Devotion
Not lost from my young years
Is silent devotion to a sound of bells,
To all churches' dusking altars
And their blue domes heaven-wide.
To an organ's tune at evening,
To wide squares fading in darkness,
And to a fountain that splashes, softly and quietly
And sweetly, like unintelligible children's babbling.
I see myself dreaming silently, folding the hands,
And whispering prayers forgotten for a long time,
And early gloom sombering my glance.
Since a woman's picture gleams
Out of confused shapes, wreathed by sinister grief,
And pours into me the chalice of nefarious shudders.
poem by Georg Trakl
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Related quotes
Childhood Memory
The sun shines alone in the afternoon,
And quietly the tone of the honey-bees wavers off.
In the garden the sisters' voices whisper -
There the boy listens in the wooden shed,
Still fevering over book and picture.
Weary the linden-trees wilt immersed in the blue.
A heron hangs motionless drowned in the ether,
By the fence fantastic shadow-shapes play.
The sisters go quietly into the house,
And soon their white clothes glimmer
Vaguely from bright rooms,
And confused the bushes' bluster dies down.
The boy strokes the cat's hair,
Bewitched by the mirror of her eyes.
An organ-sound far away on the hill
Lifts wonderfully into heaven.
poem by Georg Trakl
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As A Day Passes
As The Days Passes
The cemetery on the hill, facing the blue bay, looks inviting in spring sun.
A burial procession is coming up the road, the last one before lunch,
the priest has folded his hands and think of food. As soon as the coffin is
lowered, three the gravediggers go to work.
Kisses, hugs, tears and sober handshakes, the group of mourners break
up, the bereaved needs to eat too. We are because my wife’s mother is
in a hole in the wall with glass door, she came to change the cloth that
covers the coffin, but has forgotten the key.
I think of my mother, she has been dead a long time, memories of her
last years are bleached bones in the human wasteland I have a picture
of her when she was young and can now see, she a woman too, I cherish
my memories of that time. She had a difficult life, enough said.
Why do people drink? I drink to ease the yoke of my own mortality and
the whispering voice that mocks me. After a bottle of wine the evening
floats by, like a pink cloud on the sky, the scornful voice tires itself out
and falls silent, and softly now life is beautiful and full of dreams.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Wide Open
I used to stand in my doorstep
I used to dance in the rain
I used to cast out wishes
That never came back again
I used to sit in my garden
With pretty maids in a row
Silver bells and cockle shells
Waiting to see where we're goin'
Wide Open for anything
Anything love would bring
Wide Open for anything
Anything and everything
Same old scenery
Made me real confused
Tired of the same old feeling
Of being lost and used
I follow lonely footprints
To see where they would lead
Dreaming that they would take me
Where I want to be
Wide Open for anything
Anything love would bring
Wide Open for anything
Anything and everything
An air of confidence
Is now in my stride
I swing my shoulders gently
My hips from side to side
Now I live in the moment
Where there are no regrets
Now I keep my head up
With nothing to forget
Wide Open for anything
Anything love would bring
Wide Open for anything
Anything and everything
song performed by by Cyndi Lauper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Psalm
Stillness; as if blind people sank down by autumnal wall,
Listening with rotten temples to the flight of the ravens;
Golden stillness of autumn, the countenance of the father in the flickering sun
At evening the old village decays in the peace of brown oaks,
The red hammering of the smithy, a pounding heart.
Stillness; in slow hands the maid hides the hyacinthine forehead
Under fluttering sunflowers. Fear and silence
Of extinguishing eyes fulfills the dusking room, the halting steps
Of old women, the escape of the purple mouth which slowly expires in the darkness.
Taciturn evening in vine. From the low rafters
A nocturnal moth fell, nymph buried into bluish sleep.
In the courtyard the farm boy slaughters a lamb, the sweet smell of the blood
Clouds our foreheads, the dark coolness of the fountain.
The gloom of dying asters regrets, golden voices in the wind.
