I had studied violin from age 7 to 14.
quote by Amar Bose
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[...] Read more
poem by Caasder Fronds
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Violin
Four strings across the bridge,
Ready to carry me over,
Over the quavers, drunk in the bars,
Out of the realm of the orchestra,
Out of the realm of the orchestra.
Filling me up with the shivers.
Filling me up with the shivers and quivers.
Filling me up with the shivers.
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
Paganini up on the chimney,
Lord of the dance,
With nero and old nicky.
Whack that devil
Into my fiddlestick!
Give me the banshees for b.v.s,*
Give me the banshees for b.v.s.
Jigging along with the fiddle, oh, johnny.
Jigging along with the fiddle-dee-dee.
Jigging along with the fiddle, oh, johnny.
Jigging along with the fiddle-dee-diddle-dee-dee!
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
song performed by Kate Bush
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Cremona Violin
Part First
Frau Concert-Meister Altgelt shut the door.
A storm was rising, heavy gusts of wind
Swirled through the trees, and scattered leaves before
Her on the clean, flagged path. The sky behind
The distant town was black, and sharp defined
Against it shone the lines of roofs and towers,
Superimposed and flat like cardboard flowers.
A pasted city on a purple ground,
Picked out with luminous paint, it seemed. The cloud
Split on an edge of lightning, and a sound
Of rivers full and rushing boomed through bowed,
Tossed, hissing branches. Thunder rumbled loud
Beyond the town fast swallowing into gloom.
Frau Altgelt closed the windows of each room.
She bustled round to shake by constant moving
The strange, weird atmosphere. She stirred the fire,
She twitched the supper-cloth as though improving
Its careful setting, then her own attire
Came in for notice, tiptoeing higher and higher
She peered into the wall-glass, now adjusting
A straying lock, or else a ribbon thrusting
This way or that to suit her. At last sitting,
Or rather plumping down upon a chair,
She took her work, the stocking she was knitting,
And watched the rain upon the window glare
In white, bright drops. Through the black glass a flare
Of lightning squirmed about her needles. 'Oh!'
She cried. 'What can be keeping Theodore so!'
A roll of thunder set the casements clapping.
Frau Altgelt flung her work aside and ran,
Pulled open the house door, with kerchief flapping
She stood and gazed along the street. A man
Flung back the garden-gate and nearly ran
Her down as she stood in the door. 'Why, Dear,
What in the name of patience brings you here?
Quick, Lotta, shut the door, my violin
I fear is wetted. Now, Dear, bring a light.
This clasp is very much too worn and thin.
I'll take the other fiddle out to-night
If it still rains. Tut! Tut! my child, you're quite
Clumsy. Here, help me, hold the case while I -
Give me the candle. No, the inside's dry.
[...] Read more
poem by Amy Lowell
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The Power Age
Key:-a - anita r - ray
R: welcome to the power age
Money, money, money
R: the power age its the new generation
We are the ones with no limitations
We had the iron and the stone
Now we got a new age that we own
But its not about the power that makes you blind
Its all about the the power thats in your mind
This is the time to get the power
The power age, this is the hour
So let the _ take you on _
A: woow...
So release all the pain that stood there before
A: this is the power age
So get with it, oyeah, you belong
Theres only one force that makes you strong
A: oh.. oh...
This is the power age
A: were reaching for the final destination
To break out of the cage
Get in to the power age
With all of the brand new generation
Its time to turn the page
We living in the power age
A: break out of your cage; into the power age
R: the age of destruction, the age of hate
And the age of violence and the ages of late
Greed and gain thats all they care
Money, money, money, with enough to share
So get with it feel the vibration
The power age its just a sensation
You can feel it down in your soul
When you let the force take control
So by now you better know the deal
A: woow...
You gotta to get high to get real
A: this is the power age
Free you mind to disgage
Welcome to the power age
A: oh.. oh...
