I love that song Darlin.*Brings back the memory of that tune, thanks.:)
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I love that song Darlin.*Brings back the memory of that tune, thanks.:)
I hate to disagree to the general opinion of this thread, but I don't find song lyrics make good poetry. Sometimes I will get surprised, but very rare. On the other hand, I do have an interest in finding great poems set to music. And when I find them I tend to consider it intersting but it would hardly win a Grammy. Musical lyrics were intended to be set to music and need music to compliment them to get the full affect; poetry, for the most part, requires the formality and structure of it written on a page to get its full affect. When I read the lyrics of those who are supposed to be poet song writers (Bob Dylan, Jim Morrison, Bruce Springstein) I'm usually very disapointed. Shakespeare realized this I think. Compare his poetry and his song lyrics (some of his plays had songs he wrote for it). They are very different.
I don't regard transcribed lyrics as poems in themselves, but I do think they are a kind of peotry. I agree with you that most song lyrics don't make good poems-sans-music, but that doesn't mean they aren't poetry. The above transcribed "Bittersweet Symphony" is a good example, because on paper, it's somewhat unimpressive, but in the context of the song, the poetry of the language is very moving. And not because it goes well with the music; the language itself is poetic. It's just a different form of the art. I understand this thread to be calling attention to songwriting as a true art, since it's so often disregarded and written off as brainless crooning; to call attention to the words themselves, which can easily be forgotten when listening to the music.
"It's a different form of art."
You hit it right on the head. That's basically what I was saying.
Ah, now, not quite. ;) I said, "a different form of the art." By which I meant the art of poetry. I believe songwriting is poetry, but in a category distinct from the sort Dickinson or Plath wrote.Quote:
Originally Posted by Virgil
Oh. Yes, we do disagree. I'm sorry. I just don't see most song lyrics as poetry.
Have a look of all the nirvana' songs and also of creed's "arms wide open"
I'll have to look. But song lyrics are like opera lyrics. They don't stand up as poetry. But they are an art in themselves, along with the music, that is. At least this is my opinion.
Thank dear, that was more of a heart attack for me (my heart misses a beat whenever I see DM mentioned where I don't expect to!), but I appreciate it anyway.:DQuote:
Originally Posted by emily655321
I had the first lines of that song in my signature until a few weeks ago...or maybe I still do??? Hm I guess I'll now when I post this ;)
edit: oh yeah, it's still there :D
I agree.. poetry is so different from song lyrics..Quote:
Originally Posted by Virgil
Although you can take a poem and use it a song lyrics but it's very hard..
Poems has that sort of magic which i find lacking in most song lyrics (only my opinion.. ).. but it all dependes on what do feel at the moment do you need that lightness in songs or so you want to ponder and make yourself think..
I have to add this lyrics as this is me and my friend morning song as we go to work... i find it comforting knowing i have 10 hours of work ahead of me...
MattaFIx - Big city life
Big City Life,
Me try fi get by,
Pressure nah ease up no matter how hard me try.
Big City Life,
Here my heart have no base,
And right now Babylon de pon me case.
People in a show,
All lined in a row.
We just push on by,
Its funny,
How hard we try.
Take a moment to relax.
Before you do anything rash.
Don’t you wanna know me?,
Be a friend of mine.
I’ll share some wisdom with you.
Don’t you ever get lonely,
From time to time
Don’t let the system get you down
Big City Life,
Me try fi get by,
Pressure nah ease up no matter how hard me try.
Big City Life,
Here my heart have no base,
And right now Babylon de pon me case
Soon our work is done,
All of us one by one.
Still we live our lives,
As if all this stuff survives.
I take a moment to relax,
Before I do anything rash.
[Bridge]
The Linguist across the seas and the oceans,
A permanent Itinerant is what I've chosen.
I find myself in Big City prison, arisen from the vision of man kind.
Designed, to keep me discreetly neatly in the corner,
You’ll find me with the flora and the fauna and the hardship.
