Lost In Music

LOST IN MUSIC

every night she liked
to take off her clothes to
Hungarian Rhapsody

she would bathe
every second Sunday
in Mozart's Symphony No.40

curiously she
would fall asleep to
The Flight of the Bumblebee

her every activity
scored to a music
she adored

mute
she let the music

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poem by Dónall Dempsey
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Kossuth

Type of two mighty continents!--combining
The strength of Europe with the warmth and glow
Of Asian song and prophecy,--the shining
Of Orient splendors over Northern snow!
Who shall receive him? Who, unblushing, speak
Welcome to him, who, while he strove to break
The Austrian yoke from Magyar necks, smote off
At the same blow the fetters of the serf,
Rearing the altar of his Fatherland
On the firm base of freedom, and thereby
Lifting to Heaven a patriot's stainless hand,
Mocked not the God of Justice with a lie!
Who shall be Freedom's mouthpiece? Who shall give
Her welcoming cheer to the great fugitive?
Not he who, all her sacred trusts betraying,
Is scourging back to slavery's hell of pain
The swarthy Kossuths of our land again!
Not he whose utterance now from lips designed
The bugle-march of Liberty to wind,
And call her hosts beneath the breaking light,

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poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Russian travel program

Every now and then
there are Russians
travelling to foreign countries
standing in lines
at aeroplanes and vehicles
to on government command
take a return trip without cost:

In 1932 it was right through Siberia
into Mongolia
with excursions through the country side
to look at the wall of China.

In 1939 together with some German friends
they visited Poland
and the old town square in Warsaw,
looked at the armour
of the Teutonic knight Sigsmund II
and the cathedral of St. John.

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poem by Gert Strydom
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Travel in a Box Car of the Fuehrer

Armed with bayonet-fixed rifles
And hurling vulgar insults
Royal Hungarian gendarmes
In cock- feather- plumed hats
Shoved us with vicious force
Onto a shabby cattle car
In the railway station of Szeged.

And then they locked the doors.

With my little sister in her arms
Mother and I found ourselves
Amid eighty men, women and children
Squeezed together like sardines
In a hermetically sealed tin can.
The wagon was ill-ventilated
Its small windows were barred and wired.

The Jewish prisoner train
Departed slowly with the deported

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poem by Paul Hartal
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Night-Scented Stock

White, white in the milky night
The moon danced over a tree.
"Wouldn't it be lovely to swim in the lake!"
Someone whispered to me.

"Oh, do-do-do!" cooed someone else,
And clasped her hands to her chin.
"I should so love to see the white bodies--
All the white bodies jump in!"

The big dark house hid secretly
Behind the magnolia and the spreading pear-tree;
But there was a sound of music--music rippled and ran
Like a lady laughing behind her fan,
Laughing and mocking and running away...
"Come into the garden--it's as light as day!"

"I can't dance to that Hungarian stuff,
The rhythm in it is not passionate enough,"
Said somebody. "I absolutely refuse...."

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poem by Katherine Mansfield
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My child is sick

In the middle of the night
She entered the shop
Where I work and she tells;
'My child is sick and cold outside
Could you please spare me a cardboard box.'
'Certainly I'll give you Madam!
If I am not inquisitive a small question,
Where's the child's father? '
'Since the first World war he never returned
And I heard he stays with Kaiser Wilhelm of Germany, British King George V and Emperor Franz Josef of Austria-Hungary.'
I noticed she carefully wrapped her ragged-doll with an old paper
And kept in the box a plastic bottle as a pillow!
-

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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A Question...

is that old Hungarian
for mere citizenship
or for love?
for a moment or
for eternity?
do you know really
what eternity is?
i know citizenship
i have known love
but eternity
is a chasm
between too much
familiarity and
too much
looking at the past
it is untrue
and yet you utter it
how come?
are you not bothered
by the coldness

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Requiem For Bartok

A Requiem for Bartok

Viola Concerto
which he never finished
poor and broke in New York
as so many were and still are
he died

there was no dirge
no elegy
no requiem
for a true artist
has no true friend

they called him a genius
a great artist
they even finished writing
his last testament
his Viola Concerto

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poem by Suchoon Mo_
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Crimean War

At the announcement that Britain was to declare War, Kossuth
the Hungarian Patriot and orator, declared in an address in
England, that the British Lion was a sea dog but helpless on land.