This is the power age
A: were reaching for the final destination
To break out of the cage
Get in to the power age
With all of the brand new generation
Its time to turn the page
We living in the power age
A: were reaching for the final destination
To break out of the cage
[...] Read more
song performed by 2 Unlimited
Added by Lucian Velea
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Age considers, youth ventures
Age considers, youth ventures
Age visualizes, youth dreams
Age makes theories, youth experiments
Age loves, youth longs
Age sees people, youth sees places
Age knows belongings, youth discovers them
Age pains to gain, youth gains to others' pain
Age has heart, youth has mind
Age is thoughtful, youth is tactful
Age ponders, youth wonders
Age recounts, youth counts
Age is experienced, youth is in experience
Age is cautious, youth dashes
Age floats, youth swims
Age lives, youth still making a living
Age is in touch with termination, youth with determination
Age is confident, youth is competent
Age adds years to living, youth adds life to living
Age is lost in past, youth is drowned in future
Age is grown, youth is crown
Ageless is youth, youthless is age
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Video Violence
The currents rage deep inside us
This is the age of video violence
The currents rage so deep inside us
This is the age of video violence
Up in the morning, drinking his coffee
Turns on the tv to some slasher movie
Cartoon-like women, tied up and sweaty
Painting and screaming, thank you, have a nice day
The currents rage, the dawns upon us
This is the age of video violence
The currents rage so deep inside us
This is the age of video violence
Na-na-na, na-na-na
Na-na-na, na-na-na
His heart is pounding he switches the channel
Looking for something other than rape or murder
Or beatings or torture but except for walt disney
Its a twisted alliance, this age of video violence
The currents rage, the dawns upon us
This is the age of video violence
The current rage so deep inside us
This is the age of video violence
Down at his job, his boss sits there screaming
If he loses his job, then life loses its meaning
His son is in high school, theres nothing hes learning
He sits by the tv, watching corvettes exploding, cause
The currents rage, the dawns upon us
This is the age of video violence
No age of reason landing upon us
This is the age of video violence
Na-na-na, na-na-na
Na-na-na, na-na-na
Down at a bar some woman is topless
Shes acned and scarred, her hair is a mess
While he shoves 5 dollars down her exotic panties
The video jukebox is, ah, playing madonna
While just down the block at some local theater
Theyre grabbing their crotches at the 13th beheading
As the dead rise to live, the live sink to die
The currents are deep and raging inside
The currents rage so deep inside us
This is the age of video violence
No age of reason is landing upon us
This is the age of video violence
Na-na-na, na-na-na
Na-na-na, na-na-na
Na-na-na, na-na-na
Na-na-na, na-na-na
Our good working stiff looks a whore in the eye
Ties her to a bed
[...] Read more
song performed by Lou Reed
Added by Lucian Velea
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Palinodia
TO THE MARQUIS GINO CAPPONI.
I was mistaken, my dear Gino. Long
And greatly have I erred. I fancied life
A vain and wretched thing, and this, our age,
Now passing, vainest, silliest of all.
Intolerable seemed, and _was_, such talk
Unto the happy race of mortals, if,
Indeed, man ought or could be mortal called.
'Twixt anger and surprise, the lofty creatures laughed
Forth from the fragrant Eden where they dwell;
Neglected, or unfortunate, they called me;
Of joy incapable, or ignorant,
To think my lot the common lot of all,
Mankind, the partner in my misery.
At length, amid the odor of cigars,
The crackling sound of dainty pastry, and
The orders loud for ices and for drinks,
'Midst clinking glasses, and 'midst brandished spoons,
The daily light of the gazettes flashed full
On my dim eyes. I saw and recognized
The public joy, and the felicity
Of human destiny. The lofty state
I saw, and value of all human things;
Our mortal pathway strewed with flowers; I saw
How naught displeasing here below endures.
Nor less I saw the studies and the works
Stupendous, wisdom, virtue, knowledge deep
Of this our age. From far Morocco to
Cathay, and from the Poles unto the Nile,
From Boston unto Goa, on the track
Of flying Fortune, emulously panting,
The empires, kingdoms, dukedoms of the earth
I saw, now clinging to her waving locks,
Now to the end of her encircling boa.
Beholding this, and o'er the ample sheets
Profoundly meditating, I became
Of my sad blunder, and myself, ashamed.
