Song lyrics that can stand alone as poetry

[Austin Butler]

The attempt to tear down an art form into separate elements seems wrong-headed to me. Just because a film works brilliantly, in no way means that if we dissect it we will find that each individual element will stand as a brilliant work of art independent of the whole: that the screen play will stand as great novel, the cinematography as equal to Anselm Adams, the musical score as worthy of standing along side Beethoven, etc... The whole in a work of art is not necessarily simply defined as a sum of the parts. Inflated claims for the "poetry" of John Lennon, Robert Plant, Lou Reed, etc... underestimates real poetry as well as it underestimates the the importance of the music in song and the merger of the two in creating a new art form... whole in and of itself.

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.

[Stewed]

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."

[mortalterror]

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

[YesNo]

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.

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.

[APEist]

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

[Mr.lucifer]

This is slighty off topic, but isn't it true bob dylan has been nominated for the nobel prize for literature before?

[Stewed]

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.

[ZTay]

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.

[ZTay]

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

[ZTay]

[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)

[Gregory Samsa]

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

[Gregory Samsa]

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.

[stlukesguild]

Bump!

[Lotus Kid]

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.

[nutmeggy]

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