When the British Lion offered aid to the turk,
Round many lips a sneer of serious doubt did lurk,
They said he was at home on sea, but when on land
He would be as a ship wrecked upon the strand ;
Or like some huge, ungainly crockadile [sic]
Upon the marshy banks of sluggish Nile,
Who could move gayly on the deep
But on dry land could scarcely creep.
But up the Alma heights he rushed, like grayhounds after hare,
And in a moment by the throat he seized the Russian Bear,
Which begged so hard for mercy, his life he did it spare,
And closely now it is confined within its native lair;
For its strong fortress great Sebastapool,
Was forced to submit to Great Britain's rule.

poem by James McIntyre
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Khoral Kathy

for my choral mentor, Kathryn Smith Bowers
in celebration of her 60th birthday

Ah yes dearest Kathryn –
Like Dorothy sprung from Kansas soil
always a frequent flyer
even without a plane.

She has a simple plan
to seize the core of a song:
If you wish to tap the essence
of why a Hungarian sings
It’s easy:
just pack your bags and go
to where his song was born.

What makes a motet Scandanavian
or Deutsch or Italiano?
Piece of cake:
just book your flight

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poem by Robert Charles Howard
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Universal Gallows (War)

Washington and London, conquerors proud
penitents, Earth’s perturbation cowed.
Your torn ingested satellites held -
so much interstellar molecules
for mighty spiral galaxies to meld.
A hundred billion arms swirl and pull
your million killed, your hegemonic rules.

Men’s courts a gravity shallows
false prophets beyond human gallows
but judgement, a constants universal -
the proton, neutron, and justice, no rehearsal
man’s victor’s justice, a shame unique.

Our big bang dies of cold regret
only to rebirth, in life’s spasm.
So hungary for critical mass, yet
refuses recycle in star plasma
your volatile words, your sensous gas.
It fearful of spirit tainted matter

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poem by Philip Housiaux
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There Are Those Who Have Known Daily Horrors

THERE ARE THOSE WHO HAVE KNOWN DAILY HORRORS

I have had a relatively easy life-
There are those who have known daily horrors
Beyond those any human being should ever have to imagine
I think of the last generation of survivors of the Shoah
Slowly dying out now
Taking with them their memories of loved ones murdered before their eyes
Of incredible tortures and cruelty
Of horrible partings and endless humiliations-

I think of these people my fellow Jews
And wonder why God allowed it to happen to them
And what it all means-

I certainly don't know-

I have had a relatively easy life
With of course my own griefs and sorrows and failings
But nothing at all like what they went through -

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poem by Shalom Freedman
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Balkan Nightmares

The ghosts of history haunt the Balkans.
Ancient passions, unbending hatreds
turmoil the region.
Painful tragedies of the past
are recycled by memories.
Permanent hostage of bound
and determined remembrance,
Race, religion and poverty clash
in violent convulsions.

Ethnic warfare and ruthless fright
sweep across nations,
fuelled by explosions of grief, revenge
and fear.
They are immersed in horror,
terror, chaos and bloodshed,
the sufferings of children,
the sorrows of fathers,
and the agonies of widows.

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poem by Paul Hartal
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Testosterone Depletion and Aging

Man’s Oligospermia depletion also refects his health and vitality.
Recently a TV chief queried experts at his table for such validity.
Even Rod Stewart’s wife had her say, clarifying their healthy way.
Ramsay’s approach to food makes his restaurant the best; hey.

Loss of sperm-count reveals loss of energy and sentimentality.
Either from a medical or sexual concern, men seek plausibility.
Researchers in Hungary now say that mobile phones can impair.
Men’s fertility has declined by 50% in industrial places unaware.

Yet it’s not just about sperm-count loss, there’s a bigger view.
It’s about healthy actions and obtaining quality awareness too.
I wonder about attitudes, their effects for life’s productivity.
Whether this relates to sex, each other, or even God, relatively.