The age of gold the spindles of the Fates,
O Gino, are evolving. Every sheet,
In each variety of speech and type,
The splendid promise to the world proclaims,
From every quarter. Universal love,
And iron roads, and commerce manifold,
Steam, types, and cholera, remotest lands,
Most distant nations will together bind;
Nor need we wonder if the pine or oak
Yield milk and honey, or together dance
[...] Read more
poem by Count Giacomo Leopardi
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The Rosciad
Unknowing and unknown, the hardy Muse
Boldly defies all mean and partial views;
With honest freedom plays the critic's part,
And praises, as she censures, from the heart.
Roscius deceased, each high aspiring player
Push'd all his interest for the vacant chair.
The buskin'd heroes of the mimic stage
No longer whine in love, and rant in rage;
The monarch quits his throne, and condescends
Humbly to court the favour of his friends;
For pity's sake tells undeserved mishaps,
And, their applause to gain, recounts his claps.
Thus the victorious chiefs of ancient Rome,
To win the mob, a suppliant's form assume;
In pompous strain fight o'er the extinguish'd war,
And show where honour bled in every scar.
But though bare merit might in Rome appear
The strongest plea for favour, 'tis not here;
We form our judgment in another way;
And they will best succeed, who best can pay:
Those who would gain the votes of British tribes,
Must add to force of merit, force of bribes.
What can an actor give? In every age
Cash hath been rudely banish'd from the stage;
Monarchs themselves, to grief of every player,
Appear as often as their image there:
They can't, like candidate for other seat,
Pour seas of wine, and mountains raise of meat.
Wine! they could bribe you with the world as soon,
And of 'Roast Beef,' they only know the tune:
But what they have they give; could Clive do more,
Though for each million he had brought home four?
Shuter keeps open house at Southwark fair,
And hopes the friends of humour will be there;
In Smithfield, Yates prepares the rival treat
For those who laughter love, instead of meat;
Foote, at Old House,--for even Foote will be,
In self-conceit, an actor,--bribes with tea;
Which Wilkinson at second-hand receives,
And at the New, pours water on the leaves.
The town divided, each runs several ways,
As passion, humour, interest, party sways.
Things of no moment, colour of the hair,
Shape of a leg, complexion brown or fair,
A dress well chosen, or a patch misplaced,
Conciliate favour, or create distaste.
From galleries loud peals of laughter roll,
And thunder Shuter's praises; he's so droll.
