Citatepedia^®.com

First you imitate, then you innovate.

classic quote by Miles Davis
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Be what you are

Cats don’t imitate tigers;
Ducks don’t imitate swans;
Cocks don’t imitate peacocks.
Must you imitate to live up?
28.08.2000, Madras

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Wit's All Been Done Before

I wish I could, innovate,
And try to stretch your minds,
Cause often times, when guys like me,
Do that they leave themselves behind,
To clean a mess, or to impress,
A little bit of everyone,
But to innovate, is a mistake,
Cause there's nothing new under the sun.
Cause we're all getting tired of the media,
Cause it tries too hard to make you write something,
Cause we're all getting tired of the media,
Cause creating something new is just recycling,
Wit, wit's all been done before,
Yeah we do something to death,
Then we dig it up just to do it some more.
In all my lines of warning signs,
But not all with dead ends,
And I'm not sure if the clever words,
All sit well with my friends,
But I will not just sit and watch,
And me the victim fall,
I'll just have to do,
What my gut tells me to,
And hope that you will buy it all.
Cause we're all getting tired of the media,
Cause it tries too hard to make you write something,
Cause we're all getting tired of the media,
Cause creating something new is just recycling,
Wit, wit's all been done before,
Yeah we do something to death,
Then we dig it up just to do it some more,
Wit, wit's all been done before,
Yeah we do something to death,
Then we dig it up just to do it some more.
Originality is a ghost town,
And it's oh so hard to get to,
And waiting until, then people start to hate you,
You scream what you believe out loud in a crowd,
And they will hate you,
Cause repetition's just so safe,
And repetition's just like prison,
And I prefer to be out of place,
Cause I'm not really into prison.
Wit, wit's all been done before,
Yeah we do something to death,
Then we dig it up just to do it some more,
Cause we're all getting tired of the media,
Cause it tries too hard to make you write something,
Cause we're all getting tired of the media,
Cause creating something new is just recycling,

[...] Read more

song performed by Relient K
Added by Lucian Velea
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It Could Only Mean One Thing

My mission is to excite.
Not to bore as if that was my expertise.
Reaching to innovate and create new approaches,
To observations is what I seek to do.

That one could addendum what has been done,
For some is a preference.
And is a preference someone else dictates,
Really a 'preference' one independently makes?
Or is it just easier to accept to later throw away?

My mission is to excite.
Not to bore as if that was my expertise.
Reaching to innovate and create new approaches,
To observations is what I seek to do.

And if it seems I intentionally attempt to attract attention...
Well...
I'll put it this way,
If one is doing what one wishes to do...
And if this should attract attention?
It could only mean one thing.
Some find it difficult to do what it is they choose,
Without getting approval or feeling accepted.

And...
Well,
A seeking of acceptance hasn't done a thing to improve...
The quality of life that has been devalued as 'approved'.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Shaking To Re-Invent To Then Adjust

Never did I ever stand inflexibe.
To prove I had strength against opposing winds.
I remain open to comprehend with a listening.
Hoping that from the doing of this,
There is something I have learned...
That continues to assist my growth process.
And letting nothing stand in the way,
Of my quest to eliminate aged and rusting barriers.

My life is like an earthquake...
Shaking to re-invent to then adjust as a must.
With a removing of that which has grown old,
To then innovate that updates...
Over and over again with renewed appreciation.
Much like the coming and going of each season.

I am not one,
However...
To quote a few passages from a book,
To then believe this protects me...
With a keeping of an ignorance,
I am not ready to rid.
Because to do so would disappoint,
Those upholding fading and outdated traditions.

My life is like an earthquake...
Shaking to re-invent to then adjust as a must.
With a removing of that which has grown old,
To then innovate that updates...
Over and over again with renewed appreciation.
Much like the coming and going of each season.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Impossiblity (Irenga)

Glorious sunset,
the western sky ablaze with shades of red.
Nature’s artistry
beyond a mans ability
to emulate or imitate.

Nature’s artistry
beyond any mans ability
to emulate or imitate.
Although they still try.
Perfection beyond their grasp.

