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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
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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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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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When I was in New York after I left the Army, I studied for two years at the American Theater Wing, studied acting, which involved dance and fencing and speech classes and history of theater, all that.
quote by James Earl Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Phenomenons Studied
Phenomenons studied by scholars,
Are...
Stunning phenomenons never undone.
Phenomenons studied by scholars,
Are...
Stunning phenomenons never undone.
Mysteries lived to exist,
Are...
Phenomenons never undone.
And,
The more they're probed confusion sits.
Because we don't see us a part of this.
Why are we here to be neighbors?
With confusion that we can't resist.
Why can't we accept our differences?
Without trying to end conflicts.
Why the fighting to exist...
In a peacefulness ruled by one fist.
Phenomenons studied by scholars,
Are...
Stunning phenomenons never undone.
Phenomenons studied by scholars,
Are...
Stunning phenomenons never undone.
And why are obelisks ignored?
Why are they there and who are they for?
What is that energy they feed?
And what is it that we can't see?
What is the purpose and the need?
Phenomenons studied by scholars,
Are...
Stunning phenomenons never undone.
Mysteries lived to exist,
Are...
Phenomenons never undone.
And,
The more they're probed confusion sits.
Because we don't see us a part of this.
What blind eye has to open?
To fix what has been broken.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I went to the Academy and studied with Stuck who was then a big man. But didn't interest me. I didn't know that before me there was Kandinsky and Klee who had also studied with Stuck. He had a good name at that time.
quote by Josef Albers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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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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At the Railway Station, Upways
'There is not much that I can do,
For I've no money that's quite my own!'
Spoke up the pitying child--
A little boy with a violin
At the station before the train came in,--
'But I can play my fiddle to you,
And a nice one 'tis, and good in tone!'
The man in the handcuffs smiled;
The constable looked, and he smiled too,
As the fiddle began to twang;
And the man in the handcuffs suddenly sang
With grimful glee:
'This life so free
Is the thing for me!'
And the constable smiled, and said no word,
As if unconscious of what he heard;
And so they went on till the train came in--
The convict, and boy with the violin.
poem by Thomas Hardy
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Well, the teacher I studied with for nineteen and a half years was a man named Paul Gavert. He was a great lieder singer, so basically I'm a trained lieder singer because of that teacher. The teacher I currently study with - since 1995 - is Joan Lader, who also studied with Gavert.
quote by Betty Buckley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How sick the plaintive violin
how sick the plaintive violin
even more so when long long-drawn
its drawl how plaintive is, how sick:
even when less slow it is drawn
the plaintive notes still flow, still sick
and in the night, the long dark night
still plays the plaintive violin.
poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
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Blue Blooded Woman
Blue blooded womans
She loves a violin, I love a fiddle
We go separate ways but we meet in the middle
Dont see eye to eye but were hand in hand
A blue blooded woman and a redneck man
The lady I love loves silk and satin
She was raised uptown with a silver spoon
Well, I was born on a farm just south of jackson
We had an old ford tractor and a country moon
She loves a violin, I love a fiddle
We go separate ways but we meet in the middle
Dont see eye to eye but were hand in hand
A blue blooded woman and a redneck man
Shes saks fifth avenue perfection
Caviar and dignified
Well, I live my life in wal mart fashion
And I like my sushi southern fried
She loves a violin, I love a fiddle
We go separate ways but we meet in the middle
Dont see eye to eye but were hand in hand
A blue blooded woman and a redneck man
She loves a violin, I love a fiddle
We go separate ways but we meet in the middle
Dont see eye to eye but were hand in hand
A blue blooded woman and a redneck man
Shes a blue blooded woman, Im a redneck man.
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A student's Diary
At the age of six we begin elementary
We had this fear or anxiety
When e reach the teenage years we
started secondary
And ended it with difficulty
We studied in a private school
Think it is very cool
We obeyed every school rule
And top in the honor roll
We studied very hard
Got high marks in our card
We maintain it, we took guard
Learning in high school is truly an art
So we entered a new stage
In college, we are now engage
In logic thinking towards new age
Ideas have flied like a bird out of its cage.
poem by katrina Catadman
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