When it becomes night you look at me from moldered eyes,
In blue stillness your cheeks decayed to dust.
So quietly a weed's fire expires, the black hamlet in the ground falls silent
As if the cross climbed down the blue hill of Calvary,
The silent earth ejected its dead.
poem by Georg Trakl
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Bells Of The Evening
Bells of the evening, o sing to my love
Tell her I miss her, my own turtledove
The streets of the old town are covered with rain
I think I might never know true love again
Im lost with no road signs to guide me
A slave to my whiskey and dreams
Bells of the evening, o bells that I love
Ive got some feelings I long to be rid of
Im not one to ramble; Im not one to boast
Though I had one lover more lovely than most
She was a country girl born to be free
Who took to the city by chance there to find me
Bells of the evening go pealin
Im down here listenin to you
Bells of the evening, o bells of the sea
Tell her that I love her, that Im lost and so lonely
Bells of the evening, your sweet sunday sound
Reminds me of the redwoods and moss covered ground
So if I should wander on back to the coast
Tell her to remember its her I need the most
Im caught by the minstrels misfortune
Of being forever displaced
Bells of the evening, o bells of the sea
Tell her that I love her; that Im lost Im so lonely
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Tried To Open The Wide Book Of Night
I tried to open wide the book of night
To look into its eyes - like a lover
That pretended of his love confession as of right
And so to Hastings Gardens went I in the night.
Wide, wide before the long night stood
No corner stopped my glance no space
Its boundary showed and manifested
To my glance long tall continous lay the night
In its mischievous slumbering
Wherein it dreamt dreams I know not
Nor thereof heard the silent trees bespeak.
How many nights before me came
How many, many nights
And they were certes here like this night
As I look from the bastions to the sea
And fancy its silver bosom dance and gleam
In the moon’s amorous light to-night:
So gleamed the light on the sea-waves
When the French besieged and held
Our noble city: how many a lover
Stood looking on the sea and at his love
As mid-night in his satined robes tiptoed:
Rippling stood the waves and waters wild
And fancy its silver bosom dance and gleam
In the moon’s amorous light:
For years and years the welcome Briton stood
Perhaps here where stay I and his foot
Could be heard pace all sentinel
Into the dark glooms of silent night
From casements near opening on the seas
And houses nearby in dreaming bent
Through the long night, the long and weary night
That was of many nights that were
And will be of many nights that will
And when I stay not on the bastions and
Feel not the sea-breeze my face cool
Night after night will come and children small
Few years born will come and go:
And after children small will come again
Night after night will come and speak
Unto the rocks that front the sea
And playing with lapping sea-waves all the night
Unheard, unseen, unnoticed in the times
And in the flight of years and centuries full lost
And when night comes and still the sea
Will shine – its silver bosom dance and gleam
In the moon’s amorous light.
poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
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Wide To Receive
Download something
Useful, or useless
Because Im lying here
Wide to receive
Almost anything
Youd care to give
And I dont
Get along with myself
And Im not too keen
On anyone else
Turn on, plug in
Then just walk away
Unlock, process
And then just go
And Ive never felt quite so alone
As I do right now
Im lying here
Wide to receive
Almost anything
Youd care to leave
Wide, wide, wide
Wide, wide, wide
Wide, wide
Wide, wide
Wide, wide, wide, wide
Wide, wide, wide, wide
Wide, wide, wide, wide
song performed by by Morrissey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Illicit
Of what she said to me that night—no matter.
The strange thing came next day.
My brain was full of music—something she played me;
I couldn't remember it all, but phrases of it
Wreathed and wreathed among faint memories,
Seeking for something, trying to tell me something,
Urging to restlessness, verging on grief.
I tried to play the tune, from memory—
But memory failed: the chords and discords climbed
And found no resolution, only hung there,
And left me morbid. Where, then, had I heard it? ...
What secret dusty chamber was it hinting?
'Dust,' it said, 'dust .... and dust .... and sunlight ....
A cold clear April evening .... snow-bedraggled ....
