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.
poem by Charles Bukowski
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
In Heaven Also (Revised)
The worst thing about heaven is it only boasts
two world-class composers: Liszt and Elgar,
the best of the rest – Bach, Beethoven, Brahms
and Mozart apparently all went to hell:
I shall gladly join them there
Hope to meet Bizet and Strauss as well and that
some enchanting demon finally teaches me to
dance properly, preferably a waltz and a
wonderful tango – like the one Death danced
dramatically with Renate Flitworth
I hope Vivaldi with his regular beat and
Stravinsky with his musical themes in
single row explosions are in heaven
also where I shall not be – and never
need listen to again
“Good Omens” – Terry Pratchett
Corgi edition published 1991
p 55
poem by Margaret Alice Second
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I remain loyal to Bach, Mozart, Beethoven and Schubert in music and to Shakespeare and Jane Austen in literature.
quote by Anne Stevenson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Roll over Beethoven
She loves her classical music does Val
as Tchaikovsky helps her to unwind
then again so does Handel as well
and a bit of Stravinsky she doesn't mind.
She's in heaven listening to Bach
and dreamland to the sounds of Debussy
Mendelssohn sends her all of a quiver
but Borodin too so she's not that fussy.
Beethoven is another favourite though
but Ravel's Bolero she reckons is tops
she dances around her house when it's on
and even when she's down at the shops.
But she likes the volume up really high
especially when it's Mozart or Liszt
but this upsets her next door neighbour
who bangs on the wall with his fist.
So the next time you hear loud classical music
that'll probably be coming from Val Dohrens house
but don't worry she'll be doing her housework
while waltzing about to the sounds of Strauss!
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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.
quote by Kurt Masur
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
If Beethoven and Bach hooked up with Mozart and made a band, they could be a distant runner up to The D.
quote by Jack Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Not Communicating To Oneself
Listening to Beethoven we sense
the inspiration pouring from the master.
Johann Sebastian Bach sounds as intense,
but far more distant from disaster.
He seems to want to have a conversation
with anyone prepared to pay attention.
Although we lose him when his great elation
exceeds the limits of our comprehension,
we know that he is trying to communicate,
as if he’d just found, lying on a shelf,
the notes he’s trying to communicate
to us, and not, like Ludwig, to himself.
The proofs of Beethoven’s profundity
lay in the notes that for him had no sound,
while Bach, with effortless fecundity,
encouraged all of us to be profound.
J. M. Coetzee contrasts his relationship to the music of Beethoven and J. S. Bach. Whereas he imagines Beethoven as a genius from whom inspiration pours forth while oblivious to the people who may be listening to him he imagines J. S. Bach as a teacher who is attempting to instruct him while he sits next him while he is playing. As a rider, Coetzee added that there are moments when J. S. Bach’s inspiration exceeds the listener’s comprehension. These are the moments of his greatest inspiration. Listening to this report I was reminded of Richard Eder’s comment on Ceotzee when reviewing his book “Diary of a Bad Year” (“A Writer, A Muse, Their Laundry, ” NYT, January 1,2008) :
I think of the childlike simplicity of late Beethoven on a profound return trip from profundity.”
10/7/08
poem by Gershon Hepner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Beethoven, Wagner, Bach, and Mozart settled down day after day to the job in hand. They didn't waste time waiting for inspiration.
quote by Ernest Newman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Classical Music
Classical music makes me cry
Each time I hear a piece
My heart wells up with so much joy
Until music cease Chopin, Beethoven, and Mozart too
Make the inner sole want to sing
It makes me happy to hear the notes
To each note my heart wants to cling Classical music has never meant so much
To me until to Europe I went
But now it brings overwhelming joy
Many hours of listening are spent What a wondrous talent the writers did have
Of the Classicals I listen to each day
The joy it brings to many of us
Will last forever each day that it's played.
poem by Sharon Wiseman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Study Bach. There you will find everything.
quote by Johannes Brahms
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
Vote! | Copy! | In Spanish | In Romanian
Composers in the old days used to keep strictly to the base of the theme, as their real subject. Beethoven varies the melody, harmony and rhythms so beautifully.
quote by Johannes Brahms
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Constant Is This Hip Hop And Pop
It is today,
Very constant.
Constant is this hip hop and pop.
And with some added rapping touches...
This phenomenon is not going to stop.
No not very soon.
I'd like to admit I like Tchaikovsky's,
Attitude.
With a little bit of Brahms,
When I'm in that mood.
Move over Beetoven when I'm open to Chopin,
And Mozart too!
I'd like to admit I like Tchaikovsky's,
Attitude.
With a little bit of Brahms,
When I'm in that mood.
Move over Beetoven when I'm open to Chopin,
And Mozart too!
It is today,
Very constant.
Constant is this hip hop and pop.
And with some added rapping touches...
This phenomenon is not going to stop.
No not very soon.
Constant is this hip hop.
And the attitudes.
Constant is this hip hop.
What is one going to do?