Embox'd, the ladies must have something smart,
[...] Read more
poem by Charles Churchill
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Neuromancer
Age of destruction
Age of oblivion
Age of destruction
Age of oblivion
Discovered love,
In the rancid days of ruin
My bodys sweatin toxins,
Of my own demise
Only from space, can you see
How much earth is burning
Smokin out the innocense inside
The child
Its the age of destruction
In a world of corruption
Its the age of destruction
And they hand us oblivion
Neuromancer and Im trancing
Im the neuromancer--and Im trancing
Man wallows in his insatiable greed
More in the answer that sweats
From desparate palms
Turn on the lies, the secrets,
Of our desolation,
Or be smothered, by the red hot core
Its the age of destruction,
In a world of corruption
Its the age of destruction
And they hand us oblivion
The neuromancer and Im trancing
Im the neuromancer and Im trancing
Im the neuromancer--Im trancing
Trancing
Trancing
And Im trancing
Denied love in the age of ruin
Suicide toxins of my own demise
In cyberspace, you know how much
The earth aint learning
Smoking out the man, inside the child--yeah
Its the age of destruction
In a world of corruption
Its the age of destruction
And they hand us oblivion
The neuromancer and Im trancing
Im the neuromancer and Im trancing
Neuromancer--trancing
Neuromancer--trancing
Neuromancer--trancing
Neuromancer
Age of destruction
[...] Read more
song performed by Billy Idol
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Four Ages of Man
1.1 Lo now! four other acts upon the stage,
1.2 Childhood, and Youth, the Manly, and Old-age.
1.3 The first: son unto Phlegm, grand-child to water,
1.4 Unstable, supple, moist, and cold's his Nature.
1.5 The second: frolic claims his pedigree;
1.6 From blood and air, for hot and moist is he.
1.7 The third of fire and choler is compos'd,
1.8 Vindicative, and quarrelsome dispos'd.
1.9 The last, of earth and heavy melancholy,
1.10 Solid, hating all lightness, and all folly.
1.11 Childhood was cloth'd in white, and given to show,
1.12 His spring was intermixed with some snow.
1.13 Upon his head a Garland Nature set:
1.14 Of Daisy, Primrose, and the Violet.
1.15 Such cold mean flowers (as these) blossom betime,
1.16 Before the Sun hath throughly warm'd the clime.
1.17 His hobby striding, did not ride, but run,
1.18 And in his hand an hour-glass new begun,
1.19 In dangers every moment of a fall,
1.20 And when 'tis broke, then ends his life and all.
1.21 But if he held till it have run its last,
1.22 Then may he live till threescore years or past.
1.23 Next, youth came up in gorgeous attire
1.24 (As that fond age, doth most of all desire),
1.25 His Suit of Crimson, and his Scarf of Green.
1.26 In's countenance, his pride quickly was seen.
1.27 Garland of Roses, Pinks, and Gillyflowers
1.28 Seemed to grow on's head (bedew'd with showers).
1.29 His face as fresh, as is Aurora fair,
1.30 When blushing first, she 'gins to red the Air.
1.31 No wooden horse, but one of metal try'd:
1.32 He seems to fly, or swim, and not to ride.
1.33 Then prancing on the Stage, about he wheels;
1.34 But as he went, death waited at his heels.
1.35 The next came up, in a more graver sort,
1.36 As one that cared for a good report.
1.37 His Sword by's side, and choler in his eyes,
1.38 But neither us'd (as yet) for he was wise,
1.39 Of Autumn fruits a basket on his arm,
1.40 His golden rod in's purse, which was his charm.
1.41 And last of all, to act upon this Stage,
1.42 Leaning upon his staff, comes up old age.
1.43 Under his arm a Sheaf of wheat he bore,
1.44 A Harvest of the best: what needs he more?
1.45 In's other hand a glass, ev'n almost run,
1.46 This writ about: This out, then I am done.
1.47 His hoary hairs and grave aspect made way,
1.48 And all gave ear to what he had to say.
1.49 These being met, each in his equipage
1.50 Intend to speak, according to their age,
[...] Read more
poem by Anne Bradstreet
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You're The Violin
You're the violin
Nazareth
Some beat me like a drum
Some stroke me like a guitar
Some shake me like a tambourine
Some beat me into the wall
In the song of my life
Baby, you're the violin
Some blow me like a horn
Some slide me like a trombone
Some smoke me like a tuba dude
Some cut me like a saxophone
In the song of my life
Baby, you're the violin
When you touch me like you touch me
Don't it feel like a summer breeze
When you lay down in my lonely soul, ya
It brings me to my knees
Think i'm makin' love to you
Sweet baby, ya
When you touch me like you touch me
Well, don't it feel like a summer breeze
When you lay down in my lonely soul, ya
It brings me to my knees
Think i'm makin' love to you
Sweet baby, ya
Some beat me like a drum
Some stroke me like a guitar
Sh-sh-sh-shake me like a tambourine
Some beat me into the wall
In the song of my life
Baby, you're the violin
In the song of my life
Baby, you're the violin
(words and music by nazareth)
Copyright 1975 jenevieve music (bmi)
song performed by Nazareth
Added by Lucian Velea
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Be young at heart
BE YOUNG AT HEART
With age you will grow old with years that pass,
But clinging to your ideals you're young in class! .
With age your skin may see wrinkles;
With enthusiasm your soul tinkles! .
With age surging emotions may calm,
But vigour makes you youthful and is a balm!
With age you'd have had chequered life's path-main,
But the hope in heart, will in you, let peace reign! .
With age you may lose your appetite,
But with the joy of living you're filled right!
With age don't bow down with pessimism,
But set up aerials and catch waves of optimism!
With age you may not barge into adventure,
But fill much will in your very nature!
With age don't sag your spirits but hold it high,
And you with youth, will be ever nigh!