Rain-worn snow dappling the hideous grass ....
And someone walking alone; and someone saying
That all must end, for the time had come to go ... .'
These were the phrases; but behind, beneath them,
A greater shadow moved, and in this shadow
I stood and guessed Was it the blue-eyed lady?
The one who always danced in golden slippers?—
And had I danced, with her, upon this music?
Or was it further back—the unplumbed twilight
Of childhood? .... No—much recenter than that.
You know, without my telling you, how sometimes
A word or name eludes you, and you seek it
Through running ghosts of shadow—leaping at it,
Lying in wait for it to spring upon it,
Spreading faint snares for it of sense or sound ;
Until of a sudden, as if in a phantom forest,
You hear it, see it flash among the branches,
And, scarcely knowing how, suddenly have it.
Well, it was so I followed down this music,
Glimpsing a face in darkness, hearing a cry,
Remembering days forgotten, moods exhausted.
Corners in sunlight, puddles reflecting stars;
Until, of a sudden, and least of all expected,
The thing resolved itself: and I remembered
An April afternoon, eight years ago—
Or was it nine ?—no matter, call it nine—
A room in which the last of sunlight faded;
A vase of violets, fragrance in white curtains;
And she, who played this same thing later, playing.
She played this tune. And in the middle of it
Abruptly broke it off, letting her hands
Fall in her lap. She sat there so a moment,
With shoulders drooped, then lifted up a rose,
One great white rose, wide open, like a lotus,
And pressed it to her cheek, and closed her eyes.
'You know—we've got to end this—Miriam loves you....
If she should ever know, or even guess it,
What would she do? Listen!—I'm not absurd....
I'm sure of it. If you had eyes for women,
To understand them, which you've never had,
You'd know it too . . . .' So went this colloquy,
Half humorous, with undertones of pathos,
Half grave, half flippant .... while her ringers, softly,
Felt for this tune, played it and let it fall,
Now note by singing note, now chord by chord,
Repeating phrases with a kind of pleasure.
Was it symbolic of the woman's weakness
That she could neither break it—nor conclude?
It paused .... and wandered .... paused again; while she,
Perplexed and tired, half told me I must go,
Half asked me if I thought I ought to go....
Well, April passed, with many other evenings,
Evenings like this, with later suns and warmer,
With violets always there, and fragrant curtains....
And she was right. And Miriam found it out....
And after that, when eight deep years had passed—
Or nine—we met once more, by accident.
But was it just by accident, I wonder,
She played this tune? Or what, then, was intended?
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Heaven And Hell
Once you get a chance
You come to baby
Right back, you call me down
Used to think you wanted nothing to do
Was to say nothing at all
You went like the one time
A two time
You're back, and me
Drop off the back seat
Of a bad car
Where finders
Came alone
Bono: "F"
Wishing her out of my life
Wishing her...
What am I to do
Came a talk to street
And a time that you listen
Don't you beg the time on me
They said you oughta call her back
I wanna, but afraid to say
I won't hang up on you baby, child
Nothing feels like this before
Here in in my life
Yeah in heaven and hell
Baby you're heaven and hell
Heaven and hell
Bono: "F"
Oh, heaven and hell
All the time...
Want a chance to hold you
Want a chance to kill
I want a chance to keep you awake at night
When the sunlight burns through your love
But you can't always get
Everything you want
You take cards from all under the table
You're heaven, heaven and hell
Baby you're heaven...heaven and hell
Yeah, you're heaven...heaven and hell
Cover me...
Bono: "E!"
Bono: "Okay organ. Just organ."
Darkness...
You light up my darkness
You light up my darkness
And open up...
Bono: "F"
Bono: "Organ."
Bono: "This time when we come in, come in a little bit quietly. Not the drums, but everyone else."
Heaven.
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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St. Irvyne's Tower
I.
How swiftly through Heaven's wide expanse
Bright day's resplendent colours fade!
How sweetly does the moonbeam's glance
With silver tint St. Irvyne's glade!
