Poetry in songs

20 years ago

Specially for Elly, and all the American Pie aficionados - here's the space for the song lyrics that are so good you can just read them like poetry.

I know some of you will paste in entire songs (and that is just fine by me), but I'm just going to give you some of my very favourite lines and phrases:

"I ache in the places where I used to play" - Leonard Cohen, Tower of Song

"The book you are reading

is one man's opinion on moonlight" - Donovan, Young Girl Blues

"Life is what happens to you

while you're busy making other plans" - John Lennon, Beautiful Boy

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Comments (33)

Elly1
20 years ago
Thanks for starting the thread anyanka,
There are so many songs that 'read" like poetry - as I've mentioned, Jim Webb's work, Don MacLean's "American Pie", and, of course, one of my all time favorites Leonard Cohen. this one by bob Dylan from "It's All Right Ma" is really one of my very favorites:
"The hollow horn plays wasted words
Proves to warn
That he not busy being born
Is busy dying."
...and so many more....
Elly
friedag
20 years ago
I love the way this flows:She comes out of the sun in a silk dress running\Like a watercolour in the rain...
--Al Stewart, "Year of the Cat"
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Garden Poetry
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Comments (17)
Here is a poem I wrote... Poetry and The Garden The daughter watched her mother garden as she grew, But she never thought it important as what she wanted to do. Playing and talking to friends was her game. A social light, beauty queenshe could not be tamed. She was a great thinker, as she learned in school. She mastered poetry and played by its rule. Feelings and thoughts rushed through her head, But when she talked to her mother the conversation went dead. Her mother was of the silent type. Born and raised in England, it was her birthright. Feelings stayed closed inside the mind. Her mother wished her daughter would be of the same kind. Her mother tried to teach her to tend to the rose. To touch, to feel and smell with her nose. The beauty of the garden was her motherÂs paper. The emotion poured out of her hands like an anchor. Once covered with dirt, her mother smiled. She could carry out her day being calm and mild. Words about feelings never came easy. Her mother found dirt and pants to be pleasing. The daughter could never understand her mother. As her pen flowed with one thought or another. And the mother could never understand her daughter. But soon, she learned she should not bother. The daughter would do as she wanted. Through her teens she wrote in notebook, hearted. She had dreams of going off to different places. And when college time came, she left England with no traces. She wrote home as she studied in the west. Told her mother of classes and her marks on every test. She joined a poetry group to share thoughts she held dear. Something she never got from her mother for years. The daughter soon met the twin of her heart, A man who was open and honest and loved art. Together they painted and wrote about life. They talked through their happiness and their strife. Finally the daughter had found one of her own. Soon with her man, a family was sown. A daughter was the center for all of their care. They taught her to feel her feelings and share. As the child grew she became more inwards. Her lips stayed sealed as she watched the birds. If it was not the birds then it was the flowers she sought. One day the child found a shovel and pot. The childÂs world became the flowers and the earth. She felt like this had been her calling since birth. Every petal, leaf and bug seemed like gold. She knew she would garden until her days became old. Well the childÂs mother was worried and worn. ÂSheÂs turning out like your mother,Â her head forewarned. ÂTalk to me child, what goes on in your world?Â On her heels, the child twirled. ÂOh mother please, I donÂt want to talk.Â ÂBut child, your feelings should not be blocked. You should talk to me about boys and friends. You donÂt want to be lonely in the end.Â The childÂs eyes rolled as she went out in the yard. The childÂs mother thought she would have to play one more card. A trip back to England seemed the right thing to do. A talk with her own mother would hopefully brew. With a hug and a kiss the old mother greeted. Happy to see her daughter back home and pleaded. ÂSit down dear daughter and have some tea.Â The mother walked into the kitchen with glee. The daughter looked around her old home. Seeing cut roses on the table, she felt curiously warm. Things were the same and nothing had changed. This house still felt stuffy and she still felt caged. As she watched her mother put on the kettle, Her fingertips slowly traced the edge of a rose petal. She sucked in some air and bit her lip, She emptied her lungs to state the reason for her trip. ÂMother my daughter wonÂt listen to me. She spends all her time tending flowers and trees. IÂm scared for her life and her schoolwork as well. She spends all day with the plants and has nothing to tell. She wonÂt talk to me about feelings and such. I donÂt want her using the tending of plants as a crutch. I wish to know that she is fine. I want her to find a boy she thinks is divine. Instead of planting I want to hear her giggle. With friends and schoolmates, not staring at a thistle. She is missing school dances and things you see. Oh, mother what to do, she wonÂt listen to me.Â The mother slowly smiled and closed her eyes. ÂDaughter I want you to come with me outside.Â ÂOh mother please, I have no time for your garden. My daughter is in trouble, her heart seems to harden!Â ÂCome now dear, donÂt get upset. I want to teach you something if you let.Â Silently they walked into the yard. The mother carefully checked every plant card. ÂAh, here it is, this is what I wanted to show. Mint is my favorite plantÂsee how it grows? You canÂt tell from the outside that much is going on, But this plant is busy from dawn to dawn. ItÂs constantly growing and spreading its roots. Just when you think itÂs done, up pops new shoots. As this plant does, so does your child. Inside she is feeling, alive and wild. Sometimes you are not meant to see this. The best you can do is hug and kiss. Let her go her own way as I did you. Then you will know her heart is true. As you came to be when it was your time. She will in turn have her chance to shine. She will love you for letting her be. Just as IÂm sure of your love for me.Â The daughterÂs tears fell down her cheek. She for once, did not need to speak. She learned there was more to feeling then words. And for the first time she felt a quietness that was all hers. She got down to the earth and on her knees With a smile meant for her mother, started pulling the weeds. The mother got down on her knees as well. She felt overjoyed and her heart swelled. ÂI have never been good at speaking, But that never meant I was unfeeling. I have loved you forever and will love you still. As long as you live your life as you will. ItÂs a lesson I had to learn when you were young. I would worry about you until my hands were well wrung. In the end I found our differences great, But I cannot interfere with fate. You are as you are and I expect no less. So go back to your daughter and offer her the best. Your love for her is stronger then speech. The greatest thing she can learn is the love you will teach.Â
