Bernard Herrmann used to write all his scores by himself. So did Bach, Beethoven and Stravinsky. I don't understand why this happens in the movie industry.
quote by Ennio Morricone
Added by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Why Do I Write
I write from my sadness
I write from the madness
I write because I have something to say
I write to pass the day
I write only from the heart
I write for sometimes I am not that smart
Whatever is in head just comes out on paper (in this case a word document) , and I go with the flow
Write to let my mind go
I follow my hand to where ever it takes me
I write all the things that I can see
I write when I am happy, but not as much
I write from my heart that you can touch
I write because I’d go insane
I am driven to write quell my pain
At times I feel alone so I write what I am feeling
I write for it is self-healing
Confident not so I write it all away
I write and write to pass the day
I write to comfort my soul that cries out in the night
I write for love is always out of sight
I write so I don't have to cry any more
I write for I have no one to adore
I write so someone somewhere will hear my plea
I write for someone is out there for me
I am lost and I the clown
I write to turn my frown upside down
I write to embrace the sadness I hide inside
I write with my heart opened wide
I write to silence the ghost
I write for I’ve been let down by the one I loved the most
I write through the stormy weather
I write for I am light as a feather
I am not a writer nor am I a poet
I write for the grief I do know it
I will write until I draw my last breath
I write because I'll die a lonely death
I have to write for strangers delight
I write because I have to write
I write for my own happiness
I write to relieve my stress
I write because I have no other choice
I write as if I was writing a letter
I write because I can’t do any better
I write because I am afraid not to
I write for this is what I do
I write for I give a damn
[...] Read more
poem by Wilfred Mellers
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Not Communicating To Oneself
Listening to Beethoven we sense
the inspiration pouring from the master.
Johann Sebastian Bach sounds as intense,
but far more distant from disaster.
He seems to want to have a conversation
with anyone prepared to pay attention.
Although we lose him when his great elation
exceeds the limits of our comprehension,
we know that he is trying to communicate,
as if he’d just found, lying on a shelf,
the notes he’s trying to communicate
to us, and not, like Ludwig, to himself.
The proofs of Beethoven’s profundity
lay in the notes that for him had no sound,
while Bach, with effortless fecundity,
encouraged all of us to be profound.
J. M. Coetzee contrasts his relationship to the music of Beethoven and J. S. Bach. Whereas he imagines Beethoven as a genius from whom inspiration pours forth while oblivious to the people who may be listening to him he imagines J. S. Bach as a teacher who is attempting to instruct him while he sits next him while he is playing. As a rider, Coetzee added that there are moments when J. S. Bach’s inspiration exceeds the listener’s comprehension. These are the moments of his greatest inspiration. Listening to this report I was reminded of Richard Eder’s comment on Ceotzee when reviewing his book “Diary of a Bad Year” (“A Writer, A Muse, Their Laundry, ” NYT, January 1,2008) :
I think of the childlike simplicity of late Beethoven on a profound return trip from profundity.”
10/7/08
poem by Gershon Hepner
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Roll Over Beethoven
Im gonna write a little letter,
Gonna mail it to my local dj.
Its a rockin rhythm record
I want my jockey to play.
Roll over beethoven, I gotta hear it again today.
You know, my temperatures risin
And the jukebox blows a fuse.
My hearts beatin rhythm
And my soul keeps on singin the blues.
Roll over beethoven and tell tschaikowsky the news.
I got the rockin pneumonia,
I need a shot of rhythm and blues.
I think Im rollin arthiritis
Sittin down by the rhythm review.
Roll over beethoven rockin in two by two.
well, if you feel you like it
go get your lover, then reel and rock it.
roll it over and move on up just
a trifle further and reel and rock it,
roll it over,
roll over beethoven rockin in two by two.
Well, early in the mornin Im a-givin you a warnin
Dont you step on my blue suede shoes.
Hey diddle diddle, I am playin my fiddle,
Aint got nothin to lose.
Roll over beethoven and tell tschaikowsky the news.
You know she wiggles like a glow worm,
Dance like a spinnin top.
She got a crazy partner,
Oughta see em reel and rock.
Long as she got a dime the music will never stop.
