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It's not really an argument, it's a discussion. A discussion can go off the thread topic, and then we can leave it behind and start a new one.Quote:
Originally Posted by Stewed
Actually, has no one mentioned Robbie Burns? His songs are often studied as poems, aren't they?
Still of course, they are much much better with the music. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oUs-5dHFksw
Almost every song of Bob Dylan.
I liked Eddi Reader's interpretation of that poem.Quote:
Originally Posted by Silas Thorne
One of my favorite poems is Johnny Mercer's Moon River. Here is Andrea Ross singing the Henry Mancini song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nwBjR...eature=related
I think the formatting of the text as a lyric should be different from the formatting of it as a poem. For example, the lyrics of Moon River are recorded as every word in the song: http://www.lyricstime.com/audrey-hep...er-lyrics.html
However, as a poem, I think just the first two stanzas are all that is needed. The repetition can be removed.
Whether any of these lyrics would actually get accepted today by a respectable publisher of poetry, I don't know. Nor care. I prefer the songs.
There was also Thomas Campion:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sZsT4lWg5Go
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zUv8D0KUCz4
Of course you also have the examples... especially in classical music... when a great poem (or prose) is set to music by a later artist. Schubert, Schumann, Wolf, and Richard Strauss set poems of Goethe, Schiller, Morike, Holderlin, Novalis, Hermann Hesse, etc... French composers such as Ravel, Debussy, Hahn, Faure, etc... set poems by Verlaine, Baudelaire, Mallarme, Rimbaud, etc... Richard Strauss was especially attuned to the literary quality of his operas, employing librettos by Hugo von Hoffmansthal and Stephan George that stand on their own as literary theater.
Yeah, you're right. re. discussion
Yes, I agree. I was not trying to argue, nor was my teacher, that poems and songs are synonymous, rather, that they do share many qualities. I think your response eloquently illustrates that. What I was trying to articulate was those interesting examples (such as Schubert's cycle, or Cohen) that blur lines or make us view poems or songs in a different way.Quote:
Originally Posted by stlukesguild
I was going to bring up the Odyssey etc. but it's been brought up. I remember hearing something Lenny Bruce said, something like, "Sure it's art. It might not be good art, but it's art."
Does any one know where the love of God goes
when the waves turn the minutes to hours?
-Gordon Lightfoot, The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald
I've listened to Gordon Lightfoot's Gord's Gold collection and I think all of the lyrics could be formatted as poems and be enjoyable as such. I doubt they would make it into a modern collection of poetry, but then they wouldn't reach the audience his lyrics have reached.Quote:
Originally Posted by mortalterror
Of course, the music adds to the overall enjoyment. I particularly enjoy Early Morning Rain, Carefree Highway and If You Could Read My Mind.
The OP wanted to know if there are song lyrics that could be published as poetry by a respectable poetry publisher. The very question hints that lyrics might not be real poetry. That hint does not imply anything good about modern poetry. I think it is a popular impression that any drivel that has line breaks could get published as "poetry" by these respectable poetry publishers, but anything that is too ballad-like would get rejected.
I also suspect songwriters don't really want to be called "poets". It associates them with too many negative ideas and personality traits. If you don't know what I mean by these negative ideas, the movie Running With Scissors does a good job of expressing them.
Alright damnit, I looked through 10 pages and didn't see any Jeff Mangum (of Neutral Milk Hotel fame) material, so here I am filling that incredible void.
Holland 1945
The only girl I've ever loved
Was born with roses in her eyes
But then they buried her alive
One evening 1945
With just her sister at her side
And only weeks before the guns
All came and rained on everyone
Now she's a little boy in Spain
Playing pianos filled with flames
On empty rings around the sun
All sing to say my dream has come
But now we must pack up every piece
Of the life we used to love
Just to keep ourselves
At least enough to carry on
And now we ride the circus wheel
With your dark brother wrapped in white
Says it was good to be alive
But now he rides a comet's flame
And won't be coming back again
The Earth looks better from a star
That's right above from where you are
He didn't mean to make you cry
With sparks that ring and bullets fly
On empty rings around your heart
The world just screams and falls apart
But now we must pack up every piece
Of the life we used to love
Just to keep ourselves
At least enough to carry on
And here's where your mother sleeps
And here is the room where your brothers were born
Indentions in the sheets
Where their bodies once moved but don't move anymore
And it's so sad to see the world agree
That they'd rather see their faces fill with flies
All when I'd want to keep white roses in their eyes
Communist Daughter
Sweet communist
The communist daughter
Standing on the sea-weed water
Semen stains the mountain tops
Semen stains the mountain tops
With coca leaves along the border
Sweetness sings from every corner
Cars careening from the clouds
The bridges burst and twist around
And wanting something warm and moving
Bends towards herself the soothing
Proves that she must still exist
She moves herself about her fist
Sweet communist
The communist daughter
Standing on the sea-weed water
Semen stains the mountain tops
Semen stains the mountain tops
This is slighty off topic, but isn't it true bob dylan has been nominated for the nobel prize for literature before?