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friedag--is one of the following Mary Oliver poems the "climbing" one you had in mind? Of the handful of poems by Oliver that I know, these are the only ones that feature climbing--but there is no ladder, unless you want to count the tree as a ladder. Happiness In afternoon I watched the she-bear; she was looking For the secret bin of sweetness-- honey, that the bees store in the trees' soft caves. Black block of gloom, she climbed down tree after tree and shuffled on through the woods. And then she found it! The honey-house deep as heartwood, and dipped into it among the swarming bees--honey and comb she lipped and tongued and scooped out in her black nails, until maybe she grew full, or sleepy, or maybe a little drunk, and sticky down the rugs of her arms, and began to hum and sway. I saw her let go of the branches, I saw her lift her honeyed muzzle into the leaves, and her thick arms, as though she would fly-- an enormous bee all sweetness and wings-- down into the meadows, the perfection of honeysuckle and roses and clover-- to float and sleep in the sheer nets swaying from flower to flower day after shining day. That final image always cracks me up--the big shaggy bear, drunk on honey, fantasizing about being a tiny little bee flying around in ectasy as she gathers the pollen for making honey all day long! Don't we sometimes long to be the exact opposite of what we really are--in this case, a bear's version of Cinderella at the ball, perhaps. LOL The Honey Tree And so at last I climbed the honey tree, ate the bodies of bees that could not get out of my way, ate the dark hair of the leaves, the rippling bark, the heartwood. Such frenzy! But joy does that, I'm told, in the beginning. Later, maybe, I'll come here only sometimes and with a middling hunger. But now I climb like a snake, I clamber like a bear to the nuzzling place, to the light salvaged by the thighs of bees and racked up in the body of the tree. Oh, anyone can see how I love myself at last! how I love the world! climbing by day or night in the wind, in the leaves, kneeling at the secret rip, the cords of my body stretching and singing in the heaven of appetite May we all discover the "secret bin of sweetness" --joy and love--and find within ourselves a "heaven of appetite" for the honey of life! I like to pair these two poems (don't know if Oliver intended that or not)--the second poem showing what she learned from the bear (from nature) about living life to the fullest ("gathering rosebuds" while we may, as our favorite 17th century poet might put it?) as she figuratively climbs the tree of sweetness that the bear literally climbed. If neither is the right poem, they are still a couple of my favorite contemporary nature poems. Maybe this is why I'm fond of bears in nature poems. Kate
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Thanks for the compliment, Grelobe. Georgia, my current favorite translations of Homer are those by Stanley Lombardo. He developed them by oral performances to see what worked best in spoken English. He's done other classical poets also such as Virgil and Hesiod. On another book forum, the Kalevala was highly recommended and someone from Greece mentioned Erotokritos which I'd never heard of. To my surprise, I found a recent translation of the latter on Amazon. I remember seeing a documentary series on PBS, hosted I think by Michael Grant, that showed oral epic poetry being recited from memory in a cafe in Turkey to musical accompaniment. It's interesting that such traditions are still alive in this day of electronic entertainment. Grant speculated that Homer performed much the same way millennia ago. They're long poems not epics, but I thought I'd mention De Rerum Natura and In Memoriam, A.H.H.; both very interesting. I've also read Idylls of the King which I didn't like and Don Juan which I did.
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Vee, I felt quite sorry for him. I found Helen to be a bit much.....She loved him like mad but I don't think the passion was quite reciprocated..... But that's the way of things, I'm afraid. His poetry is amazing and apparently so simple! No great images, or masses of adjectives or any hype.The following is not a 'war' poem, but it deserves to be shown. It was introduced to me by the poet Vernon Scanell who was a friend of mine and one of the best poetry critics ever. His Radio 3 programmes were a joy and an illumination. He died a couple of years ago. Here's Edward Thomas's poem, anyway: Old Man Old Man, or Lads-Love, - in the name there's nothing To one that knows not Lads-Love, or Old Man, The hoar green feathery herb, almost a tree, Growing with rosemary and lavender. Even to one that knows it well, the names Half decorate, half perplex, the thing it is: At least, what that is clings not to the names In spite of time. And yet I like the names. The herb itself I like not, but for certain I love it, as someday the child will love it Who plucks a feather from the door-side bush Whenever she goes in or out of the house. Often she waits there, snipping the tips and shrivelling The shreds at last on to the path, Thinking perhaps of nothing, till she sniffs Her fingers and runs off. The bush is still But half as tall as she, 'though it is as old; So well she clips it. Not a word she says; And I ca only wonder how much hereafter She will remember, with that bitter scent, Of garden rows, and ancient damson trees Topping a hedge, a bent path to a door A low thick bush beside the door, and me Forbidding her to pick. As for myself, Where first I met the bitter scent is lost. I, too, often shrivel the grey shreds, Sniff them and think and sniff again and try Once more to think what it is I am remembering, Always in vain. I cannot like the scent, Yet I would rather give up others more sweet, With no meaning, than this bitter one. I have mislaid the key. I sniff the spray And think of nothing; I see and I hear nothing; Yet seem, too, to be listening, lying in wait For what I should, yet never can, remember; No garden appears, no path, no hoar-green bush Of Lad's-love, or Old Man, no child beside, Neither father nor mother, nor any playmate; Only an avenue, dark, nameless, without end Edward Thomas
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friedag
20 years ago
It's funny that I've been looking up songs that I remember as "poetic" only to find they are rather feeble without the music. I tend to like certain lines but not all of the lyrics; but, come to think of it, I'm the same way about most poems.

