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Thread: New thread: Your Poems Inspired by Music

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    New thread: Your Poems Inspired by Music

    Perhaps the poets on the LNF can post their original works based on, inspired by, or lyrics for already-existing songs which-- as far as we know-- do not have them.
    (I don't mean alternative lyrics to songs or parodies--though parodies could be a different thread.)

    Anyway, here's one inspired by "Recuerdo" by Dave Brubeck:

    Recuerdo

    Sadly and gladly
    I remember
    Sultry summer nights of bliss
    The stars shyly hiding behind the mist
    Tiny fireflies blinked and hissed
    When day and evening kissed
    And you were here with me
    And you were here with me


    Sadly and gladly
    I remember
    Crisp and apple-ripened days
    The harvest and the silky maze
    The glowing gold, the smoky haze
    In that sweet October phase
    When you were with me
    When you were with me


    Recalling winters when the snow
    Tried so hard to drown us like a sea
    The cold cutting cleanly through the fire
    The sparks floating up, the sparks floating up
    Warm embraces sufficing to surround me
    With love clearly melting into desire

    Comes the springtime
    And I can still remember
    When teary threats of clouds were few
    A million tiny suns reflected in the dew
    Quiet songs of joyful life anew
    And I was there with you
    I was there with you


    Sadly and gladly
    When I remember
    The youthful years endless and free
    A life of young possibility
    A love still meant to be
    You are still with me
    You are still with me.
    And you are still with me.

    Aunt Shecky
    All rights reserved.

  2. #2
    feathers firefangled's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by AuntShecky View Post
    Perhaps the poets on the LNF can post their original works based on, inspired by, or lyrics for already-existing songs which-- as far as we know-- do not have them.
    (I don't mean alternative lyrics to songs or parodies--though parodies could be a different thread.)

    Anyway, here's one inspired by "Recuerdo" by Dave Brubeck:

    Recuerdo

    Sadly and gladly
    I remember
    Sultry summer nights of bliss
    The stars shyly hiding behind the mist
    Tiny fireflies blinked and hissed
    When day and evening kissed
    And you were here with me
    And you were here with me


    Sadly and gladly
    I remember
    Crisp and apple-ripened days
    The harvest and the silky maze
    The glowing gold, the smoky haze
    In that sweet October phase
    When you were with me
    When you were with me


    Recalling winters when the snow
    Tried so hard to drown us like a sea
    The cold cutting cleanly through the fire
    The sparks floating up, the sparks floating up
    Warm embraces sufficing to surround me
    With love clearly melting into desire

    Comes the springtime
    And I can still remember
    When teary threats of clouds were few
    A million tiny suns reflected in the dew
    Quiet songs of joyful life anew
    And I was there with you
    I was there with you


    Sadly and gladly
    When I remember
    The youthful years endless and free
    A life of young possibility
    A love still meant to be
    You are still with me
    You are still with me.
    And you are still with me.

    Aunt Shecky
    All rights reserved.
    I don't know Recuerdo, but I like the sound and the rhythm of this. Is there a break in the music as in the third stanza?

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    The song itself has a bit of a Caribbean beat. The version which I have on CD has Dave Brubeck on piano and the late, great Gerry Mulligan on sax.
    The middle stanza of the lyric represents the bridge, perhaps.
    If you are able to hear the recording, the lyrics don't match up note-for-note. There are numerous breaks and
    riffs and improvs, of course. But I tried to get my lyric to at least capture the spirit of the melody itself.
    Thanks so much for your reply!

    Now I hope you and other networkers will post some musically-inspired lyrics!

  4. #4
    laudator temporis acti andave_ya's Avatar
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    This is a great thread!!! I've been thinking for a long while of starting something like this but kept putting it off. Looking forward to reading the entries!
    "The time has come," the Walrus said,
    "To talk of many things:
    Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
    Of cabbages--and kings--
    And why the sea is boiling hot--
    And whether pigs have wings."

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    "Miles and 'Trane"

    Miles and 'Trane

    How far couldja, wouldja go
    how far to gauge how high
    the moon, how would you groove
    with two feet cemented in the mud?
    How can you be cool?
    How many times can you request Epistrophy
    or Ornithology
    and don't forget
    Mack the Knife for Evidence
    that one is cool?
    Cool? How poignant
    (also a little pathetic)
    when the sea, the sky,
    (and you and I) are blue,
    all blue,
    and this middle-aged
    white woman, a wannabe
    drives on
    thrives on
    lives on
    needs
    these notes,
    those riffs,
    that rhythm,
    and pressing her nose
    against the glass of the past
    stands stiffly still on the outside
    lookin' in,
    ah so easily sucked in
    to the cult of Coltrane,
    the miracle of Miles,
    transcendent trumpet,
    sacred sax,
    Oh heavenly music of Thelonious Sphere,
    inaccessible, how high, how far away?
    So what?
    So what?

