We ditched class, just had to escape all those idiots A single three-minute track taught us way more than any American classroom ever could Tonight, there's that local drummer's beat echoing I think I can feel my pulse starting to race You claim you're exhausted, wanting nothing more than to drift off and chase some dream
We gave our word, a solemn oath we'd never let slip No backing down, honey, no surrender Just like troops in the dead of an American winter, sworn to hold the line No backing down, honey, no surrender
But now, youthful faces turn somber and aged, and those fiery spirits seem to fade We pledged ourselves as brothers against the elements Maybe I'm ready to find that youth again To hear your sister's call pulling us back home through the wide lawns Perhaps we could carve out a place that's just ours Armed with nothing but these guitars and these drums
Because we made a pact, a promise we'd never forget No backing down, honey, no surrender Brothers bound by blood in a storm, committed to the fight No backing down, honey, no surrender
Down on the street tonight, the lights are fading out The four walls of this room feel like they're shrinking There's a conflict still raging out there in the world You tell me the fight isn't even ours to win anymore I just want to rest under clear, quiet skies in my partner's arms With the vast American landscape before my eyes And these idealistic visions stuck in my head
Since we made that vow, a promise we swore to keep No backing down, honey, no surrender Brothers bound by blood in a storm, committed to the fight No backing down, honey, no surrender
Define what you actually mean by a "big" forum user... how many years do they need to have been around, and what's the minimum post count to earn that title? What are we looking at on an annual average?
For example... hitting 2,000 posts a year isn't even that hard, especially if you're just spamming the chat rooms. Maybe 6 posts a day, where each one is just 3 letters on average. 6 x 365 = 2190... times 3 letters = 6570 letters.
I bet there are recipes on AllRecipes with more than 6570 letters! 😬
One of his lesser-known tracks, though I suppose it’s a favorite of mine. It’s melancholy, maybe even philosophical. Especially toward the end when he says: He who hasn't understood the tree first And then planted it Has done nothing at all And, eventually, he'll realize he doesn't know what coldness is. Some people just never get that... they never find that chill. To just sit there and watch the world go by? That’s the real prize. You can't buy it with cash or gold. I guess you have to understand the tree before you even think about planting it.
Balašević - They once planted a Linden tree
They once planted a Linden tree Old man Nestor, Mr. Miller, and one other I was new to the scene back then The neighbor's kid they let tag along
Old man Nestor, clearing out the weeds He told me: You're young You'll live long enough to feel that chill
Once, I truly loved Real, crazy, intense love, I guess Drove a thousand miles Like that ugly Frenchman in that beautiful movie
The tracks dragged me under the machine wheel But she saved me While she crushed everyone else
Hey, it all works itself out in the end I've known the rules for a long time It's just the sorrows that add up
Hey, the towers are tolling again over St. Louis Autumn is to blame That gray weather always breaks me down
*
She passed right by me once With a guy I knew, just as I was going to say hi She looked away for a second But it was enough to trigger the blues in my head
A meaningless "hey" or a nod of the head And everything else that follows Whatever, honey, it's fine
Hey, it all works itself out in the end I've known the rules for a long time It's just the sorrows that add up
Hey, the towers are tolling again over St. Louis Autumn is to blame That gray weather always breaks me down
They were burning leaves once By that Linden tree, smoke drifting toward the sky As for where they are now, they're gone Old man Nestor, Mr. Miller, and one other
He who hasn't understood the tree first And then planted it Has done nothing at all And, eventually, he'll realize he doesn't know what coldness is
Steven Newman50 said:This thread feels different since it centers on polished poetry. Maybe you catch something that makes you want to listen again or connect it to a mainstream reference. Even if I wasn't responding to a specific post, certain things just caught my eye and made me hit replay.
Discussion is fine, even encouraged, I guess, but there's no rule. Don't force it if you have nothing to say. Though, sometimes feedback might be helpful.