Here's a line I've fancied for thirty-something years, though I don't know what the heck it means! If there's a bustle in your hedgerow\Don't be alarmed now...
-- Robert Plant

And from the same era: Do you still remember
December's foggy freeze --
when the ice that
clings on to your beard is
screaming agony?
And you snatch your rattling last breaths
with deep-sea diver sounds,
and the flowers bloom like
madness in the spring.
--Mary and Ian Anderson
Heh! Well, maybe you need to be a certain age or under the influence of something to appreciate that one.
martin_z
20 years ago

Sun streaking cold
An old man wandering lonely
Taking time the only way he knows
Leg hurting bad
As he bends to pick a dog-end
He goes down to the bog and warms his feet
Feeling alone
The Army's up the road
Salvation a la mode and a cup of tea
Aqualung my friend
Don't you start away uneasy
You poor old sod, you see it's only me.

(Continuation from the song above - Aqualung by Jethor Tull).

Yes, I reckon that one counts as poetry. Not a pleasant subject, but poetry none the less. It's quite an interesting rhyming scheme too - lonely/only; dog-end/bog and; road/mode; uneasy/you see it's.
georgia_peach
20 years ago
Simon and Garfunkel had a myriad of tunes that I regard as poetic. My favorite is still "The Sound of Silence".

Hello darkness, my old friend,
I've come to talk with you again,
Because a vision softly creeping,
Left its seeds while i was sleeping,
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence.

In restless dreams i walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone,
'neath the halo of a street lamp,
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of
A neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence.

And in the naked light i saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more.
People talking without speaking,
People hearing without listening,
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one deared
Disturb the sound of silence.

"fools" said i,"you do not know
Silence like a cancer grows.
Hear my words that i might teach you,
Take my arms that i might reach you."
But my words like silent raindrops fell,
And echoed
In the wells of silence

And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made.
And the sign flashed out its warning,
In the words that it was forming.
And the signs said, the words of the prophets
Are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls.
And whisper'd in the sounds of silence.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

Michelle Malone sings sort of bluesy rock music and is local to the area where I live (or used to be). She's one of those that hung out with the Indigo Girls and others like that, but never made it as big. One of my favorites of hers is "Sure Thing" off her Relentless album:

I'm working on a sure thing
Been wearing out my mood ring
Changing hues of dark green jewels
Lead my eyes to the next sunrise
Been dancing on a red wire
Suspended over blue fire
Suspect grows like a nurtured rose
Taste the truth of your misspent youth
And if I'm falling down
Please don't let me know
And if I come undone
I'll try not to let it show
I'm dreaming of a white light
Surrounded by a dark night
Tempt the fate
Of my pearly gate
Bright orange glow
Of my hell below
And if I'm falling down
Please don't let me know
And if I come undone
I'll try not to let it show
I'm working on a sure thing

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

Are there any Dead Can Dance fans here? I regard them as musicians of the literary variety - though totally unclassifiable - along the lines of Loreena McKennitt, but very different stylistically.
moongirl719
20 years ago
Although on the other thread I complained about REM's song Stand, I have always liked the line, "If wishes were trees, the trees would be falling." Along the same lines, I also love a line in Tori Amos' song Strange, "Maybe my wish knew better than I did." Actually I am a huge Tori Amos fan and the majority of her songs are filled with some beautiful cryptic poetic writing.

As for real poetry, I second Sound of Silence. I have always felt that it is the quintessential poem put to music.

For real poetry in songs, look to musical theatre. Rodgers & Hammerstein, Lerner & Loewe, Sondheim, Porter. But the props must go to Noel Coward. His writing is filled with wit and wisdom, they are clever, campy, deliciously mischievous and precise...

I'VE BEEN TO A MARVELLOUS PARTY

You know, quite for no reason
I'm here for the season
And high as a kite -
Living in error
With Maud at Cap Ferret
(Which couldn't be right)...
Everyone's here, and frightfully gay;
Nobody cares what people say,
Though the Riviera
Seems really much queerer
Than Rome at its height!
On Wednesday night
I went to a marvellous party
With Noonoo, and Nada, and Nell -
It was in the fresh air,
And we went as we were,
And we stayed as we were,
(Which was hell)
Poor Grace started singing at midnight,
And she didn't stop singing 'til four -
We knew the excitement was bound to begin
When Laura got blind on Dubonnet and gin
And scratched her veneer with a Cartier pin!
I couldn't have liked it more!
I've been to a marvellous party
We played a wonderful game:
Maureen disappeared
And came back in a beard,
And we all had to guess at her name...
Cecil arrived wearing armour,
Some shells and a black feather boa -
Poor Millicent wore a surrealist comb
Made of bits of mosaic from St. Peter's in Rome,
But the weight was so great that she had to go home!
And I couldn't have liked it more!
I've been to a marvellous party
I must say the fun was intense;
We all had to do
What the people we knew
Might be doing a hundred years hence...
We talked about growing old gracefully,
And Elsie - who's seventy-four -
Said, "A) It's a question of being sincere,
And B) If you're supple you've got nothing to fear" -
Then she swung upside-down from a chandelier!
And I couldn't have liked it more!
It was the most fabulous excitement
I've never seen such a carry-on!
Obviously, it couldn't happen
Anywhere else but on the Riviera...
It was most peculiar -
You know, people's behaviour
Away from Belgravia
Would make you aghast!
So much variety,
Watching society
Scampering past...
You know, if you have any mind at all,
Gibbon's divine "Decline And Fall" -
Well, it sounds pretty flimsy
No more than a whimsy...
By way of contrast,
On Wednesday last
I went to a marvellous party
We didn't sit down 'til ten
You know, young Bobby Carr
Did a stunt at the bar
With a lot of extraordinary...
froniga
20 years ago
Anyanka, yes, thanks for this thread. There are so many great song lyrics out there. The Sound of Silence is one of my favorites. Also, almost anything written by Jon Anderson of YES, imho, compares to a lot of fine poetry. It's hard to pick one song, but here's one I like. His lyrics are more to be felt than understood.