Back a yard is where my heart is still I find it hard to depart this Big City Life
Big City Life,
Me try fi get by,
Pressure nah ease up no matter how hard me try.
Big City Life,
Here my heart have no base,
And right now Babylon de pon me case
oh.. and i don't think this is poetry...
Leonard Cohen.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dress Rehearsal Rag
Four o'clock in the afternoon
and I didn't feel like very much.
I said to myself, "Where are you golden boy,
where is your famous golden touch?"
I thought you knew where
all of the elephants lie down,
I thought you were the crown prince
of all the wheels in Ivory Town.
Just take a look at your body now,
there's nothing much to save
and a bitter voice in the mirror cries,
"Hey, Prince, you need a shave."
Now if you can manage to get
your trembling fingers to behave,
why don't you try unwrapping
a stainless steel razor blade?
That's right, it's come to this,
yes it's come to this,
and wasn't it a long way down,
wasn't it a strange way down?
There's no hot water
and the cold is running thin.
Well, what do you expect from
the kind of places you've been living in?
Don't drink from that cup,
it's all caked and cracked along the rim.
That's not the electric light, my friend,
that is your vision growing dim.
Cover up your face with soap, there,
now you're Santa Claus.
And you've got a gift for anyone
who will give you his applause.
I thought you were a racing man,
ah, but you couldn't take the pace.
That's a funeral in the mirror
and it's stopping at your face.
That's right, it's come to this,
yes it's come to this,
and wasn't it a long way down,
ah wasn't it a strange way down?
Once there was a path
and a girl with chestnut hair,
and you passed the summers
picking all of the berries that grew there;
there were times she was a woman,
oh, there were times she was just a child,
and you held her in the shadows
where the raspberries grow wild.
And you climbed the twilight mountains
and you sang about the view,
and everywhere that you wandered
love seemed to go along with you.
That's a hard one to remember,
yes it makes you clench your fist.
And then the veins stand out like highways,
all along your wrist.
And yes it's come to this,
it's come to this,
and wasn't it a long way down,
wasn't it a strange way down?
You can still find a job,
go out and talk to a friend.
On the back of every magazine
there are those coupons you can send.
Why don't you join the Rosicrucians,
they can give you back your hope,
you can find your love with diagrams
on a plain brown envelope.
But you've used up all your coupons
except the one that seems
to be written on your wrist
along with several thousand dreams.
Now Santa Claus comes forward,
that's a razor in his mit;
and he puts on his dark glasses
and he shows you where to hit;
and then the cameras pan,
the stand in stunt man,
dress rehearsal rag,
it's just the dress rehearsal rag,
you know this dress rehearsal rag,
it's just a dress rehearsal rag.
we Canadians have rather a hate/love of good old Leonard. He sounds like gravel being dropped from a squeeky dump truck.Yet his words are magic really. they paint superb and very vivid pictures that stay with you for a long time if not forever.I like that. What do you think of the words about Suzanne?
very deep emotions and stark truthfulness many times.
Leonard Cohen, now why didn't I think of him? That's a very good one, Doctor Boogaloo. Now that's poetry in music! I agree with Rachel, I am in awe of Cohen's lyrics, but his voice sometimes almost saps them of their beauty. But...
...A band that I love, that is dear to my heart, and whose lyrics are poetry with or without the equally wonderful music, is the Dresden Dolls. I post this one in particular only because I've been playing it incessantly this week:
Gravity
by The Dresden Dolls
Gravity plays favorites, I know it 'cause I saw
Honest to God, officer, it's awful (awful)
Down at work I'm getting too familiar with the floor
Trading in my talents by the mouthful
Hate to break it to you but it's out of my control
Forces go to work while we are sleeping (sleeping)
If I could attack with a more sensible approach
Obviously that's what i'd be doing
(Right?!)
Now
Necks are cracking sideways
Hit me from the back side
I am on the white side
You are on the black side
Cut a piece thats bite size
Shoot me from my good side
If you got a straight line
This would be a good time
Gravity works slowly if you notice it at all
Some of us are getting mighty lucky (aren't we?)
