Joseph Dixon
Who carved this shattered harp on my stone?
I died to you, no doubt. But how many harps and pianos
Wired I and tightened and disentangled for you,
Making them sweet again -- with tuning fork or without?
Oh well! A harp leaps out of the ear of a man, you say,
But whence the ear that orders the length of the strings
To a magic of numbers flying before your thought
Through a door that closes against your breathless wonder?
Is there no Ear round the ear of a man, that it senses
Through strings and columns of air the soul of sound?
I thrill as I call it a tuning fork that catches
The waves of mingled music and light from afar,
The antennae of Thought that listens through utmost space.
Surely the concord that ruled my spirit is proof
Of an Ear that tuned me, able to tune me over
And use me again if I am worthy to use.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Related quotes
Harps We Love
The harp we love hath a royal burst!
Its strings are mighty forest trees;
And branches, swaying to and fro,
Are fingers sounding symphonies.
The harp we love hath a solemn sound!
And rocks amongst the shallow seas
Are strings from which the rolling waves
Draw forth their stirring harmonies.
The harp we love hath a low sweet voice!
Its strings are in the bosom deep,
And Love will press those hidden chords
When all the baser passions sleep.
poem by Henry Kendall
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The Master-Player
AN old worn harp that had been played
Till all its strings were loose and frayed,
Joy, Hate and Fear, each one essayed,
To play. But each in turn had found
No sweet responsiveness of sound
Then Love the Master-Player came
With heaving breast and eyes aflame;
The harp he took all undismayed,
Smote on its strings, still strange to song,
And brought forth music sweet and strong.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Unstrung
My skies were blue, and my sun was bright,
And, with fingers tender and strong and light,
He woke up the music that slept before—
Echoing, echoing evermore!
By-and-by, my skies grew grey;—
No master-touch on the harp-strings lay,—
Dead silence cradled the notes divine:
His soul had wander'd away from mine.
Idly, o'er strange harps swept his hand,
Seeking for music more wild and grand.
He wearied at last of his fruitless quest,
And he came again to my harp for rest.
But the dust lay thick on the golden wires,
And they would not thrill to the old desires.
The chords, so broken and jarred with pain,
Could never be tender and sweet again.
poem by Ada Cambridge
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For a smart material to be able to send out a more complex signal it needs to be nonlinear. If you hit a tuning fork twice as hard it will ring twice as loud but still at the same frequency. That's a linear response. If you hit a person twice as hard they're unlikely just to shout twice as loud. That property lets you learn more about the person than the tuning fork.
quote by Neil Gershenfeld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Strange Music
Other loves may sink and settle, other loves may loose and slack,
But I wander like a minstrel with a harp upon my back,
Though the harp be on my bosom, though I finger and I fret,
Still, my hope is all before me; for I cannot play it yet.
In your strings is hid a music that no hand hath e'er let fall,
In your soul is sealed a pleasure that you have not known at all;
Pleasure subtle as your spirit, strange and slender as your frame,
Fiercer than the pain that folds you, softer than your sorrow's name.
Not as mine, my soul's annointed, not as mine the rude and light
Easy mirth of many faces, swaggering pride of song and fight;
Something stranger, something sweeter, something waiting you afar,
Secret as your stricken senses, magic as your sorrows are.
But on this, God's harp supernal, stretched but to be stricken once,
Hoary time is a beginner, Life a bungler, Death a dunce.
But I will not fear to match them - no by God, I will not fear,
I will learn you, I will play you and the stars stand still to hear.
poem by G.K. Chesterton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Strange Music
Other loves may sink and settle, other loves may loose and slack,
But I wander like a minstrel with a harp upon my back,
Though the harp be on my bosom, though I finger and I fret,
Still, my hope is all before me; for I cannot play it yet.
In your strings is hid a music that no hand hath e'er let fall,
In your soul is sealed a pleasure that you have not known at all;
Pleasure subtle as your spirit, strange and slender as your frame,
Fiercer than the pain that folds you, softer than your sorrow's name.
Not as mine, my soul's annointed, not as mine the rude and light
Easy mirth of many faces, swaggering pride of song and fight;
Something stranger, something sweeter, something waiting you afar,
Secret as your stricken senses, magic as your sorrows are.
But on this, God's harp supernal, stretched but to be stricken once,
Hoary time is a beginner, Life a bungler, Death a dunce.
But I will not fear to match them - no by God, I will not fear,
I will learn you, I will play you and the stars stand still to hear.
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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Touch the Sleeping Strings Again
Say not, O say not, we are strangers,
By freak chance together brought;
Remind me not of lurking dangers
In wreaths of friendship quickly wrought.
Some sweet attraction draws me to you;
From Memory's harp strange murmurs flow;
And something makes me think I knew you
Beyond the sea of Long Ago.
