The Sound of Silence
I’m walking down the street
and I hear the sculptor in his house
working on his statue of Krishna
and the chisel rings out on the stone
like a bell that wants to tell you something:
the stone saying, I am perfectly made for this;
the chisel saying, I am perfectly made for this;
the sculptor saying, this is prayer;
Krishna saying, I shall enter this.
And I hear in the sound of the chisel on the stone,
as sure as I know my own name,
that the sculptor is listening to all this too.
The bell-like sound lingers in the air
as if the air would keep it for ever
as the air’s prayer. It’s music.
The clearer the sound
of his striking chisel on stone,
the deeper the silence
as if sound and silence between them
know a secret: that sounds like this
can do anything in the world;
even call Krishna with their music
to play at being stone for us.
The stone’s laughing also:
playing at being Krishna.
They’re both laughing.
The sculptor is smiling too.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Related quotes
Sculpting Krishna (2)
His parents guarded the temple,
answered questions; the child
wandered, looked, later read
all that was said;
now, he selects the stone,
listening all the time, hoping that
he hears the voice of Krishna say,
take this piece…
sharpens his chisel; prays;
with each tap, a chiselled prayer
rings out the question; magnified; or diminished?
chips away – outside himself, inside himself –
all that is not Krishna;
until finally, all that awaits
is the faintest sound of flute, of lightest laughter,
heard within the sculptor’s inner ear:
stone pretending to be Krishna;
Krishna, pretending to be stone.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Yourself you shape
Yourself the stone
Yourself the sculptor
Yourself the chisel
Yourself you shape
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Artist as verb
Perhaps the world is more grammatical
than grammar: reveals itself, a little coded –
as codes tempt, when grammar hides
under the guise of schoolmaster:
the artist, say, as verb:
as the verb, to be:
luring the mighty subject
beyond all thought, to become
an object we can all enjoy:
the sculptor, deep within his isness,
praying with his chisel
so that Krishna cannot but consent;
entering this stone;
the poet, listening to
the Word behind all words,
charming the spirit of all things
to make all objects sacred in our eyes;
the musician, listening to the silence,
as through his being, pass
worlds of knowledge beyond all words..
we, as heaven’s verb,
watching as subject, object,
make themselves a mirror for each other.
Grammar could be love.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Show-Piece
Behold! knees curled up to his chin
Head down, his empty bowl shaken
Fatigued and languished with weary mind
On penniless status for his bread...
Pity, even unaware of somebody playing upon
Poor beggar, a pose of hapless repose
An act of begging on loss
But an utility for a sculptor behind
The chisel shaping up poverty well formed
Benefitted is the sculptor in bucks
Soiled emotions to the beggar glue
His concaved belly nothing to pursue
Unnoticeably trespassed the sculptor to crop
A faint sitting target artistically on whop
Sold off by re-makes, the sculptor's ooh!
In a rich man's house seated respectfully
Is the pauper carved carefully
Out of a heavy stone looking meaningfully
With unshaken bowl for pennies hopefully!
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Statue Got Me High
The statue got me high
The statue got me high
A monument of granite sent a beam into my eye
The statue made me die
The statue made me die
It took my hand it killed me and it threw me to the sky
The stone it called to me
(and now I see the things the stone has shown to me)
A rock that spoke a word
(an animated mineral it can be heard)
And though I once preferred a human being's company
they pale before the monolith that towers over me
The statue got me high
The statue got me high
The truth is where the sculptor's chisel chipped away the lie
The statue made me fry
The statue made me fry
My coat contained a furnace where there used to be a guy
The stone it called to me
(and now I see the things the stone has shown to me)
A rock that spoke a word
(an animated mineral it can be heard)
And as the screaming fire engine siren filled the air
the evidence had vanished from my charred and smoking chair
and what they found was just a statue
standing where the statue got me high
And now it is your turn
(your turn to hear the stone and then your turn to burn)
The stone it calls to you
(you can't refuse to do the things it tells you to)
And as the screaming fire engine siren fills the air
the evidence will vanish from your charred and smoking chair
and what they found was just a statue
standing where the statue got me high
and what they'll find is just a statue
standing where the statue got you high
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It Is He
Jai krishna jai krishna krishna
Jai krishna jai sri krishna
Jai radh jai radh radh
Jai radh jai sri radh
Jai krishna jai krishna krishna
Jai krishna jai sri krishna
Jai radh jai radh radh
Jai radh jai sri radh
He whose eyes have seen
What our lives have been
And who we really are
It is 'he'
Jai sri krishna
Jai sri krishna . . . . . (as above)
He whose sweetness flows
To anyone of those
That cares to look his way
See his smile
Jai sri radh
Jai sri krishna . . . . . (as above)
He who is complete
Three worlds at his feet
Cause of every star
It is 'he'
Jai sri krishna
Jai sri krishna . . . . . (as above)
song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unintelligent Design
An hour a day,
sometimes more,
I chipped away
with mallet and chisel
on a block of marble
I found in Carrara
and shipped to New York
on the deck of a trawler.