Natures artistry
beyond any mans ability
to emulate or imitate.
But driven by some inner need
they are convinced they can succeed.

First stanza
5 syllables
10 syllables
5 syllables
8syllables.
8syllables

Second stanza
repeat last three lines of first stanza
then
5 syllables
8 syllables.

Third stanza
Repeat
Last three lines of first stanza
Then
8 syllables
syllables
Japanese style poetry
no obligation to rhyme.

(22/07/2007)

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Over Medicating With A Self Importance

We can't imitate the living of life.
We can,
However.
Prevent others from doing so.
To limit eventually,
Our own growth process.
And the evidence of that,
Does not need a tour guide.

We can't imitate the living of life.
Nor can we insist what is not visible exists.
But so much of life lived is not visible...
To expose to anyone to prove it being done.

Most of life lived when given,
Is based on sheer faith and confidence.
Patience and the giving of sacrificial time.
With the knowing in one's mind.
Something divine is keeping track of the mess,
Human beings have made in attempts to perfect nonsense.

We can't imitate the living of life.
Once one has been blessed with it.
There is something genuine and real,
About the feelings one has.

We can,
However.
Prevent others from doing so.
To leave them to live their own lives.
And allow others to learn and grow,
For the sharing of those experiences.

But many don't get this!
Without that interdependence.
We limit eventually,
Our own growth process.
And the evidence of that,
Does not need a tour guide.

We would rather destroy other lives,
With the enforcement of values and standards...
We perceive with beliefs are best for others,
When in fact.
We are hard pressed to show any evidence,
To convince within our own minds.
Of that working for ourselves.

But an over medicating with a self importance?
We can do with the right prescription.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Dig A Pony

I dig a pony
Well you can celebrate anything you want
Well you can celebrate anything you want
Ooh.
I do a road hog
Well you can penetrate any place you go
Yes you can penetrate any place you go
I told you, all i want is you.
Ev'rything has got to bejust like you want it to
Because--
I pick a moon dog
Well you can radiate ev'rything you are
Yes you can radiate ev'rything you are--
Ooh.
I roll a stoney
Well you can imitate ev'ryone you know
Yes you can imitate ev'ryone you know
I told you, all i want is you.
Ev'rything has got to bejust like you want it to
Because--
I feel the wind blow
Well you can indicate ev'rything you see
Yes you can indicate ev'rything you see--
Ooh.
I dug a pony
Well you can syndicate any boat you row
Yes you can syndicate any boat you row
I told you, all i want is you.
Ev'rything has got to bejust like you want it to
Because--

song performed by Beatles
Added by Lucian Velea
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Elvis Imitators

By: steve goodman, michael smith
1981
-- spoken:
Thank you very much ladies and gentlemen. Id like to do this next song especially for you. and for the king.
Well....
I walk up to the mike and and then I shake my hips
I take a deep breath and put a snare on my lips
See me on the street you wouldnt know my name
But imitating elvis is my claim to fame
So when you put my imitation name in lights
Therell be imitation good rockin tonight
Cuz Im an an elvis imitator and I just cant stop
Imitating elvis from the bottom to the top
Imitate the way he talked, the way he smiled
I throw away my scarf and make the crowd go wild
This imitation elvis may not be the king
But baby Im the next best thing
Singing viva las vegas and the g.i. blues
Wont you love me tender in my blue suede shoes
Well let me be your teddy bear, if you must
Oh baby please surrender, cause I need your touch
Well if you feelin lonely, need a place to dwell
Come on down to imitation heartbreak hotel
Chorus:
Were gonna rock (rock rock rock)
Ooooh were gonna rock (rock rock rock)
Ooooh were gonna rock (rock rock rock)
Ooooh were gonna rock (rock rock rock)
Yeah my gold lamee cape and my sequined suit
Pompadou haircut and my high-heeled boots
Imitating elvis is the only way
I can make it through my imitation day
I know this rocking music cant be denied
cause I was imitating him before he died
Well Im an an elvis imitator and I just cant stop
Imitating elvis from the bottom to the top
I imitate the way he walked, the way he smiled
I throw away my scarf and make the crowd go wild
This imitation elvis may not be the king
But baby Im the next best thing
Chorus:
Yeah rock (rock rock rock)
Ooooh were gonna rock (rock rock rock)
Ooooh were gonna rock (rock rock rock)
Ooooh were gonna rock (rock rock rock)
Well baby ... its the next ... best thing
-- spoken:
Thank you very much ladies and gentlemen
Viva las vegas
Viva las vegas

song performed by Jimmy Buffett
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Where It All Started