Touch the sleeping strings and
tell me, tell me whether,
Thence comes music sweet and low:
Did not we walk some shore together
Beyond the sea of Long Ago?
Your eyes, in bashful glances falling,
Light up a landscape far away;
Your voice-- to hear it is recalling
A sweet but long forgotten lay.
When all the year was pleasant weather,
And none had heard of pain or woe,
Did not we sing this tune together
Beyond the sea of Long Ago?
Think not, although I speak so boldly,
That idle words are on my tongue;
Receive my greeting not so coldly,
Nor hush the harp that would have sung;
For lightly touched, as by a feather,
The sleeping strings will thrill, I know:
Were not our spririts linked together
Beyond the sea of Long Ago?
poem by Henry Clay Work
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0027 Dreaming truth
Imagine yourself -
yourself, to imagine –
this dream; dream
this imaging:
the water’s so far, far below
it’s beyond this dark imagining, this dream;
all your attention is required
by this rope bridge,
swayed by nature to some immediate, vibrating laws
of this way, that way, more complex
than steel or concrete bear in mind –
five lines of rope, that’s all,
bound from time to time
but only every few and fearful steps
so that they do not part
unless you tread without remembering
all five of them; toe, heel, as you place your foot…
and now it seems, in the illogical
precision of this dream – which is in
league with some dark inner truth
and so, it must be walked – now,
it’s not five ropes, any more,
but five strings of some instrument
vibrating, low and high; while tense, taut mind
looks for firm frets to tune each step;
or can you trust their tuning?
is the tuning now the fingers of your feet?
each fallible or faulty foothold
will send its string’s own warning of uncertainty:
this bass string, booming failure between the valley’s two high cliffs;
this treble string, nerve-searing scream of pain;
ahead, this firm support that holds the strings, now
drops away; the hollow soundbox that’s all space,
all sound, all air, all touch and light and flow of sound;
the sound of judgment’s stern and justly-tempered final chord –
now you awake: relieved, yet with a question,
born of night, to be resolved by day;
what does the dream tell to the waking thought?
what does the waking thought tell of the dream?
some metaphor for life inhabited your dream;
some knowledge passed, wrapped in a metaphor;
you only know, that it was watched – by whom?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Rain-Songs
THE rain streams down like harp-strings from the sky;
The wind, that world-old harpist, sitteth by;
And ever as he sings his low refrain,
He plays upon the harp-strings of the rain.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Ocean of Forms
I dive down into the depth of the ocean of forms,
hoping to gain the perfect pearl of the formless.
No more sailing from harbor to harbor with this my weather-beaten boat.
The days are long passed when my sport was to be tossed on waves.
And now I am eager to die into the deathless.
Into the audience hall by the fathomless abyss
where swells up the music of toneless strings
I shall take this harp of my life.
I shall tune it to the notes of forever,
and when it has sobbed out its last utterance,
lay down my silent harp at the feet of the silent.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Tuning In Tuning On
Written by ricky & marty wilde
Cruising round theres a sound with a place to go
Tuning in tuning on like a radio
Fell the sound in your head and you set the seal
I believe its a force of the life you feel - tuning on
Do you know what the sounds that you hear will find
Reach to space to the stars and another time
I believe that they search like a seed to grow
In the end its the same anyway you go
I really cant explain
I really cant explain
Crashing out for the last and the final time
Could a sound and a soul travel on combined
From the womb to the end is it everywhere
Feel the beat of my heart and you know its there
I really cant explain
Spoken
I really believe that sound reaches infinity, do you know what I mean. I think it goes on and on forever, and if thats true and it was linked to the spiritual side of your lives, well, then sou
Ould be alive. can you imagine the possibilities for the future ? linking the soul and the sound and then being able to make a giant spiritual musical machine, actually a part of us and not just
Thing you hear - its fantastic - its just fantastic
I really cant explain
song performed by by Kim Wilde
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Guitarist
Strum the strings
From room to room
The sound will ring
Sealed in its case
Taking up space
I use a pick to play
The guitar, everyday
Playing a chord
Only when I'm bored
Strum the strings
From room to room
The sound will ring
Its base is wood
Its strings are not
When you cannot play
There is nothing to flaunt
Before you play
Tune the sound
Strum on and on
Until a rhythm is found
Strum the strings
From room to room
The sound will ring
I
I have nothing to say
No light to use
No music to play
I'm idle
For I have
No guitar to play
poem by Pete Rivera
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The Rosary
Not on the lute, nor harp of many strings
Shall all men praise the Master of all song.
Our life is brief, one saith, and art is long;
And skilled must be the laureates of kings.
Silent, O lips that utter foolish things!