    So what if they've both left
    this realm, never to be heard again
    live, but for the survival
    of clinically-perfect CDs
    and remastered tapes
    and obsolete though somehow
    richer, warmer, purer vinyl
    on the stereo
    but neverevereverever
    on the AM radio
    So what?
    So what?

    So what if the Miles Davis mystique
    somehow threatens the status quo?
    If in legendary insouciance
    he turned his back
    on the finger-snappin'
    toe-tappin'
    name-droppin'
    tab-runnin'
    buck-passin'
    check-dodgin'
    fashionably-neurotic
    and self-consciously hip
    club-hoppin' liberals
    so that the sounds he made
    from his lips (to God's ears)
    around the valves
    and through the bell
    had to bend
    and take a one-eighty,
    make a U-turn,
    to reach us --
    so much more delicious
    for their sheer defiance!
    And didn't he remind us
    of his contemporary
    Ted Williams,
    who declined to disguise
    his occasional contempt
    for the yahoos in the Fenway stands?
    We forgive little lapses
    from the great:
    the man could hit.
    And Miles, the Ted Williams
    of Fifty-second Street,
    he could play. He wasn't
    shall we say just
    whistlin' Dixie, Toots.

    While 'Trane's heavenly sounds defied
    comparisons and frustrated
    bearded critics who wanted to describe
    him as a baby Bird, a second Prez,
    as he prayed while he played
    with an unworldly lyricism
    a love supreme
    a love supreme
    and listeners accustomed
    to shuffling music into the background
    found themselves sucked in
    to a different plane
    a love supreme
    a love supreme
    How high, how far
    would he go
    until he sent the sound
    beyond jazz. Hell,
    it wasn't even mere music any more
    but something purer, warmer, richer
    a love supreme
    a love supreme.

    Another man named John wrote of love
    from the stance of a skittish Puritan
    (if sent to this sinful century
    he supposedly would have shunned
    Birdland and the Five Spot and the low down wail)--
    But with his eyesight fading
    like darkness descending on the doomed,
    his vision deepened
    when he dreamt and wrote
    of Paradise
    and of the first
    man who looked upon the first
    woman for the primordial first
    time.
    Milton's Adam when he looked at Eve
    said that he was "transported,"
    lifted up,
    "sent,"
    transported
    and deposited into another realm
    transported
    as if he weren't really
    Adam anymore
    no longer a man
    not made of mud
    but a spirit
    who could be transported
    by a love supreme.

    And now on this battered earth,
    this cacophonous box of noise
    with its incessant electronic
    chatter and information
    overload and its E-Z
    payment travel plans
    via supersonic ships
    and flatulent vehicles
    the gates
    stay
    slammed shut
    and there is NO ESCAPE

    except for the rare
    and beautiful transport
    available to ears that hear
    and surrender their spirits to soar
    on the train
    that rides
    for miles
    and miles.

    Aunt Shecky
    All rights reserved.

  6. #6
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    Whoa Nellie! I'm breathless. You may THINK you're standing on the outside, but girl, I would say you are on the inside. Wow!
    I'm in love with The Vinegar Man and Mr. Tanner, but be careful, it could just as easily be you.

    "If you're going to write you better have somewhere to come from." Flannery O'Connor

  7. #7
    laudator temporis acti andave_ya's Avatar
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    Inspired by "Farewell Dear Bilbo" by Howard Shore, for the Lord of the Rings.

    A funny little timed dance
    Morphs into a slow, sylvan tune
    A hint of wistfulness creeps in
    Turns into a heartwrenching call
    The heart answers to duty
    Off to see the world
    It's grand! See the pennants on the pinnacles!
    The peaks of the world are majestic
    And I will climb each one,
    The blood in my veins pounding with excitement
    So much to see!
    The road goes ever on--
    A beauty that fills my heart
    Sets it beating in awe
    Though not all is pleasant
    Soon, I tire.
    I want to go home.
    Something evil walks the forest,
    Not hiding itself,
    And yet, a hidden strength blossoms.
    I find in me the courage to go on
    Through wind, and rain, and darkness
    Through the evil that follows my steps
    I will remain....
    Myself.
    "The time has come," the Walrus said,
    "To talk of many things:
    Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
    Of cabbages--and kings--
    And why the sea is boiling hot--
    And whether pigs have wings."

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    One Bass Hit

    [The following was inspired by "One Bass Hit" by the Modern Jazz Quartet. Percy Heath was the bassist in that
    group. A note to our younger LitNetWork participants, the
    bass appearing in this piece is "unplugged;" indeed, it is the stand-up bass once a staple of most jazz combos.]


    One Bass Hit

    Miss Marianne Moore had it right–
    about that affinity between writing and baseball,

    but what – - may we ask– about music?
    the graceful choreography of a double play,

    the operatic chorus of the crowd,
    the harmonic crack when ball meets bat.