I offered the marble
to a famous sculptor
who told me he works
in granite only
so I grabbed his beret
and one of his smocks
and said I'd sculpt
the block myself
with whittling skills
picked up as a kid
from a drunken uncle
named Whittling Sid.
Several weeks later,
to my surprise,
I finished the bust
of a chimpanzee
simply by wielding
mallet and chisel
the way I wield
pencil and eraser
when hewing a poem.
Working with marble
or working with words,
a sculptor or poet
proves less is more
by chipping away
until something emerges
upright and walking
with a soul of its own.
poem by Donal Mahoney
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A Memorial
Canonised when dead, cannonaded when in life,
Lofty your thoughts that savour of content
But loftier the craftmanship
More congruent in symmetry
Than ever are our warring senses-
All in silent watch -martyr.
Not your lust of martyrdom but the sculptor's chisel
Leaves a living name. world wonder made.
Sad, Time and with it, centuries fail to see
Not light of fulfilment in your eyes
But hollow worn in stone,
History's daintily cut lies.
poem by Yoonoos Peerbocus
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Guido Sebaldi
Guido Sebaldi the mason
Worked at a house of stone:
Guido Sebaldi the mason
Sand at his work alone.
Till a stranger, he said unto him
As he hammer'd the stone one day'
'Guido Sebaldi the mason,
Hark to the words I say!'
'Leave thou this work, fit only
For oxen that draw the plough:
No longer Sebaldi the mason,
Guido the sculptor thou!'
Then Guido Sebaldi the mason
Look'd on his work in shame.
And 'Lo,' he said, 'I am lusty,
I will build me a noble name.'
Guido Sebaldi the sculptor
Toil'd till his heart grew sore.
Guido Sebaldi the sculptor
Sang at his work no more.
Vainly Sebaldi the mason
Hammer'd the senseless stone.
Vainly Sebaldi the mason
Sigh'd at his work alone.
His hands were ready and skillful,
And his days with toil were rife,
But the soul of the master was needed
To waken the stone to life.
Sadly Sebaldi the mason
Went back to the house of stone;
And his brow once more grew cheery
As he sat at his work alone.
But yet he was always thinking
Of hopes that were long since o'er;
And Guido Sebaldi the mason
Sang at his work no more.
poem by Cicely Fox Smith
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Rainy Day Women #12 & 35
Well, they'll stone ya when you're trying to be so good,
They'll stone ya just a-like they said they would.
They'll stone ya when you're tryin' to go home.
Then they'll stone ya when you're there all alone.
But i would not feel so all alone,
Everybody must get stoned.
Well, they'll stone ya when you're walkin' 'long the street.
They'll stone ya when you're tryin' to keep your seat.
They'll stone ya when you're walkin' on the floor.
They'll stone ya when you're walkin' to the door.
But i would not feel so all alone,
Everybody must get stoned.
They'll stone ya when you're at the breakfast table.
They'll stone ya when you are young and able.
They'll stone ya when you're tryin' to make a buck.
They'll stone ya and then they'll say, "good luck."
Tell ya what, i would not feel so all alone,
Everybody must get stoned.
Well, they'll stone you and say that it's the end.
Then they'll stone you and then they'll come back again.
They'll stone you when you're riding in your car.
They'll stone you when you're playing your guitar.
Yes, but i would not feel so all alone,
Everybody must get stoned.
Well, they'll stone you when you walk all alone.
They'll stone you when you are walking home.
They'll stone you and then say you are brave.
They'll stone you when you are set down in your grave.
But i would not feel so all alone,
Everybody must get stoned.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Statue Got Me High
The statue got me high
The statue got me high
The monument of granite sent a beam into my eye
The statue made me die
The statue made me die
It took my hand it killed me and it turned me to the sky
The stone it called to me
(and now I see the things the stone has shown to me)
A rock that spoke a word
(an animated mineral it can be heard)
And though I once preferred a human beings company
They pale before the monolith that towers over me
The statue got me high
The statue got me high
The truth is where the sculptors chisel chipped away the lie
The statue made me fry
The statue made me fry
My coat contained a furnace where there used to be a guy
The stone it called to me
(and now I see the things the stone has shown to me)
A rock that spoke a word
(an animated mineral it can be heard)
And as the screaming fire engine siren filled the air
The evidence had vanished from my charred and smoking chair
And what they found was just a statue
Standing where the statue got me high
And what they found was just a statue
Standing where the statue got me high
And now it is your turn
(your turn to hear the stone and then your turn to burn)
The stone it calls to you
(you cant refuse to do the things it tells you to)
And as the screaming fire engine siren fills the air
The evidence will vanish from your charred and smoking chair
And what they found was just a statue
Standing where the statue got me high
And what theyll find is just a statue
Standing where the statue got you high
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Two Deep Silences..
