Quotes about tawdry, page 6
Hugh Selwyn Mauberly (Part I)
"Vocat aestus in umbram"
Nemesianus Es. IV.
E. P. Ode pour l'élection de son sépulchre
For three years, out of key with his time,
He strove to resuscitate the dead art
Of poetry; to maintain "the sublime"
In the old sense. Wrong from the start --
No, hardly, but, seeing he had been born
In a half savage country, out of date;
Bent resolutely on wringing lilies from the acorn;
Capaneus; trout for factitious bait:
"Idmen gar toi panth, os eni Troie
Caught in the unstopped ear;
Giving the rocks small lee-way
The chopped seas held him, therefore, that year.
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poem by Ezra Pound
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Father O. S. A.
Written by dennis deyoung
Lead vocals by dennis deyoung
Father
Youre a sad old man
Your tawdry vest is gray
Memories
Of a former man
Are all your words convey
Father
Oh cant you see
The tarnished robe you wear
A crown
For fools
The people laugh
You never seem to hear
Father
Youre lifes a ship
Thats never been to sea
The bottle
That surrounds your life
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song performed by Styx
Added by Lucian Velea
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Mack The Knife
(k. weill/b. brecht/m. blitzestien)
Oh the shark has pretty teeth, dear
And he shows them pearly white
Just a jack knife has macheath, dear
And he keeps it out of sight
When the shark bites with his teeth, dear
Scarlet billows start to spread
Fancy gloves though wears macheath, dear
So theres not a trace of red
On the sidewalk, sunday morning
Lies a body oozing life
Someones sneaking round the corner
Ill bet that someone, someones mack the knife
From a tug boat by the river
A cement bags dropping down
The cements just, just for the weight, dear
Bet you, Ill bet you mack is back in town
Louie miller, he disappeared, dear
After drawing out his cash
And macheath spends like a sailor
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song performed by Lisa Stansfield
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Mack The Knife
Oh, the shark, has, pretty teeth, dear....and he shows them, pearly white
Just a jackknife, has macheath, yeah.....and he keeps it, out of sight
When the shark bites, with his teeth, dear....scarlet billows start to spread
Fancy gloves, though, wears macheath, yeah..so theres not a trace, hmmmm of red
On the sidewalk...sunday morning, ...lies a body oozin life
Someones sneakin round the corner...is the someone, mack the knife?
From a tugboat.... by the river..... a cement bags, droopin down
Yeah, the cements just for the weight, dear...bet you mack, hes back in town
Looky here louie miller, disappeared dear...after drawing, out his cash
And macheath spends, like a sailor...did our boy do, somethin rash?
Sukey tawdry, jenny diver..lotte lenya, sweet lucy brown
Oh, the line forms on the right, dears.....now that mackys back in town
Take it satch
(instrumental)
song performed by Louis Armstrong
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Desperate Journalist
Hey mister a review
A word for salad
Is written by my friend
In penman
He uses long words
Like semiotics and semolina
But i counted
With
Enigma and metropolis
The lads go rampant on insignificant symbolism
And compound this with rude soulless obliqueness
Everything's coming to a grinding halt
I use such long words
It's all clever stuff
All this charming childish fiddling about aims for the anti-image
But it naturally creates the perfectly malleable image
Tantalizing enigma
Of the cure
They try to take
Everything
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song performed by Cure
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The Fan : A Poem. Book III.
Thus Mommus spoke. When sage Minerva rose,
From her sweet lips smooth elocution flows,
Her skilful hand an ivory pallet grac'd,
Where shining colours were in order plac'd.
As gods are bless'd with a superior skill,
And, swift as mortal thought, perform their will,
Straight she proposes, by her art divine,
To bid the paint express her great design.
The assembled powers consent. She now began,
And her creating pencil stain'd the fan.
O'er the fair field, trees spread, and rivers flow,
Towers rear their heads, and distant mountains grow;
Life seems to move within the glowing veins,
And in each face some lively passion reigns.
Thus have I seen woods, hills, and dales appear,
Flocks graze the plains, birds wing the silent air
In darken'd rooms, where light can only pass
Through the small circle of a convex glass;
On the white sheet the moving figures rise,
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poem by John Gay
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A Satyre Against Mankind
Were I - who to my cost already am
One of those strange, prodigious creatures, man -
A spirit free to choose for my own share
What sort of flesh and blood I pleased to wear,
I'd be a dog, a monkey, or a bear,
Or anything but that vain animal,
Who is so proud of being rational.
His senses are too gross; and he'll contrive
A sixth, to contradict the other five;
And before certain instinct will prefer
Reason, which fifty times for one does err.
Reason, an ignis fatuus of the mind,
Which leaving light of nature, sense, behind,
Pathless and dangerous wand'ring ways it takes,
Through Error's fenny bogs and thorny brakes;
Whilst the misguided follower climbs with pain
Mountains of whimseys, heaped in his own brain;
Stumbling from thought to thought, falls headlong down,
Into Doubt's boundless sea where, like to drown,
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poem by Lord John Wilmot
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Light Burst, Confusion, First Thirst, Then Fusion, Flight
As nature hates a vacuum NOTHING can
be but a figment fragment second-guessed.
Reality and dreams combine, their quest
is thus to banish NOTHING then to span
creation’s vastness, scanning big bang's van,
from tao trip evolution's also-ran
to space displacement through one thousandth dan,
to Time condensing on initial jest
when request and inquest converge in gest.
Atoms void avoid, spin tails till trail's lost, rest
contest, contestants, distance, über plan,
arresting surface difference with zest.
From mess congestive to suggestive test
of chaos, universal fractal fest
patterns pitter patter, matter must
invent itself from, to, through, into dust.
./.
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Trivia; or the Art of Walking the Streets of London: Book I.
Of the Implements for Walking the Streets,
and Signs of the Weather.
Through winter streets to steer your courses aright,
How to walk clean by day, and safe by night,
How jostling crowds, with prudence to decline,
When to assert the wall, and when resign,
I sing: thou, Trivia, goddess, aid my song,
Through spacious streets conduct thy bard along;
By thee transported, I securely stray
Where winding alleys lead the doubtful way,
The silent court, and opening square explore,
And long perplexing lanes untrod before.
To pave thy realm, and smooth the broken ways,
Earth from her womb a flinty tribute pays;
For thee, the sturdy paver thumps the ground,
Whilst every stroke his labouring lungs resound;
For thee the scavenger bids kennels glide
Within their bounds, and heaps of dirt subside,
My youthful bosom burns with thirst of fame.
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poem by John Gay
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Imitations of Horace: The First Epistle of the Second Book
Ne Rubeam, Pingui donatus Munere
(Horace, Epistles II.i.267)
While you, great patron of mankind, sustain
The balanc'd world, and open all the main;
Your country, chief, in arms abroad defend,
At home, with morals, arts, and laws amend;
How shall the Muse, from such a monarch steal
An hour, and not defraud the public weal?
Edward and Henry, now the boast of fame,
And virtuous Alfred, a more sacred name,
After a life of gen'rous toils endur'd,
The Gaul subdu'd, or property secur'd,
Ambition humbled, mighty cities storm'd,
Or laws establish'd, and the world reform'd;
Clos'd their long glories with a sigh, to find
Th' unwilling gratitude of base mankind!
All human virtue, to its latest breath
Finds envy never conquer'd, but by death.
The great Alcides, ev'ry labour past,
Had still this monster to subdue at last.
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poem by Alexander Pope
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