0419 Tribute to a Listening Man (George Steiner)
The TV studio set for a prestige production
of the sort that wins renewed network contracts
if not viewers, late on Sunday night:
the subject, a weekly series on
The History of Christianity -
worthy discussion leader, impressive panel
mingling ecclesiastical robes of
a glowing spectrum of faiths with the
open-necked, for open-minded,
dress-down of young freethinkers, but
respectful of their elders, with it;
subtle lighting on the semi-circular panel
and the background, tastefully designed
with hints of the history of otherworldliness
and among the assembled voices
of faith and reason in their polite battle,
the great intellectual guru of the Western world
himself – would his searing intellect, his daunting
global dimensions of mind, dominate
this gathering?
Life can have its glorious surprises even
on a dozy, precious-last-weekend-hours
of a Sunday night – George said his piece,
then, challenged by the other speakers,
sat there listening: as if, without a resistant, reacting,
or self-regarding thought in his head –
listened rapt in full attention, as if expecting
to listen to a further, deeper truth from
those who argued against him – his face
benign, almost smiling
I have never seen such intellectual humility –
as if, way, way beyond the personal, a mind
was listening constantly, for truth, to truth itself..
listening to that listening,
I felt proud to be
a human being.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Listening
Listening.
And being there for someone loved...
To do just that!
With a mind willing,
To be receptive and clear...
Of opinions sitting,
On the tip of one's tongue.
With a giving of attention,
And staying mum.
Listening to someone.
Listening is not easily done.
For those who have experienced...
A life in which peace of mind has come.
When a listening ear,
Had not been volunteered by no one.
And some who know this...
Do their best to sit with patience.
Listening with no other reason...
But to be there as is wished.
For someone who has selected you,
Just for this.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Black Bruises II
I can ponder upon the blackness,
the garrulous of silence
placated by benign solitude
I can endure the ostracizing
listening to lulling lullabies,
listening to trembling metals,
listening to enraptured echoes,
listening to a soundless shattering,
listening to nothingness,
listening to guffawing crows,
listening to diffident clocks,
listening to the waning time;
but am I the only one listening
to these black bruised whispers?
poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
0008 A Ghazal
I lie awake as the light night-rain falls, listening
to its irregularities, listening
as the breeze blows it now and then
against the window and the curtain flutters; listening
and wondering if I can hear
the rain listening
to itself, as if – I sometimes think I hear this –
there’s a moment just before it stops as if listening
to its own decision to stop, as if it sighs,
thinks, that’s enough; it could be listening
to the gratitude of the closed flowers, the wet earth,
the ecstasy of roots which are themselves listening
to the flowers sleeping, sighing in their sleep.
But do you wonder why I’m listening
instead of sleeping, this warm rainy night?
What’s so important that it needs my listening?
It was the rain that woke me; and as I turned, sighed,
it was the thought of you last night here next to me, listening
not to me, but to your own dreams – which I may never share;
though I may share you in my listening
to your sweet sleep’s breath, felt faintly on my shoulder;
and so, there’s a question in my listening –
did you awake at the same night rain, you so far away,
awake, sigh, and in your half-awakened listening
know that I too, thought of you?
Sighed that sweet thought, of our shared, single listening? …
As the perfume of a rose may be more evocative than the rose,
So sweeter, steadier than thought, dream, memory – the listening!
[A ghazal has a rhyme scheme aa ba ca da >]
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Listening One
The Listening One
Does he, did he, know, what he contributed
to the truth of what was spoken?
Towards the back seats of the lecture room,
this tidy, slim, quiet, dark-complexioned youth
listened with unwavering attention;
so much in the moment, his mind, so visibly,
claiming nothing; receiving all that there was to receive;
contributing, all that an audience can:
under his so steady listening,
I could not lie, blur, dodge; be anything
but dedicated to the truth;
from his attention, through my own,
he gave the audience more than I prepared.
I wonder if he knows the gift he’s shaped.
How many others has he blessed thus, with himself?
The Hindus have a name for him:
the Southward Facing, and the Formless One;
the Self as youth who teaches elders by his silence.
You may have met him, mortal, once or twice;
I wonder if he knows his priceless gift?
*
[A long-delayed debt of gratitude never since forgotten.]