Do you have any favorite poets or lyrics? Maybe someone will latch onto your specific examples. 😉
Something like that, I suppose.
The focus stays on poetry, but commenting is allowed. There aren't really any prohibitions or strict requirements.
Terror hitting in waves, midnight attacks Waves of pure disgust, revolting visions Heart about to explode, chest feeling crushed
Waves of fear, just waves of fear
Fear coming in waves, huddled on the ground Hunting for a pill, the bourbon's all dried up Blood dripping from my nose, struggling for air Waves of fear, too terrified to move
Waves of fear, waves of fear Waves of fear, waves of fear
Too scared to even pick up the phone Too scared to flip the light switch Scared out of my mind, totally lost grip Suffocating in silence
Sweating crazy, spit on my chin What was that sound...
I'd probably just start a party called PIZDA (Party for Avoiding... various taxes, obviously!). It would be perfect for American athletes registered in Monte Carlo or entrepreneurs over in the Virgin Islands. If there are any such people on this forum. 😁
Down by the docks of San Francisco The sailors sing their songs Of all the dreams that haunt them Out past the bay of San Francisco Down by the docks of San Francisco There are sailors sleeping soundly Like flags waving high Along the gloomy shoreline
Down by the docks of San Francisco There are sailors dying away Full of whiskey and heartache At the first light of day But down by the docks of San Francisco There are sailors being born In the heavy, stifling heat Of the ocean's endless swell
Down by the docks of San Francisco There are sailors eating well On tablecloths too white With fish dripping in the light They show you their teeth As they bite into fortune Trying to grab the moon Devouring the rigging lines
And it smells like salt cod Deep within the fries That their big hands offer up To make you come back for more Then they rise up laughing With a storm-like sound Zipping up their trousers And walking out with a belch
Down by the docks of San Francisco There are sailors dancing wild Rubbing their bellies together Against the curves of women And they spin and they dance Like suns burned out To the jagged, broken sound Of a rancid accordion
They twist their necks around Just to hear themselves laugh better Until suddenly, all at once The accordion gives its last breath Then with a solemn gesture And a proud, steady gaze They bring their American goods home Right into the bright light
Down by the docks of San Francisco There are sailors drinking deep Drinking and drinking again And drinking some more still They drink to the health Of the girls in San Francisco Or Hamburg or wherever Anyway, they drink to the ladies
Who give them their beautiful bodies Who give them their virtues For a single gold coin And when they have drunk enough They tilt their noses to the sky Wiping their noses on the stars And they piss just like I cry Over unfaithful women
Down by the docks of San Francisco Down by the docks of San Francisco
Marčelo’s "Sveti bes"... brutal lyrics. Maybe seems a bit naive at first glance, but I guess it isn't. He writes incredible poetry, actually. I think he has even better stuff out there than this.
