A pencil sketch of Mozart
It’s a snapshot, except
before the age of the camera
yet more of a decisive moment
than any posed painting;
as any photographer,
lighting director, would see,
he’s next to you, could be
round about the fifth row back
of the stalls;
looking so straight ahead
that it doesn’t seem to be
the stage box; and it must surely be
a grand theatre, the lighting’s strong
on his white neck-stock,
his powdered hair, even catching
the lower white of his focussed eye;
he all there, he’s all here, and
attentive as a critic; the opera,
as it surely is, is playing and engages
all his faculties; and yet
there’s an appreciation
holding his lips far from the
childish joke, the poverty, the family deaths,
or even from the unimaginable creation
of music that speaks of something
deep in human hearts, speaks
of something beyond the human heart.
He’s listening to the music
as if he’d never heard it before yet
you can see it’s all inside him, too -
whatever ‘inside’ means
to genius;
it’s Mozart, there beside you
as you sketch him; as the
music you’re not watching
as you watch him and your pencil -
the music is telling you
what life’s about; and more.
Back to the sketch, with all the care you muster -
this will be the record for a thousand years
of watching Mozart listening
to the music of his self.
*
(revised)
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Opera Dei- Mozart to the life
It’s a snapshot, except
before the age of the camera
yet more of a decisive moment
than any posed painting
as any photographer,
lighting director, would see,
he’s next to you, could be
round about the fifth row back
of the stalls; looking so straight ahead
that it doesn’t seem to be
the stage box; and it must surely be
a grand theatre, the lighting’s strong
on his white neck-stock,
his powdered hair, even catching
the lower white of his focussed eye;
he all there, he’s all here, and
attentive as a critic; the opera,
as it surely is, is playing and engages
all his faculties; and yet
there’s an appreciation
holding his lips far from the
childish joke, the poverty, the family deaths,
or even from the unimaginable creation
of music that speaks of something
deep in human hearts, speaks
of something beyond the human heart.
He’s listening to the music
as if he’d never heard it before yet
you can see it’s all inside him, too -
whatever ‘inside’ could mean
to genius;
it’s Mozart, there beside you
as you sketch him, as the
music you’re not watching
as you watch him and your pencil
x-rays your very soul and
finds it wholly good.
So I’d like to thank him
in his celebration, our celebration,
for telling me just what it’s like
to be told in music
what life’s about, and
more.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Music
I hear the music
The music is playing
The music is soft
The music is now fading
The music is gone
Which means so is my life
No music means no life
The music is gone
Come back to me music
The Music is begining
I have a life
The music is pretty
The Music is wonderful
Oh no
The music is fading again
I love the music
The music is gone
Good bye music
poem by Kathryn Thompson
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By Yascel Music
The Music
I hear the music
The music is playing
The music is soft
The music is now fading
The music is gone
Which means so is my life
No music means no life
The music is gone
Come back to me music
The Music is begining
I have a life
The music is pretty
The Music is wonderful
Oh no
The music is fading again
I love the music
The music is gone
poem by Yascel Rodriguez
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That Music Extraordinaire, Mozart
That music extraordinaire, Mozart,
Who from his tender days, played with desire
Musical from the bottom of his heart.
Sweet notes from his music he did impart
That captivated audience to admire
That music extraordinaire, Mozart,
Whose tones can set an emotion to start
With a charm to have their hearts raised on fire
Musical from the bottom of his heart.
With pleasant pace from his great style of art
Is such that shows he was such a live wire,
That music extraordinaire, Mozart,
Whose harmony when heard is nice and smart
Can cheerfully raise hearts to go much higher
Musical from the bottom of his heart.
Joy occurs from such wonders that does chart
In tremendous ways that truly inspire.
That music extraordinaire, Mozart,
Musical from the bottom of his heart.
poem by Obinna Kenechukwu Eruchie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Music.... My LLife
I hear the music
The music is playing
The music is soft
The music is now fading
The music is gone..! !
Which means so is my life
No music means no life
The music is gone
So on and gone...! !
Come back to me
My Music.....
The beginning of life
The pretty music
The wonderful Music..! !
Oh no...
What Do i see..