Rest, awkward fingers striking all notes wrong!
How from your toil shall issue, white and strong,
Music like that God's chosen poet sings?
There is one harp that any hand can play,
And from its strings what harmonies arise!
There is one song that any mouth can say, --
A song that lingers when all singing dies.
When on their beads our Mother's children pray
Immortal music charms the grateful skies.
poem by Joyce Kilmer
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Strumming The Strings Of My Heart
I watch you play,
Making a beautiful tune
The strings of the guitar shaking
As you sit in the light of the moon
Your plucking the strings
With great ease
Making a flowing melody
A pretty song, just for me
I continue to watch
You playing your guitar
Making me love you
While your strumming the strings of my heart
These strings will never be touched
By anyone but you
You go where no one else can
Leaving a mark, like a tattoo,
Saying I LOVE YOU
poem by Katniss Everdeen
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Tuning Into Something Wild
Key:-
"a" - anita
"r" - ray
A: tuning into something wild
A: like a comet from space
Like a slap in the face
You can feel it coming
Like a push in the back
Turning white into black
You're feeling something wild now!
A: you're feeling something wild now!
R: hey precious, hey burning child
Time to tune to something wild
It's new, it's hot, it's all you're not
Don't turn back, it's all we've got
You're breathless, you're out of step
Time to learn just what is hip
If you think you're in a jumble
That's the way the cookie crumbles
A: tuning into something wild
Tuning into something
A: like a comet from space
Like a slap in the face
You can feel it coming
Like a push in the back
Turning white into black
You're feeling something wild now!
R: wilder and wilder
A; you can feel it coming!
R: well, maybe so-- we're in a mess
World gone wrong but don't forget
There's a groove that makes you wonder
How the hell they sample thunder
It's glorious, it's boom, boom, boom
Bless the noise that shakes the room
If you think we're getting milder
Brace yourself for something wilder
A: tuning into something wild
Tuning into something
A: like a comet from space
Like a slap in the face
You can feel it coming
Like a push in the back
Turning white into black
You're feeling something wild now!
A: like a comet from space
Like a slap in the face
You can feel it coming
Like a push in the back
Turning white into black
You're feeling something wild now!
A: hey yeah
R: brace yourself!
Brace yourself!
A: tuning into something wild
Tuning into something wild
Tuning into something wild
A: like a comet from space
Like a slap in the face
You can feel it coming
Like a push in the back
Turning white into black
You're feeling something wild now!
A: like a comet from space
Like a slap in the face
You can feel it coming
Like a push in the back
Turning white into black
You're feeling something wild now!
A: like a comet from space
Like a slap in the face
You can feel it coming
Like a push in the back
Turning white into black
You're feeling something wild now!
A: like a comet from space
Like a slap in the face
You can feel it coming
Like a push in the back
Turning white into black
You're feeling something wild now!
song performed by by 2 Unlimited
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Clara Morris (Written for a Benefit Given Mrs. Morris)
The Radiant Ruler of Mystic Regions
Where souls of artists are fitted for birth,
Gathered together their lovely legions
And fashioned a woman to shine on earth.
They bathed her in splendor
They made her tender:
They gave her a nature both sweet and wild.
They gave her emotions
Like storm stirred oceans,
And they gave her the heart of a little child.
These Radiant Rulers (who are not human
Nor yet divine like the gods above)
Poured all their gifts in the soul of a woman
That fragile vessel meant only for love.
Still more they taught her,
Still more they brought her-
Till they gave her the world for a harp one day,
And they bade her string it-
They bade her ring it,
While the stars all wondered to hear her play.
She touched the strings in a master fashion,
She uttered the cry of a world's despair.
Its long-hid secret, its pent-up passion,
She gave to the winds in a vibrant air.
For ah! the heart of her,
That was the art of her,
Great with the feeling that makes men kin.
Art unapproachable,
Art all uncoachable,
Fragrance and flame from the spirit within.
The earth turns ever an ear unheeding
To the sorrows of art, as it cries for more:
And she played on the harp till her hands were bleeding
And her brow was bruised by the laurels she wore.
She knew the trend of it,
She knew the end of it.
Men heard the music and men felt the thrill.
Bound to the altar
Of art, could she falter?
Then came a silence-the music was still.
And yet in the echoes we seem to hear it
In waves unbroken it circles the earth:
And we catch in the light of her dauntless spirit
A gleam from the center that gave her birth.
Still is the fame of her
Felt in the name of her.
But low lies the harp that once thrilled to her strain.
No hand has taken it,
No hand can waken it-
For the soul of her art was her secret of pain.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Lay Down Your Weary Tune
Lay down your weary tune, lay down,
Lay down the song you strum,
And rest yourself neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum.