II.
No cloud along the spangled air,
Is borne upon the evening breeze;
How solemn is the scene! how fair
The moonbeams rest upon the trees!
III.
Yon dark gray turret glimmers white,
Upon it sits the mournful owl;
Along the stillness of the night,
Her melancholy shriekings roll.
IV.
But not alone on Irvyne's tower,
The silver moonbeam pours her ray;
It gleams upon the ivied bower,
It dances in the cascade's spray.
V.
'Ah! why do dark’ning shades conceal
The hour, when man must cease to be?
Why may not human minds unveil
The dim mists of futurity?--
VI.
'The keenness of the world hath torn
The heart which opens to its blast;
Despised, neglected, and forlorn,
Sinks the wretch in death at last.'
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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To My Godchild Alice
ALICE, Alice, little Alice,
My new-christened baby Alice,
Can there ever rhymes be found
To express my wishes for thee
In a silvery flowing, worthy
Of that silvery sound?
Bonnie Alice, Lady Alice,
Sure, this sweetest name must be
A true omen to thee, Alice,
Of a life's long melody.
Alice, Alice, little Alice,
Mayst thou prove a golden chalice,
Filled with holiness like wine:
With rich blessings running o'er
Yet replenished evermore
From a fount divine:
Alice, Alice, little Alice,
When this future comes to thee,
In thy young life's brimming chalice
Keep some drops of balm for me!
Alice, Alice, little Alice,
Mayst thou grow a goodly palace,
Fitly framed from roof to floors,
Pure unto the inmost centre,
While high thoughts like angels enter
At the open doors:
Alice, Alice, little Alice,
When this beauteous sight I see,
In thy woman-heart's wide palace
Keep one nook of love for me.
Alice, Alice, little Alice,--
Sure the verse halts out of malice
To the thoughts it feebly bears,
And thy name's soft echoes, ranging
From quaint rhyme to rhyme, are changing
Into silent prayers.
God be with thee, little Alice,
Of His bounteousness may He
Fill the chalice, build the palace,
Here, unto eternity!
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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The House Of Dust: Part 03: 04: Illicit
Of what she said to me that night—no matter.
The strange thing came next day.
My brain was full of music—something she played me—;
I couldn't remember it all, but phrases of it
Wreathed and wreathed among faint memories,
Seeking for something, trying to tell me something,
Urging to restlessness: verging on grief.
I tried to play the tune, from memory,—
But memory failed: the chords and discords climbed
And found no resolution—only hung there,
And left me morbid . . . Where, then, had I heard it? . . .
What secret dusty chamber was it hinting?
'Dust', it said, 'dust . . . and dust . . . and sunlight . .
A cold clear April evening . . . snow, bedraggled,
Rain-worn snow, dappling the hideous grass . . .
And someone walking alone; and someone saying
That all must end, for the time had come to go . . . '
These were the phrases . . . but behind, beneath them
A greater shadow moved: and in this shadow
I stood and guessed . . . Was it the blue-eyed lady?
The one who always danced in golden slippers—
And had I danced with her,—upon this music?
Or was it further back—the unplumbed twilight
Of childhood?—No—much recenter than that.
You know, without my telling you, how sometimes
A word or name eludes you, and you seek it
Through running ghosts of shadow,—leaping at it,
Lying in wait for it to spring upon it,
Spreading faint snares for it of sense or sound:
Until, of a sudden, as if in a phantom forest,
You hear it, see it flash among the branches,
And scarcely knowing how, suddenly have it—
Well, it was so I followed down this music,
Glimpsing a face in darkness, hearing a cry,
Remembering days forgotten, moods exhausted,
Corners in sunlight, puddles reflecting stars—;
Until, of a sudden, and least of all suspected,
The thing resolved itself: and I remembered
An April afternoon, eight years ago—
Or was it nine?—no matter—call it nine—
A room in which the last of sunlight faded;
A vase of violets, fragrance in white curtains;
And, she who played the same thing later, playing.
