Poem about guitar music?

[elemmennope.livejournal.com]

I have a neighbor who sometimes sits on his balcony at night playing acoustic guitar. I have been truly moved, laying in bed in the dark as I fall asleep, listening to the soft notes drift across the warm summer air into my window.

I want to sneak over and leave an anonymous note on his door saying thank you, and just letting him know that his practicing outside is bringing me, bringing someone, joy. I thought about including a short quote or poem about guitar music or night music or something... but I just can't find the right words.

So this is a request for a poem or a section from a poem about guitars or music or listening to music at night or summer evenings or something along those lines. I've been googling and searching poem databases for the last hour or so and am not finding anything appropriate. Any suggestions?

Comments

[peoplevsme.livejournal.com]

Wallace Stevens' "The Man With the Blue Guitar" (http://www.geegaw.com/stories/the_man_with_the_blue_guitar.shtml) came to mind. It's by no means short, but maybe a quote from it? It's awesome. And I definitely recommend it regardless :)

and this isn't a poem, but that amazing Picasso painting... (http://www.physics.miami.edu/~chris/art/picasso/old_plyr.jpg) I have a postcard of it.

your post made me happy.

[elemmennope.livejournal.com]

Great suggestion, thank you. It is long, but I'm finding possibilities within.

Love the postcard suggestion too.

And I'm glad this made you happy. Pay it forward. :)

[peoplevsme.livejournal.com]

thanks! :)

my english teacher/mentor in high school read us the whole thing one day in class...wow. just wow.

you should check out wallace stevens if you haven't.

[peoplevsme.livejournal.com]

*more wallace stevens. 13 ways of looking at a blackbird, for instance. it's in the memories here i think.

[purple-malik.livejournal.com]

I don't have any poem to contribute but I sit at my window and play my acoustic. Even though i'm no expert i'm hoping if someone listens they appreciate it :D

It's so soothing to play it at night. And sometimes when the dawn is breaking, it's just amazing to play pretty and slow songs :)

[elemmennope.livejournal.com]

I'm sure someone does appreciate :)

[ravengirl.livejournal.com]

sweet. we have a pianist in our complex and usually the notes flowing in the windows is soothing and appreciated. just this morning i enjoyed his "practice" again. :)

a Carpenter's song came to mind as i read your post, but only a portion would be "appropriate". i like the idea of the picasso painting mentioned above-- it's a great work and widely available so a little note on such a "card" would be nice.

[elemmennope.livejournal.com]

Yes, I think the postcard is a great idea. :)

Which Carpenters song?

[ravengirl.livejournal.com]

the part that played in my mind was "your guitar, it sounds so sweet and clear"-- i didn't remember the rest of it until i looked it up! :)

Superstar Lyrics

Long ago and oh so far away
I fell in love with you before the second show
Your guitar, it sounds so sweet and clear
But you're not really here
It's just the radio

[Chorus:]
Don't you remember you told me you loved me baby
You said you'd be coming back this way again baby
Baby, baby, baby, baby, oh, baby, I love you I really do

Loneliness is a such a sad affair
And I can hardly wait to be with you again

What to say to make you come again
Come back to me again
And play your sad guitar

[Chorus x2]

[cp.livejournal.com]

I've always liked this one...

The Guitarist Tunes Up

With what attentive courtesy he bent
Over his instrument;
Not as a lordly conquerer who could
Command both wire and wood,
But as a man with a loved woman might,
Inquiring with delight
What slight essential things she had to say
Before they started, he and she, to play.

-Frances Darwin Cornford

[elemmennope.livejournal.com]

I love this one, thank you!

[twirlingdervish.livejournal.com]

Man, he´s your neighbour! Bake him a pie!

Sorry, that was obnoxious. We-all-have-our-ways-of-doing-things. The poem idea is very pretty. Still, though, a less anonymous appreciation would be a nice way of meeting someone.

[elemmennope.livejournal.com]

LOL, yeah, some of my friends think I better find out if he's cute (they've offered to loan binoculars) before I do anything. I'll keep baked goods on the possibilities list. ;)

[bloodrebel333.livejournal.com]

You made me want to take out my own guitar and go sit on the porch to practice.

[elemmennope.livejournal.com]

Yay :)

[joseishijin.livejournal.com]

Sorry - I don't know if the breaks are correct, but how about Federico García Lorca?

The Guitar

The weeping of the guitar
begins.
The goblets of dawn
are smashed.
The weeping of the guitar
begins.
Useless
to silence it.
Impossible
to silence it.
It weeps monotonously
as water weeps
as the wind weeps
over snowfields.
Impossible
to silence it.
It weeps for distant
things.
Hot southern sands
yearning for white camellias.
Weeps arrow without target
evening without morning
and the first dead bird
on the branch.
Oh, guitar!
Heart mortally wounded
by five swords.

[dreamlessness]

i'd love to have a guitarist-neighbor i can give this poem to!

[elemmennope.livejournal.com]

Nice poem, but I think he might believe I was asking him to stop! Impossible to silence it... lol.

[sophie-spence.livejournal.com]

Not a poem you can use, but your description of listening to your neighbor reminded me of "Music" by Amy Lowell:

The neighbour sits in his window and plays the flute.
From my bed I can hear him,
And the round notes flutter and tap about the room,
And hit against each other,
Blurring to unexpected chords.
It is very beautiful,
With the little flute-notes all about me,
In the darkness.

In the daytime,
The neighbour eats bread and onions with one hand
And copies music with the other.
He is fat and has a bald head,
So I do not look at him,
But run quickly past his window.
There is always the sky to look at,
Or the water in the well!

But when night comes and he plays his flute,
I think of him as a young man,
With gold seals hanging from his watch,
And a blue coat with silver buttons.
As I lie in my bed
The flute-notes push against my ears and lips,
And I go to sleep, dreaming.

[elemmennope.livejournal.com]

Ok, this is so close to what I was imagining. It's almost perfect, except for being about a flute and a fat bald guy, lol. Still, thanks a lot for posting this! Maybe I could just use the first stanza and change flute to guitar?

[sophie-spence.livejournal.com]

Google produced a poem called "Music in the Night" by Harriet Prescott Spofford that has some lines that might work:

Hearing, the slumbering soul is stirred,
As when a swiftly passing light
Startles the shadows into flight;
While one remembrance suddenly
Thrills through the melting melody —
A strain of music in the night.

[dreamlessness]

not about guitarists again, but this is a poem about a legendary musician that i really love:

A Tree Telling of Orpheus

[elemmennope.livejournal.com]

That was beautiful, thanks!