Roll over beethoven,
Roll over beethoven,
Roll over beethoven,
Roll over beethoven,
Roll over beethoven and dig these rhythm and blues.
song performed by Cyndi Lauper
Added by Lucian Velea
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Roll Over Beethoven
Gonna write a little letter gonna mail it to me local d.j.
Its a jumpin little record I want my jockey to play
Roll over beethoven, gotta hear it again today
My temperatures risin, the juke boxs blowin a fuse
My hearts beatin a rhythm, singin out rhythm and blues
Roll over beethoven, theyre rockin in two by two
Well if you feel you like it, go get your lover and reel and rock it
Roll it over and move on up now, go for cover and reel and rock it
Roll it over, roll over beethoven, tell tchaikovsky the news
Early in the mornin Im a givin you the warnin,
Dont you step on my blue suede shoes
Hey diddle diddle gonna play my fiddle,
I aint got nothing to lose
Roll over beethoven, tell tchaikovsky the news
She wiggles like a glow-worm, dances like a spinning top
She got a crazy partner, you should have seen her reel and rock
Long as she got a dime, the music will never stop
Well if you feel you like it, go get your lover and reel and rock it
Roll it over and move on up now, go for cover and reel and rock it
Roll it over, roll over beethoven, dig these rhythm and blues
Roll over beethoven, roll over beethoven,
Roll over beethoven, roll over beethoven,
Roll over beethoven, dig these rhythm and blues?
song performed by Electric Light Orchestra
Added by Lucian Velea
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Roll Over Beethoven
Gonna write a little letter, mail it to my local dj
Its a rockin little record I want my jockey to play
Roll over beethoven, I hear it again today
You know my temperatures rising and the juke-box blows a fuse
My hearts beatin rhythm and my soul is a-singing the blues
Roll over beethoven and tell tchaikowsky the news
I got a rockin pneumonia, I need a shot of rhythm and blues
I think I got it off the writer sittin down at the rhythm review
Roll over beethoven, were rockin by two by two
Well, if you feel you like it
Well get your lover and reel and rock it
Roll it over and move on up just
A little bit further and reel and rock it, roll it over
Roll over beethoven, and dig these rhythm and blues
Early in the morning Im a-givin you the warnin
Dont you step on my blue suede shoes
Hey little little gonna play my fiddle, aint got nothin to lose
Roll over beethoven and tell tchaikowsky the news
You know she winks like a glow worm and dance like a spinnin top
Shes got a crazy partner, oughta see em reel and rock
Long as shes got a dime, the music will never stop
Roll over beethoven, roll over beethoven
Roll over beethoven, roll over beethoven
Roll over beethoven, dig these rhythm and blues
(thany you, dmo arigat
Thank you, thank you for coming to see the show
And Id like to thank the band and eric for
Making me come here to japan, its been very
Nice and I love you. thank you)
song performed by George Harrison
Added by Lucian Velea
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A Poem Written By A Confessed Bipolar (her Name To Be Revealed Upon Her Permission)
I write because I can
I write because there are so many things to be written.
I write because I can make a painting without a brush and paints in my hand.
I write because I can capture the moment without having a camera.
I write because letters and words are the only recipe I know how to cook.
I write because I want to read what I’ve written.
I write because I’m used to speak in silence.
I write because I have a story to tell.
I write because I want to strip off my flesh and live as a pure being.
I write because I can record my “voice” without having a recorder.
I write because it’s like a cup of coffee, it keeps me awake
I write because I want to live even when I do not exist.
I write because this is my throwing stones when I’m frustrated.
6/11/09 at 4: 42 PM
I write because I can flaunt my being when I don’t have clothes to show off.
I write because this is like making an encyclopedia to a coloring book.
I write because it’s more effective than my lithium medication.
I write because I’m tired of carrying these baggages on the road.
I write because I’m tired of talking too much.
I write because it’s a healthier diversion than smoking.
I write because it’s more therapeutic than analyzing my problem.
I write because I want to paint a thousand pictures with words.
I write because I can put colors to the letters and make a rainbow of words.
I write because it’s the key combinations to my hidden vaults.
I write because my ball pen is my best friend in the darkest nights.