She played this tune. And in the middle of it
Abruptly broke it off, letting her hands
Fall in her lap. She sat there so a moment,
With shoulders drooped, then lifted up a rose,
One great white rose, wide opened like a lotos,
And pressed it to her cheek, and closed her eyes.
'You know—we've got to end this—Miriam loves you . . .
If she should ever know, or even guess it,—
What would she do?—Listen!—I'm not absurd . . .
I'm sure of it. If you had eyes, for women—
To understand them—which you've never had—
You'd know it too . . . ' So went this colloquy,
Half humorous, with undertones of pathos,
Half grave, half flippant . . . while her fingers, softly,
Felt for this tune, played it and let it fall,
Now note by singing note, now chord by chord,
Repeating phrases with a kind of pleasure . . .
Was it symbolic of the woman's weakness
That she could neither break it—nor conclude?
It paused . . . and wandered . . . paused again; while she,
Perplexed and tired, half told me I must go,—
Half asked me if I thought I ought to go . . .
Well, April passed with many other evenings,
Evenings like this, with later suns and warmer,
With violets always there, and fragrant curtains . . .
And she was right: and Miriam found it out . . .
And after that, when eight deep years had passed—
Or nine—we met once more,—by accident . . .
But was it just by accident, I wonder,
She played this tune?—Or what, then, was intended? . . .
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bega
FROM the clouded belfry calling,
Hear my soft ascending swells;
Hear my notes like swallows falling;
I am Bega, least of bells.
When great Turkeful rolls and rings
All the storm-touched turret swings,
Echoing battle, loud and long.
When great Tatwin wakening roars
To the far-off shining shores,
All the seamen know his song.
I am Bega, least of bells:
In my throat my message swells.
I with all the winds a-thrill,
Murmuring softly, murmuring still,
'God around me, God above me,
God to guard me, God to love me.'
I am Bega, least of bells,
Weaving wonder, wind-born spells.
High above the morning mist,
Wreathed in rose and amethyst,
Still the dreams of music float
Silver from my silver throat,
Whispering beauty, whispering peace.
When great Tatwin's golden voice
Bids the listening land rejoice,
When great Turkeful rings and rolls
Thunder down to trembling souls,
Then my notes like curlews flying,
Lifting, falling, sinking, sighing,
Softly answer, softly cease.
I with all the airs at play
Murmuring sweetly, murmuring say,
'God around me, God above me,
God to guard me, God to love me.'
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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Join Up
Choking smoke
Rolling thunder
The forgotten soldier
Still cries for his mother
Crouching still
with blood stench steaming
The forgotten soldier
Has lost all feeling.
Shocked eyes glance
From corpse strewn clay
Where wide eyed shattered
children lay
Time stands still
With no solid floor
He is reborn -
To face the eternal war.
After The Scream
after the scream, she takes her needed vacation
in Florence,
takes her silent walks along the boulevard
by the river of Arno,
this is Italy, and the scream had long been forgotten.
it is over she said, my brother is dead, and i am here
working on a plan to survive the pain
of my family
each step is a forgetting.
the sound of her heels on the cobbled stones
must tell another story
something happy, about her love and her coping up
for a new beginning.
her long hair hangs on her thick black coat
the river is a big, wide, long silver
running between two connected
ancient towns of other people's miseries
not hers now. It is over. It is over.
She keeps on telling herself.
she obliges a smile in this picture.
her hands inside her pocket.Her arms
sticking on the side of her
frail, brown body.
Meanwhile, the sun begins
to spread her morning light.
It is time to go.That's what is written
at the back of the picture.
I am looking at it now. I am smiling.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Heaven & Hell
Once you get a chance
You come to baby
Right back, you call me down
Used to think you wanted nothing to do
Was to say nothing at all
You went like the one time
A two time
Youre back, and me
Drop off the back seat
Of a bad car
Where finders
Came alone
Bono: f
Wishing her out of my life
Wishing her...