Decline in testosterone are associated with increases in fat cells.
Such a decline of man’s overall wellbeing fosters wintry gales.
Energy loss implies the need for educating diets in excellence.
Conditions limit cognitive skills, family, and work relevance.

poem by ArmourQuill Hunter
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For Britain Only

We blasted Glasgow
Invaded France
Assaulted Sweden
Took down our pants
And lovely England
My little kitten
Deliriously
Black widow Bitten
For Britain only
Only for Britain, yeah
For Britain only
Only for Britain
Jumped on the concord
Ain't much for sittin'
I told my boys, now
No public spiting
No bar room fighting
No bad head splitting
Behave yourself 'cause we're, we're back in Britain
For Britain only

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song performed by Alice Cooper
Added by Lucian Velea
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12-07-07 No Poem Here

Just an observation on the anniversary of the failed intelligence that led to the US being unprepared and surprised by the attack on Pearl Harbor. An estimated loss of American lives that day 3,400.
It was also on this date in 1917 that the US declared war on Austria-Hungary.
I write this in light of the recent reevaluation of Iran's nuclear capability and intentions. Two articles in the London Times today reflect that we haven't come very far since 1917. 1) 'It should ceretainly not be the basis for declaring peace in our time and welcoming those nice Iranians back into the global family....(Iran's) proxies and friends in Hezballah and Hamas and among the Iraqi Shia extremists.'
2) new threats of Balkins conflict - -Serbia made threats of war with the breakaway province of Kosovo.
I have no poems about this. I went to bed last night after watching a re-run on TV of 'I Robot' staring Will Smith. Neither this fiction nor my reflections on reality this morning give me much encouragment for positive developments in world peace.
Thanks. I just had to let someone else know.

poem by Tom J. Mariani
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I Love You in Any Language……I Will Only Say This Once

Je t'aime, I love you in French
Ich leba dich, I love you in German
Seni seviyorum..."I love you in Turkish
Ja Cie Kocham, I love you in Polish
Tora dust midaram, I love you in Persian
S' ayapo, I love you in Greek
"Ani ohev otach, "I love you in Hebrew
? G elska Big, I love you in Icelandic
Szeretick te'ged, I love you in Hungarian
Ikh hob dikh lib, I love you in Yiddish
Te quiero, I love you in Spanish
Jag a "Iskar dig" I love you in Swedish
Main tenu pyar karda haan, I love you in Punjabi
al Kita, I love you in Pilipino
Volim te, I love you in Serbian
Ch'ha di'rn, I love you in Swiss German
Tha gra\dh agam ort I love you in Scot Gaelic
Te iu bese, I love you in Romanian
Eu amo-te, I love you in Portuguese
Gwa ai lee, I love you in Taiwanese

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poem by Ken e Hall
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Polka

The polka is a Central European dance and also a genre of dance music familiar throughout Europe and the Americas. It originated in the middle of the 19th century in Bohemia. Polka is still a popular genre of folk music in many European countries and is performed by folk artists in Poland, Latvia, Lithuania, Czech Republic, Netherlands, Croatia, Slovenia, Germany, Hungary, Austria, Switzerland, Italy, Ukraine, Belarus, Russia and Slovakia. Local varieties of this dance are also found in the Nordic countries, United Kingdom, Republic of Ireland, Latin America (especially Mexico) , and in the United States.

Month of February finishes
And March comes
With heavy snow here?
Frozen tears fallen from the sky
As she cannot bear the severe coldness
It seems?
And I think of my loving deceased Mother
Who secured me for nine months in her
Precious polyphony Womb?
How she cried deeply
When she heard that my handsome father
Met an accident in his young age?
Both were in a secluded place now
And practice their favorite *dance
That I am sure.
But I would like to know that
Your place get snow and bombs too sometimes
What we get on this planet Earth

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poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Kamikaze Cappa

Going with company e to the first wave
I moved to get a close up
The first soldier of the opposite party stopped midway
And cried.
Are these the shots youre waiting for?
The shots of blood and pain are the ones youre
Waiting for
The u.s. medal of freedom will never bring back life to the
Death Ive seen
The goal of my life
I would like to be an unemployed war reporter
Pablo picasso
Francois gilot
Hemingway
Hitchcock
Ingrid bergman
Henri matisse
They all knew Im a gambler, corresponding with death
They know that life is white light, slightly out of focus
Kamikaze cappa always on the road

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song performed by Falco
Added by Lucian Velea
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Grandma

Above the bed
Old photos stared down
Solemnly from the wall.
Behind the glass frame
Grandpa wore
His grey uniform
Of the Great War;
Grandma her sombre dress.

She died before I was born
And grandpa shortly after.
The only grandparent
That I knew was
My mother’s step mother.

For some reason
She did not get along well
With my parents
But I basked
In the warmth of her

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poem by Paul Hartal
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