Knowing there's no end that stops.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
That was one of the big problems when I was at Harvard studying music. We had to write choral pieces in the style of Brahms or Mendelssohn, which was distressing because in the end you realized how good Brahms is, and how bad you are.
quote by Elliott Carter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I play the piano and have been playing since I was 7, mainly classical Chopin, Beethoven, Mozart.
Dead Musicians
I
From you, Beethoven, Bach, Mozart,
The substance of my dreams took fire.
You built cathedrals in my heart,
And lit my pinnacled desire.
You were the ardour and the bright
Procession of my thoughts toward prayer.
You were the wrath of storm, the light
On distant citadels aflare.
II
Great names, I cannot find you now
In these loud years of youth that strives
Through doom toward peace: upon my brow
I wear a wreath of banished lives.
You have no part with lads who fought
And laughed and suffered at my side.
Your fugues and symphonies have brought
No memory of my friends who died.
III
For when my brain is on their track,
In slangy speech I call them back.
With fox-trot tunes their ghosts I charm.
‘Another little drink won’t do us any harm.’
I think of rag-time; a bit of rag-time;
And see their faces crowding round
To the sound of the syncopated beat.
They’ve got such jolly things to tell,
Home from hell with a Blighty wound so neat...
. . . .
And so the song breaks off; and I’m alone.
They’re dead ... For God’s sake stop that gramophone.
poem by Siegfried Sassoon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Some months ago, while I was preparing a new work, I told a young cinema executive my intention of including in a soundtrack two themes from Bach. But when he asked me which has been the last hit from that Bach?, then I knew that I had no longer place in cinema.
quote by Maurice Jarre
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Lè Waltz.
Music plays, i take your hand.
I have waited so long to have this dance.
Chopin, Mozart, Bach would understand,
the beauty of a note from a single strand.
Your hair dances gaily, beautiful as every star.
No one can forget our movement, our dance.
Tap, tap, tip, tap, your feet my cinderella.
La, la, la di da-the epilogue to my memior.
poem by Peya Jakob
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Detroit String Quartet played Brahms last night. Brahms lost.
quote by Bennett Cerf
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Young Girl
Young girl Abused and broken
Young girl Alone and Frightened
Young girl Worthless and Ugly
Young girl feels so alone
She has no one to hold her
Young girl's father to drunk to even care
The young girl gets beaten everyday
The young girl wanting to runaway
Young girl will not leave her father alone
Like he has done to her
This young girl's teacher has a note
She reads the note aloud to the class
This young girl was beaten to death
No one had the guts to save her
This young girl bruised and dead
This young girl buried in the cold ground
This young girl has no one to visit her grave
No one asked her how she got her bruises
No one even took a second chance
Goodbye young girl fly away into the arms of God
For He loved you and always will
This young girl happy again
poem by Jasmine Kayleen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Cmon Everybody
(words & music by byers)
Come on everybody and snap your fingers now
Come on everybody clap your hands real loud
Come on everybody take a real deep breath
And repeat after me
I love my baby
I love my baby
Hey, hey, hey and my baby loves me
Come on everybody and whistle this tune right now
Come on everybody and stomp your feet real loud
Come on everybody take a real deep breath
And repeat after me
I love my baby
I love my baby
Hey, hey, hey and my baby loves me
Well there aint nothing wrong with the long-haired music
Like brahms, beethoven and bach
Well I was raised with a guitar in my hand
And I was born to rock
Well, come on everybody and turn your head to the left
Come on everybody and turn your head to the right
Come on everybody take a real deep breath
And repeat after me
I love my baby
I love my baby
Hey, hey, hey and my baby loves me
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Young in New Orleans
starving there, sitting around the bars,
and at night walking the streets for
hours,
the moonlight always seemed fake
to me, maybe it was,
and in the French Quarter I watched
the horses and buggies going by,
everybody sitting high in the open
carriages, the black driver, and in
back the man and the woman,
usually young and always white.
and I was always white.
and hardly charmed by the
world.
New Orleans was a place to
hide.
I could piss away my life,
unmolested.
except for the rats.
the rats in my dark small room
very much resented sharing it
with me.
they were large and fearless
and stared at me with eyes
that spoke
an unblinking
death.
women were beyond me.
they saw something
depraved.
there was one waitress
a little older than
I, she rather smiled,
lingered when she
brought my
coffee.
that was plenty for
me, that was
enough.
there was something about
that city, though
it didn't let me feel guilty
that I had no feeling for the
things so many others
needed.
it let me alone.
sitting up in my bed
the llights out,
hearing the outside
sounds,
lifting my cheap
bottle of wine,
letting the warmth of
the grape
enter
me
as I heard the rats
moving about the
room,
I preferred them
to
humans.
being lost,
being crazy maybe
is not so bad
if you can be
that way
undisturbed.
New Orleans gave me
that.
nobody ever called
my name.
no telephone,
no car,
no job,
no
anything.
me and the
rats
and my youth,
one time,
that time
I knew
even through the
nothingness,
it was a
celebration
of something not to
do
but only
know.
poem by Charles Bukowski
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!