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Silent Truth
I can see the truth with it's infinite light
Shining through the darkest night
Becoming pure in it's own way
Never trying to become astray
Sometimes the truth does not speak at all
Never telling us that we will fall
Although we rise again and feel
The truth is always there and real
Listening to the truth may open our eyes
Catching us by an unexpected surprise
The truth is spoken again
And will never fail to end
poem by Sarah Bruun
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Listening To Hearts In Need
listening to need in others
listening to need in voices
is a layman's confessional
our listening without comment
without bias prejudice judgement
helps people in need define accept
within themselves
changes life decisions
they need to make
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
0016 Orpheus - or his lute?
It was his listening; he listened
to himself; he listened to himself
listening to his lute; his lute perforce
listened to itself; listened to itself
listening to him..listened to
the measures of all things, even
the measures of mankind..
space, air, listened to his listening;
listened as the eagle made a silent,
perfect circle around a centre in its mind
high above Delphi that clear morning;
listened to the silent cliffs across the gorge,
silently ominous in their listening;
the stream which trickles down past the carved theatre,
cool and clear enough to wash your face;
look up the mountain and hope it sacred, holy; it
plashes like curiosity pursued, down towards the river
which is a mere pencil line at the bottom of the gorge
in this so unexpected place;
the sea barely visible in the distance,
misty with its myths unspoken;
space listened and loved his music, allowed this scene;
a cool air, this morning elsewhere hot, descends gently
down the mountain to the gorge, curves past these rocks
where a dark shadow here or there
could be where the Sibyl listened too.
we thought, boarding the hot bus,
that we were tourists; then we looked,
became pilgrims; then something more,
more like worshippers of the unknown god
whose altar we left behind in Athens,
silent beyond questions,
listening to the space
as if the space itself
listened to some instrument well tuned,
a voice perhaps, silent, powerful.
the sun, the sunlight, moved from rock to rock
this cool, clear morning, waking
clumps of sparse bright flowers, woken
again by morning bees
who may be unaware – or born to know—
they forage at a world heritage site as do we visitors,
at Delphi, where still truth speaks in silence;
bees who listen to each other,
dance their satnav trails,
listen inwardly to flowers,
to honey, and what else
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Brain Constipation
Somebody hear me, somebody listen to me
Am I alone in this world
Is there anyone listening?
Appease me, cant find a reason to be
Alienation, is taking over me
Im going away, cant go on any longer
I really dont know why I just gotta die
I never thought this was how it would end
The body swinging,
I see it over and over again
Vanian singing, can I ever listen to it again?
A cry for attention was a cry never heard
With no one listening,
There was nothing to be heard
Nothing to be heard
song performed by by NOFX
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Listening Week
This is the listening week of the year
Listening-in.
A-cock and alert is the national ear
Listening-in.
All over the land in the country towns,
From the back of the Leeuwin to Darling Downs,
Layers of 'quids' or the odd half-crowns,
They are listening-in.
On the far-flung farms they are round each set,
Listening-in.
The work and the worry they all forget,
Listening-in.
Wherever an aerial soars in space
To the Cup, or the Oaks or the Steeplechase,
To the roar of the ring and the lure of the race
They are listening-in.
In the far outback there are sun-tanned men,
Listening-in.
Where the woolshed stands by the drafting pen
Listening-in.
Old Dad's come in from the Ninety Mile;
He scored on the Cup and he wears a smile,
And he 'reckons this game is well worth while'
So he's listening in.
To the edge of the desert the sound-waves go;
And, listening-in,
Ned of the Overland, Saltbush Joe
Listening-in
Recall the giants of years long past,
And the loneliness of these spaces vast;
But they reckon that life's worth living at last
With this listening-in.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
0031 Check-off
'Who was listening
when I apologised
for my life? '
I jotted that down
in a moment of regret
over the wasted things
of life, that is, my life..
and thought, that
sounds a bit like dialogue
or rather monologue to audience
stage or stalls
in Chekhov
so if no-one was listening
well, that's that
but suppose that 'everything'
was listening, and made
changes so subtle that
they'll go unnoticed except
that I find I have
nothing to apologise for
even to myself
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Romance of the souls
She
Kept on speaking
Telling me
How to deal with
Life’s intricacies
How to remain calm
In difficulties
And keep smiling
I kept on listening
So involved and
Mesmerized I was
I didn’t know
When she had
Stopped speaking
She reacted pleasantly
Asked me
Were you not listening?
I came out of
My deep thoughts
No, No
I was enjoying your
Wonderful discourse
I remember
Each and every word
You said
Was my reply
Now it was my turn
To tell her
About contentment
Confidence and attitude
She closed her eyes
Listened to what I said
With full sincerity
I finished speaking
But she did not
Open her eyes
Were you listening?
I asked
Yes, yes
Was her reply
Each and every word
You said
Is embossed in my mind
So involved we were
In each other’s discourse
That we did not realize
When each of us
Finished speaking
Kept our eyes closed
Wanting to listen
More and more
I asked her
How it is possible?