I write because it surprises me with what I am capable of thinking&doing. 6/11/09 at 4: 43 PM
I write because I like that ideas are popping like pop corns.
I write because I can wander in the adventures of my own world.
I write because I have to cleanse my collection of memories of an old home.
I write because like a mirror you need to do a lot of reflections.
I write because I want to fight the battle of life.
I write because I wanted my little voice to be heard.
I write because I want to run from the insanities of the world.
I write because pictures don’t talk.
I write because it helps me connect the dots when I look back in my life.
I write because it brings me back to my crib of silence.
I write because it makes a buzz to other bees in my beehive.
I write because unlike my bike my destination is limitless.
I write because I want to become an inspiration without extinction 6/11/09 at 4: 43 PM
I write because like strumming of the guitar, it vibrates in my soul.
I write because I love to write.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Must --ness
only happens this.
only happens this.
only happens this.
only happens this.
only happens this.
only happens this.
only happens this.
only happens this.
only happens this.
only happens this.
only happens this.
only happens this.
only happens this.
only happens this.
only happens this.
only happens this.
only happens this.
only happens this.
only happens this.
only happens this.
only happens this.
only happens this.
only happens this.
only happens this.
poem by Nyein Way
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First Love
A clergyman in Berkshire dwelt,
The REVEREND BERNARD POWLES,
And in his church there weekly knelt
At least a hundred souls.
There little ELLEN you might see,
The modest rustic belle;
In maidenly simplicity,
She loved her BERNARD well.
Though ELLEN wore a plain silk gown
Untrimmed with lace or fur,
Yet not a husband in the town
But wished his wife like her.
Though sterner memories might fade,
You never could forget
The child-form of that baby-maid,
The Village Violet!
A simple frightened loveliness,
Whose sacred spirit-part
Shrank timidly from worldly stress,
And nestled in your heart.
POWLES woo'd with every well-worn plan
And all the usual wiles
With which a well-schooled gentleman
A simple heart beguiles.
The hackneyed compliments that bore
World-folks like you and me,
Appeared to her as if they wore
The crown of Poesy.
His winking eyelid sang a song
Her heart could understand,
Eternity seemed scarce too long
When BERNARD squeezed her hand.
He ordered down the martial crew
Of GODFREY'S Grenadiers,
And COOTE conspired with TINNEY to
Ecstaticise her ears.
Beneath her window, veiled from eye,
They nightly took their stand;
On birthdays supplemented by
The Covent Garden band.
[...] Read more
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Beethoven
Theres a tremor in the city but it looks all quiet
There is something awful brewing but there aint riots
Beethoven
You can read between the lines that there must be more
Youre alarmed but you dont know what youre waiting for
Beethoven
Beethoven, the boots are back in town
When ignorance and fear are closing mouths and ears
The skins are on their way when it gets dark in europe
Its just a state of mind, the blind leading the blind
Beethoven
Theres a scrawling on a tombstone
Judenschweine raus
Once again the racial fury is burning down the house
Beethoven
Theres a bleeding yellow man lying in the streets
But there isnt anybody doing anything
Beethoven, the boots are back in town
When ignorance and fear are closing mouths and ears
The skins are on their way when it gets dark in europe
Its just a state of mind, the blind leading the blind
And one grey day shall rise the flood no dikes will stem the heavy tides
When cold pierced feathered bodies scream
They fall as if the monstrous scythe of clouds had smashed them from the sky
The scattered squadron of mankind stabs right into the churned up ether
Of long forgotten birdless flights
Beethoven, the boots are back in town
The demons of the past will be replaced at last
There are smarter ones to stay, how can you stay away
From the order of disgrace, how can you close your eyes
Beethoven, the boots are back....