Struck by the sounds before the sun,
I knew the night had gone.
The morning breeze like a bugle blew
Against the drums of dawn.
Lay down your weary tune, lay down,
Lay down the song you strum,
And rest yourself neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum.
The ocean wild like an organ played,
The seaweeds wove its strands.
The crashin waves like cymbals clashed
Against the rocks and sands.
Lay down your weary tune, lay down,
Lay down the song you strum,
And rest yourself neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum.
I stood unwound beneath the skies
And clouds unbound by laws.
The cryin rain like a trumpet sang
And asked for no applause.
Lay down your weary tune, lay down,
Lay down the song you strum,
And rest yourself neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum.
The last of leaves fell from the trees
And clung to a new loves breast.
The branches bare like a banjo played
To the winds that listened best.
I gazed down in the rivers mirror
And watched its winding strum.
The water smooth ran like a hymn
And like a harp did hum.
Lay down your weary tune, lay down,
Lay down the song you strum,
And rest yourself neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Turning Into Something Wild
Key:-
A - anita
R - ray
A: tuning into something wild
A: like a comet from space
Like a slap in the face
You can feel it coming
Like a push in the back
Turning white into black
Youre feeling something wild now!
A: youre feeling something wild now!
R: hey precious, hey burning child
Time to tune to something wild
Its new, its hot, its all youre not
Dont turn back, its all weve got
Youre breathless, youre out of step
Time to learn just what is hip
If you think youre in a jumble
Thats the way the cookie crumbles
A: tuning into something wild
Tuning into something
A: like a comet from space
Like a slap in the face
You can feel it coming
Like a push in the back
Turning white into black
Youre feeling something wild now!
R: wilder and wilder
A; you can feel it coming!
R: well, maybe so-- were in a mess
World gone wrong but dont forget
Theres a groove that makes you wonder
How the hell they sample thunder
Its glorious, its boom, boom, boom
Bless the noise that shakes the room
If you think were getting milder
Brace yourself for something wilder
A: tuning into something wild
Tuning into something
A: like a comet from space
Like a slap in the face
You can feel it coming
Like a push in the back
Turning white into black
Youre feeling something wild now!
A: like a comet from space
Like a slap in the face
You can feel it coming
Like a push in the back
Turning white into black
Youre feeling something wild now!
A: hey yeah
R: brace yourself!
Brace yourself!
A: tuning into something wild
Tuning into something wild
Tuning into something wild
A: like a comet from space
Like a slap in the face
You can feel it coming
Like a push in the back
Turning white into black
Youre feeling something wild now!
A: like a comet from space
Like a slap in the face
You can feel it coming
Like a push in the back
Turning white into black
Youre feeling something wild now!
A: like a comet from space
Like a slap in the face
You can feel it coming
Like a push in the back
Turning white into black
Youre feeling something wild now!
A: like a comet from space
Like a slap in the face
You can feel it coming
Like a push in the back
Turning white into black
Youre feeling something wild now!
song performed by by 2 Unlimited
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet 1.
When you have seen my music move the grass
where you have lain outside the willow’s shade
and heard the wind’s high-pitch descend to bass,
you stroll away into the dusk and fade.
You make me feel my music might contain,
a strophe or two of Dylan’s underground
that sheds no lasting light beyond a stain,
but rings a mellow bell of pleasing sound.
My strings lay still in hours that you sleep,
I watch your posture change a dozen times,
each twist and turn, a lyric, then I creep
away and put to paper - conjured rhymes.
Some nights I dream my harp has lost its strings -
and you are dancing, showing off your wings.
poem by Esmond Jones
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The Fork To Take
I had pegged you as
protégé, adoptee,
someone I could save.
The last thing
I needed
was
another lover.
You call yourself
'an accident
looking
for a place
to happen.'
I call you
my sweet, my love,
not only
because you carry knives
for me
& want to beat up
all my
ex-husbands-
but because
you can laugh
at yourself
for wanting to.
We dream
of the baby
we will never have.
The little Jewish WASP
with golden blue eyes,
poems on the tip of his tongue.
your height, my hair,
& jokes that hit
their targets
on a slant.
He will never be
in the Social Register.
But will he know
which fork to take-
as you did
when you drove
off my road,
slyly taking the wrong fork
in order to stay
the night?
O you are sly,
my sweet wheat
looking for
a harvest.
Shall I reap you?
Shall I do to you
what the hurricane
does with the waving
grain?
Shall I thresh & bind you,
run barefoot
through your body
trying to stamp out
death?
Or shall I merely
let you
lift me up
like the wind spinning
an errant seed,
& let it
take me
where it will,
right fork,
wrong fork,
no fork
at all,
since we will take
the same path
through
the air
after all?
poem by Erica Jong
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