Luminous Landscape Forum
The Art of Photography => The Coffee Corner => Topic started by: Ivo_B on September 14, 2018, 08:58:39 am
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In recent topics the relation between Poetry and Photography was quoted and discussed.
Without to elaborate to much on the validness of the statement, I thought it would be nice if we try to illustrate poetry, or lyrics with suitable pictures.
I'll try to start, hope the romantic shouls of Lula will follow.
I like the older work of Antony and the Johnsons a lot. Specially one particular for sentimental reasons:
https://youtu.be/LyMGEq82uL4
Antony and the Johnsons - Hope There's Someone
Hope there's someone who'll take care of me
When I die
Will I go?
Hope there's someone who'll set my heart free
Nice to hold
When I'm tired
There's a ghost on the horizon
When I go to bed
How can I fall asleep at night?
How will I rest my head?
Oh I'm scared of the middle place
Between light and nowhere
I don't want to be the one
Left in there
Left in there
There's a man on the horizon
Wish that I'd go to bed
If I fall to his feet tonight
Will allow rest my head
So he's hoping I will not drown
Or paralyze in light
And godsend I don't want to go
To the seal's watershed
Hope there's someone who'll take care of me
When I die
Will I go?
Hope there's someone who'll set my heart free
Nice to hold
When I'm tired
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Oceanography
Fleeting compositions,
Ephemeral designs.
With each new tide,
With each new lap of a wave,
The sea draws anew,
On a canvas of sand.
Another wave, another scene,
Vanishes into the receding foam.
Can I capture those graceful lines,
That perfect pebble placement?
The sea mocks me,
As I try to stop time.
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All The Diamonds In The World
(Bruce Cockburn)
All the diamonds in this world
That mean anything to me
Are conjured up by wind and sunlight
Sparkling on the sea
I ran aground in a harbour town
Lost the taste for being free
Thank God He sent some gull-chased ship
To carry me to sea
Two thousand years and half a world away
Dying trees still grow greener when you pray
Silver scales flash bright and fade
In reeds along the shore
Like a pearl in sea of liquid jade
His ship comes shining
Like a crystal swan in a sky of suns
His ship comes shining
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Beautiful, JNB.
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Beautiful, JNB.
+1,
well done, good representation.
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All The Diamonds In The World
(Bruce Cockburn)
Great tune, introduced to me long ago by my Canadian cousin Sean. Saw Cockburn in 1992 at the tiny Gem Theater in Detroit. Just superb!
-Dave-
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This one really requires the music to support the lyrics, so I'll provide a Youtube link: Walk on the Sand (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rna5QuEbjiw). I remember buying this album on my first ever visit to NYC in 1969. The image I've shown before, but this song is what plays in my head at times like the one pictured.
Walk on the Sand
(Ars Nova – Wyatt Day)
Walk on the sand, and smell the sea
Wishing you were here with me
Spring comes again, and the memory
Wishing you were here with me
There is magic in the summertime
But the winters of our lives
Can be so rare
And the spring will bring
The memory back again
Of all the errors that we made
All the happiness that we feel
Time flows along, and it carries me
As it carries you my love
You're where you are, and here am I
Wishing you were here with me
There is magic in the summertime
But the winters of our lives
Can be so rare
And the spring will bring
The memory back again
Of all the errors that we made
All the happiness that we feel
...
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Lyrics?
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The Spell Of Yukon
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Lyrics?
Rob, Meanwhile I’m a fan of your work. Up to now, and for the period I follow Lula, you didn’t show less that top class work!
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Rob, Meanwhile I’m a fan of your work. Up to now, and for the period I follow Lula, you didn’t show less that top class work!
Thank you very much Ivo; I just wish that work was still around for me to do.
That said, I guess that, realistically, I only have myself to blame for breaking away from the coalface in favour of those lotus-eating years mooching around the Med with my better half, living like characters in a novel and, like many of them, avoiding all thoughts of tomorrow. But at least, for as long as she lived, we had it all. Which ain't too bad a score!