Dialogue: picture this where it all started was back in boston, mass. some time ago (believe that) and by reopening the doors to all youth a little salt was thrown on me and my boys (you know what Im sayin) but now were back picking up where we left off (aw yeah) and through this song, process of elimination will be done (you better believe that)
Ronnie, bobby, ricky and mike
Ronnie, bobby, ricky and mike
The beginning of a dream
Where our ideas were born
(tell em ricky) to understand what this really means
Lets set the record straight
Once and for all and Ill tell you
cause other people imitate
And try their best to recreate
This is where it all started from
So they only perpetrate
But they can never duplicate
This is where it all started from
(yo, its on you ron) its nice to be the original
That all the counterfeits like to bite off
We only take it as a compliment
When they copy some of our material
To stay the best among the rest
We work to keep our movements fresh
This is where it all started from
You listen up dap instead of being clones
Why dont you think of something on your own
This is where it all started from
(now theres one more thing we think you should know)
Dont be a victim to the wanna be
This is where it all started from
(a fake, a fake)
cause no others ever gonna be (like us)
This is where it all started from
(take that)
Ronnie, bobby, ricky, and mike
Ronnie, bobby, ricky, and mike
(were cool) cool it coooool it now
Lets sweeten it up
Candy girl
Count it off... 1... 2... 1... 2
But you better not, better not
Count me out
cause other people imitate
And try their best to recreate
This is where it all started from
So they only perpetrate
But they can never duplicate
This is where it all started from
To stay the best among the rest
We work to keep our movements fresh
This is where it all started from
You listen up dap instead of being clones
Why dont you think of something on your own

[...] Read more

song performed by New Edition
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Ill Put You On The Guestlist

I orginate
You must appreciate, all the others imitate
Yeah!
Youre my crowd and I want you tonite
I am sure this tune makes you feel right
No discussion, disturbing your mind
Feel the vibes leave those troubles behind
Five years now its along time to go
Check our records that you still dont know
Get prepared for the next decade
Join the crew cause its never too late
Yeah!
Yes!
Yeeeahh,yeeeahh
Come on
Here we go!
Aaarrrrgggghhhh!
Ill put you on the guestlist
Ill put you on the guestlist
Ill put you on the guestlist
Yeah!
All right.
Right now: I orginate, you must appreciate, all the others imitate
Yeah!
There is one thing that you have to learn
Our mission is we love the jam
Up on the stage or down on the floor
We cant stop we always need more
Five years now its along time to go
Check our records that you still dont know
Get prepared for the next decade
Join the crew cause its never too late
Come on
Yeah
Ill put you on the guestlist
Ill put you on the guestlist
Yes!
Ill put you on the guestlist
Ill put you on the guestlist
...thank you!

song performed by Scooter
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On Reading, 'A Few Reflections On Imitatio-Dei

reply to Hune....
i lean probably more towards the buddhist interpretation... we are all buddha, waiting to evolve.... in the same sense we are all god, taking form, evolving.... we are the hands and feet of eternal creation, continually dying and being born.... god is no more distant than the self... and we choose that... the bridge does not lead outward, but inward....
the problem lies in the 'need' to imitate... how do we imitate what we already are?
do we live? or are we imitating life? the social consciousness, the compassion, and the actions we ascribe to the divine are there within us, hidden beneath layers of ego...
we long for a distant sea when the waves are already lapping at the feet of our heart!
our heart speaks to us of this, yet all we hear are distant echoes, garbled by concepts. the fire of dialogue is lit.... we sit across from ourselves!
as always, your writings inspire both deep thought and introspection... i read them in paragraphs, gulping for air....
and i'm quite sure tonight when i'm trying to sleep, these thoughts will return.
thank you for lighting the fire!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Painter Dreaming in the Scholar’s House

in memory of the painters Paul Klee
and Paul Terence Feeley

I

The painter’s eye follows relation out.
His work is not to paint the visible,
He says, it is to render visible.