Sound and Color
---------------
The spirit moves as I spiral inwardly
I have read about it
Don't ask me questions
How do I turn around on the spot?

Sound can acknowledge and reveal
The very nature of the body line
Color coexists as a meter to the soul

So you don't need an excuse to be happy
Just forgive and forget

They say the mystics they live in the clouds
And they prob'ly love it

They say the mystics they live in the clouds
And they prob'ly love it
Yes they prob'ly love it
Yes they prob'ly love it
martin_z
20 years ago
Hmmmm....well, I'm a great Yes fan, but I already posted some Yes lyrics on the other thread. The words sound good, but I don't really think they mean anything.

And you and I climb crossing the shapes of the morning.
And you and I reach over the sun for the river.
And you and I climb clearer towards the movement.
And you and I called over valleys of endless seas.
froniga
20 years ago
But Martin, that's just it---you can almost understand it. I've always thought of these lyrics as a kind of modern art that is satisfying and says something but no one can quite put their finger on just what.
Of course, the music adds dimensions that enhance and transport the imagination.
Pretentious? But of course. Isn't all prog?

Just a little bit from
Roundabout
(By Jon Anderson & Steve Howe)

In and around the lake
mountains come out of the sky and they stand there
one mile over we'll be there and we'll see you
ten true summers we'll be there and laughing too
twenty-four before my love you'll see I'll be there with you

I will remember you
your silhouette will charge the view
of distance atmosphere
call it morning driving thru the sound and even in the valley
laa_laa
20 years ago
Only this phrase sticks in my memory...
."And the sun comes up like thunder from across the (is it China???)Bay."
Can anyone remember the song and the singer? It was from so long ago...it seems like the time of Johnny Ray or Frankie lane...L.
larryp
20 years ago
Laa Laa I think that's Mandalay
larryp
20 years ago
Well close enough. Its actually from The Road to Mandalay. Knew Mandalay was somewhere in the vicinity.
anyanka
Original Author
20 years ago
Moongirl, thanks for that bit of Coward - enjoyed that.

Here's something from one of my favourite singer/songwriters, Suzanne Vega.
"Blood Sings"

When blood sees blood
Of its own
It sings to see itself again
It sings to hear the voice it's known
It sings to recognize the face

One body split and passed along the line
From the shoulder to the hip
I know these bones as being mine
And the curving of the lip

And my question to you is:
How did this come to pass?
How did this one life fall so far and fast?

Some are lean and some with grace, and some without;
All tell the story that repeats
Of a child who had been left alone at birth
Left to fend and taught to fight

See his eyes and how they start with light
Getting colder as the pictures go
Did he carry his bad luck upon his back?
That bad luck we've all come to know

And my question to you is:
How did this come to pass?
How did this one life fall so far and fast?

When blood sees blood
Of its own
It sings to see itself again
sheriz6
20 years ago
I'm also a Tori Amos fan, as well as an admirer of Loreen McKennit and Suzanne Vega and the Indigo Girls ... the list goes on.

One of my favorite Tori Amos songs is "Winter":

Snow can wait
I forgot my mittens
Wipe my nose
Get my new boots on
I get a little warm in my heart
When I think of winter
I put my hand in my father's glove

I run off
Where the drifts get deeper
Sleeping beauty trips me with a frown
I hear a voice
"Your must learn to stand up for yourself
Cause I can't always be around"

He says
When you gonna make up your mind
When you gonna love you as much as I do
When you gonna make up your mind
Cause things are gonna change so fast
All the white horses are still in bed
I tell you that I'll always want you near
You say that things change my dear

Boys get discovered as winter melts
Flowers competing for the sun
Years go by and I'm here still waiting
Withering where some snowman was

Mirror mirror where's the crystal palace
But I only can see the myself
Skating around the truth who I am
But I know, Dad, the ice is getting thin

When you gonna make up your mind
When you gonna love you as much as I do
When you gonna make up your mind
Cause things are gonna change so fast
All the white horses are still in bed
I tell you that I'll always want you near
You say that things change my dear

Hair is grey
And the fires are burning
So many dreams
On the shelf
You say I wanted you to be proud of me
I always wanted that myself

He says
When you gonna make up your mind
When you gonna love you as much as I do
When you gonna make up your mind
Cause things are gonna change so fast
All the white horses have gone ahead
I tell you that I'll always want you near
You say that things change
My dear

And Loreena McKennitt's "All Soul's Night" ...

Bonfires dot the rolling hills
Figures dance around and around
To drums that pulse out echoes of darkness
Moving to the pagan sound.

Somewhere in a hidden memory
Images float before my eyes
Of fragrant nights of straw and of bonfires
And dancing till the next sunrise.

I can see lights in the distance
Trembling in the dark cloak of night
Candles and lanterns are dancing, dancing
A waltz on All Souls Night.

Figures of cornstalks bend in the shadows
Held up tall as the flames leap high
The green knight holds the holly bush
To mark where the old year passes by.

I can see the lights in the distance
Trembling in the dark cloak of night
Candles and lanterns are dancing, dancing
A waltz on All Souls Night.