Her spirit is free, I guess. Maybe. Maybe with the second one, just mud-covered hands. I guess. He wants to reach out and grab the sun, I guess. To embrace it like a brother. Maybe. Maybe she’s leaking those secrets about the land behind the mirror... I guess. If you actually believe in fairy tales, then I guess all that nonsense was spun for a reason! The track ahead is yours! But I guess there might be more than just a pitfall waiting on the other side. Your eyes are like wings. Maybe they lead you everywhere. I guess. Touch their chest... I guess it isn't even a heartbeat thumping there... maybe not... Maybe dreams just tap shyly on the door, waiting for you to let them in. I guess. Your fingers are brushes! Paint the people who are afraid. Maybe if some dark, heavy soul could just catch a breath of pollen and be reborn... I guess. Just an idea. Then they'll have a watery view... I guess I should just forgive them. Maybe you'll just have to force a smile again. I guess. Maybe those thousands of fireflies tonight are meant to be your lanterns. I guess. Flying is just so easy when you're a kid. I guess dreams just float. Maybe. Through empty streets! Maybe tonight's rainy soundtrack decides you're the one. Maybe put on a linen suit... if you're going to have rosebuds in your hair. You’re already a total pro! You breathe life into that doll just by looking at it! Then, out of nowhere, your partner just goes, "I've been waiting for you!" I guess. Maybe. I'll take you somewhere where they don't even know what grief feels like! Leaping high above the roof—there you go, right on the edge of the star. Lost in the clouds... I guess. Where are you taking me, man? I can't see you, you lunatic... clouds full of eyelashes... Wait! I see embers... or maybe people's faces are just glowing? I guess. Hundreds upon hundreds of people... they're coming right at us... I guess. Leading the parade—it’s probably just Mom and Dad! Maybe just like a light breeze. A cocktail of laughter and tears, I guess. She’s walking toward them. Radiant. Maybe she's never looked like this before. I guess. I guess I said I forgive them for leaving... things are just so much better here! Everything starts with passion and song! But then—suddenly—everything just starts shaking...! Beyond the mountains, some ugly giant's head is starting to peek through... I guess. Maybe. Everyone around her just turns to smoke and vanishes. I guess. Maybe. She ends up alone... and then she's just left staring into the face of some wicked Giant. I guess. He recognizes his uncle's face... and then the image just shatters into pieces!
I guess... maybe the first verse? Just get to it. Broken glass shards... they just pierce through her vision, I guess. Shattered dreams. It’s all just cutting into her eyes. It’s a mess. And finally, he sees exactly what happens every single night: A massive body hovering over her, breathing stinking of cheap bourbon. Maybe. It’s just such a harsh, grating language... honestly, it's everywhere. I guess it's unavoidable. Sticky sweat... and pain... and that other thing! I guess! A blade that slices through everything pure within her! Maybe just... dirty fingers in her mouth. I guess. My legs are shaking. I guess. Maybe. She’s screaming inside herself, reaching out for Macy... but I guess it’s hard to say if anyone will actually hear her now. Maybe. It’s just too much pain to bear. He can barely see through the tears, I guess. It's devastating. Take me, Doc, please... just lead the way! Maybe that silent little doll just stares back with those dead, glassy eyes... I guess. The heart just vanished beneath the velvet... lost to nothingness, I guess. Maybe. Maybe it's just the wind and the rain hitting these walls... I guess. Just nothing else. The night is deafening... and everything outside just swallows you in silence... I guess.
Maybe I guess he’s just a ref. Probably. Just some guy. Good God. My everything. My pain. My entire world. Holy... and what even counts as a sin? Maybe before, maybe after. I guess. Maybe it’s just heading back to where it belongs. I guess.
The second verse. Maybe. He’s fifty. While a storm rages outside, he just sits there in his armchair. I guess. Reading a book. Now on the song "The Raven." I guess. The song mentions solitude, the beat of wings, and the night. I guess. Maybe. Maybe it’s just some bad omen. I guess the only guest I have is a bird of ill repute. A night like this. Alone, just like him. But, a crow... just a crow in that song, I guess. Maybe. Pure madness. It just can't be... I mean, no way... The truck engine just keeps rattling away. I guess he’s still out there drinking wine. Maybe. Just when you least expect it, someone knocks. It’s stressful, I guess. Maybe. Maybe someone brought him that fog, like some omen from an old song. I guess. I guess he doesn't exactly crave the company, but he still leaves the door unlocked. Maybe. Then, right before them, they spot some kid made of pure shadow. I guess. Maybe. Black coat. Long hair. Dark eyes. And pure rage. Those eyes... they just pierce right through your soul. I guess. Maybe. Just intense. He always tries to say something, but I guess he just runs out of words. Maybe. ...like a lightning strike, when the youth's fist lands Another one. Just another one. A man finds himself on the floor As a young man, filled with dread and darkness, enters the room The man feels a heavy boot and a gaze from above And then he cries out helplessly... "You, you cursed son of a bitch...!" And that was the spark, an arrow piercing the youth's heart... Who knows why, but he screams and lunges to beat the man Bloody, demonic, without mercy, using whatever he can reach! ...the man spits blood, his wails lost beneath the boot... At the exact moment a pistol is pressed against his temple The man realizes the kid has no brakes... and that this is it... While coughing up his own teeth, he tries to ask "why?"... ...but the youth speaks for himself, and it was clear... "How does it feel to be on this side of fear? To you, who spent your life sowing terror? How do you like it now? Is the movie playing in your head? Every sequence where you tormented her And the scene where you got bored and didn't want her in the house anymore? The image of her alone on the street, under a broken purple sky? You... you wretch... you have no idea what happened next! I am no bastard! I am the son of a hundred losers People just like you, who were her only hope To somehow endure herself, and then her son... For pennies—a woman's warmth paired with a glass of cheap wine... In the end, AIDS finished her off. But there is a greater pain: To be born with AIDS! Go ahead, imagine that! I was born with HIV, but I will die with a smile This is your end. You finish by meeting my revenge."