Being a man, and not a god, he stands
Already in a world of sense, from which
He borrows, to begin with, mental things
Chiefly, the abstract elements of language:
The point, the line, the plane, the colors and
The geometric shapes. Of these he spins
Relation out, he weaves its fabric up
So that it speaks darkly, as music does
Singing the secret history of the mind.
And when in this the visible world appears,
As it does do, mountain, flower, cloud, and tree,
All haunted here and there with the human face,
It happens as by accident, although
The accident is of design. It is because
Language first rises from the speechless world
That the painterly intelligence
Can say correctly that he makes his world,
Not imitates the one before his eyes.
Hence the delightsome gardens, the dark shores,
The terrifying forests where nightfall
Enfolds a lost and tired traveler.

And hence the careless crowd deludes itself
By likening his hieroglyphic signs
And secret alphabets to the drawing of a child.
That likeness is significant the other side
Of what they see, for his simplicities
Are not the first ones, but the furthest ones,
Final refinements of his thought made visible.
He is the painter of the human mind
Finding and faithfully reflecting the mindfulness
That is in things, and not the things themselves.

For such a man, art is an act of faith:
Prayer the study of it, as Blake says,
And praise the practice; nor does he divide
Making from teaching, or from theory.
The three are one, and in his hours of art
There shines a happiness through darkest themes,
As though spirit and sense were not at odds.

[...] Read more

poem by Howard Nemerov
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Hello Shadows

Shadows imitate every thing in life
But it does not argue, fuss, or fight
And can be changed by the reflection of light
Your shadow will imitate everything that you do
For that shadow belongs to you.

The shadow of an object can
hide you from the sun
Not just you but every one.

Shadows have but one color (black)
And it is not belittled or put down
But accepted by all you see
Which makes it one of gods mysteries.

It can be seen in the sunlight
But not in the dark
It can even be seen with artificial light
And the kids have fun with it
Man! What a sight.

It has no face to show emotions
And it will always be by your side
Although at times it must hide.
The sun can not touch it, as it stares up at you
This is something the sun can not do.

The shadow will walk in front of you
Or in back, or walk on your sides
But will always be there wherever you go
For it is something that we all know
And to my shadow I say “hello”.

poem by Louis Rams
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Book IV - Part 03 - The Senses And Mental Pictures

Bodies that strike the eyes, awaking sight.
From certain things flow odours evermore,
As cold from rivers, heat from sun, and spray
From waves of ocean, eater-out of walls
Around the coasts. Nor ever cease to flit
The varied voices, sounds athrough the air.
Then too there comes into the mouth at times
The wet of a salt taste, when by the sea
We roam about; and so, whene'er we watch
The wormword being mixed, its bitter stings.
To such degree from all things is each thing
Borne streamingly along, and sent about
To every region round; and Nature grants
Nor rest nor respite of the onward flow,
Since 'tis incessantly we feeling have,
And all the time are suffered to descry
And smell all things at hand, and hear them sound.
Besides, since shape examined by our hands
Within the dark is known to be the same
As that by eyes perceived within the light
And lustrous day, both touch and sight must be
By one like cause aroused. So, if we test
A square and get its stimulus on us
Within the dark, within the light what square
Can fall upon our sight, except a square
That images the things? Wherefore it seems
The source of seeing is in images,
Nor without these can anything be viewed.