Regarding The Edmund Fitzgerald: Granted I'm half drunk right now, but those lines strike me as adequate poetry. I remember seeing a Gordon Lightfoot album that showed him long-haired, lying on his back in a baggy dress-shirt in a meadow, smelling a flower. I thought: this guy's trying to look like a troubador. It wouldn't surprise me, leaving how good or bad he is aside, if Gordon Lightfoot had traditions in mind other than those of modern pop music.
Leonard Cohen
The door it opened slowly,
My father he came in,
I was nine years old.
And he stood so tall above me,
His blue eyes they were shining
And his voice was very cold.
He said, "I've had a vision
And you know I'm strong and holy,
I must do what I've been told."
So he started up the mountain,
I was running, he was walking,
And his axe was made of gold.
Well, the trees they got much smaller,
The lake a lady's mirror,
We stopped to drink some wine.
Then he threw the bottle over.
Broke a minute later
And he put his hand on mine.
Thought I saw an eagle
But it might have been a vulture,
I never could decide.
Then my father built an altar,
He looked once behind his shoulder,
He knew I would not hide.
You who build these altars now
To sacrifice these children,
You must not do it anymore.
A scheme is not a vision
And you never have been tempted
By a demon or a god.
You who stand above them now,
Your hatchets blunt and bloody,
You were not there before,
When I lay upon a mountain
And my father's hand was trembling
With the beauty of the world.
And if you call me brother now,
Forgive me if I inquire,
"Just according to whose plan?"
When it all comes down to dust
I will kill you if I must,
I will help you if I can.
When it all comes down to dust
I will help you if I must,
I will kill you if I can.
And mercy on our uniform,
Man of peace or man of war,
The peacock spreads his fan.
Jackson Browne
It is a dance we do in silence
Far below this morning sun
You in your life, me in mine
We have begun
Here we stand and without speaking
Draw the water from the well
And stare beyond the plains
To where the mountains lie so still
But it's a long way that I have come
Across the sand to find this peace among your people in the sun
Where the families work the land as they have always done
Oh it's so far the other way my country's gone
Across my home has grown the shadow
Of a cruel and senseless hand
Though in some strong hearts
The love and truth remain
And it has taken me this distance
And a woman's smile to learn
That my heart remains among them
And to them I must return
But it's a long way that I have come
Across the sand to find you here among these people in the sun
Where your children will be born
You'll watch them as they run
Oh it's so far the other way my life has gone
If you look for me, maria
You will find me in the shade
Wide awake or in a dream
It's hard to tell--
If you come to me, maria
I will show you what I've made
It's a picture for our lady of the well
[Sir Mix-a-Lot]
I like big butts and I can not lie
You other brothers can't deny
That when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist
And a round thing in your face
You get sprung, wanna pull out your tough
'Cause you notice that butt was stuffed
Deep in the jeans she's wearing
I'm hooked and I can't stop staring
Oh baby, I wanna get with you
And take your picture
My homeboys tried to warn me
But that butt you got makes me so horny
Ooh, Rump-o'-smooth-skin
You say you wanna get in my Benz?
Well, use me, use me
'Cause you ain't that average groupie
I've seen them dancin'
To hell with romancin'
She's sweat, wet,
Got it goin' like a turbo 'Vette
I'm tired of magazines
Sayin' flat butts are the thing
Take the average black man and ask him that
She gotta pack much back
So, fellas! (Yeah!) Fellas! (Yeah!)
Has your girlfriend got the butt? (Hell yeah!)
Tell 'em to shake it! (Shake it!) Shake it! (Shake it!)
Shake that healthy butt!
Baby got back!
(LA face with Oakland booty)
Baby got back!
