Best Schubert Poems
THE JEWELER’S LATHE
Summer’s last rose
After many admiring morning visits
And with nature’s rusty brown and gold
Surrounding, drawing comparison,
Becomes even more pink and beautiful
Being aware as being – native to all souls –
Nature strives to improve,
The old become new
New, alike the jeweler’s lathe
Polishing polishing
Refining awareness -
The familiar like a great Schubert string quartet
Suddenly with new revealing.
Leonard Bernstein says about music,
to the effect,
”An old friend becomes more dear”
Refining one’s awareness
There can be no drudgery,
But there must be effort,
Must be the look-through,
A soul’s effort to find.
Therein lies the beauty,
The finding.
When the diamond
Set to the jeweler’s lathe
Catches sun
Dave Austin
SYMPHONY
Searching the audience
Young and old in rapt attention
Maestro, Bernstein, has come on stage
Players have done their final warm up
House lights are dimmed
Only the foots and high spots remain
No one stirs, all are reverently expectant
You know this work – it’s Schubert – relax
Dave Austin
The sound of your voice
Is like a symphony by Beethoven
A beautiful melody by Schubert
A piano concerto by Mozart
I am totally enthralled by you
No longer can I resist your beauty
I must have you, embrace you
Feel your warmth
I am totally enamoured by you
Entranced by your seductive eyes
Your luscious red lips
Your flaxen hair
My heart beats loudly in my chest
At the mere sight of you
I must have you
My arms ache to hold you
My fingers long to explore every inch of your body
To know a passion so extreme
A tenderness I've yet to experience
To gaze upon your angelic face
How else to explain this feeling
This desire, this utter craving
To hold you, to enter your private world
Till that ultimate moment of bliss
That moment when emotions explode
And we become one
The outside world no longer exists
In that exquisite moment
There is only you and I among the stars
We are one!
© Jack Ellison 2014
Sweet sounds so dear—
Pure timeless tones of gladness—
Your melodies bestir my soul to flight—
Through darkest night
And doleful days of sadness—
I thank you for my hope and banished fear,
Oh precious music, mine to hear.
In sorrow born—
From dust to dust we wander,
Lamenting, all too late, come winter frost,
The springtime lost.—
Our lives we vainly squander.
The mourning bells do toll for us, forlorn.—
Oh may we hark to heaven's horn!
Sweet sounds so dear—
Pure timeless tones of gladness—
Your melodies bestir my soul to flight—
Through darkest night
And doleful days of sadness—
I thank you for my hope and banished fear,
Oh precious music, mine to hear.
– Harley White
[Song Lyrics for 'An die Musik' – Franz Schubert (1797–1828) ]
*VIDEO of Barry Lyndon's Final by YouTube.
LYRICS by numbers.
As Loyal as a Dove
Whereth a realm ebbs loyal subjects 0:06
Causeth Spring to be it forever more 0:16
Whereth be it tide laurels of passion 0:18
Alphabets play in yards of seclusion 0:26
Transparency knew months thereon 0:29
Therefrom gaiety frolicky spirit astir 0:39
Henceforth hold lest not 'tis waning 0:41
Be immortal season on wings of joy 0:50
Immeasurable willpower delegates 0:58
Unceasing forwardness, true fronts 0:59
Incurable frivolity impatiently afoot 1:10
Breathtaking interludes tuned suite 1:15
Feathers fan away a star's ray, afar 1:16
Stars gather in secret pet the moon 1:25
Unbeknownst calamity claims total 1:36
A day breaks and cracks wide open 1:41
Incomprehensible devastation loss 1:42
Irrevocable damages seething part 1:50
Uncoupling necessitates the palace 1:51
Continuity of the kingdom is crucial 1:59
Proper impressions aire of decency 2:04
Parfume redolence domestics perk 2:09
A moral obligation in order to retain 2:15
Blank gaze across a room, coop ok 2:21
Dove pens away in her gilded cage 2:32
Schubert Piano Trio in E Flat Op 100
Film: Barry Lyndon
2022 July 26
Driving to work on a Sunday,
Went to work yesterday, but didn’t get much done,
Except looking for leads for new work.
It’s pouring rain outside my big comfortable conversion van,
Traffic is stop and go, and I was thinking of a recent girlfriend.
I watch people’s faces when I can,
Puffing my pipe filled with a tobacco that tastes like Texas Twister but
It’s some flavor that I got when I was working in Oman,
Still fresh in the zip-lock bag, or at least fresh enough.
I let thick clouds of smoke drift out in front of me,
At my foggy front wind shield, then crack the window to watch it rush out into the rain.
Traffic jams don’t smell so bad in the rain.
I roll the window down more because it’s been awhile since rain hit my hands.
Saint Mark by a composer that I missed was the soundtrack down 75.
Schubert played when I missed the exit to 635, but it was completely stopped anyways.
So we went down a side road, in the rain smoking my pipe,
Going to work on a Sunday.
I don’t know anyone like me, I really don’t.
Guess I should do some work now, I have expectations to meet.