It was her turn to
Explain it to me
Dear friend
All what happened
Is called
Romance of the souls
My soul
Was romancing
With yours
24-01-2012
78-78-01-12
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Does Anybody Hear Me
Chorus:
Does anybody hear me?
Is anybody listening to whats going on?
Before we move on.
Does anybody hear me?
Is anybody listening?
How can we change hate?
Before its too late?
Verse 1:
Young with dreams, (ooo oo)
Had em for a long time (ooo oo)
Well nothings impossible
As long as you put your mind to it.
Sometimes you wanna let go
Hold on tight
But you gotta believe
With God on your side
Chorus:
Does anybody hear me?
Is anybody listening to whats going on?
Before we move on.
Does anybody hear me?
Is anybody listening?
How can we change hate?
Before its too late?
Verse 2:
Happy, (ooo oo)
Thats all youll ever wanna be. (ooo oo)
Well, knowledge is power,
Absorb as much as you need
At times I feel like love passed me by
Just imagine how the kids feel inside.
Chorus:
Does anybody hear me?
Is anybody listening to whats going on?
Before we move on.
Does anybody hear me?
Is anybody listening?
How can we change hate?
Before its too late?
Does anybody hear me? (when you feel you need a friend)
(anybody listening...)
Is anybody listening to whats going on?
(on.... yeah, yeah, yeah)
Before we move on.
song performed by by En Vogue
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Rest Stop
Just three miles from the rest stop
And she slams on the breaks
She said I tried to be but Im not
And could you please collect your things
I dont wanna be cold
I dont wanna be cruel
But I gotta find more
Than whats happening with you
If youd - open up the door
She said - while you were sleeping
I was listening to the radio
And wondering what youre dreaming when
It came to mind that I didnt care
So I thought - hell if its over
I had better end it quick
Or I could lose my nerve
Are you listening - can you hear me
Have you forgotten
Just three miles from the rest stop
And my mouths too dry to rage
The light was shining from the radio
I could barely see her face
But she knew all the words that I never had said
She knew the crumpled-up promise of this
Broken down man - and as I opened up the door
She said - while you were sleeping
I was listening to the radio
And wondering what youre dreaming when
It came to mind that I didnt care
So I thought - hell if its over
I had better end it quick
Or I could lose my nerve
Are you listening - can you hear me
Have you forgotten
She said - while you were sleeping
I was listening to the radio
And wondering what youre dreaming when
It came to mind that I didnt care
So I thought - hell if its over
I had better end it quick
Or I could lose my nerve
Are you listening - can you hear me
While you were sleeping
I was listening to the radio
And wondering what youre dreaming when
It came to mind that I didnt care
So I thought - hell if its over
I had better end it quick
Or I could lose all my nerve
Are you listening - can you hear me
song performed by by Matchbox Twenty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
If you want to play something that you hear, you need to listen with your mind's eye. You've heard of the mind's eye, right? Your mind has an ear too. It's a kind of listening, but it's not using your ears to listen. It's listening with your inner ear, and that's what you want to translate onto the guitar.
quote by Steve Vai
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy! | In Romanian
Eh? !
Going deaf
is such a curse.
Yet my listening's better -
'cos my hearing is worse.
Will it improve
my writing verse
if my listening's better
though my hearing is worse?
But, on the bright side - I'm
truth's creditor, not debtor:
my hearing's worse
but my listening is better...
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
S.O.S.
Is anybody listening?
Can they hear me when I call?
I'm shooting signals in the air
'Cause I need somebody's help
I can't make it on my own
So I'm giving up myself
Is anybody listening
Listening
I'll be standing here and I'm miles away
Making signals hoping they'd save me
I lock myself inside these walls
'Cause out there I'm always wrong
I don't think I'm gonna make it
So while I'm sitting here
On the eve of my death bed
I'll write this letter and hope it saves me
Is anybody listening?
Can they hear me when I call?
Shooting signals in the air
'Cause I need somebody's help
I can't make it on my own
So I'm giving up myself
Is anybody listening
Listening
I'm stuck in my own head and I'm oceans away
Would anybody notice if I chose to stay?
I'll send and SOS tonight
Wonder if I will survive
How in the hell did I get so far away this time
So now I'm sitting here
The time of my departure's near
I say a prayer
Please someone save me
Is anybody listening?
Can they hear me when I call?