[Sir Mix-a-Lot]
I like 'em round, and big
And when I'm throwin' a gig
I just can't help myself, I'm actin' like an animal
Now here's my scandal
I wanna get you home
And ugh, double-up, ugh, ugh
I ain't talkin' bout Playboy
'Cause silicone parts are made for toys
I want 'em real thick and juicy
So find that juicy double
Mix-a-Lot's in trouble
Beggin' for a piece of that bubble
So I'm lookin' at rock videos
Knock-kneeded bimbos walkin' like hoes
You can have them bimbos
I'll keep my women like Flo Jo
A word to the thick soul sisters, I wanna get with ya
I won't cuss or hit ya
But I gotta be straight when I say I wanna ******
Till the break of dawn
Baby got it goin' on
A lot of simps won't like this song
'Cause them punks like to hit it and quit it
And I'd rather stay and play
'Cause I'm long, and I'm strong
And I'm down to get the friction on
So, ladies! {Yeah!} Ladies! {Yeah}
If you wanna roll in my Mercedes {Yeah!}
Then turn around! Stick it out!
Even white boys got to shout
Baby got back!
Baby got back!
Yeah, baby ... when it comes to females, Cosmo ain't got nothin'
to do with my selection. 36-24-36? Ha ha, only if she's 5'3".
[Sir Mix-a-Lot]
So your girlfriend rolls a Honda, playin' workout tapes by Fonda
But Fonda ain't got a motor in the back of her Honda
My anaconda don't want none
Unless you've got buns, hun
You can do side bends or sit-ups,
But please don't lose that butt
Some brothers wanna play that "hard" role
And tell you that the butt ain't gold
So they toss it and leave it
And I pull up quick to retrieve it
So Cosmo says you're fat
Well I ain't down with that!
'Cause your waist is small and your curves are kickin'
And I'm thinkin' bout stickin'
To the beanpole dames in the magazines:
You ain't it, Miss Thing!
Give me a sister, I can't resist her
Red beans and rice didn't miss her
Some knucklehead tried to dis
'Cause his girls are on my list
He had game but he chose to hit 'em
And I pull up quick to get wit 'em
So ladies, if the butt is round,
And you want a triple X throw down,
Dial 1-900-MIXALOT
And kick them nasty thoughts
Baby got back!
(Little in the middle but she got much back)
Joni Mitchell
Just before our love got lost you said
"I am as constant as a northern star"
And I said "Constantly in the darkness
Where's that at?
If you want me I'll be in the bar"
On the back of a cartoon coaster
In the blue TV screen light
I drew a map of Canada
Oh Canada
With your face sketched on it twice
Oh you're in my blood like holy wine
You taste so bitter and so sweet
Oh I could drink a case of you darling
Still I'd be on my feet
oh I would still be on my feet
Oh I am a lonely painter
I live in a box of paints
I'm frightened by the devil
And I'm drawn to those ones that ain't afraid
I remember that time you told me you said
"Love is touching souls"
Surely you touched mine
'Cause part of you pours out of me
In these lines from time to time
Oh, you're in my blood like holy wine
You taste so bitter and so sweet
Oh I could drink a case of you darling
And I would still be on my feet
I would still be on my feet
I met a woman
She had a mouth like yours
She knew your life
She knew your devils and your deeds
And she said
"Go to him, stay with him if you can
But be prepared to bleed"
Oh but you are in my blood
You're my holy wine
You're so bitter, bitter and so sweet
Oh, I could drink a case of you darling
Still I'd be on my feet
I would still be on my feet
Bob Dylan
In the time of my confession, in the hour of my deepest need
When the pool of tears beneath my feet flood every newborn seed
There’s a dyin’ voice within me reaching out somewhere
Toiling in the danger and in the morals of despair
Don’t have the inclination to look back on any mistake
Like Cain, I now behold this chain of events that I must break
In the fury of the moment I can see the Master’s hand
In every leaf that trembles, in every grain of sand
Oh, the flowers of indulgence and the weeds of yesteryear
Like criminals, they have choked the breath of conscience and good cheer
The sun beat down upon the steps of time to light the way
To ease the pain of idleness and the memory of decay
I gaze into the doorway of temptation’s angry flame
And every time I pass that way I always hear my name
Then onward in my journey I come to understand
That every hair is numbered like every grain of sand
I have gone from rags to riches in the sorrow of the night
In the violence of a summer’s dream, in the chill of a wintry light
In the bitter dance of loneliness fading into space
In the broken mirror of innocence on each forgotten face
I hear the ancient footsteps like the motion of the sea
Sometimes I turn, there’s someone there, other times it’s only me
I am hanging in the balance of the reality of man
Like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand.
