The Mutes
Those groans men use
passing a woman on the street
or on the steps of the subway
to tell her she is a female
and their flesh knows it,
are they a sort of tune,
an ugly enough song, sung
by a bird with a slit tongue
but meant for music?
Or are they the muffled roaring
of deafmutes trapped in a building that is
slowly filling with smoke?
Perhaps both.
Such men most often
look as if groan were all they could do,
yet a woman, in spite of herself,
knows it's a tribute:
if she were lacking all grace
they'd pass her in silence:
so it's not only to say she's
a warm hole. It's a word
in grief-language, nothing to do with
primitive, not an ur-language;
language stricken, sickened, cast down
in decrepitude. She wants to
throw the tribute away, dis-
gusted, and can't,
it goes on buzzing in her ear,
it changes the pace of her walk,
the torn posters in echoing corridors
spell it out, it
quakes and gnashes as the train comes in.
Her pulse sullenly
had picked up speed,
but the cars slow down and
jar to a stop while her understanding
keeps on translating:
'Life after life after life goes by
without poetry,
without seemliness,
without love.'
poem by Denise Levertov
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Related quotes
Poetry is? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?
What is poetry is like asking,
'Why is the sky blue? '
There is no answer to What or Why?
but, in any event,
I shall try.
Poetry flows from my heart through my pen,
down through
its neb,
Like a fly struggling in the web of a spider, waiting
to be free.
What is poetry-who knows-could be as simple as the
morning dew on a rose,
children’s laughter,
a baby’s cry,
a mother crooning a lullaby,
bells chiming loud and clear,
the voices
of those that we hold dear.
Poetry is the language of the soul
It gives us the courage to afford life’s many streams
It expands our horizons to realize our dreams.
To summarize the above
Poetry is the Language of Love
Poetry is the Language of the Soul
Poetry is the Language of Life
over which we have
no control.
poem by Mahfooz Ali
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Love is coloured.
That music has no language
Is not containable.
The song sung in your
Mother tongue is the sweetest.
The song sung by the one
You love is the sweetest
.
Music has language.
Love has image.
07.03.2002, Pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Ramdas, Start Talking With New Language!
Ramdas, start Talking with New Language,
Talk with people and every life,
That language which can take world to new dimension,
Or world shine with beauty and freshness,
Be the one among builders of new world!
Language of love and acceptance,
language that comes from the
depth of the heart,
affectionate and humble,
language that is full of gratitude,
Free of doubts and fear, Language of smile and presence
of mind,
Mindfulness which uses silence
and words well balanced,
the world to new dimensions,
Make world Look like a new world in the light of wisdom!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Not a barrier- the language
Music has no language,
I can enjoy your tongue.
Glances have no language,
I can understand their intentions.
Touches have no language,
I can feel their meanings.
Not in same tongue though we are
No less do we communicate.
20.01.99, Palakkad
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Something That I Can't Do
how i wish i can imitate
the flow of water in my life
that choice of taking the path
of least resistance
how i wish i can have the language
of the rain
that which assuages pain
that which satisfies the thirst
of grass
that which jives with the slow pacing
of the stones
i can't.
i am already born with the language of
my parents
it is the language that i know
the only language of my body and soul
i have to like it
there is no other sound
no other choice
except to speak it
again and
again.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Stairs
In a room above a busy street
The echoes of a life
The fragments and the accidents
Separated by incidents
Listened to by the walls
We share the same spaces
Repeated in the corridors
Performing the same movements
Storey to storey
Building to building
Street to street
We pass each other on the stairs
Storey to storey
Building to building
Street to street
We pass each other on the stairs
Listened to by the walls
We share the same spaces
Repeated in the corridors
Performing the same movements
The nature of your tragedy
Is chained around your neck
Do you lead or are you led
Are u sure that you dont care
There are reasons here to give your life
And follow in your way
The passion lives to keep your faith
Though all are different all are great
Climbing as we fall
We dare to hold on to our fate
And steal away our destiny
To catch ourselves with quiet grace
Storey to storey
Building to building
Street to street
We pass each other on the stairs
Listened to by the walls
We share the same spaces
Repeated in the corridors
Performing the same movements
Storey to storey
Building to building
Street to street
We pass each other on the stairs
song performed by by INXS
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Ah Goo Tongue
The queerest languages known to man,
Sanscrit, Hebrew, Hindoostan,
Are all translated and made as free
And comprehensive as A B C.
