Quotes about pianist, page 7
James the Interesting Cat
James is his name and video is his game,
he makes funny videos that are off the chain.
Like the one of Razel who is a puppet with evil eyes,
James made her lips move, to totally hypnotize.
James and Razel are in photo along with me,
he has a great smile with big bright white teeth.
He admires all musicians from recent to past,
like pianist Beethoven and Miles Davis's original jazz.
James is a musician himself in his studio he has instruments and even masks.
Yes, masks that are totally cool, but his drums are original too.
Both have an African feel, even an island décor that is seems surreal.
James is from New York and wears a lot of bling,
he wears a hat with sunglasses which is favorite thing.
He looks like a cool cat that has seen it all,
especially in NYC where he was on the ball.
For he shot interesting photos for a famous magazine,
he shot video and both naughty and clean.
James has a kind heart for he photographed me for free,
at an Indian clothing store owned by John A. Rooney.
Thanks James for believing in the artist in me,
[...] Read more
poem by Suzae Chevalier
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
James the Interesting Cat
James is his name and video is his game,
he makes funny videos that are off the chain.
Like the one of Razel who is a puppet with evil eyes,
James made her lips move, to totally hypnotize.
James and Razel are in photo along with me,
he has a great smile with big bright white teeth.
He admires all musicians from recent to past,
like pianist Beethoven and Miles Davis’s original jazz.
James is a musician himself in his studio he has instruments and even masks.
Yes, masks that are totally cool, but his drums are original too.
Both have an African feel, even an island décor that is seems surreal.
James is from New York and wears a lot of bling,
he wears a hat with sunglasses which is favorite thing.
He looks like a cool cat that has seen it all,
especially in NYC where he was on the ball.
For he shot interesting photos for a famous magazine,
he shot video and both naughty and clean.
James has a kind heart for he photographed me for free,
at an Indian clothing store owned by John A. Rooney.
Thanks James for believing in the artist in me,
[...] Read more
poem by Christina Sunrise
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
A Thousand Flamenco Fires
dust darkened brown mustard
pale black rider ridge shadowed
there is a resolute stillness about
you in your solemn purpose trod
onward motion do you ride resolved
soul determined to certain death filled
are you already dead
slain symbolism pierced
staccato corrida García Lorca shot
bull hero philosophy hide arenas cheered
flesh ad bone shifting cape elite confused
quivering muscles mouth viscous blood-red
law spurned poet dramatist painter stirred
expert pianist guitar player classically skilled
poetic phenomenon freedom liberty sacrifice taught
light a thousand flamenco fires of darkness reason confronted
thou are but subterranean biology like all matter endowed
with but a spark of lust life easily ambushed betrayed snuffed
[...] Read more
poem by Terence George Craddock
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
0012 Ego takes the stage
It’s a lovely old-fashioned tea-room
in one of those rare up-town hotels
that’s still a family concern; well-run,
staff been there for years; prices
reasonable. In fact the whole enterprise
is civilised. Even media types
for whom it stood in angry youth
as all they affected to despise, rather like it now.
It’s full though admirably leisurely
every afternoon – all friendly chatter,
silver-plate and fancy cakes. It stands
for exactly what it is, now rare – a tea-room.
Those who visit regularly wear the faintest sense
of self-congratulation. There was one
at every major London corner not so long ago.
Yesterday, suddenly, an intrusion:
onto the dais where a pianist plays
from four to five of a weekend afternoon,
[...] Read more
poem by Michael Shepherd
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Calender Day 79/Kalendar dan 79
A heretic moving through the linear system of the keyboards-that's who I am with the first touch of keys. The intruder of silence, the devotee of a disappearing sound. The acrobat on x/y axes, the loneliness of the rhythm aflame in the only mathematics that makes sense. I am swaying you - silence, I'm smashing you against the window panes of eyes, my hammers strike into hopelessness- how-how shall I play myself into infinity on the limited number of keys. The heretic shifting through the aureoles of sounds, the pearls of accords I scatter before my feet so that I could start walking. I am not playing-no- I am dipping my fingers into the endless and the traces of its sound I am splashing across the universe and spreading it into a smile.
The Pianist
Јеретик који пролази кроз линеарни систем клавијатура-то сам ја у првом додиру са диркама. Уљез тишине, поклоник звука који нестаје. акробата на икс ипсилон осама узаврелог ритма једине смислене математике. Љуљам те -тишино, разбијам о окна очију, ударају чекићи у безнађе како ћу - како на опсегу клавијатуре одсвирати себе у бескрај. Јеретик који пролази кроз ореоле тона, перле акорда проспипам пред сопствене ноге нњ бих ли тако коначно проходао. Ја не свирам, ја прсте умачем у оно бескрајно и трагове његове по свемиру размазујем и у осмјех развлачим.