Shooting signals in the air
'Cause I need somebody's help
I can't make it on my own
So I'm giving up myself
Is anybody listening
Listening
I'm lost here
I can't make it on my own
I don't wanna die alone
I'm so scared
Drowning now
Reaching out
Holding on to everything I love
Crying out
Dying now
Need some help
Is anybody listening?
Can you hear me when I call?
Shooting signals in the air
I need somebody's help
I can't make it on my own
I'm giving up myself
Is anybody listening?
song performed by by Good Charlotte
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
0282 A Necessary Art
There's art history, and there's the history of art.
Art history, you can learn anywhere these days;
the history of art's some other, thrilling thing, a life-blood
pumping its heart intensely as if it were a matter
which it is of course, of life and death..
and who will tell you, except those who lived it through,
who will tell you - except perhaps old men;
while the students yawn, stop taking notes,
and wonder if the chick back there
is up for it?
Who will tell you that the truth is savage,
and the world hard earned,
and art, painting, poetry,
a matter of life and death?
Who will tell you, for instance, how after 1945,
when war ended, and 'peace'
was the threat of nuclear annihilation,
the great French artists, who had made
their various accommodations with the occupying power
brought out near ten years' work the world had never seen?
As if archaeologists, searching for the past,
had found instead, the future?
Picasso, Matisse, Leger, Braque - you know the names...
and how Picasso, who never allowed any other artist
to see him at his work, opened his Paris studio
to hordes of American servicemen? Interviewed
in the great French magazine, Cahiers d'Art, in I think
the late 1940s, he said his art was
'une somme des destructions' - a sum of destructions;
and Wallace Stevens, in a lecture at the Met, in 1951,
remembered the phrase, made it his text, and
told the post-war world that painting, as with poetry,
was man's great chance to seek his self - for each of us
to find out who we really are - in ways, we listening
were to assume, which might not always be heard in churches
or from philosophers' petty squabblings..
now today, this may seem a truism put out by slick PR
from auction houses; who can tell you
what it was like to hear that said?
and by so great a poet man?
There's art history, and the history of art.
Who will tell you that the truth is savage
and the world hard earned,
and art, painting, poetry,
a matter of life and death?
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Body Recomes The Path
Joining the seams for the sake of probity
you opt for the wages of truth.
Staying hungry to read the cosmos,
connecting the meditation to love
denatured. You are afraid of losing
the thread. Memory of infidelity of conceivement.
A vision without the thought
was a consecration
to think or not to think
was a great dilemma.
A backdropp of the prisms
always made you crazy.
Listening without ears,
seeing without eyes
became a brilliant idea.
Children of grief coming through
the open doorways
of mind. Soul mates.
I dream of a desperate ending
of midnight journey into song inviolate.
What if the night ends
without a human face?
Body becomes the path unending.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Stature of Truth
Watch them closely.
Your greater life depends on this.
See their bodies, watch their faces,
listen to their sound, which is
now the sound that we all own.
Now see your self, seeing them;
watch your self, watching them;
listen to your self, listening
to yourself. This is the moment
grace graces us. Our grace.
This shelf-stacker with
a battered face; this
village lady with a homely build;
this child, who, simply, sings
as if that could not be more natural:
see them; watch them; listen to the sound.
See them in profile: nobility
now shapes their face;
this is what heroes are,
heroes who await our call.
They have surrendered to their self;
was it we who called them?
Are there times when truth itself
is impatient of release; cannot wait
for us to earn that?
Perhaps just a few bars, as the song
begins to take them over,
sings, them; perhaps the climax of the song,
when all we can do is wildly clap,
applaud ourselves for what they’ve told us
that we always knew: we too, heroes,
heroines, waiting for the call
to be ourselves:
for a few bars, their stature
is beyond measure; remind yourself,
you saw it, watched them, listened:
listened to the sound which says
this, my sound, is the sound
that can do anything. anything:
now I make the world anew.
For a few bars, they tell us
this, this is who we are,
every one of us; this is
what talent’s given for; this,
what we were made for;
this is how great we are.
This is the sound of truth
singing the truth of truth itself;
this is what grace can do.
This is who we are.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dear God, are you listening
With every breath of cigarette smoke
that escapes his lips
the color of her spirit progressively fades
Dear God are you listening?
With every sip of alcohol
that flows through his body
her trust in her once hero weakens
Dear God are you listening?
With every pill
she takes for her escape
her life becomes a blur
Dear God are you listening?
It's me..
Your daughter
But she hears
No reply
No response
just silence
emptiness
and nothing at all
She closes her eyes
in the night
and as her life
is drifting away
she then hears
Yes my daughter
I am listening
I am here with you
I will never leave you alone
Remember my daughter
you are never alone