A dull "click," silence, then a single scream into the void Just as the gun was empty, the youth smiles in the dark "Now you're just a shadow, you pathetic thing. Nothing compared to fear I won't be your executioner—life will. And you'll call it punishment!" ...and then a needle flashes in the light Which the youth with the dark face slowly pulls from his pocket He drives it into his vein, calmly injecting the juice of hatred Drops of Holy Wrath that have always flowed through him He smiles darkly; lightning strikes outside, and he jams the syringe into the man's neck Injecting his own blood. And that was checkmate The youth wanders back into the darkness, leaving only the old man's gasps
...but the night is deaf. And everything outside is swallowed by silence
2Pac - Trapped - released in 1991. Still hits hard today, almost twenty years later.
You know they got me trapped in this prison of seclusion Happiness, living on the streets is a delusion Even a smooth criminal one day must get caught Shot up or shot down with the bullet that he bought Nine millimeter kickin' thinking about what the streets do to me
'Cause they never talk peace in the black community All we know is violence, do the job in silence Walk the city streets like a rat pack of tyrants Too many brothers daily heading for the big pen Niggas commin' out worse off then when they went in Over the years I done a lot of growin' up Gettin' drunk thrown' up Cuffed up Then I said I had enough There must be another route, way out To money and fame, I changed my name And played a different game Tired of being trapped in this vicious cycle If one more cop harassed me I just might go psycho And when I get 'em I'll hit 'em with the bum rush Only a lunatic would like to see his skull crushed Yo, if your smart you'll really let me go 'G' But keep me cooped up in this ghetto and catch the Uzi They got me trapped
[Chorus] (Uh uh, they can't keep the black man down) They got me trapped (Naw, they can't keep the black man down) Trapped (Uh uh, they can't keep the black man down) Trapped (Naw, they can't keep the black man down)
They got me trapped Can barely walk the city streets Without a cop harassing me, searching me Then asking my identity Hands up, throw me up against the wall Didn't do a thing at all I'm tellin' you one day these suckers gotta fall Cuffed up throw me on the concrete Coppers try to kill me But they didn't know this was the wrong street Bang bang, down another casualty But it's a cop who's shot there's brutality Who do you blame? It's a shame because the mans slain He got caught in the chains of his own game How can I feel guilty after all the things they did to me Sweated me, hunted me Trapped in my own community One day I'm gonna bust Blow up on this society Why did ya lie to me ? I couldn't find a trace of equality Work me like a slave while they laid back Homie don't play that It's time I lett 'em suffer the payback I'm tryin' to avoid physical contact I can't hold back, it's time to attack jack They got me trapped
[Chorus]
(Uh uh, they can't keep the black man down) You know they got me trapped (Naw, they can't keep the black man down) Trapped (uh uh, they can't keep the black man down) You know they got me trapped (Naw, they can't keep the black man down)
Now I'm trapped and want to find a getaway All I need is a 'G' and somewhere safe to stay Can't use the phone 'Cause I'm sure someone is tappin' in Did it before Ain't scared to use my gat again I look back in hindsight the fight was irrelevant But now he's the devils friend Too late to be tellin' him He shot first and I'll be damned if I run away Homie is done away I should of put my gun away I wasn't thinkin' all I heard was the ridicule Girlies was laughin', Tup sayin' "Damn homies is dissin' you" I fired my weapon Started steppin' in the hurricane I got shot so I dropped Feelin' a burst of pain Got to my feet Nothing but red everywhere. Just blood. Maybe now I'm just another fugitive on the run, hunted like some killer. Cut through an alleyway. Searching for an exit. I guess. The cops shouted to freeze or they’d shoot. Dead on sight. Cornered. It was dark. No light at all. My mind kept racing—thinking about the gun and just wanting a better life. What's left to do? Rot in a federal penitentiary. I'd honestly rather die than live in a cage like that. They've got me pinned.