Now these same films I name are borne about
And tossed and scattered into regions all.
But since we do perceive alone through eyes,
It follows hence that whitherso we turn
Our sight, all things do strike against it there
With form and hue. And just how far from us
Each thing may be away, the image yields
To us the power to see and chance to tell:
For when 'tis sent, at once it shoves ahead
And drives along the air that's in the space
Betwixt it and our eyes. And thus this air
All glides athrough our eyeballs, and, as 'twere,
Brushes athrough our pupils and thuswise
Passes across. Therefore it comes we see
How far from us each thing may be away,
And the more air there be that's driven before,
And too the longer be the brushing breeze
Against our eyes, the farther off removed
Each thing is seen to be: forsooth, this work
With mightily swift order all goes on,
So that upon one instant we may see

[...] Read more

poem by Lucretius
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Henry And Emma. A Poem.

Upon the Model of The Nut-Brown Maid. To Cloe.

Thou, to whose eyes I bend, at whose command
(Though low my voice, though artless be my hand.
I take the sprightly reed, and sing and play,
Careless of what the censuring world may say;
Bright Cloe! object of my constant vow,
Wilt thou a while unbend thy serious brow?
Wilt thou with pleasure hear thy lover's strains,
And with one heavenly smile o'erpay his pains?
No longer shall the Nut-brown Maid be old,
Though since her youth three hundred years have roll'd:
At thy desire she shall again be raised,
And her reviving charms in lasting verse be praised.

No longer man of woman shall complain,
That he may love and not be loved again;
That we in vain the fickle sex pursue,
Who change the constant lover for the new.
Whatever has been writ, whatever said
Henceforth shall in my verse refuted stand,
Be said to winds, or writ upon the sand:
And while my notes to future times proclaim
Unconquer'd love and ever-during flame,
O, fairest of the sex, be thou my muse;
Deign on my work thy influence to diffuse:
Let me partake the blessings I rehearse,
And grant me love, the just reward of verse.

As beauty's potent queen with every grace
That once was Emma's has adorn'd thy face,
And as her son has to my bosom dealt
That constant flame which faithful Henry felt,
O let the story with thy life agree,
Let men once more the bright example see;
What Emma was to him be thou to me:
Nor send me by thy frown from her I love,
Distant and sad, a banish'd man to rove:
But, oh! with pity long entreated crown
My pains and hopes: and when thou say'st that one
Of all mankind thou lovest, oh! think on me alone.

Where beauteous Isis and her husband Thame
With mingled waves for ever flow the same,
In times of yore an ancient baron lived,
Great gifts bestowed, and great respect received.

When dreadful Edward, with successful care
Led his free Britons to the Gallic war,

[...] Read more

poem by Matthew Prior
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If Only

if only i know how to dance
then i will dance with you

if only i know how to sing
then i will sing with you

if only i know how to be you
then i will be you not just with you

you wish, and i may make your wish my command
like the genie of the three wishes

but my dear, i am myself all through and through
i dance my own dance, and i sing my own song, and i behave
the way i am, and want myself to be

i proclaim myself, my individuality, i do not wish to imitate you,
neither you to imitate me,

for if i become you and you become me,
half of you and half of me, looking alike in all ways,
a mirror image of a self to another self

will that not be boring? and damning? and degrading?
and cheap and unfashionable?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Drifting Tonight, A Poem In The Corner Of My Eye

Drifting tonight, a poem in the corner of my eye,
maybe a crumb of sleep from last night's dream,
the willows have grown up a lot since I last came here
but the stars they fix like flowers in their hair
even the lake can't rinse out, haven't changed much.
I seek out this precarious granite ledge
shaped like half an anvil or a stone age bicycle seat
with its thatch of moss and yellow grass
and this little patch of dirt, struggling
to cling to the rock, I've come to trust empathically
as if many others sat here before me
and watched the moon belly dancing on the undulant waves.

Abandoned heron's nests in the boneyard
of marble trees, broken statuary in the moonlight
wading through the wild rice with their skirts
above their white, white knees. I come here
to listen to my solitude like a Tarot deck of constellations,
missing a couple of cards when it was stolen from the Sufis.
A nocturne of fate I'm being very cool about
I sing in dark harmony with the nightbirds
counterpointing the silence with sudden rills of longing
my heart resonates with like the hidden wavelength of sorrow
that it's almost autumn, getting too late for anyone to come,
except for one firefly shining behind her veils
like a diamond in eclipse, a tattoo on the eyelids
of a black velvet painting of bullfighting rose.