The music is fading again
I love the music
The music is gone
Good bye music
poem by Vishnu Gupta
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Unheard Music
Unheard Music (Mozart)
The fingers on my left hand move all by themselves
like they are playing piano that produces music
I cannot hear. I watch my fingers play but it makes no
sense so I try to stop by holding them still with my
right hand’s fingers. So I sit like a vicar contemplating
the Sunday sermon, a mild one who hasn’t an arsenal
of fire and brimstone speeches, but would rather talk
about the coming spring. My wife brings me a glass of
water and a pill, fingers rest, but I would liked to have
heard the music they played, for all I know it could
have been music brought to me in a dream by Mozart
who died so young that he can’t believe it yet, and
tries trough, me to play his latest masterpiece.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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All i got to my name.
All I got to my name,
Is my music
It's all i ever am
and all i will be
you can't take it away
it's all i got to my name
My music is my life
my music is my love
my music is my fire on a cold day
my music is my castle where i stay all the day
my music is home
where i feel safe
It's all I got to my name
don't you dare take it away
it's what makes me me and not you
My music is my best friend
my music is my nae
it's all I own that matters to me
My music is all i got to my name
no family
no friends
all i need is my music
I need nothing but my music
it's what I do all the day
all I can say
My music My music
all i got to my name...
poem by Alice Lion
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In opera, everyone's watching from a fixed viewpoint, and that really challenges you. Lighting, the sets, stage groupings, the music-but doesn't relate too much to film.
quote by Bruce Beresford
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Music is
Music is round
Music is square
Music is blue
Music is green
Music is am
Music is pm
Music is happiness
Music is sadness
Music is life
Music is death
Music is the world.
poem by Lesley Bass
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Music Is Endless
Music is life
Music is colorful
Music is passion
Music is soothing.
Music makes one romantic
Music evades loneliness
Music makes to forget worries
Music gives hope.
Music can take you ages back
Music can tell you stories
Music can control emotions
Music is always endless….
poem by Sreekala Sukumaran
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Music……
Music gives life a soothing motion
music controls our every emotion
Music is god to whom we pray
Music helps us pure our souls each day
music gives every moment its true worth
Tears at a wedding, or be it childs birth
music gives me life like the sun
music wields me to strive and run
music serves as our only inspiration
music takes us to a world full of imagination
If music is god then god is true..
music like god, is within me and you..
Me and music will never fall apart..
music to me is the soul of my heart.
poem by Abhijit Surve
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Head The Call
Have you been listening, (Listen to the music)
Have you been sleeping (The sermon's in the music)
(The man standing next to you, he must surely be your brother)
(So brother please) heed the call
(The piper he's still piping)
The magic in the music
(The drummer he's still drumming)
The message in the music
(Sweet song of loving you should be singing)
(So brother please) heed the call
Listen to the music, Listen to the music
(Listen to the music) heed the call
(Listen to the music) heed the call
Heed the call of the music
Heed the call of the music
Heed the call of the music
Heed the call of the music
(It's still early in our morning)
There's still time for singing
Let's not waste our morning
Join in the singing
The outlaw of the midnight
He all too soon comes winging
(So brother please, please) heed the call
(Listen to the music) (Listen to the music) yeah
(Listen to the music) (Listen to the music) oh oh
(Listen to the music) oh oh oh (Listen to the music)
(Listen to the music)
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Piano Lurched
Contact was sharp…
I jolted from immediacy of senses torn from mind:
Such was I at unawares with you –
To strike with Master’s single chord that pounced and caught me blind –
Piano, how you lurched and rent me through!
Delightful music welcomed me to drift in quasi-syncope:
Soft tranquillo sought to rest my bones –
I glided reaching largo; sang with sweet cantabile, and
Forte let me in to louder tones.
I cried with lacrimoso; squirmed when agitato flared;
My hearing rang when fingers danced the trill.
And so it was, this maestro grand was genius declared –
Acting out in music for the thrill.
Translating pen to piano, this player takes me back thro’ time…
In the chamber, fine composers charm:
I watch the manic hands of Liszt abound with tunes sublime;
Mozart teased my mood with stark alarm.
