Do you have poems or quotes about piano? Or music in general?
“It is dreadful when something weighs on your mind, not to have a soul to unburden yourself to. You know what I mean. I tell my piano the things I used to tell you.”
Frédéric Chopin, in a letter
Mahmoud Darwish, Visible Music
“Purple sadness is the sadness of classical music and eggplant, the stroke of midnight, human organs, ports cut off for part of every year, words with too many meanings, incense, insomnia, and the crescent moon. It is the sadness of play money, and icebergs seen from a canoe. It is possible to dance to purple sadness, though slowly, as slowly as it takes to dig a pit to hold a sleeping giant. Purple sadness is pervasive, and goes deeper into the interior than the world’s greatest nickel deposits, or any other sadness on earth. It is the sadness of depositories, and heels echoing down a long corridor, it is the sound of your mother closing the door at night, leaving you alone.”
Mary Ruefle, My Private Property
Emilie Buchwald, “My Mother’s Music”
“Me alimento de música y de agua negra. Soy tu niña calcinada por un sueño implacable.
My food is music and black waters. I am a girl burned by a ruthless sleep.”
Alejandra Pizarnik, from Extracting the Stone of Madness (tr. Yvette Siegert)
“Are we dreaming? Do I have only to pronounce a certain name, so that everything will come together, small miracles will happen, and I will be drawn deeper and deeper into an enchantment? The stars sing, it is a high whirring sound; I will not try to convince anyone, but we heard it that night.”
Christa Wolf, Cassandra: A Novel and Four Essays (tr. Jan van Heurck)
“I had the idea that the world’s so full of pain
it must sometimes make a kind of singing.
And that the sequence helps, as much as order helps—
First an ego, and then pain, and then the singing.”
Robert Haas, “Faint Music”
Michelangelo Antonioni, Red Desert, 1964
“Sometimes he sang to himself. / Sometimes it was all he could do / to keep his hands steady,”
Danusha Laméris, from The Moons of August; “Remodeling”
"They say a song can be a bridge, Ma. But I say it’s also the ground we stand on. And maybe we sing to keep ourselves from falling. Maybe we sing to keep ourselves."
Ocean Vuong, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous
Nikki Giovanni, from “The Winter Storm”
“At first the solitude charmed me like a prelude, but so much music wounded me.”
Rainer Maria Rilke, from Music
“And in the depths of music, I didn’t find the answer, / And again there was silence, and again the ghost of summer.”
Anna Akhmatova, from Complete Poems; “Stravinsky’s ‘Jeremiah’”
“So I abandoned music and its treachery, because the music was either too high or too low, never at the center, in the place of fusion and encounter. (You who were my only country: where should I look for you?”
Alejandra Pizarnik, from Extracting the Stone of Madness (tr. Yvette Siegert)
Hozier, from “To Noise Making (Sing)”
Joanna Klink, from The Nightfields
“Does the bird sing or does it not sing? Is it a symbol for what threatens to overwhelm our senses, of what will permanently transform and silence us? The bird is death: no wonder Keats imagines himself dying when he hears its song. No wonder he scratches out the speech of Lavinia’s tormentors: silence will come for him, as well as for her, and for us. Death attends our longing for the song. Sing, for you are voiceless. Sing, for it cannot matter. Sing, for soon no one will hear you again.”
Paisley Rekdal, from A Nightingale: A Gloss; The American Poetry Review, vol. 46, no. 05.
“And may nothing of me remain except the happiness of the one who knocked and for whom the door was opened. It is music, it is death. This is what I wanted to say,”
Alejandra Pizarnik, from Extracting the Stone of Madness; “The Promises of Music” (tr. Yvette Siegert)
Emil Cioran, from “Tears and Saints”, trans. Ilinca Zarifopol-Johnston
“Isn't there always something we want / more than our own happiness? / A pull toward the Fall. / Haven't we all loved too much?”
Danusha Laméris, from The Moons of August; “Apples”
“…and I’m disgusted with dreams now — I want real things — live people to take hold of — to see — and to talk to — Music that makes holes in the sky —”
Georgia O’Keeffe, in a letter to Anita Pollitzer
“And just as music is the space between notes, just as the stars are beautiful because of the space between them, just as the sun strikes raindrops at a certain angle and throws a prism of color across the sky—so the space where I exist, and want to keep existing, and to be quite frank I hope to die, is exactly this middle distance: where despair struck pure otherness and created something sublime.”
Donna Tartt, from The Goldfinch
“It’s turning thunder into grace, knowing sometimes the break in your heart is like the hole in the flute.
Sometimes it’s the place where the music comes through.”
Andrea Gibson, from The Madness Vase; “Gospel Salt”
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