The overture
October's orchestra plays softly on
The northern forest with its thousand strings,
And Autumn, the conductor wields anon
The Golden-rod-- The baton that he swings.
poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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I conceived of an instrument that would create sound without using any mechanical energy, like the conductor of an orchestra. The orchestra plays mechanically, using mechanical energy; the conductor just moves his hands, and his movements have an effect on the music artistry.
quote by Leon Theremin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Instruments Of War
The baton is raised.
Silent savagery, lurks in the green.
Silent feet, step softly,
waiting for fear to explode.
No sound make...let no twig break...
breathe softly, begging breath,
beat quietly, pounding heart.
Like drums, stretched too tight,
under the shadow of fisted war sticks.
Like steel strings, stretched too tight,
under poised sharp fingers.
The instruments lie waiting.
The baton falls!
A thunderous collage of,
flashes and screams,
fire and flesh,
metal and bone,
ripping,
stripping,
life dripping,
red tears.
The conductors baton stills,
and as the green grows silent,
he smiles.
Instruments, lie broken,
the green smolders,
and tomorrow,
remembers no more.
(1990)
poem by George Vuyakovich
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An Angel And A Violin
Thoroughly magically blended,
To caress my ears as intended,
Through beauty and soulful sounds,
In my defense it softly rebounds...
An angel and a classical violin,
The century's concerto begins,
Plays like one hundred and one,
A million stars around the sun...
Soothing my heart and mind,
Finally leaving sorrow behind,
By helping me forget the past,
Only the good memories last...
An angel with streaming hair,
A beauty that lovingly stares,
Sparkling eyes, baby soft skin,
She orchestrated sounds again...
Her unique heartbeat clearly cast,
A conductor's baton circles fast,
We awake from a too real dream,
To rise to the top as a stronger beings..
New York's Philharmonic Symphony,
Is where the angels play in harmony,
Her bow glides softly over the strings,
With a sound of tenderness she sings...
To wish but it is only about reality,
Poetically, God's only soul for me,
But, when I fail to fall asleep,
There is no angel behind the violin...
When the sun rises I go about my day,
Her melancholy glow guides the way,
Anxiously awaiting darkness to begin,
Lovely dreams the angel comes again...
Life manifests itself in different forms,
The one behind my thoughts and poems,
The one I saw vividly in my dream,
The angel behind the violin...
©All Rights Reserved-2009
poem by Romeo Della Valle
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Show me an orchestra that likes its conductor and I'll show you a lousy conductor.
quote by Goddard Lieberson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jacques Cartier’s First Visit To Mount Royal
He stood on the wood-crowned summit
Of our mountain’s regal height,
And gazed on the scene before him,
By October’s golden light,
And his dark eyes, earnest, thoughtful,
Lit up with a softer ray
As they dwelt on the scene of beauty
That, outspread, before him lay.
Like a sea of liquid silver,
St. Lawrence, ’neath the sun,
Reflected the forest foliage
And the Indian wigwams dun,
Embracing the fairy islands
That its swift tide loving laves,
Reposing in tranquil beauty
Amid its sapphire waves.
To the eastward, frowning mountains
Rose in solemn grandeur still,
The glittering sunlight glinting
On steep and rugged hill;
Whilst in the far horizon,
Past leafy dell and haunt,
Like a line of misty purple,
Rose the dim hills of Vermont.
Then Cartier’s rapt gaze wandered
Where, starred with wild flowers sweet,
In its gorgeous autumn beauty,
Lay the forest at his feet.
With red and golden glory
All the foliage seemed ablaze
Yet with brightness strangely softened
By October’s amber haze.
Around him stretched the mountain
Ever lovely—ever young—
Graceful, softly undulating,
By tall forest trees o’erhung;
’Twas then his thought found utterance,
The words “Mont Royal” came,
And thus our Royal Mountain
Received its fitting name.
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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You, Me & This Autumn
It was you, me & this autumn, when
I stood an onlooker, then
You & the autumn romped again.
How I relish looking on, when
This autumn showered the golden
confetti on you, then
You & the autumn romped again.
Those birds, being envious of you, when
The silver heels & golden leaves would
make saccharine songs, then
You & the autumn romped again.
In our midst, this autumn was a bosom
pal, when
None would sing the songs with us, then
You & the autumn romped again.
You & Me were dashing on the greying
path, when
The autumn was younger & even younger,
our Love, then
You & the autumn romped again.
We met in every scuffle, we had, when
This autumn stood a witness, then
You & the autumn romped again.