What am I to do
Came a talk to street
And a time that you listen
Dont you beg the time on me
They said you oughta call her back
I wanna, but afraid to say
I wont hang up on you baby, child
Nothing feels like this before
Here in in my life
Yeah in heaven and hell
Baby youre heaven and hell
Heaven and hell
Bono: f
Oh, heaven and hell
All the time...
Want a chance to hold you
Want a chance to kill
I want a chance to keep you awake at night
When the sunlight burns through your love
But you cant always get
Everything you want
You take cards from all under the table
Youre heaven, heaven and hell
Baby youre heaven...heaven and hell
Yeah, youre heaven...heaven and hell
Cover me...
Bono: e!
Bono: okay organ. just organ.
Darkness...
You light up my darkness
You light up my darkness
And open up...
Bono: f
Bono: organ.
Bono: this time when we come in, come in a little bit quietly. not the drums, but everyone else.
Heaven...
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nellie Kane
As a young man I went riding
Out on the western plain
In the state of North Dakota
I met my Nellie Kane
I met my Nellie Kane
She was living in a lonely cabin
With a son by another man
Five years she had waited for him
As long as a woman can
As long as a woman can
I don't know what changed my mind
Til then I was the ramblin' kind
The kind of love I can't explain
That I had for Nellie Kane
She took me on to work that day
To help her till the land
In the afternoon we planted seeds
In the evening we held hands
In the evening we held hands
Her blue eyes told me everything
A man could want to know
And it was then I realized
I would never goI would never go
(chorus)
Now many years have gone by
And her son has grown up tall
I became a father to him
And she became my all
She became my all
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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London Interior
Autumn is in the air,
The children are playing everywhere.
One dare not open this old door too wide;
It is so dark inside.
The hall smells of dust;
A narrow squirt of sunlight enters high,
Cold, yellow.
The floor creaks, and I hear a sigh,
Rise in the gloom and die.
Through the hall, far away,
I just can see
The dingy garden with its wall and tree.
A yellow cat is sitting on the wall
Blinking toward the leaves that fall.
And now I hear a woman call
Some child from play.
Then all is still. Time must go
Ticking slow, glooming slow.
The evening will turn grey.
It is sad in London after two.
All, all the afternoon
What can old men, old women do?
It is sad in London when the gloom
Thickens, like wool,
In the corners of the room;
The sky is shot with steel,
Shot with blue.
The bells ring the slow time;
The chairs creak, the hours climb;
The sunlight lays a streak upon the floor.
poem by Harold Monro
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Join the army
Choking smoke
Rolling thunder
The forgotten soldier
Still cries for his mother
Crouching still
with blood stench steaming
The forgotten soldier
Has lost all feeling.
Shocked eyes glance
From corpse strewn clay
Where wide eyed shattered
children lay
Time stands still
With no solid floor
He is reborn -
To face the eternal war.
poem by Willow Moon Pearce
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dreamin'
Close your eyes and take a look at your life
Do you like what you see
My eyes are open but I feel like I'm blind, it's all returning to me
I wanna know, does a frozen river flow
Things you said fill my head lying in a cold and empty bed
I'm only dreaming
Between the darkness and the light
I'm only dreaming, oooh
Dreaming, can't tell the daylight from the night
I'm only dreaming, dreaming
I feel the sunlight shining down on my face
Not a cloud in my mind
I get my wake up but it never comes in time
My prayers are spoken and I wait to receive
'Cause there's a fine line between the truth and how we want it to be
I'm only dreaming
Between the darkness and the light
I'm only dreaming, oooh
Dreaming, can't tell the daylight from the night
I'm only dreaming, dreaming
I'm sailing like a ship on the sea
I don't care if I'm lost in the haze
I hear the angels singing something to me
Time's the enemy
That you never see
Won't you come slip away
I am only dreaming
I'm only dreaming
I am only dreaming
Yeah
I'm only dreaming
I am only dreaming
I'm only dreaming
Yeah
I am only dreaming
Dreaming
song performed by by Kiss
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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