Пијаниста
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Funnel
The family story tells, and it was told true,
of my great-grandfather who begat eight
genius children and bought twelve almost-new
grand pianos. He left a considerable estate
when he died. The children honored their
separate arts; two became moderately famous,
three married and fattened their delicate share
of wealth and brilliance. The sixth one was
a concert pianist. She had a notable career
and wore cropped hair and walked like a man,
or so I heard when prying a childhood car
into the hushed talk of the straight Maine clan.
One died a pinafore child, she stays her five
years forever. And here is one that wrote-
I sort his odd books and wonder his once alive
words and scratch out my short marginal notes
and finger my accounts.
back from that great-grandfather I have come
to tidy a country graveyard for his sake,
to chat with the custodian under a yearly sun
[...] Read more
poem by Anne Sexton
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Nyro Poems - Majestic
for His Winking Majesty
1
'Tornado spawn, ' he said,
gesturing to ourselves and
laughing, 'chapter and verse,
'The storm darkens us around.'
We took cover from God under a
broad-leaf, low-lying rhododendron,
hunched over a hand-rolled cigarette
thumbs could touch but not each
other. Shivering every toke all
reaches curtailed beneath chaste hail.
In mud gulch, percussive rain on
sheltering leaves, we sang Nyro
[...] Read more
poem by Warren Falcon
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Playing Music Is Like Making Love
PLAYING MUSIC IS LIKE MAKING LOVE
Many people who insist that they enjoy
music known as classical merely say
they do, pretending. Far more serious is the ploy
planned by LSO, who'll just pretend to play.
There is surely nothing wrong with those who fake
enjoyment, like a woman faking an orgasm,
but pretense of playing music's a mistake,
since music needs not only sound, but ectoplasm.
Orchestras and lovemakers should never mimic:
they should always show their skin when they perform,
and should not be, although poetic, metonymic:
the use of any substitute is rotten form.
Denis Bartel reported the news about the London Symphony Orchestra's decision to mimic their playing while a performance is broadcast to visits at the Olympic Games. David Ng writes in the LA Times:
Musicians with the London Symphony Orchestra are reportedly going to have to pull a Milli Vanilli when they appear at the opening ceremony of the Summer Olympic Games in London. Reports from Britain state that the orchestra will mimic playing to prerecorded music due to concerns about the weather and the shape of the performing venue - a large, oval-shaped arena whose scale would apparently make a live-music performance tricky….
The London Symphony has reportedly recorded the music that is scheduled to be played during the July 27 ceremony. The Daily Mail reports that Boyle wanted the orchestra to perform live, but that he was overruled by the organizing committee for the Games. When viewers around the world tune in for the ceremony, they can expect to see the conductor and musicians from the renowned orchestra going through the motions while a soundtrack plays.
[...] Read more
poem by Gershon Hepner
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Something Undeniable
As the Gospel Crusade was advertised far and wide,
A great number was expected to hear this fiery preacher,
The tent was erected and the lights were installed,
Then the seats were set up row upon row...
The choir rehearsed for half-an-hour
And a few Church stewards arrived
And a few local ministers followed suit,
Soon a prayer meeting began with many requests,
Healings, prophecies, words of knowledge,
A sincere hope the offering would cover the costs...
A guest pianist arrived, complaining about the weather,
A few going outside to see the thunder streaks above,
Some fretting about low attendance and the lost souls,
Others fretting about the offering even now...
Suddenly, the fiery preacher arrived and spirits rallied,
He moved among them like a politician full of smiles,
He shook hands here, there and everywhere,
[...] Read more
poem by Denis Martindale
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The History of Jazz
I
The leaves of blue came drifting down.
In the corner Madeleine Reierbacher was reading Lorna Doone.
The bay’s water helped to implement the structuring of the garden hose.
The envelope fell. Was it pink or was it red? Consult Lorna Doone.
There, voyager, you will find your answer. The savant grapeade stands
Remember Madeleine Reierbacher. Madeleine Reierbacher says,
“If you are happy, there is no one to keep you from being happy;
Don’t let them!” Madeleine Reierbacher went into the racing car.
The racing car was orange and red. Madeleine Reierbacher drove to Beale Street.
There Maddy doffed her garments to get into some more comfortable clothes.
Jazz was already playing in Beale Street when Madeleine Reierbacher arrived there.
Madeleine Reierbacher picked up the yellow horn and began to play.
No one had ever heard anything comparable to the playing of Madeleine Reierbacher.
What a jazz musician! The pianist missed his beats because he was so excited.
The drummer stared out the window in ecstasy at the yellow wooden trees.
The orchestra played “September in the Rain,” “Mugging,” and “I’m Full of Love.”
Madeleine Reierbacher rolled up her sleeves; she picked up her horn; she played “Blues in the Rain.”
It was the best jazz anyone had ever heard. It was mentioned in the newspapers. St. Louis!
[...] Read more
poem by Kenneth Koch
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!