Our deep ties with the autumn would
never go in vain, when
On our graves the golden confetti would
shower down again, then
You & the autumn romped again (close to
my grave)
poem by Pablo Keats
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Music begins to be 'manipulated' the moment it is interpreted by a conductor or a soloist and played by an orchestra in a hall with a specific acoustic. All these factors 'manipulate' music and so does the fact that I ask the oboe please to play more piano. And you are manipulating the orchestra for one reason only: to get the sound you want. In the recording studio you are using the equipment at hand for exactly the same reason.
quote by Herbert von Karajan
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Golden Autumn Day
Well I heard the bells ringing, I was thinking about winning
In this God forsaken place
When my confidence was well, then I tripped and I felt
Right flat on my face
Now Im standing erect, and I feel like coming back
And the sun is shining gold
Put a smile on my face, get back in the human race
And get on with the show
And Im taking in the indian summer
And Im soaking it up in my mind
And Im pretending that its paradise
On a golden autumn day, on a golden autumn day
On a golden autumn day, an a golden autumn day
In the wee midnight hour I was parking my car
In this dimly lit town,
I was attacked by two thugs, who took me for a mug
And shoved me down on the ground
And they pulled out a knife, and I fought my way up
As they scarpered from the scene
Well this is no new york street, and theres no bobby on the beat
And things aint just what they seem
And Im taking in the indian summer
And Im soaking it up in my mind
And Im pretending that its paradise
On a golden autumn day, on a golden autumn day
On a golden autumn day, an a golden autumn day
Who would think this could happen in a city like this
Among blakes green and pleasant hills,
And we must remember as we go through september
Among these dark satanic mills
If theres such a thing as justice I could take them out and flog them
In the nearest green field
And it might be a lesson to the bleeders of the system
In this whole society
And Im taking in the indian summer
And Im soaking it up in my mind
And Im pretending like its paradise
On a golden autumn day, on a golden autumn day
On a golden autumn day, on a golden autumn day, golden autumn day ...
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I always imagined that to bring an orchestra to play together is not enough for a conductor.
quote by Kurt Masur
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The director is a bit analogous to the conductor of a symphony orchestra. It's a collaborative adventure.
quote by Nicholas Meyer
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And at the same time, I had my very first concert at the age of 16. I hadn't heard a symphony orchestra before, and I was so deeply impressed I said I have to be a conductor.
quote by Kurt Masur
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Great cataclysmic things can go by and neither the orchestra nor the conductor are under the delusion that whether they make this or that gesture is going to be the deciding factor in how it comes out.
quote by James Levine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Only when every one of us and every nation learns the secret of love for all mankind will the world become a great orchestra, following the beat of the Greatest Conductor of all.
quote by Artur Rodzinski
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Another Reason Why I Don't Keep A Gun In The House
The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.
He is barking the same high, rhythmic bark
that he barks every time they leave the house.
They must switch him on on their way out.
The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.
I close all the windows in the house
and put on a Beethoven symphony full blast
but I can still hear him muffled under the music,
barking, barking, barking,
and now I can see him sitting in the orchestra,
his head raised confidently as if Beethoven
had included a part for barking dog.
When the record finally ends he is still barking,
sitting there in the oboe section barking,
his eyes fixed on the conductor who is
entreating him with his baton
while the other musicians listen in respectful
silence to the famous barking dog solo,
that endless coda that first established
Beethoven as an innovative genius.
poem by Billy Collins
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I don't feel that the conductor has real power. The orchestra has the power, and every member of it knows instantaneously if you're just beating time.
quote by Itzhak Perlman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Soloist Singers
isolation rocks
soul voice would
become more...
mainstream
golden voice
is orchestra...
soloist singers
must solo sing
orchestra backed?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Kebyar Dance
kebyar duduk
kebyar trompong
created by Mario
a Balinese dance genius
in kebyar trompong
dancer plays
trompong instrument
while dances
displays of suppleness
and the virtuosity
short but spectacular
non-narrative dances
inspired by the dynamism
of the gong kebyar
a gamelan orchestra
originating from Northern Bali
poem by Ahmad Shiddiqi
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Pirouetting Autumn
The tree blushed - a rude blast of air
Betrayed a shapely bough.
My saddened heart aware
That Nature's clock was chiming,
I froze upon the twelfth
Clanging tone, caught alone,
Staring at a creaking door -
Left ajar for dancing, coloured Autumn,
Pirouetting in her leaves,
While agitated summer creatures
Backed away resignedly,
Sighing in protracted breves.
I turned; gave company;
We stood together, watching
Summer slowly blow away.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
A utumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
Autumn autumn autumn autumn
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Memories
The burnished glow of the old-gold moon
Shines brightly over me.
A thousand stars, like a thousand isles
In a dark and placid sea,
Bring memories of a golden night,
Bedecked in Autumn's hue
And fragrant with the lilac's bloom,
That brought me joy--and you.
poem by Joseph Seamon Cotter
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Callin Baton Rouge
I spent last night in the arms
Of a girl in louisiana
And though Im out on the highway
My thoughts are still with her
Such a strange combination of a woman and a child
Such a strange situation stoppin every hundred miles
Callin baton rouge
A replay of last nights events
Roll through my mind
Except a scene or two
Erased by sweet red wine
And I see a truck stop sign ahead
So I change lanes
I need a cup of coffee
And a couple dollars change
Callin baton rouge
(chorus)
Operator wont you put me on through
I gotta send my love down to baton rouge
Hurry up wont you put her on the line
I gotta talk to the girl just one more time.
Hello samantha dear, I hope youre feelin fine
And it wont be long until Im with you all the time
But until then Ill spend my money up right down to my last dime
Callin baton rouge.
*chorus*
Callin baton rouge
Sweet baton rouge, my baton rouge
song performed by by Garth Brooks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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