With age you're high in life's ladder's rung,
But with lure of Nature you'll be ever young!
With age don't worry and yourself blame,
But have an unfailing trust in life's game!
With age you've criss-crossed many a trouble,
But with your iron resolution you'll ne'er stumble!
With age there may be a tarnish in your appearance,
But your inner-self should radiate effulgence!
With age you acquire abundant wisdom,
And can promote youngsters to stardom!
With age you'll be rich with experience,
Which will offer help to the young in their séance!
With age when illnesses creep into the system,
Take care for remedial action and them stem!
Age will thus have no immediate call of Death's clarion,
And you'll die young as an octogenarian
or even a nonagenarian!
[...] Read more
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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The Regiment of Princes
Musynge upon the restlees bysynesse
Which that this troubly world hath ay on honde,
That othir thyng than fruyt of bittirnesse
Ne yildith naght, as I can undirstonde,
At Chestres In, right faste by the Stronde,
As I lay in my bed upon a nyght,
Thoght me byrefte of sleep the force and might. 1
And many a day and nyght that wikkid hyne
Hadde beforn vexed my poore goost
So grevously that of angwissh and pyne
No rycher man was nowhere in no coost.
This dar I seyn, may no wight make his boost
That he with thoght was bet than I aqweynted,
For to the deeth he wel ny hath me feynted.
Bysyly in my mynde I gan revolve
The welthe unseur of every creature,
How lightly that Fortune it can dissolve
Whan that hir list that it no lenger dure;
And of the brotilnesse of hir nature
My tremblynge herte so greet gastnesse hadde
That my spirites were of my lyf sadde.
Me fil to mynde how that nat longe agoo
Fortunes strook doun thraste estat rial
Into mescheef, and I took heede also
Of many anothir lord that hadde a fal.
In mene estat eek sikirnesse at al
Ne saw I noon, but I sy atte laste
Wher seuretee for to abyde hir caste.
In poore estat shee pighte hir pavyloun
To kevere hir fro the storm of descendynge 2
For shee kneew no lower descencion
Sauf oonly deeth, fro which no wight lyvynge
Deffende him may; and thus in my musynge
I destitut was of joie and good hope,
And to myn ese nothyng cowde I grope.
For right as blyve ran it in my thoght,
Thogh poore I be, yit sumwhat leese I may.
Than deemed I that seurtee wolde noght
With me abyde; it is nat to hir pay
Ther to sojourne as shee descende may.
And thus unsikir of my smal lyflode,
Thoght leide on me ful many an hevy lode.
I thoghte eek, if I into povert creepe,
Than am I entred into sikirnesse;
[...] Read more
poem by Thomas Hoccleve
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Phenomenons Studied
Phenomenons studied by scholars,
Are...
Stunning phenomenons never undone.
Phenomenons studied by scholars,
Are...
Stunning phenomenons never undone.
Mysteries lived to exist,
Are...
Phenomenons never undone.
And,
The more they're probed confusion sits.
Because we don't see us a part of this.
Why are we here to be neighbors?
With confusion that we can't resist.
Why can't we accept our differences?
Without trying to end conflicts.
Why the fighting to exist...
In a peacefulness ruled by one fist.
Phenomenons studied by scholars,
Are...
Stunning phenomenons never undone.
Phenomenons studied by scholars,
Are...
Stunning phenomenons never undone.
And why are obelisks ignored?
Why are they there and who are they for?
What is that energy they feed?
And what is it that we can't see?
What is the purpose and the need?
Phenomenons studied by scholars,
Are...
Stunning phenomenons never undone.
Mysteries lived to exist,
Are...
Phenomenons never undone.
And,
The more they're probed confusion sits.
Because we don't see us a part of this.
What blind eye has to open?
To fix what has been broken.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Misaking A Mistress For A Violin
MISTAKING A MISTRESS FOR A VIOLIN
The man who mistook his mistress for a violin
is the subject of a book by J. M. Coetzee.
Mistaking music for a mistress is a sin
more serious than to eat bread without saying motsi.
When sex becomes a contest in which you subject
erotic will to your opponent, wife or wench,
don’t treat her like a piece of bread, and don’t object
if she declares she is not ready yet to bensch.