And I still have some of the trannies!
;-)
P.S.
And to my horror, I realise that I didn't even type Encre correctly! Sheesh!
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Serge Reggiani - Sarah
https://youtu.be/k57Zbo_mnWY
La femme qui est dans mon lit n'a plus vingt ans depuis longtemps
Les yeux cernés par les années, par les amours au jour le jour
La bouche usée par les baisers trop souvent, mais trop mal donnés
Le teint blafard malgré le fard plus pâle qu'une tache de lune
La femme qui est dans mon lit n'a plus vingt ans depuis longtemps
Les seins si lourds de trop d'amour ne portent pas le nom d'appas
Le corps lassé, trop caressé, trop souvent, mais trop mal aimé
Le dos vouté semble porter des souvenirs qu'elle a dû fuir
La femme qui est dans mon lit n'a plus vingt ans depuis longtemps
Ne riez pas, n'y touchez pas, gardez vos larmes et vos sarcasmes
Lorsque la nuit nous réunit, son corps, ses mains s'offrent aux miens
Et c'est son cœur couvert de pleurs et de blessures qui me rassure.
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Serge Reggiani - Sarah
https://youtu.be/k57Zbo_mnWY
La femme qui est dans mon lit n'a plus vingt ans depuis longtemps
Les yeux cernés par les années, par les amours au jour le jour
La bouche usée par les baisers trop souvent, mais trop mal donnés
Le teint blafard malgré le fard plus pâle qu'une tache de lune
La femme qui est dans mon lit n'a plus vingt ans depuis longtemps
Les seins si lourds de trop d'amour ne portent pas le nom d'appas
Le corps lassé, trop caressé, trop souvent, mais trop mal aimé
Le dos vouté semble porter des souvenirs qu'elle a dû fuir
La femme qui est dans mon lit n'a plus vingt ans depuis longtemps
Ne riez pas, n'y touchez pas, gardez vos larmes et vos sarcasmes
Lorsque la nuit nous réunit, son corps, ses mains s'offrent aux miens
Et c'est son cœur couvert de pleurs et de blessures qui me rassure.
So beautiful and so real; love grows finer as it ages: I know.
Rob
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... And to my horror, I realise that I didn't even type Encre correctly! Sheesh!
Or that “having trannies” got a whole new meaning in the meantime ;)
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http://www.russ-lewis.com/essays/acrisisofsoul.html
And in response to Ivo's last post and Rob's heartfelt response:
http://www.russ-lewis.com/Poetry/Poems/FortyYearsLater.html
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http://www.russ-lewis.com/essays/acrisisofsoul.html
And in response to Ivo's last post and Rob's heartfelt response:
http://www.russ-lewis.com/Poetry/Poems/FortyYearsLater.html
Not a lot can follow that, Russ; you've said it all. Autumn's fortunate to have someone who can express it so much better than just "I love you" ever does.
Rob
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From the Robert Lowell poem, Waking Early Sunday Morning
Pity the planet, all joy gone
from this sweet volcanic cone;
peace to our children when they fall
in small war on the heels of small
war – until the end of time
to police the earth, a ghost
orbiting forever lost
in our monotonous sublime.
(https://farm2.staticflickr.com/1821/43382542842_5a092c903b_z.jpg) (https://flic.kr/p/296ySyA)Park Bench (https://flic.kr/p/296ySyA) by Omer Claiborne (https://www.flickr.com/photos/146601120@N02/), on Flickr
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http://www.russ-lewis.com/essays/acrisisofsoul.html
And in response to Ivo's last post and Rob's heartfelt response:
http://www.russ-lewis.com/Poetry/Poems/FortyYearsLater.html
Beautiful Russ.
You surely have a photo to illustrate?
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Not a lot can follow that, Russ; you've said it all. Autumn's fortunate to have someone who can express it so much better than just "I love you" ever does.
Rob
Yep........