Gold/1993
song performed by Alphaville
Added by Lucian Velea
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Beethoven Street
Baby used to be a rock n roller
In the night time
She used to use all of my money
To have a good time
I gave her plenty of good times
She gave me plenty of heartaches
She was planning a getaway
Oh take me
To beethoven street
Thats where I want to be
Yeah take me
To beethoven street
Thats where I want to be
Babys given up rock n roll
And I can hardly keep control
Take me to beethoven street
Mr. I want to be there
Who cut the power on you
I just dont know
Who pulled the switch her heartbeat
She wouldnt let me know
I gave her plenty of good times
She gave me plenty of heartaches
She was planning a getaway
Take me to beethoven street
Thats where I want to be
Take me to beethoven street
Mr. I want to be there
Who cut the power on you baby
I just dont know
Who pulled the power on you
I just dont know
I gave her plenty of good times
She gave me plenty of heartaches
She was planning a getaway
Take me to beethoven street
Thats where I want to be
Take me to beethoven street
Mr. I want to be there
Take me to beethoven street
song performed by Rick Springfield
Added by Lucian Velea
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Write Me
Aerosmith
Write Me
Well I've been away forever, suicide's crossin' my mind,
But I'll never never never never never get so far behind.
I said, the ways of the night are evil with eyes that love the day,
but I'll never never never never never get so far away.
I said write me, write me, write me.
I said write me, write me, write me.
Well there's nothin' I can see that'd ever make
me want to be without her she's good, she's good to me.
Said there's no way to explain the kind of feeling
that you get out in the rain she's good, she's good to me.
See this emptiness inside it makes me scream
it make me crawl out of my high, she's good, she's good to me.
I love her.
Write me a letter, write me a letter, write it today, I'm goin' away.
Well I've been away forever, suicide's crossin' my mind,
But I'll never never never never never get so far behind.
Well I've been so many places hidin' from the wind and the rain,
But you could write me a letter for to save me from a goin' insane.
I said write me, write, write, write me.
Write me, write, write, write me.
Write me, write, write, write.
I said write me, write, write, write me.
Write me, write, write, write me.
Don't write me baby.
song performed by Aerosmith
Added by Lucian Velea
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A Worm Will Turn
I love a man who'll smile and joke
When with misfortune crowned;
Who'll pun beneath a pauper's yoke,
And as he breaks his daily toke,
Conundrums gay propound.
Just such a man was Bernaqrd Jupp
He scoffed at Fortune's frown;
He gaily drained his bitter cup -
Though Fortune often threw him up,
It never cast him down.
Though years their share of sorrow bring,
We know that far above
All other griefs, are griefs that spring
From some misfortune happening
To those we really love.
E'en sorrow for another's woe
Our BERNARD failed to quell;
Though by this special form of blow
No person ever suffered so,
Or bore his grief so well.
His father, wealthy and well clad,
And owning house and park,
Lost every halfpenny he had,
And then became (extremely sad!)
A poor attorney's clerk.
All sons it surely would appal,
Except the passing meek,
To see a father lose his all,
And from an independence fall
To one pound ten a week!
But JUPP shook off this sorrow's weight,
And, like a Christian son,
Proved Poverty a happy fate -
Proved Wealth to be a devil's bait,
To lure poor sinners on.
With other sorrows Bernard coped,
For sorrows came in packs;
His cousins with their housemaids sloped -
His uncles forged - his aunts eloped -
His sisters married blacks.
But BERNARD, far from murmuring
(Exemplar, friends, to us),
[...] Read more
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Write Me A Letter
Write me a letter
Write me a letter
Write it today
Im goin away (yes it has)
Write me a letter
Write me a letter
Write it today
Im goin away (yes it is)
Well Ive been away forever
Suicides crossin my mind
Well Ill never, never get so far behind
I said, the ways of the night are evil
Without that lord of day
But Ill never, never get so far away
I said write me
Write me
Write me
Write me
I said write me
Write me
Write me
Well theres nothin I can see
Thatd ever make me
Want to be without her
Shes good, she good to me
Said theres no way to explain
The kind of feelin that you get out in the
She good, she good to me
She good, she good to me
I love her
Write me a letter
Write me a letter
Write it today
Im goin away (yes it has)
Write me a letter
Write me a letter
Write it today
Im goin away (yes it is)
Well Ive been away forever
Suicides crossin my mind
Well Ill never, never get so far behind
Well Ive been so many places
Hidin from the wind and the rain
But you could write me a letter
For to save me from goin insane
Write me
Excite me
Write me
Write me
Write me
[...] Read more
song performed by Aerosmith
Added by Lucian Velea
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Silent Movie
(corky laing/ian hunter)
Well the school bell rings
I carried your things
Getting on the yellow bus
With the whole world watching us
And our love was like a silent movie
Aint got nothing to say
Our love was like a silent movie
I wish we could have kept it that way
Now the door bell rings
Im gonna get my things
Take another bright (? )
At the lions side
Cause our love was like a silent movie
Aint got nothing to say
Our love was like a silent movie
Thats the all-american way
Silent movie
And our love was like a silent movie
Theres nothing to say
Our love was like a silent movie
And thats the all-american way
And our love was like a silent movie
Theres nothing to say
Our love was like a silent movie
I wish we could have kept it that way
Our love was like a silent movie
Silent movie
Our love was like a silent movie
I wish we could have kept it that way
song performed by Ian Hunter
Added by Lucian Velea
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0005 Letter to a Younger Poet
Thanks for your letter. Though
you’ve caught me at a rather awkward time –
I’m going into surgery tomorrow – a rather
risky op; so I’ll try to put all the answers that I’ve got
into this one letter;
I hope you'll understand...