But for poetry in songs, I think Springsteen ranks right up there with so many lyrics that it's nearly impossible to choose. Another favorite bit from "Thunder Road":

The screen door slams
Mary's dress waves
Like a vision she dances across the porch
As the radio plays
Roy Orbison singing for the lonely
Hey that's me and I want you only
Don't turn me home again
I just can't face myself alone again
mariannese
20 years ago
Sounds of silence reminds me of TS. Eliot's Love song of Alfred J. Prufrock:

LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats 5
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question Â 10
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

Etc.
Kath
20 years ago
I like Brothers in Arms by Dire Straits:

Brothers in Arms

These mist covered mountains
Are a home now for me
But my home is the lowlands
And always will be
Some day youÂll return to
Your valleys and your farms
And youÂll no longer burn
To be brothers in arms

Through these fields of destruction
Baptisms of fire
IÂve watched all your suffering
As the battles raged higher
And though they did hurt me so bad
In the fear and alarm
You did not desert me
My brothers in arms

ThereÂs so many different worlds
So many differents suns
And we have just one world
But we live in different ones

Now the sunÂs gone to hell
And the moonÂs riding high
Let me bid you farewell
Every man has to die
But itÂs written in the starlight
And every line on your palm
WeÂre fools to make war
On our brothers in arms

My younger son listens to Aussie Hiphop, which is quite different to the US version - the songs are more often about social issues or how good the band is, with very few mentions of 'hoes' or pimps or death. A lot of the lines are very clever, but some of them are poetic.

Try these:

'Two days from now, tomorrow will be yesterday
Yet many will remain in the same place anyway' - Delta

'We make you have second thoughts like you're watching the clock' - Trials
georgia_peach
20 years ago
I always liked these lyrics by Guadalcanal Diary:

Litany (Life Goes on)
I see life like a mirror
And I see life so much clearer

We move so quickly
Who knows where the time goes
Where does this road lead?
No one knows, no one knows

Listen to the single heart beating
Rhythm for an ever-changing song

I see life with surprise
And I see life, oh, in your eyes

Take all your troubles
Put them in a common file
Light a fire with reason
Watch it rise, watch it rise

Listen to the single voice singing
Lifted in an ever-growing song

I see life without anger

I see life all together
I see life go on forever

Life goes on forever
Life goes on

+*+*+*+*++*+*+*+*++*+*+*+*+

I wish I could post the lyrics to Anna Domino's "Tyranny (of your company)" and "88", but as far as I know the lyrics aren't anywhere on the net. Her music is ethereal and introspective and always puts me in a poetic mood. You can find these two songs on Napster, though.
friedag
20 years ago
For some reason, poetic usually makes me think of deeeep and ser-i-ous lyrics, though I don't see why funny and novel can't be poetic, too. I'll post a couple of both kinds of lyrics that have jolted me into listening to the poetry.

First, the serious:
This land today, shall draw its last breath
And take into its ancient depths
This frail reminder of its giant, dreaming self.
While I, with human-hindered eyes
Unequal to the sweeping curve of life,
Stand on this single print of time.

Human wheels spin round and round
While the clock keeps the pace.
Human wheels spin round and round
Help the light to my face.

That time, today, no triumph gains
At this short success of age.
This pale reflection of its brave and
Blundering deed.
For I, descend from this vault,
Now dreams beyond my earthly fault
Knowledge, sure, from the seed.

Human wheels spin round and round
While the clock keeps the pace.
Human wheels spin round and round
Help the light to my face.

This land, today, my tears shall taste
And take into its dark embrace.
This love, who in my beating heart endures,
Assured, by every sun that burns,
The dust to which this flesh shall return.
It is the ancient, dreaming dust of God.

Human wheels spin round and round
While the clock keeps the pace.
Human wheels spin round and round
Help the light to my face.
Human wheels spin round and round
While the clock keeps the pace.
Human wheels spin round and round
Help the light to my face.
-- John Mellencamp, "Human Wheels"

Aye-eee! That gives me the shivers. And in the version with the violin, I actually weep.

And here's some amusing lyrics that just might not be so lighthearted as they seem:
She comes on like a rose
But everybody knows
She'll get you in Dutch
Now you can look
But you better not touch

Poison iv-y-y-y-y,
Poison iv-y-y-y-y
Late at night while you're sleepin'
Poison ivy comes a'creepin'
Arou-ou-ou-ou-ou-ound.

She's pretty as a daisy
But look out man,
She's crazy
She'll really do you in
Now if you let her under your skin.

Poison iv-y-y-y-y
Poison iv-y-y-y-y
Late at night while you're sleepin'
Poison ivy comes a'creepin'
Arou-ou-ou-ou-ou-ound.

Measles make you bumpy
And mumps'll make you lumpy
And chicken pox'll make you jump and twitch
A common cold'll fool ya
And whooping cough'll cool ya
But poison ivy,
Lord'll make you itch!!

You're gonna need an ocean
Of calamine lotion
You'll be scratchin' like a hound
The minute you start to mess around:

Poison iv-y-y-y-y, poison iv-y-y-y-y
Late at night while you're sleepin' poison ivy comes a'creepin'
Arou-ou-ou-ou-ou-ound

Measles make you bumpy
And mumps'll make you lumpy
And chicken pox'll make you jump and twitch
A common cold'll fool ya
And whooping cough'll cool ya
But poison ivy,
Lord'll make you itch!!

You're gonna need an ocean
Of calamine lotion
You'll be scratchin' like a...
anyanka
Original Author
20 years ago
Oh, I am so glad that there are others out there who actually listen to the words! Frieda, that Mellencamp lyric is probably the most 'poetic' in so far as it does perfectly well without music.

Reading the Tori Amos reminded me of some of Kate Bush's, but when I looked up the words, it turned out that they don't work at all well on their own...