Bump!
I have always thought that Isaac Brock has a way with words and is one of those few artists whose lyrics can directly translate into beautiful poetry.
Wild Pack of Family Dogs
A wild pack of family dogs came runnin' through the yard one day
My father got his gun, shot it up, they ran away OK
A wild pack of family dogs came runnin' through the yard
And as my own dog ran away with them, I didn't say much of anything at all
A wild pack of family dogs came runnin' through the yard
As my little sister played, the dogs took her away
And I guess she was eaten up OK, yeah she was eaten up OK
My mother cryin' blood dust now
My dad he quit his job today, well I guess he was fired but that? OK
And I sittin' outside my mud lake, waiting for the pack to take me away
And right after I die the dogs start floating up towards the glowing sky
Now they?l receive their rewards, now they will receive their rewards
I think that he clearly writes and thinks poetically and not simply to get a catch lyric that will be stuck in peoples heads. His work speaks to me and I have always viewed it as poetry as much as it is music. If you haven't listened to or read any of his other stuff, you really should look into it. Doing the Cockroach is also a really good one, and People as places as people.
Thom Yorke of Radiohead is often overlooked as a serious songwriter, but many of his Kid A era songs engage in some really intelligent political and social commentary, especially the meaningful lyrics of "Like Spinning Plates." Song lyrics often get overlooked by academia, but that is too bad because there are many musicians out there who have more talent and interesting things to say than many current "poets."
legomenon.com/radiohead-like-spinning-plates-lyrics-meaning-rwanda-genocide.html
Lyrics from ''town without pity'' by Gene Pitney:
''...If we stop to gaze upon a star
People talk about how bad we are
Ours is not an easy age
We're like tigers in a cage
What a town without pity can do
The young have problems,many problems
We need an understanding heart
Why don't they help us, try to help us
Before this clay and granite planet falls apart...''
Neurotica [a sort of Manhattan field guide?] King Crimson
Good morning, it's 3am in this great roaring
city full of garbage eaters ravaging parking
spots beneath my plaza window I see cheetah in their
tight skins and tired heels all-night hippo in
the diner crossing the street swarthy herds of young
impala flambastic gibbon even a struggling monza
and over there the brilliant head ornament on that
Japanese macaque but look closely at the hammerhead hand
in hand with the mandrill, it's a sight you're
unlikely to see anywhere else on the planet . . .
the stench and the noise, yes, yes, the howler's
resonating repertoire is not too bad when mixed with
the more musical twern of the tropical warbler but the
impatient taxi blare the squawking elderly ibis and
the glass-eyed snapper hawking papers I can certainly
live without also be cautious of the poisonous
boomslang laughter social droppings of the fruit bat
and purple queen fish and who's that babbler conversing
with a magazine stand? evidently he's getting a good reply . . .
arrive in neurotica
through neon heat disease
I swear at the swarming herds
I sweat the foul terrain
I rove the moving scenery
I have no fin
no wing no stinger
no claw no camoflauge
I have no more to say . . .
Say . . . isn't that an elephant fish on the corner over
there look at that bush baby mud puppy noolbenger
rhinoderma marmoset spring peeper shingleback skink
siren skate starling sun-gazer spoonbill and suckers,
they seem to be everywhere, well it's a live revue
random animal parts now playing nightly right here in neurotica . . .
so long . . .
I'm not sure it stands on its own but it is fun to read — at high speed in a few breaths
I think some Leonard Cohen is quite poetic. As is nearly everything Damien Rice writes. I posted the lyrics to his song, "Elephant" in another thread about his poetic prowess.
A lot of the Doors, in my opinion.