Motsi is the Hebrew name of a piece of bread a Jew may not eat before saying a blessing, hamotsi lehem min ha’arets, meaning “He who brings forth bread from the earth.” Bensch means “bless, ” and in the context of eating bread it refers to the blessing that in Hebrew is called birkat hamazon, meaning “the blessing for food.” Coetzee’s description of himself as “the man who mistook his mistress for a violin” is clearly an allusion to Oliver Sacks’s story of the man with visual agnosia who mistook his wife for a hat.
The poem was in part inspired by Tim Parks’s review of J. M. Coetzee’s “Summertime: A Fiction, ” a novel that may or may not be autobiographical (“The Education of ‘John Coetzee, ’” NYR (February 11,2010) :
Following Boyhood (1997) and Youth (2002) , Summertime concludes J.M. Coetzee's autobiographical trilogy. It is a teasing and surprisingly funny book, at once as elaborately elusive and determinedly confessional as ever autobiography could be. If Boyhood and Youth were remarkable for Coetzee's use of the third person (the author declining to identify with his younger self) and the present tense (a narrative device more commonly associated with fiction than memoir) , Summertime takes both distancing and novelizing a step further. Despite our seeing Coetzee's name on the cover and hence assuming the author alive and well, we are soon asked to believe that he is now dead, the book being made up of five interviews conducted by an anonymous biographer who is speaking to people he presumes were important to the writer during the years 1972–1975.
Coetzee writes about the affair he has, possibly fact, possibly fiction, with a psychotherapist called Julia:
John, she says, was actually “a minor character” in a drama played out between herself and her husband. While the latter was traveling, the lovers enjoyed an “erotic entanglement” in the marital bed. Yet John was peripheral to her life; at the one moment when she was ready to leave her husband and he could have become a major player, he “took fright” and snuck out of the hotel where she was sleeping….Certainly there’s comedy to be had in the description of this willfully unassertive man partnering a woman who sees sex “as a contest, a variety of wrestling in which you do you best to subject your opponent to your erotic will.” “He was not in my league, ” Julia complains. When John tries to persuade her to moderate her lovemaking to fir the slow movement of a Schubert string quintet, the better to “re-experience” the sexual feelings of a bygone age, Julia shows him the door. “The man who mistook his mistress for a violin, ” she comments.
1/30/10
poem by Gershon Hepner
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Of Ancient Mastodon, Sleepy Bee & Young Men Who Leap Too Soon From Bridges - Nightingale Confesses Into Straighter Teeth
'...descend, and of the curveship lend a myth to God.' - Hart Crane
Pueri aeterna, septem cadens
Etiam plures ad
The boys eternal, seven falling
Too many more to come
Jamey Rodemayer
Tyler Clementi
Raymond Chase
Asher Brown
Billy Lucas
Seth Walsh
Justin Aaberg
Sub olivae, pacem
Ut vos omnes adoremus orientatio
Under the olive trees, peace
May you all adore this orientation
******
"I imagine one of the reasons people cling to their
hates so stubbornly is because they sense, once
hate is gone, they will be forced to deal with pain."
- James Baldwin
'Ignacio goes up the tiers
with all his death on his shoulders.
He sought for the dawn
but the dawn was no more.
He seeks for his confident profile
and the dream bewilders him
He sought for his beautiful body
and encountered his opened blood
Do not ask me to see it! '
- Federico Garcia Lorca*
1
Even the pigeons on my stoop are silent now.
[...] Read more
poem by Warren Falcon
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God Needs Antonio
Your soul was lifted by the wings today
Hearing the master of the violin:
You praised him, praised the great Sabastian too
Who made that fine Chaconne; but did you think
Of old Antonio Stradivari?--him
Who a good century and a half ago
Put his true work in that brown instrument
And by the nice adjustment of its frame
Gave it responsive life, continuous
With the master's finger-tips and perfected
Like them by delicate rectitude of use.
That plain white-aproned man, who stood at work
Patient and accurate full fourscore years,
Cherished his sight and touch by temperance,
And since keen sense is love of perfectness
Made perfect violins, the needed paths
For inspiration and high mastery.