[Chorus]
(Uh uh, they can't keep an American man down) They've got me trapped. (Naw, they can't keep an American man down) Trapped. (uh uh, they can't keep an American man down) They really have me trapped. (Naw, they can't keep an American man down) Trapped.
It’s a pretty political, raw piece from Damir Avdić. A lot packed into such short lines, I guess. Brutal poetry paired with brutal music.
Damir Avdić grah - Catalonia Sparta
My name is Rodrigo. Rodrigo Penera. Catalonia lives in my heart. Back when bombers were rushing through Spanish skies to deliver democracy to the weeds in Baghdad, there was cash to go around. Cheap hash. Music, dancing, bullfights.
But the cash is gone. Angela won't let us have it. Old Merkel isn't giving out freebies anymore. She wants us working for those old machines. But we’re proud kids. Conquerors. We baptized half the world. We crushed the Mayans and the Incas. No one is putting us back in factories!
No one!
I studied for years at prestigious spots: Barcelona, Paris, London, Brisbane, San Francisco, Boston, Montreal, L.A. No one’s hiring me for those old machines. Let the immigrant kids do it.
Yeah, right. It's over, Rodrigo.
My name is Konstantin. Konstantin Kakis. Athens is the birthplace of me and my brother. Both of us are out here on the streets, at the barricades. Today it’s Greece burning, tomorrow it’s the whole planet. When there was money, we danced and sang. An orchestra played for our weddings and funerals.
But the cash is gone. Angela won't let us have it. Old Merkel isn't giving out freebies anymore. She wants us working for those old machines. But we’re proud kids, descendants of Sparta and Alexander. We burned everything from Mexico to Asia. There were three hundred of us against all of Persia. No one is putting us back in factories. Let the immigrant kids do it.
Oh, my Konstantin.
My name is Gypsy. When Sarkozy hates me, it’s fascism. When you hate me, it’s just fine. You make your money off my songs while giving my kids nothing but scraps. May my sons be your sons-in-law, and my daughters give birth to your descendants.
Back in the day, maybe during the 80s, Washington, D.C. had some decent bars where you could actually grab a drink and sing along.
Like, say, the old unknown on Mesnicka before they renovated, or Diana over on Broadway. I probably spent way too much money there, especially at Diana. Personally, I think the unknown shut down for renovations way too early—it just turned into some tacky, superficial hole. We used to show up with guitars and just rock out. And don't even get me started on those local neighborhood dives...
To me is the best Štulić lyric. Pure poetry. I don't have a YouTube link for the song, but it's famous enough anyway.