If you had to live with this you'd rather lie than fall
You think I can't fly? Well, you just watch me!
Watch me!
Now
Necks are cracking sideways
Hit me from the back side
I am on the thin side
You are on the fat side
Cut a piece thats bite size
Shoot me from my bad side
If you want a straight line
This would be a good time
The sky is always falling down on me
The sky is always falling down on me
The sky is always falling down on me
So, officer, forgive me please!
This is my favourite Joni Mitchell song, from one of my favourite Joni albums (Blue) and one that works just as well as a poem.
The first time I read the lyrics to this song (in the sleeve notes, before I ever heard it) my eyes watered. When I actually heard the album, I cried for 10 minutes. I've never read anything that speaks to the dreamer in me so poignantly. Gender differences aside, Joni knew how I felt before I ever felt it and put it into words far better than I ever could.
Anything else by Joni Mitchell is worthy of inclusion here. I can't believe that no-one's mentioned her already.
Read and enjoy. And cry if you like...
THE LAST TIME I SAW RICHARD - By Joni Mitchell
The last time I saw Richard was Detroit in '68,
And he told me all romantics meet the same fate someday
Cynical and drunk and boring someone in some dark cafe
You laugh, he said you think you're immune, go look at your eyes
They're full of moon
You like roses and kisses and pretty men to tell you
All those pretty lies, pretty lies
When you gonna realise they're only pretty lies
Only pretty lies, just pretty lies
He put a quarter in the Wurlitzer, and he pushed
Three buttons and the thing began to whirr
And a bar maid came by in fishnet stockings and a bow tie
And she said "Drink up now it's gettin' on time to close."
"Richard, you haven't really changed," I said
It's just that now you're romanticizing some pain that's in your head
You got tombs in your eyes, but the songs
You punched are dreaming
Listen, they sing of love so sweet, love so sweet
When you gonna get yourself back on your feet?
Oh and love can be so sweet, love so sweet
Richard got married to a figure skater
And he bought her a dishwasher and a Coffee percolator
And he drinks at home now most nights with the TV on
And all the house lights left up bright
I'm gonna blow this damn candle out
I don't want Nobody comin' over to my table
I got nothing to talk to anybody about
All good dreamers pass this way some day
Hidin' behind bottles in dark cafes
Dark cafes
Only a dark cocoon before I get my gorgeous wings
And fly away
Only a phase, these dark cafe days
She can break your heart over the simplest of moments. Here’s another that works as a poem.Quote:
Originally Posted by Xamonas Chegwe
The Circle Game by Joni Mitchell
Yesterday a child came out to wonder
Caught a dragonfly inside a jar
Fearful when the sky was full of thunder
And tearful at the falling of a star
Then the child moved ten times round the seasons
Skated over ten clear frozen streams
Words like, when you’re older, must appease him
And promises of someday make his dreams
And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and dawn
We’re captive on the carousel of time
We can’t return we con only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game.
Sixteen springs and sixteen summers gone now
Cartwheels turn to car wheels thru the town
And they tell him,
Take your time, it won’t be long now
Till you drag your feet to slow the circles down
And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and dawn
We’re captive on the carousel of time
We can’t return we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game
So the years spin by and now the boy is twenty
Though his dreams have lost some grandeur
Coming true
There’ll be new dreams, maybe better dreams and plenty
Before the last revolving year is through.
And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We’re captive on the carousel of time
We can’t return, we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game.
I love the line, “Cartwheels turn to car wheels thru the town”. By using a technique that reminds me of cinematic editing and compressing the two forms of circular movement, she is able to suggest that the two activities arise from similar impulses. Cartwheels – child-like, exuberant showing off / carwheels adolescent, exuberant showing off.
That's not a bad example of an effective poetic technique, is it?
Also, my dreams have lost a considerable amount of grandeur coming true.