And here is another favourite funny, featuring some of the most audacious rhyming:

Your Majesty, If you were King, you wouldn't be afraid of anything?
Not nobody, not nohow!
Not even a rhinocerous?
Imposserous!
How about a hippopotamus?
Why, I'd trash him from top to bottomamus!
Supposin' you met an elephant?
I'd wrap him up in cellophant!
What if it were a brontosaurus?
I'd show him who was King of the Forest!
How?
How?
Courage! What makes a King out of a slave?
Courage! What makes the flag on the mast to wave?
Courage! What makes the elephant charge his tusk, in the misty mist or the dusky dusk?
What makes the muskrat guard his musk?
Courage! What makes the sphinx the seventh wonder?
Courage! What makes the dawn come up like thunder?
Courage! What makes the Hottentot so hot? What puts the "ape" in apricot?
What have they got that I ain't got?
Courage!
Then you can say that again!
rouan
20 years ago
I have a couple favorite songs that I think work well without the music, The first is Tapestry by Carole King

My life has been a tapestry of rich and royal hue
An everlasting vision of the ever-changing view
A wondrous, woven magic in bits of blue and gold
A tapestry to feel and see, impossible to hold

Once amid the soft silver sadness in the sky
There came a man of fortune, a drifter passing by
He wore a torn and tattered cloth around his leathered hide
And a coat of many colors, yellow-green on either side

He moved with some uncertainty, as if he didn't know
Just what he was there for, or where he ought to go
Once he reached for something golden hanging from a tree
And his hand came down empty

Soon within my tapestry along the rutted road
He sat down on a river rock and turned into a toad
It seemed that he had fallen into someone's wicked spell
And I wept to see him suffer, though I didn't know him well

As I watched in sorrow, there suddenly appeared
A figure gray and ghostly beneath a flowing beard
In times of deepest darkness, I've seen him dressed in black
Now my tapestry's unraveling - he's come to take me back
He's come to take me back

The second one A Lonely Voice is by a group called October Project, one of my all time favorite groups. This is from their first album.

I keep looking back
A lifetime back
Across the desert
In a desert where no one can explain
You tell me God is dancing in the rain

I can hear the echo
In a maze of words
A lonely voice behind a door
Can you hear me calling
From a world away
A lonely voice behind a door

I keep looking back
Traditions back
Across the centuries
In a century where no one can explain
You tell me God is dancing in the rain

I can hear the echo
In a maze of words
A lonely voice behind a door
Can you hear me calling
From a world away
A lonely voice behind a door

As I stare ahead
A dream ahead
Across the ocean
Cross an ocean where there's nothing to explain
You tell me God is laughing in the rain

I can hear the echo
In a maze of words
A lonely voice behind a door
Can you hear me calling
From a world away
A lonely voice behind a door
friedag
20 years ago
LOL, anyanka, your hippopotamus song reminded me of this ditty:I want a hippopotamus for Christmas
Only a hippopotamus will do
Don't want a doll, no dinky Tinker Toy
I want a hippopotamus to play with and enjoy...

I want a hippopotamus for Christmas
Only a hippopotamus will do
No crocodiles, no rhinoceroses
I only like hippopotamuses
And hippopotamuses like me too.
--"I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas"; words and music by John Rox; performed by Gayla Peevey (1953)

Okay, I sort of agree that truly poetic lyrics should be able to stand alone, without music. But, as I read many of the above posted lyrics, if I am at all familiar with the tunes, the words will always remind me of the music and then I can't separate the two in my mind. On the other hand, the lyrics/poems I have never before heard with their accompanying music tend to be unmemorable -- though I notice they incline to serious or metaphysical themes and could be quite profound if I had a frame of reference. Now, I've forgotten a lot of music history that I once learned -- and even more critical analysis of the development of poetry -- but I do recall that the two (music and poetry) have had an intertwining relationship for a long, long time. Back when all history was orally/aurally transmitted, the reciter (can't think of the proper word) found it easier to remember intricate passages if the words were sung -- and his listeners could remember the words and stories better, too, and they in turn could repeat them (not always accurately, of course, but the kernel was pretty solid).

An interesting thing about some of the novelty songs, especially, I think, is how often the words themselves suggest the music and rhythm. I was testing this out with my son. I asked him if he knew the song "Poison Ivy" (see my above post). He said he didn't think he did. So I asked him to read the lyrics out loud. He has no interest in poetry whatsoever and not much interest in music, but he has a lovely speaking voice and he's willing to indulge his mother's whims, sometimes. Anyway, he read it -- at first hesitantly -- but then I noticed he picked up the rhythm (and those of you who know how to analyze poetry can probably tell about meter and rhyme schemes and all that). When I had him go through it again, I noticed it was even more pronounced, and by the third go-through he was almost singing it -- not quite in the same way The Coasters did but there sure was a hint of 'em in the air. That reminds me that songwriting teams often say that it's much easier to create music for already-written words than to try to fit lyrics to already-existing music.

But just as music provides a conveyance for words, I guess words can do the same thing for music. Heh! One of the more pretentious aspects of the 1960s was the seeking of meaning in things that probably didn't have much meaning. Lots of songs became popular because they were thought to be deeeeeep -- and the more...
woodnymph2_gw
20 years ago
I've always liked Don McLean's "Vincent" :

Starry, starry night.
Paint your palette blue and grey,
Look out on a summer's day,
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills,
Sketch the trees and daffodils,
Catch the breeze and winter chills,
In colors on the snowy linen land.

Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they did not know how.
Perhaps they'll listen now.

Starry, starry night.
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze,
Swirling clouds in violet haze,
Reflect in Vincent's eyes of China blue.
Colors changing hue, morning field of amber grain,
Weathered faces lined in pain,
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand.

Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they did not know how.
Perhaps they'll listen now.

For they could not love you,
But still your love was true.
And when no hope was left in sight
On that starry, starry night,
You took your life, as lovers often do.
But I could have told you, Vincent,
This world was never meant for one
As beautiful as you.