And something deeper, more dangerous, like pike
moving just under the surface like nuclear submarines
under the Arctic ice-caps of circumpolar cataracts,
while night creatures are out hunting each other's flesh
all around me as if the loss of life and the joy it took
in being a field mouse with a mouthful of seeds
were merely collateral damage in the owl's eyes
of remarkably no significance at all. Life smells
of carrion in the nest, though we all light incense
to deny it. And try to feel as convincingly as we can
life heals its own absence like a wound in water,
like a mouse squealing in midflight above
the waterlily starmaps that hide the snapping turtles.

Generations have sat here before me
with their heads on the flying buttresses of their knees
to relieve the stress of the dome of their prophetic skulls
on the walls of a cathedral wilderness
pioneered into the empty one-roomed
wooden churches around here where the flies cluster
like spiritual footnotes with no real faith in what they say.
And the pioneers have all been ploughed under

[...] Read more

poem by Patrick White
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on IMitation (will that anger you?)

L'imitazione del male supera sempre l'esempio; comme per il contrario, l'imitazione del bene e sempre inferiore.]

Respicere exemplar
vitae morumque jubebo
Doctum imitatorem,
et veras hinc ducere voces.

Pindarum quisquis studet aemulari,
lule ceratis ope Daedalea Nititur pennis,
vitreo daturus Nomina ponto.

Dociles imitandis Turpibus ac pravis omnes sumus
C'est un betail servile et sot a mon avis Que les imitateurs.]

Der Mensch ist ein nachahmendes Geschopf.
Und wer Vorderste ist, fuhrt die Heerde.

Paradoxically though it may seem,
it is none the less true
that life imitates art far more
than art imitates life.

Imitation is suicide.

One who imitates what is bad always goes beyond his model; while one who imitates what is good always comes up short of it.

No man ever yet became great by imitation.

Everything that irritates us about others can lead us
to an understanding of ourselves.

Most people are other people.
Their thoughts are someone else's opinions,
their lives a mimicry,
their passions a quotation.

Those who do not want to imitate anything,
produce nothing.

To be as good as our fathers we must be better,
imitation is not discipleship

Insist on yourself; never imitate.

Posterity weaves no garlands for imitators.

Imitation, if noble and general,
insures the best hope of originality.

[...] Read more

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sin.....

I've seen greatness
i love it,
i feel the wings
of the eagles of
this land

i, decrepit and
aging
lowly
creature of the
cold and slum
marvel on the
sharp claws of the great minds
ahead of me

I've seen them live
on the ivory towers
of their heads

i come late
and people ask the reason
why i seem
to rejoice
on that predicament

i bring no explanation
i have no flowers in my hands

i believe in myself
and though i worship great minds
i do not
imitate them
their passions and fame
are all theirs
they deserve a name carved
on marbles
and stones
on bold letters of gold
and embellished with
chunks of
polished diamonds

i repeat
i do not imitate them
i am like no other
i am original
like sin.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Superb Lyrebird's Song

Amongst the songbirds of Australia with the superb lyrebird as a mimic there is none to compare
He can incorporate the songs of the local songbirds in his song something that is quite rare
The voices of the kookaburra, blackbird, butcherbird and currawong
Are just three of the many voices in the master mimic's song
With the World's best songbird mimics the lyrebird he does rate
The voices of the cockatoos, rosellas, whipbirds and shrike thrush he can easily imitate
The songs of the robins, magpies and scrubwrens in his song you can recognize
Yes the lyrebird is a mimic who never ceases to surprise,
His varied song is beauitiful and his voice it carries far
He can imitate the noise of a chainsaw or the horn of a motor car,
On his display mound with his lyre shaped tail feathers above his back fanned out in a great display
He imitates the songs of the other birds in the woodland every day
And in his breeding Season he gushes forth in miming song
And the notes of any local bird he never does get wrong.

poem by Francis Duggan
Added by Poetry Lover
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