Do you cry at night?
Feeling alone, deserted,
as if nobody wants you
nobody cares
you’re not good enough…
Do you think of all the possibilities in your life?
Your triumphs?
Mistakes?
The times you laughed, cried, and loved?
Do you remember when you first crashed,
cried all night, hugging your pillow,
your eyes and nose red from all the pain
… of that feeling of your soul splitting…
Do you remember that first time you fell in love?
The feeling when you noticed, and blushed because somebody asked you…
The felling when you saw him and your body betrayed you
sweaty hands,
mind racing,
stomach churning,
time freezing,
smiling awkwardly…
and embarrassing yourself
Do you remember when you dreamed your dream for the first time?
Of your future together,
traveling, growing old together with a family?
Do you lay in bed
thinking of the future?
Uncertain, scary, with a big question mark
but you close your eyes and imagine he’s there
and everything feels calm…
because you feel like everything will turn out ok…
just because he’s beside you
Clouds form in your head
raining on your face
just wanting to get out
just waiting for you
…just waiting for that signal…
… the signal of you
Softly smiling, hiding the crack
he said: “Don’t worry. I’m ok.”
They all stand, clap and cheer
Smiling broadly, he turns around
Standing ovation.
He’s not here.
-Musical Poetry
15/08/2012
Mes yeux pleurent pour vous.
La nuit est froide sans vous.
La distance joue avec mon coeur
Mon âme soupire pour un baiser
L’âme veut pour vous
Ma présence est nule
Sans vous ici
à côté de moi …
Me serrant …
Tout ce que je sais, c’est que nous serons ensemble
Je vais attendre
Je vais attendre pour vous
Pour l’intérieur de vous est ma joie
A côté de vous, c’est ma vie
Avec vous repose mon âme
Music is a journey. It should kidnap your from reality. It should warp your thoughts in it’s succession of chords, arpeggios and dynamics. Music is a necessity. Music= life
“This sentence has five words. Here are five more words. Five-word sentences are fine. But several together become monotonous. Listen to what is happening. The writing is getting boring. The sound of it drones. It’s like a stuck record. The ear demands some variety. Now listen. I vary the sentence length, and I create music. Music. The writing sings. It has a pleasant rhythm, a lilt, a harmony. I use short sentences. And I use sentences of medium length. And sometimes, when I am certain the reader is rested, I will engage him with a sentence of considerable length, a sentence that burns with energy and builds with all the impetus of a crescendo, the roll of the drums, the crash of the cymbals—sounds that say listen to this, it is important.”
Gary Provost
“The act of composing is the act of fixing those limits within which the performer may move freely. But the performer’s freedom is – or should be – bound in another way. The limits the composer sets belong to a system which in may respects is like a language: it has an order, a syntax and a meaning. The performer brings out that meaning, makes its significance not only clear but almost palpable. And there is no reason to assume that the composer and his contemporaries always knew with certainty how best to make the listener aware of that significance.”
Charles Rosen, in discussing his opposition to the “historical performance movement”. Rosen is an American pianist and musicologist.
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
By: Mary Elizabeth Frye
The art of musical poetry 