No simpler man than he; he never cried,
"why was I born to this monotonous task
Of making violins?" or flung them down
To suit with hurling act well-hurled curse
At labor on such perishable stuff.
Hence neighbors in Cremona held him dull,
Called him a slave, a mill-horse, a machine.
Naldo, a painter of eclectic school,
Knowing all tricks of style at thirty-one,
And weary of them, while Antonio
At sixty-nine wrought placidly his best,
Making the violin you heard today--
Naldo would tease him oft to tell his aims.
"Perhaps thou hast some pleasant vice to feed-
the love of louis d'ors in heaps of four,
Each violin a heap--I've naught to blame;
My vices waste such heaps. But then, why work
With painful nicety?"
Antonio then:
"I like the gold--well, yes--but not for meals.
And as my stomach, so my eye and hand,
And inward sense that works along with both,
Have hunger that can never feed on coin.
Who draws a line and satisfies his soul,
Making it crooked where it should be straight?
Antonio Stradivari has an eye
That winces at false work and loves the true."
Then Naldo: "'Tis a petty kind of fame
At best, that comes of making violins;
And saves no masses, either. Thou wilt go
[...] Read more
poem by George Eliot
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Blue Blooded Woman
Blue blooded womans
She loves a violin, I love a fiddle
We go separate ways but we meet in the middle
Dont see eye to eye but were hand in hand
A blue blooded woman and a redneck man
The lady I love loves silk and satin
She was raised uptown with a silver spoon
Well, I was born on a farm just south of jackson
We had an old ford tractor and a country moon
She loves a violin, I love a fiddle
We go separate ways but we meet in the middle
Dont see eye to eye but were hand in hand
A blue blooded woman and a redneck man
Shes saks fifth avenue perfection
Caviar and dignified
Well, I live my life in wal mart fashion
And I like my sushi southern fried
She loves a violin, I love a fiddle
We go separate ways but we meet in the middle
Dont see eye to eye but were hand in hand
A blue blooded woman and a redneck man
She loves a violin, I love a fiddle
We go separate ways but we meet in the middle
Dont see eye to eye but were hand in hand
A blue blooded woman and a redneck man
Shes a blue blooded woman, Im a redneck man.
song performed by Alan Jackson
Added by Lucian Velea
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My Father, With His Arthritic Hands
My father, with his arthritic hands
Closes his door, picks up the bow
Tucks the bit under his chin
Tunes it real low
My father can compete with the world's best bands
My father plays the violin.
His eyes are dim but the notes are clear
His hearing is faulty but we can hear
The songs that pour out from within
People outside stop to listen
When my father plays the violin.
He opens up another world
Far from stress and pain
I become a child again
As without a word
He picks up the bow, tunes it real low
My father plays the violin.
My father with his arthritic hands
Holds a magnifying glass to his eyes to read
He sits out there under the clear blue skies
Now that he can hardly walk
(Luckily my sisters are there when he needs to talk) .
And when its dusk and he enters within
Then with his arthritic hands
Father picks up his violin.
poem by Rani Turton
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Age
Are you in your sixties?
Common don't be rigid
Don't make age make you livid
Age can be flawless and lawless
Age is just a number
In any particular order
We may count our experiences
But they will not always match up
Age is a blast
For some memories hold fast
For others memories fade fast
And there is never an age that will last
Are you in your forties?
Common don't be frigid
The numbers come and go with a rapid pace
Slowly we must accept to grow old with grace
Age is just a digit
In youth, age we inherit
With old age one needs a permit
And both lives are usually of high merit
Are you in your teens?
How splendid!
That life moves rapid
Life could easily become valid or invalid
Age is an abstract
You can minus, add or subtract
But our ups and downs don't always add up
Age can take you to the top or make you complete flop
Age is just a figure
That in every passing moment we must endure
It is symbol of life!
That bites into the veins of society like a knife
Ignore all, ignore all
For age smiles upon us a simple joke
Sleeping on our skins as it pokes and pokes
Age is just a disguise and a harmless quote
Copyright 2012 - Sylvia Lovina Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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