Lotsa A Cappella home | What's New | Lotsa A Cappella Links | Concerts | Photos | History | Contact |
Dr. King Special | Halloween Special | Christmas music | Poetry Month | 9/11 Tribute |

Willow, in your April gown
Delicate and gleaming,
Do you mind in years gone by
All my dreaming?

Spring was like a call to me
That I could not answer,
I was chained to loneliness,
I, the dancer.

Willow, twinkling in the sun,
Still your leaves and hear me,
I can answer spring at last,
Love is near me!

~ Sara Teasdale

"April is in my mistress' face..."


Poetry Month playlists

April 18, 2010

Music shouldn't be so complicated that it's beyond everyone's capabilities, nor should it be so simple that you cannot use your mind to think about it.

~ Stevie Wonder

Tell the Truth
But tell it slant---
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind.

~ Emily Dickinson ~

April is National Poetry Month

The waves are running in verses this fine morning. Please come flying.

~ Elizabeth Bishop

Celebrate National Poetry Month by listening to Literature for the Halibut, now on Monday evenings on 88.1 KDHX, (available on podcast anytime) and by checking out www.Poets.org.

Poetry In Motion

Charles Bernstein's 1999 article "Against National Poetry Month As Such" is interesting reading.

Find Poetry Online

For the latest Lotsa A Cappella playlist, click on the link below:

A red-cap sang in Bishop’s wood,
A lark o’er Golder’s lane;
But I, alone, still glooming stood,
And April plucked in vain;

Till living words rang in my ears
And sudden music played:
Out of such sacred thirst as hers
The world shall be remade.

Afar she turned her head and smiled
As might have smiled the Spring,
And humble as a wondering child
I watched her vanishing.

~ Olive Tilford Dargan, from Path Flower

"April is the cruelest month..."

To celebrate National Poetry Month, Lotsa A Cappella featured songs with "poetic" lyrics. We played songs written by:

Quote Garden: On Poetry

"The crown of literature is poetry. It is its end and aim. It is the sublimest activity of the human mind. It is the achievement of beauty and delicacy. The writer of prose can only step aside when the poet passes."

~ Somerset Maugham

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

~ Elizabeth Barrett Browning




Sid’s been singing since he was six
Learning riffs and red hot licks
But like a shoe that doesn’t fit
All his rhythms are counterfeit

Now he’s sittin’ in the county jail,
Feelin’ bad and can’t make bail
The judge says "Felony first degree
For snappin’ your fingers on one and three!"

Failure to swing,
All that jive don’t mean a thing.
Failure to swing,
Now it’s a crime the way you sing
Failure to swing,
Needless pain and suffering
I cannot tell a lie
The swing bus passed you by.
Failure to swing.

~ words and music by Kirby Shaw




There are two means of refuge from the miseries of life: music and cats.

~ Albert Schweitzer

Time and again I would try to say
All I'd want you to know.
If I loved you,
Words wouldn't come in an easy way.
Round in circles I'd go.
Longin' to tell you,
But afraid and shy,
I'd let my golden chances pass me by.
Soon you'd leave me,
Off you would go in the mist of day,
Never, never to know
How I loved you
If I loved you.

~ words by Oscar Hammerstein II, music by Richard Rodgers, from Carousel ~ 1945


When sin had set our world at six and seven,
Then stoop'd to earth the Lord, the King of Heaven,
Born for us at this glad season:
Wherefore sing we with good reason,
Laus tibi Domine,
Qui natus est pro homine,
In Bethlehem parva.

But, gentles, be not chary
In your praise of Maiden Mary:
And I pray you to-day, you be gay, you do say,
"To rescue man forlorn, Alleluya,
The King of Bliss is born!"

~ G.W. Woodward






To Daffodils

Fair daffodils, we weep to see
     You haste away so soon;
As yet the early-rising sun
     Has not attain’d his noon.
         Stay, stay
     Until the hasting day
        Has run
     But to the evensong;
And, having pray’d together, we
     Will go with you along.

We have short time to stay, as you,
We have as short a spring;
As quick a growth to meet decay,
As you, or anything.
         We die
     As your hours do, and dry
     Like to the summer’s rain;
Or as the pearls of morning’s dew,
     Ne’er to be found again.

     ~ Robert Herrick


The beautiful part of writing is that you don't have to get it right the first time, unlike, say, a brain surgeon.

~ Robert Cromier

How many million Aprils came
before I ever knew
how white a cherry bough could be,
a bed of squills, how blue

And many a dancing April
when life is done with me,
will lift the blue flame of the flower
and the white flame of the tree

Oh burn me with your beauty then,
oh hurt me tree and flower,
lest in the end death try to take
even this glistening hour...

~ Sara Teasdale, Blue Squills, 1920


I can hear her heart beat for a thousand miles
And the heavens open every time she smiles
And when I come to her that's where I belong
Yet I'm running to her like a river's song
She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love...

~ words & music by Van Morrison






in Just-

in Just-
spring       when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame balloonman whistles
     far     and wee
and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's
when the world is puddle-wonderful
the queer
old balloonman whistles
far      and     wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing
from hop-scotch and jump-rope and
balloonMan         whistles

     ~ e.e. cummings


To An Early Daffodil

Thou yellow trumpeter of laggard Spring!
   Thou herald of rich Summer’s myriad flowers!
   The climbing sun with new recovered powers
Does warm thee into being, through the ring
Of rich, brown earth he woos thee, makes thee fling
   Thy green shoots up, inheriting the dowers
   Of bending sky and sudden, sweeping showers,
Till ripe and blossoming thou art a thing
   To make all nature glad, thou art so gay;
To fill the lonely with a joy untold;
   Nodding at every gust of wind to-day,
To-morrow jewelled with raindrops. Always bold
   To stand erect, full in the dazzling play
Of April’s sun, for thou hast caught his gold.

     ~ Amy Lowell



Lotsa AT kdhx DOT org