This is the end
Beautiful friend
This is the end
My only friend, the end
Of our elaborate plans, the end
Of everything that stands, the end
No safety or surprise, the end
I'll never look into your eyes...again
Can you picture what will be
So limitless and free
Desperately in need...of some...stranger's hand
In a...desperate land
Lost in a Roman...wilderness of pain
And all the children are insane
All the children are insane
Waiting for the summer rain, yeah
There's danger on the edge of town
Ride the King's highway, baby
Weird scenes inside the gold mine
Ride the highway west
Ride the snake, ride the snake
To the lake, the ancient lake
The snake is long, seven miles
Ride the snake...he's old, and his skin is cold
The west is the best
The west is the best
Get here, and we'll do the rest
The blue bus is callin' us
The blue bus is callin' us
Driver, where you takin' us
The killer awoke before dawn, he put his boots on
He took a face from the ancient gallery
And he walked on down the hall
He went into the room where his sister lived, and...then he
Paid a visit to his brother, and then he
He walked on down the hall, and
And he came to a door...and he looked inside
Father, yes son, I want to kill you
Mother...I want to...WAAAAAA
Oh, and to Highwayman, hell yes to King Crimson!
It's All right Ma (I'm Only bleeding) by Bob Dylan
http://youtu.be/GtW6crUOFQs
Darkness at the break of noon
Shadows even the silver spoon
The handmade blade, the child's balloon
Eclipses both the sun and moon
To understand you know too soon
There is no sense in trying.
Pointed threats, they bluff with scorn
Suicide remarks are torn
From the fools gold mouthpiece
The hollow horn plays wasted words
Proved to warn
That he not busy being born
Is busy dying.
Temptation's page flies out the door
You follow, find yourself at war
Watch waterfalls of pity roar
You feel to moan but unlike before
You discover
That you'd just be
One more person crying.
So don't fear if you hear
A foreign sound to you ear
It's alright, Ma, I'm only sighing.
As some warn victory, some downfall
Private reasons great or small
Can be seen in the eyes of those that call
To make all that should be killed to crawl
While others say don't hate nothing at all
Except hatred.
Disillusioned words like bullets bark
As human gods aim for their marks
Made everything from toy guns that sparks
To flesh-colored Christs that glow in the dark
It's easy to see without looking too far
That not much
Is really sacred.
While preachers preach of evil fates
Teachers teach that knowledge waits
Can lead to hundred-dollar plates
Goodness hides behind its gates
But even the President of the United States
Sometimes must have
To stand naked.
An' though the rules of the road have been lodged
It's only people's games that you got to dodge
And it's alright, Ma, I can make it.
Advertising signs that con you
Into thinking you're the one
That can do what's never been done
That can win what's never been won
Meantime life outside goes on
All around you.
You loose yourself, you reappear
You suddenly find you got nothing to fear
Alone you stand without nobody near
When a trembling distant voice, unclear
Startles your sleeping ears to hear
That somebody thinks
They really found you.
A question in your nerves is lit
Yet you know there is no answer fit to satisfy
Insure you not to quit
To keep it in your mind and not forget
That it is not he or she or them or it
That you belong to.
Although the masters make the rules
For the wise men and the fools
I got nothing, Ma, to live up to.
For them that must obey authority
That they do not respect in any degree
Who despite their jobs, their destinies
Speak jealously of them that are free
Cultivate their flowers to be
Nothing more than something
They invest in.
While some on principles baptized
To strict party platforms ties
Social clubs in drag disguise
Outsiders they can freely criticize
Tell nothing except who to idolize
And then say God Bless him.
While one who sings with his tongue on fire
Gargles in the rat race choir
Bent out of shape from society's pliers
Cares not to come up any higher
But rather get you down in the hole
That he's in.
But I mean no harm nor put fault
On anyone that lives in a vault
But it's alright, Ma, if I can't please him.
Old lady judges, watch people in pairs
Limited in sex, they dare
To push fake morals, insult and stare
While money doesn't talk, it swears
Obscenity, who really cares
Propaganda, all is phony.
While them that defend what they cannot see
With a killer's pride, security
It blows the minds most bitterly
For them that think death's honesty
Won't fall upon them naturally
Life sometimes
Must get lonely.
My eyes collide head-on with stuffed graveyards
False gods, I scuff
At pettiness which plays so rough
Walk upside-down inside handcuffs
Kick my legs to crash it off
Say okay, I have had enough
What else can you show me ?
And if my thought-dreams could been seen
They'd probably put my head in a guillotine
But it's alright, Ma, it's life, and life only.
Conversely, if you turn the sound off of Miley Cyrus' most recent video, it's a lovely avant-garde film work.
And if you turn the video off you can contemplate something much, much more lovely: The wonderous miracle that is the modern high definition television set (or computer).Quote:
Originally Posted by The Truth
Any Simon and Garfunkel really, but Kathy's Song comes to mind!