Just like yesterday
My hands were salty sand, I dreamed of you My hands were upon the altar for many years Submerged rocks are weeping light begins with the quiet changing of my impulses
(Just like yesterday) Behind the curtain... (Just like yesterday) Behind the curtain... Maybe you'll find traces of memory on my face Maybe you don't understand, but I love you
I headed into the depths of the room with a clear intention to materialize the impossible through the power of the message The debauchery of a histrion resonates closely let others count the crosses
(Just like yesterday) Behind the curtain... (Just like yesterday) Behind the curtain... That which constantly scares me sounds familiar Maybe you don't understand, but I love you
Where does the feeling come from that you're losing reliable ground Art makes you stronger than you assume Maybe your suspicion is deceiving you?! Maybe I'm imagining it?! I wish you were happier
(Just like yesterday) Behind the curtain... (Just like yesterday) Behind the curtain... I will play the poet's role before you again Maybe you don't understand, but I love you
Watch how the threads of allusion pierce through consciousness Not even anxiety as a silent witness is worth too much I stood on the platform in the year of our Lord it could have been last century
(Just like yesterday) Behind the curtain... (Just like yesterday) Behind the curtain... Imagine a mountain of pictures traveling through space Maybe you don't understand, but I love you
(Just like yesterday) Behind the curtain... (Just like yesterday) Behind the curtain... (Just like yesterday) Behind the curtain... (Just like yesterday) Behind the curtain...
This thread is for poetry found in music—those lyrics you love so much they feel like pure verse... (it doesn't strictly have to be famous poets or authors).
So—it could be a song adapted from a poet, a brilliant songwriter, or a rock band with incredible depth... anything goes, regardless of language—English, Spanish, French, Russian... you might find Zvonimir Golob, Arsen, Ibrica, Balašević, or Štulić here... or maybe Leonard Cohen, Jacques Brel, Robert Bresson, Bob Dylan, or Bulat Okudzhava... it doesn't matter—the connection is the poetic value of the words.
Feel free to include an English translation if you want, but don't feel obligated.
Something beautiful to kick things off, in Spanish, the original—Pablo Neruda
Rebekah Del Rio - Del Rio
En mi cielo al crepúsculo eres como una nube y tu color y forma son como yo los quiero. Eres mía, eres mía, mujer de labios dulces, y viven en tu vida mis infinitos sueños.
La lámpara de mi alma te sonrosa los pies, el agrio vino mío es más dulce en tus labios: oh segadora de mi canción de atardecer, cómo te sienten mía mis sueños solitarios!
Eres mía, eres mía, voy gritando en la brisa de la tarde, y el viento arrastra mi voz viuda. Cazadora del fondo de mis ojos, tu robo estanca como el agua tu mirada nocturna.
En la red de mi música estás presa, amor mío, y mis redes de música son anchas como el cielo. Mi alma nace a la orilla de tus ojos de luto. En tus ojos de luto comienza el país del sueño.
Pablo Neruda
An English translation...
In my twilight sky, you are like a cloud, with colors and shapes just as I desire. You are mine, mine, woman of sweet lips, my infinite dreams live within you.
The lamp of my soul blushes your feet, my bitter wine tastes sweeter on your lips: oh, reaper of my sunset song, how these lonely dreams feel you as mine.
You are mine, mine, and I cry out in the afternoon breeze, as the wind carries my widowed voice. Hunter from the depths of my eyes, your nocturnal gaze stills like water during your theft.
You are caught in the net of my music, my love, and my musical webs are as wide as the sky. At the shore of your mourning eyes, my soul is born. Within your mourning eyes, the land of dreams begins.
His music always reminds me of whiskey—some harsh, uncompromising bourbon from somewhere down South...
Then there's Gogol Bordello; their sound feels like cheap vodka of unknown origin, though it doesn't really matter because you just want to get trashed on it.
Lately, I've been sipping along to BGKO, but their stuff isn't like a single glass of wine. It’s more like an entire cellar shoved in my face by some shady guy from the outskirts who doesn't even know what he stole or how cheaply he sold it to me. Just a raw mix of every genre, scent, drink, and the sheer bliss of a goddess!