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Thanks, Rob and Ivo. I started writing serious poetry in 1950 when I was a student at University of Michigan. I also started getting it published. I was nineteen. Here's the first one I ever had published:
http://www.russ-lewis.com/Poetry/Poems/Metamorophosis.html.
My most ambitious poem is one I did after my final Southeast Asia tour at Udon Thani in Thailand. It deals mostly with my first Southeast Asia tour at Ubon Ratchathani, and the laid-back period just before Rolling Thunder, the bombing campaign in North Vietnam, began. I've never sent it out for publication. Web publication is enough.
http://www.russ-lewis.com/Poetry/Poems/Ubon.html
And there are plenty of photographs to go with the SEA stuff:
http://www.russ-lewis.com/asia/index.html
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Nice stuff Russ. You're a deep guy.
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The Covered Bridge Horseman
Weather spooky, moonlit fright,
Rides the horseman in the night.
Dressed in umber darkened garb,
Pointed spear with sharpened barb.
Fleet he gallops big black horse,
Arrow straight he plies his course.
Tackling hills beyond the pall,
Watching ruts he will not fall.
Destination up ahead,
Covered bridge all stained in red.
Enters into portal dark,
Never wavers from his mark.
Out the blackened end he’ll fly,
Seeking those who quake and cry.
Leaving creek and bridge behind,
There’s nothing in him soft or kind.
Hide yourself to no avail,
He never misses, will not fail.
Piercing those who lack belief,
No trust in God you’ll end in grief.
Poem and Photo Copyright Alan Klein 2005
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Accidental Babies
Damien Rice
https://youtu.be/ELTVP4aqWAI
Well I held you like a lover
Happy hands, your elbow in the appropriate place
And we ignored our others
Happy plans for that delicate look upon your face
Our bodies moved and hardened
Hurting parts of your garden
With no room for a pardon
In a place where no one knows what we have done
Do you come
Together ever with him?
And is he dark enough?
Enough to see your light?
And do you brush your teeth before you kiss?
Do you miss my smell?
And is he bold enough to take you on?
Do you feel like you belong?
And does he drive you wild?
Or just mildly free?
What about me?
Well you held me like a lover
Sweaty hands
And my foot in the appropriate place
We use cushions to cover happy glands
In the mild issue of our disgrace
Our minds pressed and guarded
While our flesh disregarded
The lack of space for the lighthearted
In the boon that beats our drum
Well I know I make you cry
And I know sometimes you wanna die
But do you really feel alive without me?
If so, be free
If not, leave him for me
Before one of us has accidental babies
For we are in love
Do you come
Together ever with him?
Is he dark enough?
Enough to see your light?
Do you brush your teeth before you kiss?
Do you miss my smell?
And is he bold enough to take you on?
Do you feel like you belong?
And does he drive you wild?
Or just mildly free?
What about me?
What about me?
(Polaroid transfer on Aluminum paper)
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Dream Song 4, by John Berryman
Filling her compact & delicious body
with chicken páprika, she glanced at me
twice.
Fainting with interest, I hungered back
and only the fact of her husband & four other people
kept me from springing on her
or falling at her little feet and crying
‘You are the hottest one for years of night
Henry’s dazed eyes
have enjoyed, Brilliance.' I advanced upon
(despairing) my spumoni.—Sir Bones: is stuffed,
de world, wif feeding girls.
—Black hair, complexion Latin, jewelled eyes
downcast . . . The slob beside her feasts . . . What wonders is
she sitting on, over there?
The restaurant buzzes. She might as well be on Mars.
Where did it all go wrong? There ought to be a law against Henry.
—Mr. Bones: there is.
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Or that “having trannies” got a whole new meaning in the meantime ;)
Not for me: I avoid all these contemporary abuses of language; my defences were raised when the Hussars were reduced to shame by misappropriation of their defining adjective.
:-)
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(https://photos.smugmug.com/Still-Life/Still-LIfe/i-9dWgGKJ/0/6de6334b/M/CA_11031222233936-M.jpg)
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
Byron