Starry, starry night.
Portraits hung in empty halls,
Frameless head on nameless walls,
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget.
Like the strangers that you've met,
The ragged men in ragged clothes,
The silver thorn of bloody rose,
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow.

Now I think I know what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they're not listening still.
Perhaps they never will.
friedag
20 years ago
Oooh, Mary, I've always liked "Vincent," too. That's another one that I can't separate words and music in my mind, but if I had never heard the music I think I would still find it affecting because it obviously tells the story of van Gogh and how his work was at first under/unappreciated. I think, even if I didn't know about van Gogh or had never seen his paintings, I would still be able to discern something of what's going on in those lyrics. I would say that's truly poetry.
User
20 years ago
I like the poetry & rhythm inherent in these words:

East Of Eden
-- Pete Doherty

I've been wandering East of Eden
Been lost, cold, lonesome as a sparrow in the rain
I found myself tumbling to a sinking feeling
When someone said I done gone wrong
Couldn't feel no shame
I'll be leaving town on the very next train
You can wait for me little girl
But I won't be coming this way again
And it ain't nobody's business if I do

There's a slow train rumbling east of a place called Eden
Ah, the wind blowing in proud as the trees upon the plain
And a stranger's voice talked to me of liberty and freedom
Yeah, it seems like he done gone wrong again
And he wears the hat like shame

Well he tasted the fruit of another
And when his Margie, when she discovered
Said she's gonna love him ten times more
Ain't nobody's business if she do

He said "some men born rich, some men born poor
But they're rich in other ways"
Into my heart his wisdom poured

It's no good crumblin, I'm making tracks to live
When I laid my love down in the light
You should've seen all the things my shadow did

The filth and the fury, the fear and the pain
It's all disappearing now
Faster than the smoke from this old train
And it ain't nobody's business if it do
One more time: ain't nobody's business if it do
froniga
20 years ago
Glad to see the lyrics to Vincent posted. That's a truly beautiful song. I actually have those lyrics on a bedroom wall right under a copy of the painting Starry Night.

And, at the risk of being booed out of the place, John Denver has some wonderful lyrics (and music). The Eagle and the Hawk comes to mind:
"I am the eagle, I live in high country
In rocky cathedrals that reach to the sky..."
anyanka
Original Author
20 years ago
'Tapestry' and 'Vincent' are both great favourites of mine, too, musically and lyrically.
As is 'Come Together'. "Got to be good looking cause he's so hard to see" - I love that line particularly, Frieda. Thanks for your account of getting your son to read Poison Ivy, very interesting!

Talking to my brother about The Who yesterday reminded me that 'Substitute' has brilliantly sharp and acerbic lyrics:

You think we look pretty good together
You think my shoes are made of leather

But I'm a substitute for another guy
I look pretty tall but my heels are high
The simple things you see are all complicated
I look pretty young, but I'm just back-dated, yeah

Substitute your lies for fact
I see right through your plastic mac
I look all white, but my dad was black
My fine looking suit is really made out of sack

I was born with a plastic spoon in my mouth
The north side of my town faced east, and the east was facing south
And now you dare to look me in the eye
Those crocodile tears are what you cry
It's a genuine problem, you won't try
To work it out at all you just pass it by, pass it by

Substitute me for him
Substitute my coke for gin
Substitute you for my mum
At least I'll get my washing done
georgia_peach
20 years ago
This thread has jogged my memory about something. Growing up, my sister and I shared a room for a while. Sis was pretty good at embroidery and would take lyrics she thought of as poetry, embroider them onto a nice cut of fabric and hang them on her wall. The two that I remember being up the longest were "Colour My World" by Chicago and "Time in a Bottle" by Jim Croce. In particular, I remember "Colour My World" being on fabric that swirled with the softer shades of orange.
Ideefixe
20 years ago
My favorite is Waters of March (Ãguas de MarÃ§o) by Antonio Carlos Jobim. Even though his native language was Portugese, he was fascinated by English, and all the words in the song are derived from Old English--nothing Latinate. He wrtoe both versions.

A stick, a stone
it's the end of the road,

it's the rest of the stump
it's a little alone

it's a sliver of glass,
it is life,it's the sun,

it is night ,it is death,
it's a trap, it's a gun.

the oak when it blooms,
a fox in the brush,

the knot in the wood,
the song of the thrush.

the wood of the wind,
a cliff, a fall,

a scratch, a lump,
it is nothing at all.

it's the wind blowing free.
it's the end of a slope.

it's a beam, it's a void,
it's a hunch, it's a hope.

and the riverbank talks.
of the water of march

it's the end of the strain,
it's the joy in your heart.

the foot, the ground,
the flesh, the bone,

the beat of the road,
a slingshot stone.

a fish, a flash,
a silvery glow,

a fight, a bet,
the range of the bow.

the bed of the well,
the end of the line,

the dismay in the face,
it's a loss, it's a find.

a spear, a spike,
a point, a nail,

a drip, a drop,
the end of the tale.

a truckload of bricks,
in the soft morning light,

the shot of a gun,
in the dead of the night.

a mile, a must,
a thrust, a bump.

it's a girl, it's a rhyme.
it's the cold, it's the mumps.

the plan of the house,
the body in bed,

the car that got stuck,
it's the mud, it's the mud.

a float, a drift,
a flight, a wing,

ahawk, a quail,
the promise of spring.

and the riverbanks talks.
of the waters of march.

it's the promise of life,
it's the joy in your heart,

a snake, a stick,
it is john, it is joe,

it's a thorn in your hand,
and a cut on your toe.

a point, a grain,
a bee, a bite,

a blink, a buzzard,
the sudden stroke of night.

a pin, a needle,
a sting, a pain,

a snail, a riddle,
a weep, a stain.

a pass in the mountains.
a horse, a mule,

in the distance the shelves.
rode three shadows of blue.

and the riverbank talks
of the promise of life
in your heart, in your heart

a stick, a stone,
the end of the load,

the rest of the stump,
a lonesome road.

a sliver of glass,
a life, the sun,

a night, a death,
the end of the run

and the riverbank talks
of the waters of march

it's the end of all strain
it's the joy in your heart
woodnymph2_gw
20 years ago
I've always loved the Paul Simon song words. I hated to see Simon & Garfunkel split up.