I thought some of Paul Weller's songs from The Jam days stood up well, for example:
Puts up the closed sign does the man in the corner shop
Serves his last then he says goodbye to him
He knows it is a hard life
But its nice to be your own boss really
Walks off home does the last customer
He is jealous of the man in the corner shop
He is sick of working at the factory
Says it must be nice to be your own boss (really)
Sells cigars to the boss from the factory
He is jealous is the man in the corner shop
He is sick of struggling so hard
Says it must be nice to own a factory
Go to church do the people from the area
All shapes and classes sit and pray together
For here they are all one
For God created all men equal
I like some of Ian Curtis of Joy Division's lyrics. Often I thought he would write a real stand out line followed by another line that was not as good or a bit clichéd. He was a bit morbid.
In the shadowplay, acting out your own death, knowing no more,
As the assassins all grouped in four lines, dancing on the floor,
And with cold steel, odour on their bodies made a move to connect,
But I could only stare in disbelief as the crowds all left.
I really liked this one song by Jack Johnson. The figurative language he uses just works perfectly to me.
Gone, by Jack Johnson
Look at all those fancy clothes
But these could keep us warm, just like those
And what about your soul, is it cold?
Is it straight from the mold, and ready to be sold?
And cars and phones and diamond rings, bling, bling
Those are only removable things
And what about your mind, does it shine?
Or are there things that concern you more than your time?
Gone going, gone everything
Gone give a damn
Gone be the birds when they don't want to sing
Gone people, all awkward with their things, gone
Look at you out to make a deal
You try to be appealing but you lose your appeal
And what about those shoes you're in today, they'll do no good
On the bridges you burnt along the way
You're willing to sell anything
Gone with your herd, leave your footprints
We'll shame them with our words
Gone people, all careless and consumed,
Gone, gone going,
Gone everything, gone give a damn
Gone be the birds when they don't want to sing
Gone people, all awkward with their things, gone
A fun one from Henry Cow:
War
Tell of the birth
Tell how war appeared on earth
Thunder and herbs
Conjugated sacred Verbs
Musicians with gongs
Fertilized an egg with song
Asleep in the sphere
Her fetus was a knot of fear
She butted with her horn
Split an egg and war was born
A miracle of hate
She banged her spoon against her plate.
Upon her spoon this motto
wonderfully designed:
"Violence completes the partial mind."
Stacking the bones
On the empty aerodrome
Tinted turtle green
She haunts the slender submarine
She shakes her gory locks
Over the deserted docks.
Come follow me
Out of dark obscurity
Follow my torch
Pilgrims at the double march
Through meadows and seas
Abattoirs and libraries
The pilgrims increase
Boasting they are led by peace
They gut huts with gusto
Pillage villages with verve
War does what she has to
People get what they deserve.
''The sound of silence'' by Simon and Garfunkel,absolutely beautiful! :)
''Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence
In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
'Neath the halo of a street lamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence
And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence
"Fools", said I, "You do not know
Silence like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you"
But my words, like silent raindrops fell
And echoed
In the wells of silence
And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made
And the sign flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming
And the sign said, "The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls"
And whispered in the sounds of silence...''
Jazzman
by
Carol King
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OUBnLJdi1rU
Lift me, won't you lift me above the old routine
Make it nice, play it clean, Jazzman
When the Jazzman's testifyin'
A faithless man believes
He can sing you into paradise
Or bring you to your knees
It's a gospel kind of feelin'
A touch of Georgia slide
A song of pure revival
And a style that's sanctified
Jazzman, take my blues away
Make my pain the same as yours
With every change you play
Jazzman, oh, Jazzman
When the Jazzman's signifyin'
And the band is windin' low
It's the late night side of morning
In the darkness of his soul
He can fill a room with sadness
As he fills his horn with tears
He can cry like a fallen angel
When risin' time is near
Jazzman, take my blues away
Make my pain the same as yours
With every change you play
Oh, lift me, won't you lift me with every turnaround
Play it sweetly, take me down, oh, Jazzman.
I like Under the Bridge By Red Hot Chili Peppers, although I think some of it could be shaved out if the music isn't present.
Twilight Zone is also awesome.
Here's Twilight Zone:
Somewhere in a lonely hotel room
There's a guy starting to realize
That eternal fate has turned it's back on him
It's two A.M.