and that helps me to make my first point to you:
write as if you, too, may not live
beyond tomorrow – write as if
it’s the last thing that you’ll ever write –
give it everything you’ve got,
hold nothing back;
or better still – write as if
the world will end for everyone tomorrow:
write so that in their last hours, too, this
will make them feel, will make them know
we’ve faced life fully, faced it so complete
that death is relatively unimportant now…
write as if it were only yesterday
that, in an air crash, all your family –
parents, wife or husband, partner, children, and best friend,
had lost their lives; write as if,
were you not to write,
your heart would break forever, or you would go mad...
write as if you’re writing somewhere
where there’s no such thing around, as ink;
you’ll have to use your own blood in the pen,
so use it carefully; so red, so living,
look at it… so beautiful, so precious,
and so solemn – use it carefully, don’t spill a drop…
write as if you’re borrowing every word
from the very centre of the universe, where suns and gods are made;
and need thus to account for every word
with your whole life, no less; know that every word
must be given back, cleaner, stronger, brighter
with your own power, than when you borrowed it;
write as if every poet that ever lived
is leaning over your shoulder, so that you
can feel their breath upon your neck as they say
‘Tell them all that we would tell,
but cannot now; tell them all of this’…
this, now, is how you must deeply be and speak;
write as if you are the only being on earth
[...] Read more
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Human Face
I. Soon
Of all the springtimes of the world
This one is the ugliest
Of all of my ways of being
To be trusting is the best
Grass pushes up snow
Like the stone of a tomb
But I sleep within the storm
And awaken eyes bright
Slowness, brief time ends
Where all streets must pass
Through my innermost recesses
So that I would meet someone
I don’t listen to monsters
I know them and all that they say
I see only beautiful faces
Good faces, sure of themselves
Certain soon to ruin their masters
II. The women’s role
As they sing, the maids dash forward
To tidy up the killing fields
Well-powdered girls, quickly to their knees
Their hands -- reaching for the fresh air --
Are blue like never before
What a glorious day!
Look at their hands, the dead
Look at their liquid eyes
This is the toilet of transience
The final toilet of life
Stones sink and disappear
In the vast, primal waters
The final toilet of time
Hardly a memory remains
the dried-up well of virtue
In the long, oppressive absences
One surrenders to tender flesh
Under the spell of weakness
III. As deep as the silence
[...] Read more
poem by Paul Eluard
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The Race Industry
The coconuts have got the jobs.
The race industry is a growth industry.
We despairing, they careering.
We want more peace they want more police.
The Uncle Toms are getting paid.
The race industry is a growth industry.
We say sisters and brothers don't fear.
They will do anything for the Mayor.
The coconuts have got the jobs.
The race industry is a growth industry.
They're looking for victims and poets to rent.
They represent me without my consent.
The Uncle Toms are getting paid.
The race industry is a growth industry.
In suits they dither in fear of anarchy.
They take our sufferings and earn a salary.
Steal our souls and make their documentaries.
Inform daily on our community.
Without Black suffering they'd have no jobs.
Without our dead they'd have no office.