Two deep Silences-
One, of meditative Sculptor
Other, of the Boulder
In timeless penance
Melt in intense passion
Through rhythmic jingles
Of dancing chisel.
A marvellous Beauty
After months of
Labour pains
Is born
Out of its womb!
O! is it the dream
Of damsel rock?
Or, is it Full Moon
Churned out of
Two silences
By sharp clinks
Of cute chisel?
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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Japa-yajna
Carrier wave; sine curve; you see it
on the heartscan lifescreen
in the intensive care ward
as if with no regard for you
it’s self-sufficient; sufficient to the self;
the same curve that the flute’s note makes onscreen,
pure as Krishna’s smile; his lips
making breath into sound
hear that, hear that which
runs day and night; repetition
that always never does repeat
and only when you’re still
will you know with Krishna
the sound of inner sacrifice
that never ends and yet
so pure it’s given beyond sought;
flute’s sound beyond all sound;
how still the room is now.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Stone That You Love
you are unique
for having loved a stone
how did the stone
entice you?
are you seduced by
its silence?
are you tempted by
its solitude?
you take the pain
poking the stone to
your heart
and you bleed
you rub the stone
in the skin of your body
hoping that someday
the stone may have
feelings and
love you
but this is all useless
the stone is a stone is a stone
and there is no love
in its blank stare
there is no softness in its
belly
i ponder upon this
and come to think of it
you and the stone
are the same
on this hardheadedness
this futility
this numbness
this suffering without end
the stone can never give
a part of its cracks
it will never part with its
dust
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Silence Of Stone (revised)
take a stone,
from the beginning it was
a stone in form
and color and smell
and stone to stone
it shall be stone
unless you take it
in your hand
and keep it warm
in the hold of your palm
and take it home with you
you talk to it
and then it becomes
beyond itself
now
it is not just a stone
but your beloved
your lover
you will discover
that its silence also speaks
in tongues
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Existence First, Then Essence
take a stone,
from the beginning it was
a stone in form
and color and smell
and stone to stone
it shall be stone
unless you take it
in your hand
and keep it warm
in the hold of your palm
and take it home with you
you talk to it
and then it becomes
beyond itself
now
it is not just a stone
but your beloved
your lover
you will discover
that its silence also speaks
in tongues
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Lord said that the “I” in you is really me
The me in me is quite troublesome
And I know all the problems
I face is because this me
It has been a longing desire of mine
To get rid of this me
I said one day to Krishna
Let all my prayers I have offered to you
Help me getting a grant from you
Krishna said
Say that and it will be granted based on its merit
Krishna, I need only one thing
I do not require anything materialistic
My requirement is you yourself
I request you to occupy me
Totally vacating “me” from me
And you will take care of
Everything happening around me
Krishna did not answer
But, said
Hold on, your demand is quite on the higher side
Anyway I will consider it
Presently I am occupying someone else
And so I am not free to move into thee
Turning curious, I asked Krishna
Who is he and where is he?
Krishna made a smile
Did not answer and vanished
Days, weeks, months, years went by
I have been talking to Krishna all through
But I did not hear him saying a thing
The other day
I did call on Krishna
And renewed my demand
This time Krishna responded
Hi do you not know
That I have already occupied you
And I only am running things around you
Krishna, is it true?
I am not able to realize so
Things seem to have changed
I feel the same way as I used to feel earlier
I talk the same way as I used to talk earlier
I perform things the same way I used to perform earlier
I get saddened or gladdened the same way I used to get earlier
No change at all
I cannot believe what you say
A smiling Krishna said
I know you are going to say that
Now you renew your prayers
Requesting me to grant you this knowledge
Lord further said
That the “I” in you is really me
Once you land upon this realization
I will move on to another person
Who is waiting for my occupation
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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A sculptor wields The chisel, and the stricken marble grows To beauty.
quote by William C. Bryant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sculpture
A creator is aboard, feelings are strong,
They are sinful, tears run fearing the worst.
The creation is a statue, with one wise eye
And another one to see, so that creations appear.
The sculptor made education real, and so much to know
Appeared before us in a performance.
The creators are splendid at their spectacle,
Proofs are made with violence, predators are loose,
The statue will move, but not move.
A maker seems to sew a stonework even,
With the right chisel, the right skill and doctor.
This created, we all feel well inside,
Just like a living statue, a statue to stare at.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Every block of stone has a statue inside it and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it.
quote by Michelangelo
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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