It's two A.M. the fear has gone
I'm sitting here waitin' the gun still warm
Maybe my connection is tired of takin' chances
Yeah, there's a storm on the loose, sirens in my head
Wrapped up in silence all circuits are dead
Cannot decode, my whole life spins into a frenzy
Help, I'm steppin' into the twilight zone
Place is a madhouse, feels like being cloned
My beacon's been moved under moon and star
Where am I to go now that I've gone too far?
Soon you will come to know
When the bullet hits the bone
I'm falling down the spiral destination unknown
Double crossed messenger all alone
Can't get no connection, can't get through
Where are you?
Well the night weighs heavy on his guilty mind
This far from the borderline
When the hitman comes
He knows damn well he has been cheated
And he says, "Help, I'm steppin' into the twilight zone
Place is a madhouse, feels like being cloned
My beacon's been moved under moon and star
Where am I to go now that I've gone too far?"
Here's one part of under the bridge I think is great:
I drive on her streets
'Cause she's my companion
I walk through her hills
'Cause she knows who I am
She sees my good deeds
And she kisses me windy
I never worry
Now that is a lie
I can't find a name other than 'Botany Bay' of this convict ballad. There's a very haunting reading of the last stanza on YouTube under Botany Bay:
Botany Bay 2
Come all young men of learning, a warning take by me
I'll have you quit night walking and shun bad company
I'll have you quit night walking, or else you'll rue the day
And you will be transported and be sent to Botany Bay
I was brought up in London town, a place I know full well
Brought up by honest parents, the truth to you I'll tell
Brought up by honest parents, who loved me tenderly
Till I became a roving blade, to prove my destiny
My character was taken and I was sent to goal
My parents tried to clear me, but nothing would prevail
Twas at our Rutland sessions the Judge to me did say
The jury's found you guilty, you must go to Botany Bay
To see my poor old father, as he stood at the bar
Likewise my dear old mother, her old gray locks she tore
And in tearing of her old gray locks these words to me she did say
O son ! O son ! What hast thou done, Thou art bound for Botany Bay
Notes
Houses
by
Judy Collins
POSTER'S NOTE: The song itself is both poetic and hauntingly beautiful. Written and sung by Miss Collins as a tribute to her deceased son.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L3C6FJU3R1k
You have many houses, one for every season
Mountains in your windows, violets in your hands
Through your English meadows your blue-eyed horses wander
You're in Colorado for the Spring
When the Winter finds you, you fly to where it's summer
Rooms that face the ocean, moonlight on your bed
Mermaids swift as dolphins paint the air with diamonds
You are like a seagull as you sail
Why do you fly bright feathered sometimes in my dreams?
The shadows of your wings fall over my face
I can feel no air, I can find no peace
Brides in black ribbons, witches in white
Fly in through windows, fly out through the night
Why do I think I'm dying sometimes in my dreams
I see myself a child running through the trees
Looking everywhere crawling on my knees
Searching for myself, looking for my life
I cannot see the leaves, I cannot see the light
Then I see you walking just beyond the forest
Walking very quickly, walking by yourself
Your shoes are silver, your coat is made of velvet
Your eyes are shining, your voice is sweet and clear
"Come on" you say "come with me, I'm going to the castle"
All the bells are ringing, the weddings have begun
But I can only stand here-I cannot move to follow
I'm burning in the shadows I'm freezing in the sun
There are people you knew living in your houses
People from your childhood who remember how you were
You were always flying, nightingale of sorrow
Singing bird, with rainbows on your wings
The House of the Rising Sun! Haunting!!
https://www.google.com.br/search?q=t...GYrAwATcupL4BA
There is an intimate connection between songs and poetry. But just as it's easy to create crap poetry it is just as easy to create garbage songs. The lower end of the pop factory produces tat. But many singer songwriters are genuinely poetic. It is a particular talent to write a poem that is also musically satisfying. Many effective simple songs are effective simple poems. I remember the late Iain C Smith sneering at those Gaelic song writers who produced material that their communities enjoyed. He himself could do nothing like that. Snobbery of his type is too common among the supposed stars of literature. It would be too boring for me to try to list the huge number of songs that I consider poetry but the number is enormous. I consider the field called poetry to be wide and varied.
In this respect I share some of the attitudes of Auden. I would recommend his pre-war poetry anthologies as examples of democratic taste.