Without our tears they'd have no drink.
If they stopped sucking we could get justice.
The coconuts are getting paid.
Men, women and Brixton are being betrayed.
poem by Benjamin Zephaniah
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The Castle Of Indolence
The castle hight of Indolence,
And its false luxury;
Where for a little time, alas!
We lived right jollily.
O mortal man, who livest here by toil,
Do not complain of this thy hard estate;
That like an emmet thou must ever moil,
Is a sad sentence of an ancient date:
And, certes, there is for it reason great;
For, though sometimes it makes thee weep and wail,
And curse thy star, and early drudge and late;
Withouten that would come a heavier bale,
Loose life, unruly passions, and diseases pale.
In lowly dale, fast by a river's side,
With woody hill o'er hill encompass'd round,
A most enchanting wizard did abide,
Than whom a fiend more fell is no where found.
It was, I ween, a lovely spot of ground;
And there a season atween June and May,
Half prankt with spring, with summer half imbrown'd,
A listless climate made, where, sooth to say,
No living wight could work, ne cared even for play.
Was nought around but images of rest:
Sleep-soothing groves, and quiet lawns between;
And flowery beds that slumbrous influence kest,
From poppies breathed; and beds of pleasant green,
Where never yet was creeping creature seen.
Meantime, unnumber'd glittering streamlets play'd,
And hurled every where their waters sheen;
That, as they bicker'd through the sunny glade,
Though restless still themselves, a lulling murmur made.
Join'd to the prattle of the purling rills
Were heard the lowing herds along the vale,
And flocks loud bleating from the distant hills,
And vacant shepherds piping in the dale:
And, now and then, sweet Philomel would wail,
Or stock-doves plain amid the forest deep,
That drowsy rustled to the sighing gale;
And still a coil the grasshopper did keep;
Yet all these sounds yblent inclined all to sleep.
Full in the passage of the vale, above,
A sable, silent, solemn forest stood;
Where nought but shadowy forms was seen to move,
As Idless fancied in her dreaming mood:
And up the hills, on either side, a wood
Of blackening pines, aye waving to and fro,
Sent forth a sleepy horror through the blood;
And where this valley winded out, below,
The murmuring main was heard, and scarcely heard, to flow.
[...] Read more
poem by James Thomson
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Amics Bernart de Ventadorn
Amics Bernartz de Ventadorn,
com vos podetz de chant sofrir,
can aissi auzetz esbaudir
lo rossinholet noih e jorn?
Auyatz lo joi que demena!
Tota noih chanta sotz la flor,
melhs s'enten que vos en amor.
Peire, lo dormir e.l sojorn
am mais que.l rossinhol auvir;
ni ja tan no.m sabriatz dir
que mais en la folia torn.
Deu lau, fors sui de chadena,
e vos e tuih l'autr' amador
etz remazut en la folor.
Bernartz, greu er pros ni cortes
que ab amor no.s sap tener;
ni j tan no.us fara doler
que mai no valha c'autre bes,
car, si fai mal, pois abena.
Greu a om gran be ses dolor;
mas ades vens lo jois lo plor.
Peire, si fos dos ans o tres
lo segles faihz al meu plazer,
de domnas vos dic eu lo ver:
non foran mais preyadas ges,
ans sostengran tan greu pena
qu'elas nos feiran tan d'onor
c'ans nos prejaran que nos lor.
Bernatz, so non es d'avinen
que domnas preyon; ans cove
c'om las prec e lor clam merce;
et es plus fols, mon escien,
que cel qui semn' en l'arena,
qui las blasma ni lor valor;
e mou de mal ensenhador.
Peire, mout ai lo cor dolen,
can d'una faussa me sove,
que m'a mort, e no sai per que,
mas car l'amava finamen.
Faih ai lonja carantena,
e sai, si la fezes lonhorn,
ades la trobara pejor.
Bernartz, foudatz vos amena,
car aissi vos partetz d'amor,
[...] Read more
poem by Bernard de Ventadorn
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Allegany Camp
amazing grace circus camp
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amc summer camp for s 2007
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amc theater camp hill
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amelia earhart in japanese war camp
[...] Read more
poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
Added by Poetry Lover
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