Michael F. Lewis
8/26/2012
The sound of your voice
Is like a symphony by Beethoven
A beautiful melody by Schubert
A piano concerto by Mozart
I am totally enthralled by your presence
No longer can I resist your beauty
I must have you, embrace you
Feel your warmth
I am totally enamoured by you
Entranced by your seductive eyes
Your luscious red lips
Your flaxen hair
My heart beats loudly in my chest
At the mere sight of you
I must have you
My arms ache to hold you
My fingers long to explore your body
To know a passion so extreme
A tenderness I've yet to experience
To gaze upon your angelic face
How else to explain this feeling
This desire, this utter craving
To hold you, to enter your private world
Till that ultimate moment of bliss
That moment when emotions explode
And we become one
The outside world no longer exists
In that exquisite moment
There is only you and I among the stars
We are one!
(based on Franz Schubert)
wordless at this moment
virginal in a closed room
dark as a berry
Gretchen maid of wood
webbed as an old barn
eyes drops of glass
that seek a window
empty of steps, cast
ing a look at
all that brings no favour
or slowly turns the wheel that
darkly bares the thread;
the cloth of love forsaken;
heartpace of an empty view;
a sort of end, cut.
ROMANCE
It was something by Schumann or Schubert
A Sonata for piano perhaps
I wouldn’t have cared
But the music fit the girl
Flawless in dress
Hair not short not long middling
It swept just mildly over forehead and cheek
Cupable shoulders
And the rest?
Not a line not a curve too severe
She came at the same time each day
I strained to see her face.
But my view was taken just far enough away
The vision much in profile
I must revel in her stride
Not short not long deliberate
Just right
In a flight of fancy
With missing dimensions of the physical time and space
I decided she was form-in-isolation
A shape behind a scrim
Always coming
Always going
Leaving her ghost in wake
And the door would softly shut
A little space for dreaming
Then this same piece
It was something by Schumann or Schubert
(no matter)
Each day played with more polish
‘til at last it sounded perfect to me
I must know that which she played
Its name (lack of) haunted me
This was my excuse
My excuse for knocking on the door
The Leiermann
(to be spoken or sung to Schubert's The Leiermann)
Here, before the bustling market,
Stands the Leiermann;
Fingers always dancing,
Though the air is chill.
Bright dressed, he smiles
And says hello,
But few look into his eyes,
Or mutter in reply.
It is ever thus,
The conscience of their world,
They buy forgiveness with a
Shining coin, clink into his cap.
Oh Leiermann, will you play
For me, though I have no
Coin to pay? Oh Leiermann
Will you play for me?
The marketplace gives nothing free,
No boons will come my way,
For I have no coins to pay;
Oh Leiermann, will you play for me?
I’m a bohemian girl
I wear my hair in curls,
I wear maxi skirts
And denim shirts.
I wear long earrings
And black stockings.
I like folk songs,
And pierced tongues.
I like Wittgenstein,
And Melanie Klein.
I had psychotherapy,
But it was given to me free.
As I am so interesting,
And so infinitely trusting.
My unconscious mind
Is an analyst’s find.
I have such wise dreams,
On intellectual themes.
I see all my lives
From new perspectives.
I was an Egyptian Queen,
Feeling extremely mean.
I loved Mark Anthony
His touch was a symphony
Written by Schubert,odd,
Because Cleopatra was long gone
When Schubert composed his songs
And his symphonies too.
So time has got all curled up,
Like a snake in a drinking cup.
Now I have woken again,
I want that dream all over again.
I want a Roman Emperor
To be a sexual tempter.
I shan’t mind at all,
If I hear him call.
I’ll be excitedly glad
When my hormones go mad.
I’m a Bohemian girl,
I’ll make any man’s hair curl
Schubert had a symphony
He didn’t quite complete,
Though the parts he finished writing,
We consider quite a feat.
David Foster Wallace
Left his novel not quite done;
Still, the accolades accorded it
Have piled up, one by one.
Many things have value
Even though they are unfinished.
An artist’s reputation means
Their worth has not diminished.
For projects may be started
But not make it to the end.
We cannot know the message
The remainders did portend.
Perhaps the final passages
Might not have satisfied;
The composer might have tossed them
And committed symphocide.
So we are left critiquing
Works abandoned halfway through.
Might they be much better finished?
We don’t really have a clue.
Franz Petrer Schubert of Vienna
had little success with genre opera
Theatre&orchestra was more up his street
with his songs few can compete
Tell me you’re content.
The poet is what you want?
(The poet is what you get.)
Death’s demise is no surprise
for life’s disguise.
Cease the words!
Cease the pain!
Don’t remind the composer
he’s insane.
His eyes are Fury,
maybe Hate,
I keep pretending
to defy fate.
It’s just a mask, you see.
When I pull it away
you’ll find
nothing
underneath but bones.
Neurosis is just a ghost.
Haunting himself
while he sleepwalks
and hallucinates
throughout the day.
He sees hues of honor,
and shades of shadow
though he still manages
to smile:
even he can’t figure
himself out.
He’s Keats at his death,
Schubert in depression,
a man so great, so talented,
yet completely
broken.
Antonio Salieri of Legano
teacher of the famous you may know
Beethoven Schubert &Liszt by name
but Amadeus the film brought more acclaim