Then entered Bach to demonstrate his mathematic flare,
Calculating notes supreme of form.
And I – the minion audience – sat wanting in my chair,
Having heard my idols all perform.
Did Darwin’s theory tell at all why Man evolved this way?
Why would music help him to survive?
But scientific muse had veered my thoughts from this display, and
Music called: ‘Just listen - you’re alive! ’
The maestro draws conclusion; lets the piano die a death
To stand as wood, inert just as before –
A pollished casket lined with keys, at calm from naught of breath,
Bade me scream: ‘Bravo! ’ and ‘Hail! Encore! ’
He wakes the box to dance again with noble works of art:
Resurrected; fully primed with zest.
Now even I was back to life with reason in my heart –
Heightened from the pounding in my chest.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
All rights reserved
music music music music music music music
music music music music music music music
music music music music music music music
music music music music music music music
music music music music music music music
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Lost In Music
LOST IN MUSIC
every night she liked
to take off her clothes to
Hungarian Rhapsody
she would bathe
every second Sunday
in Mozart's Symphony No.40
curiously she
would fall asleep to
The Flight of the Bumblebee
her every activity
scored to a music
she adored
mute
she let the music
speak for her
happy
trapped inside
her world of music
sometimes I glimpsed her
staring out from behind the bars
of musical notes
poem by Dónall Dempsey
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In The Beauty Of A Lower Heaven
Autumn in Paris is like summer in a lower heaven.
Sycamores and chestnuts paint the air,
Pencil-thin branches sketch the city like Utrillo,
The Seine sets leaves in moon-glass.
We caught the metro at Bir-Hakeim
Near Vel’ d’Hiv, the Nazi detention center.
Cyclists went flying into fire and ash
In the beauty of a lower heaven.
Something grotesque in the accordion
Like a fascist playing Mozart.
Something hypnotic in the sound,
The bellowing of giving birth to terror.
In the beauty of a lower heaven
All the people are lovelier, tranquil,
Even at rush hour music tames
The writhing beast of megalopolis.
Goodnight Paris, bonne nuit,
Your accordions are like history
Repeating the music and the horror
In the beauty of a lower heaven.
Goodnight Roseline, Simone and Eliana…
We will meet again, Aviva…
The doors of the trains are opening
In the beauty of a lower heaven.
poem by Salvatore Ala
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Music Is Life
Music is life
Music is love
Music is joyful
Music is peaceful
Music is a journal
Music has feelings
Music has emotion
Music tells stories
Music is unpredictable
Music is exciting
Music holds memories
Music is life
poem by Person You Don't Know
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Music to Relax
Every beat, every tone
Music is rhythm of soul
Pop, Jazz and Country
Release all our worries
Music gives life a motion
Music controls every emotion
Music calms the mind
Music helps us – our way to find!
Music is inspiration
Music – full of imagination
Music has feelings
Music gives life a meaning
A Slow beat is silent word
A fast beat make you shrewd
Every moment its true worth
Music gives life – new birth
Music is melody
Music moves your body
Make people jump up and down
Spin in circles round and round
Music for celebration
Music for education
Music for entertainment
Music for refreshment
Listen to music to change your mood
Listen to music to keep you cool
Listen to music just to relax
Listen to music to make you sleep
poem by Divyesh J. Shah
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What is music?
What is music?
Music is the rhythm of the soul
Every beat, every tone, every melody
Is in sync with the natural vibe of your body
What is music?
Music is an outlet, from the everyday
It can take away the pain you feel
Or add to the excitement of a new day
What is music?
Music is something that never changes, just Evolves
Music brings people together of all ages
No matter what you believe in, music brings Common ground
What is music?
Music is my name
Music is who I am
Music is my life
Music is something that can’t be taken away
I will always and forever have MY music
poem by Jessica Cole
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Music Love
Life is a dance floor, Love is the rhythm, and You are the music
that my heart beats to the rhythm, if the music stops so dus my heart that beated on the rhythm.but you
are my music to my ears, music to my ears that nobody can stop. cus your my music that i love and cant stop
loving and listening to, music that will never stop playing, music that keaps my heart beating on the rhythm of the music that will never stop playing
poem by Inno Goosen
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