because the wounds
have healed
you wished that the wound
would stay fresh forever
like a violin song floating in the air wishing that it would not disappear.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Three Maidens
There were three maidens met on the highway;
The sun was down, the night was late:
And two sang loud with the birds of May,
O the nightingale is merry with its mate.
Said they to the youngest, Why walk you there so still?
The land is dark, the night is late:
O, but the heart in my side is ill,
And the nightingale will languish for its mate.
Said they to the youngest, Of lovers there is store;
The moon mounts up, the night is late:
O, I shall look on man no more,
And the nightingale is dumb without its mate.
Said they to the youngest, Uncross your arms and sing;
The moon mounts high, the night is late:
O my dear lover can hear no thing,
And the nightingale sings only to its mate.
They slew him in revenge, and his true-love was his lure;
The moon is pale, the night is late:
His grave is shallow on the moor;
O the nightingale is dying for its mate.
His blood is on his breast, and the moss-roots at his hair;
The moon is chill, the night is late:
But I will lie beside him there:
O the nightingale is dying for its mate.
poem by George Meredith
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Studio Flat and the ballad
My friend who plays violin for the Choir
Goes to that flat to teach her the Violin, besides
Piano and singing.
Nowadays he looks so excited and I asked the reason.
'She stays alone and very playful
And I am scared something would happen,
I told her about you that you write poetry
And a small lie too.'
'What's that? '
'A good singer, and she wants to see you.'
'You rascal put me in trouble,
She knows my wife who does a part time baby-sitting together
And wife knows that I never sing in my life unless in dreams.'
* It's easier to build boys than to mend men.
-Unknown
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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What is Sometimes Hidden.
Just as Minnie gets in the mood
to play the Debussy Violin
Sonata her mother says the
photographer is waiting and
so she has to go along to the
lounge and pose and have her
picture taken and as she stands
there with her violin dressed
to the nines the photographer
says no do not smile it cheapens
the effect and so she stiffens
her lips and stares at the young
photographer's moustache and
her mother says do has the man
wants dear and don't pout so
and so she ceases to pout and
gazes at the box camera and man
hidden behind the cloth his hand
visible and do not move he says
hold it do not fidget dear her
mother says and puts her hands
on her shoulders and places her
in the position her mother thinks
the photographer wants is that it?
her mother asks the photographer
smiling in that way she smiles that
gives the impression of an imbecile
yes yes he says that is it and so she
stands as placed the sensation of
wanting to urinate suddenly upon
her and so she squeezes her thighs
together her knees touching her
hands gripping the violin trying
silently to keep the urine in.
poem by Terry Collett
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Success in marriage does not come merely through finding the right mate, but through being the right mate.
quote by Barnett Brickner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Bow and the Strings
How dark and heavy’s the delirium’s embrace!
How they’re turbid under moon – the heights!
To have touched Violin for so many years
And not distinguish those Strings in light!
Who craves for us? Who, insolent, has set
In flames two faces, yellow and vexed,
And suddenly the saddened Bow felt
That someone took them and forever merged.
‘How long ago it was – as in a dream –
Tell me trough dark: are you the same one, else?’…
And Strings pressed close, caressing, to him,
Ringing and tossing in their fond caress.
‘Is that all true, that it’s enough, God blessed,
That we shall never ever part again?
And poor Violin replied him always ‘yes’,
Though its heart was sinking in sharp pain.
Bow fell silent, understanding, then,
But poor Violin still echoed its complaint,
And what seemed music to the most men,
To both of them was everlasting pain.
The man didn’t blow, till the night was gone,
The candles … And the Strings were singing, yet…
And they were found, drained of strength, by sun
On the black velvet of the sleepless bed.
Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, January, 2001
poem by Innokenty Fedorovich Annensky
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