Here's "Patterns" by Simon.

The night sets softly
With the hush of falling leaves,
Casting shivering shadows
On the houses through the trees,
And the light from a street lamp
Paints a pattern on my wall,
Like the pieces of a puzzle
Or a child's uneven scrawl.

Up a narrow flight of stairs
In a narrow little room,
As I lie upon my bed
In the early evening gloom.
Impaled upon my wall
My eyes can dimly see
The pattern of my life
And the puzzle that is me.

From the moment of my birth
To the instant of my death,
There are Patterns I must follow
Just as I must breathe each breath.
Like a rat in a maze
The path before me lies,
And the pattern never alters
Until the rat dies.

And the pattern still remains
On the wall where darkness fell,
And it's fitting that it should
For in darkness I must dwell.
Like the color of my skin,
Or the day that I grow old,
My life is made of Patterns
That can scarcely be controlled.
anyanka
Original Author
20 years ago
There are so many postings here that make me go, "yes, me too!" - mentions of Paul Simon, Carole King, Jim Croce...

Ideefixe, thank you - I know that song, but can't recall where from. Must have had a cover version of it on some old vinyl record in my teenage years. [Googled it - it was an Art Garfunkel album. Is that why you followed it with a Paul Simon lyric, Woodnymph, or was that a happy strange coincidence?] The repetitive patterns remind me of another favourite, Leonard Cohen's 'Who By Fire' which is based on a prayer from the Yom Kippur liturgy.

And who by fire,
who by water,
who in the sunshine,
who in the night time,
who by high ordeal,
who by common trial,
who in your merry merry month of may,
who by very slow decay
and who shall I say is calling?

And who in her lonely slip,
who by barbiturate,
who in these realms of love,
who by something blunt,
and who by avalanche,
who by powder,
who for his greed,
who for his hunger,
and who shall I say is calling?

And who by brave assent,
who by accident,
who in solitude,
who in this mirror,
who by his lady's command,
who by his own hand,
who in mortal chains,
who in power,
and who shall I say is calling?
veer
20 years ago
I love Tom Lehrer and thought this might be a catchy little number for the US Vice-President.

"I was in no mood to trifle
I took down my trusty rifle
And went out to stalk my prey
What a haul I made that day
I tied them to my fender
And I drove them home somehow
Two game wardens, seven hunters and a cow"
rosefolly
20 years ago
I've enjoyed this thread, and many of the lyrics. Some of them I had forgotten, and reading the words brought echoes of the songs back to my mind once again.

I sometimes like very simple lyrics. Gary Allan sings a poignant song of leavetaking that I really enjoy. The metaphors are simple but clean and clear.

Smoke Rings in the Dark

Well I won't make you tell me
What I've come to understand
You're a certain kind of woman
I'm a different kind of man
I've tried to make you love me
You've tried to find a spark of the flame that burned but
Somehow turned to smoke rings in the dark

The loneliness within me
Takes a heavy toll
'Cause it burns as slow as whiskey through an empty aching soul
And the night is like a dagger
Long and cold and sharp
As I sit here on the front steps
Blowing smoke rings in the dark

I- I- I know I must be going
'Cause loves already gone
And all I'm taking with me are the pieces of my heart
And all I'll leave are smoke rings in the dark

The rain falls where it wants to
The wind blows where it will
Everything on earth goes somewhere
But I swear we're standin' still
So I'm not going to wake you
I'll go easy on your heart
I'll just touch your face and drift away
Like smoke rings in the dark

I- I- I know I must be going
'Cause loves already gone
And all I'm taking with me are the pieces of my heart and
All I'll leave are smoke rings in the dark
moongirl719
20 years ago
I am really enjoying this thread! Yes, I second Tapestry and Vincent (which always makes me cry)

On the funny, ironic side, once again I must turn to Tori Amos. This one is good for the kids:

Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout
Would not take the garbage out
She'd scour the pots and scrap the pans
Candy the yams and spice the hams
And though her daddy would scream and shout
She simply would not take the garbage out
And so it pulled up to the ceilings
Coffee grounds, potato peelings
Brown bananas, rottens peas
Chunks of sour cottage cheese
It filled the can it covered the floor
It cracked the window and blocked the door
With bacon rinds and chicken bones
Drippy ends of ice cream cones
Prunes pits, peach pits, orange peel
Gloppy glumps of cold oatmeal
Pizza crusts and withered greens
Soggy beans and tangerines
Crusts of black burned butter toast
Grisly bits of beefy roast
The garbage rolled on down the hall
It raised the roof, it broke the wall
Greesy napkins, cookie crumbs
Glops of gooey bubble gum
Celaphane from green bologna
Rubbery blubbery macaroni
Peanut butter caked and dry
Curdled milk and crusts of pie
Moldy melons, dried up mustard
Egg shells mixed with lemon custard
Cold french fries and rancid meat
Yellow lumps of cream-of-wheat
At last the garbage reached so high
That finally it touched the sky
All the neighbors moved away
And none of her friends would come to play
And finally Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout
Said "Okay, I'll take the garbage out"
Then of course it was too late
The garbage reached across the state
From New York to the Golden Gate
And there in the garbage she did hate
Poor Sarah met an awful fate
That I cannot right now relate
Because the hour is much to late
The children remember Sarah Stout
And always take the yummy garbage out

Poetry in songs

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