Yet the oldest language talked or sung,
The strange mysterious Ah Goo tongue,
The royal language of Babyland
No man living can understand.
Every soul in the world to-day
Was one time anchored in Babyland Bay,
And quarantined there for a year or more
Before he even could step on shore.
And everybody in Babyland Bay
Talks the Ah Goo tongue, so people say,
But once on land-why not a word
Do they understand of it when 'tis heard.
For the fairy rulers of Babyland
Who guard the kingdom on every hand,
Have willed that no one shall keep the key
Who crosses into the Grown-up Sea.
So the sweet court language has never been made
A common parlance of strife or trade,
But is kept in the kingdom where natives come
Versed in the language of Babydom.
They are all of them royal and that is how
The Grown-up people all kneel and bow,
When they hear that language talked or sung-
The strange mysterious Ah Goo tongue.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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We probably, as primitive people, made music before we actually had a language, and that's where language comes from.
quote by Debbie Harry
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Classical Tamil World Conference (Semmozhi Tamizh Ulaga Manadu)
Through you, I came, Mother;
Lucky was my birth in Bharat, my Motherland;
I was nurtured and grew up by mother’s milk;
I drew strength from my mother’s love.
I knew the world through my mother-tongue;
I learnt most things by mother-tongue;
Thanks to my dear earthly mother;
Thanks to my Mother, Tamil!
The place where I was born was Tamilnadu;
Tamil is my mother-tongue;
Tamil was my first breath;
My first cry was in Tamil.
My last breath shall be Tamil;
My life will be for Tamil;
I am proud of my mother-tongue, Tamil;
I am proud to be a Tamilian!
Tamil is a great language;
Tamil is a popular language;
Tamil is an ancient language;
Tamil is a classical language.
Tamil is a world language;
Tamil is a language of Gods!
Dedicated to ‘Classical Tamil World Conference,2010, Coimbatore’
Copyright by Dr John Celes 23-06-2010
poem by John Celes
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Music Sings Within Me
Music speaks my language
what ever mood im in
passion
or sadness
music sings within
music calms my troubles
shows ever possible ending
with lyrics to different songs
music sings within
music shows me friendship
like happiness
and to never leave my side
music sings within
music sings within me
it speaks my language
calms my troubles
shows me friendship
music sings within
theres not one song that represents me
or my oh but unique life
theres not one song
thats dark enough
for those silly little fights
but bright enough for when i see you
not one song shows
how i feel when
i write along my arms
or when i lay currled up in a ball on a cold winters day
music sings within me
diffrent lyrics for everyday
this is the song of my life
i choose when to press
stop, pause, or play.
poem by Katie Norton
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Language from Womb to Tomb
It is heard from mother's womb,
taught and learned through the days
and years; repeated, remembered,
quoted, mimicked, twisted,
spoken to bless and to curse.
It is to make one
come across the border lines
It is to feel a part of the whole
It is to understand and be understood.
It is seed that grows through the years
It is a pen that records the scars and stars
It is present in the years of our life
the years lost and gone
and the years to come.
It is language
from mother's womb
to our own tomb
It is language of jubilation,
of judgment and adoration
It is law and order
It is history-
document and monument.
It is victory and defeat.
It is the language of love
It is the language of hate.
It is the language of life
and the language of death.
_____________
May 7,2010
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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Language lost
My language lost
My identity lost.
Excuse me
I could not save my language.
I am forced to use foreign tongue
I am forced to shun all that are mine.
Excuse me
I could not save my language
I could not save my life
And I am not fine.
I want to talk in my mother tongue
I want to live in my home
I want to tell my Father to come and rescue.
My language lost
My identity lost.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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My Romanian Language
Sweet, melodious there’s no other
like my language in this world,
From the lips of my grandmother,
every word is shining pearled.
It is born straight from the Light,
Sunrise over the Black Sea,
To hear it is a delight,
Oh, how great is my love for thee!
My Romanian language, a treasure
Safely kept inside my soul,
Then released with grace and leisure,
Golden words that made me whole.
You can hear it in the leaves,
when you walk with Eminescu,
In the secret of the breeze,
Trying lovely to impress you.
It is there in melodies,
In the waves of the Danube
In Enescu’s rhapsodies
I can hear it, so can you.