    Up to the plate steps Mr. Percy Heath–
    Bumpa-bump ba-dah pa dah bah dah
    Bumpa budabah dah pa dah bump

    And remember some great singles
    hitters of history, and their sweetly
    melodic names: Ichiro and Biggio,
    Sissler and Luis Aparicio--

    Bumpa-bump ba-dah pa dah bah dah
    Bumpa budabah dah pa dah bump


    Boggs, and poor beleaguered Pete Rose,
    making contact, connecting!--
    they say that chicks love
    the long ball, but singles
    are just fine with me,
    ‘cause, you know, those hits
    can really add up.

    O say, can you hear
    those tones, deep down, those
    frozen ropes, the infield bloopers,
    the plunked-down strings?

    Bumpa-bump ba-dah pa dah bah dah
    Bumpa budabah dah pa dah bump


    Base hit!
    Bass hit !

    Aunt Shecky
    All rights reserved.

  9. #9
    Something's gotta give PrinceMyshkin's Avatar
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    Eine Grosse Wacht-musik


    There they are, under the pillows
    again, enjoying their furtive,
    late-night conversations. It's no use
    telling them insanity is rude.
    It's what they want to hear.


    Charming suicides, they know nothing
    about Mozart's worried sweetness.
    All they want is to find
    an applecart to turn over.
    Any old applecart. Love. Or happiness.



    J. Newman Sudden Proclamations copyright 1992
    "You must be the change you want to see in the world." Gandhi

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    I liked this piece, Prince Myshkin. After a brief popularity engendered by that "Amadeus" movie, Mozart isn't as "trendy" as it was. But I'm glad you still appreciate him. By the bye, did you ever hear a number by that famous group, Canadian Brass, as if Mozart were a contemporary rock star? Their concerts, as you may know,
    are mostly classical, but they can also toot a mean Fats Waller.

  11. #11
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    Is that not supposed to be Eine Kleine Nachtmusik? or is it a title of the poem thats a play on words?
    "Come away O human child!To the waters of the wild, With a faery hand in hand, For the worlds more full of weeping than you can understand."
    W.B.Yeats

    "If it looks like a Dwarf and smells like a Dwarf, then it's probably a Dwarf (or a latrine wearing dungarees)"
    Artemins Fowl and the Lost Colony by Eoin Colfer


    my poems-please comment Forum Rules

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    Untitled

    The night was perfect
    Amongst the river we sat.
    Hendrix played Little Wing
    And we remembered gladness.
    You said, 'take anything you want from me'.
    I said, 'I'm not here to take, but I accept your gift'.
    And we kissed....

  13. #13
    Something's gotta give PrinceMyshkin's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by karo View Post
    The night was perfect
    Amongst the river we sat.
    Hendrix played Little Wing
    And we remembered gladness.
    You said, 'take anything you want from me'.
    I said, 'I'm not here to take, but I accept your gift'.
    And we kissed....
    The thoughts, the content, could hardly be more lovely; but the restraint is what makes for its heartbreaking quality.

  14. #14
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    Moonlight Sonata

    Countess Giulietta, for you the gentle
    ruminations came in simple chords,
    that rose and rose again in questions.

    You and he in midnight, walking,
    the pace is there, his long stride,
    and you, in three’s, corset and train.

    Did Rellstab name it from a vision
    of Lucerne? Or was it Quasi una fantasia,
    for you were the love and dream.

    What garden, walked in moonlight?
    What visions came so softly, silently,
    lightly, like the wings of night birds

    that nested in the strings, the grain of wood
    that felt his ear against its subtle breathing,
    when they sang of black fleeing into black.

    His lamentation turned to prayer, lifting
    to the night sky, descending to despair,
    again demanding the air deliver its moving.

    Giulietta, he did return to your measured step,
    in his darkest places, resolved that Schiller’s Joy,
    astounding heaven, remained bound within him,

    heard in silence, and the unbearable sound of faces.

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    Meade Lux Special Boogie


    Meade Lux Special Boogie

    The late Mr. Shaw lives
    in these blues-changing lines
    boogie woogie melody and rhythm
    riding, riding
    a clickety-clacking
    train on a track

    in the time-sprung tradition
    of tunes on the rails:
    the hobo’s song,
    the lonely, whistling wails --

    not to mention Maestros
    Mercer and Arlen and
    their blues in the night
    helps me forget all the things
    my momma never done tol’ me.

    Folks still ride trains
    but not as much
    not as much
    not as much
    as they used to

    but more than they listen
    to this music or the rain –

    Meade Lux Lewis, Jimmy
    Yancey, and
    this is Artie, Man! --
    and Woody and Benny
    (A Goodman nowadays
    is hard to find) – little
    combos, big bands,
    big-time clarinets:

    could sound rickety
    but magically made new.

    O God thank you thank you
    thank you
    thank you for
    such riches old and new
    on this low-down dirty ol’ earth
    and thank you for the sun and moon
    and thank you for the stars

    and thank you for --
    not making me live
    not making me live
    not making me live
    in a world without jazz


    All Rights Reserved

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