It is there in poetry,
Written in book after book,
Our language molded me,
Blaga, Goga, and Cosbuc.
If you carefully listen,
If you have the time and patience,
I am sure you too can hear it,
At “The Table of Silence”
At “The Endless Column”
With Brancusi dreaming along
Our language so solemn
Like an old, enchanted gong.
In the mountains and the valleys,
In the rivers in the springs,
In the meadows and green alleys,
Unseen angels, touching strings.
Is the language of the songs,
Shepherds playing the whistle for their sheep,
Is that sound where love belongs,
Mama's singing you to sleep.
poem by Marius Alexandru
Submitted by anonym
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"WHAT language is thine, O sea?" "The language of eternal question." "What language is thy answer, O sky? "The language of eternal silence."
aphorism by Rabindranath Tagore from Stray Birds (1916), translated by Rabindranath Tagore
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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My Romanian Language
Sweet, melodious there’s no other
like my language in this world,
From the lips of my grandmother,
every word is shining pearled.
It is born straight from the Light,
Sunrise over the Black Sea,
Just to hear it it’s a delight,
Oh, how great’s my love for thee!
My Romanian language, a treasure
Safely kept inside my soul,
Then released with grace and leisure,
Golden words that made me whole.
You can hear it in the leaves,
when you walk with Eminescu,
In the secret of the breeze,
Trying lovely to impress you.
It is there in melodies,
In the waves of the Danube
In Enescu’s rhapsodies
I can hear it, so can you.
It is there in poetry,
Written in book after book,
Our language molded me,
Blaga, Goga, and Cosbuc.
If you carefully listen,
If you have the time and patience,
I am sure you too can hear it,
At “The Table of Silence”
At “The Endless Column”
With Brancusi dreaming along
Our language so solemn
Like an old, enchanted gong.
In the mountains and the valleys,
In the rivers in the springs,
In the meadows and green alleys,
Unseen angels, touching strings.
Is the language of the songs,
Shepherds playing for their sheep,
Is a sound where love belongs,
Mama’s singing you to sleep.
poem by Marius Alexandru from Doruri Sfinte (August 2018)
Submitted by anonym
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Poems vs Songs
I may be right or I may be wrong
But, when you hear a singer singing a song
It is his or her voice that carries a message
With music providing an easier passage
To a space behind the eardrums
Resulting often in a rhythmical shaking
Of hips and boobs and flailing of arms
I may be wrong or I may be right
When you read a good poem it brings you delight
The rhyming of words makes poem tick
Your imagination does the trick
The poem's message illuminates the mind
Translating human language into language divine
When I'm writing my poetry, whether poem or song
The former always comes right and the latter wrong.
poem by Slava Olchevski
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Body Language
Words and music by freddie mercury
Give me body give me body body
Give me your body
Dont talk dont talk dont talk dont talk
Baby dont talk
Body language body language body language
Give me your body
Just give me yeah your body
Give me yeah your body
Dont talk
Body language huh huh
Body language body language
You got red lips snakes in your eyes
Long legs great thighs
You got the cutest ass Ive ever seen
Knock me down for a six any time
Look at me I gotta case of body language
Look at me I gotta case of body language
Look at me I gotta case of body language
Look at me I gotta case of body language
Of body language of body language
Yeah sexy body sexy sexy body
I want your body
Baby youre hot
Body language body language body language
Body language body language body language
Body language body language body language
song performed by by Queen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Music is...
Music is...
Music is expression...
Music is freedom...
Music is the song of life...
Music is notes...
Music is noise...
Music is beat...
Music is relaxing...
Music is peace...
Music is loud...
Music is calm...
Music is meaningful...
Music is sound...
Music is heart...
Music is soul...
Music is mind...
Music is body...
Music is nature...
Music is language...
Music is the song of my life...
Music is everything...
Music is me...
Music is....
poem by Madeline anderson
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I feel impelled to speak today in a language that in a sense is new-one which I, who have spent so much of my life in the military profession, would have preferred never to use. That new language is the language of atomic warfare.
quote by Dwight D. Eisenhower
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Homer's whole language, the language in which he lived, the language that he breathed, because he never saw it, or certainly those who formed his tradition never saw it, in characters on the pages. It was all on the tongue and in the ear.
quote by Robert Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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