Tag Archives: Walt Whitman


This weeks’ Sunday Mix of Electronic Music and Poetry has the theme of Rhythm and Drumbeats and starts with a wonderfully rhythmic piece from an Electronic Pioneer.

I travelled over land and seas, until I came to laughter’s home.
I met a woman heavy with child,
‘you are heavy with child too,’ stated the woman.
‘Yes,’ said I. ‘Heavy with sound.’
I shared my sound, she bore a bouncing baby.

I travelled over land and seas,
Until I came to music’s home.
I met a village singer.
‘you must be the bringer of rhythm,’ stated the singer.
‘yes,’ said I. I bring you beats and music notes,
I shared my beats, the music had rhythm.

I travelled over land and seas,
Until I came to a children’s game,
the leader posing tricky riddles,
‘it talks, it sings and cheers but has no mouth.’
‘the drum, ‘ answered the children in unison.
I enjoyed my moment in the sun.

I travelled over land and seas,
Until I came before an old woman,
Wisdom marks in her beaming countenance,
She prepared a place for me next to her.
‘this is for you, oh! Messenger’ said she to me.

I travelled over land and seas,
Until I came to a ritual ceremony,
invited amidst ululation,
I showed them the drum beat,
I showed them how it brings harmony.

Beat! beat! drums!—blow! bugles! blow!
Make no parley—stop for no expostulation,
Mind not the timid—mind not the weeper or prayer,
Mind not the old man beseeching the young man,
Let not the child’s voice be heard, nor the mother’s entreaties,
Make even the trestles to shake the dead where they lie awaiting the hearses,
So strong you thump O terrible drums—so loud you bugles blow.
Beat! Beat! Drums!

some waves
a wave of now
a trombone speaking to you
a piano is trying to break a molecule
is trying to lift the stage into orbit
around the red spotlights

a shadow
the shadows      of dancers
dancers     they are dancing    falling
out that space      made for dancing

they should dance
on the tables            they should
dance inside of their drinks
they should dance on the
ceiling they should dance/dance

thru universes
we are traveling

where are we going
if we only knew

with this rhythm    with
this banging     with     fire
with this     all    this    O
my god i wonder    where are
we going
sink into a room full of laughter
full of happiness     full of life
those dancers
the dancers
are clapping their hands
stomping their feet

hold back them tears
all those sentimental stories
cooked uptown       if you can           hold it for after

we are going
beyond these wooden tables
beyond these red lights
beyond these rugs & paper
walls beyond way past
i mean way past them clouds
over the buildings    over the
rivers    over towns    over cities
like on rails   but faster   like
a train    but smoother
away past stars
bursting with drums.


a sudden misunderstanding
a cloud
full of grayness
a body thru a store window
a hand reaching
into the back
a scream
a piano is talking to you
thru all this
why don’t you answer it.

Latin and Soul
Victor Hernández Cruz, 1949


The final Sunday Mix in celebration of American Poetry Month has the theme Voices.

There is a voice inside of you
that whispers all day long,
‘I feel that this is right for me,
I know that this is wrong.’
No teacher, preacher, parent, friend
or wise man can decide
what’s right for you – just listen to
the voice that speaks inside.

Shel Silverstein – 1930 – 1999 – Chicago, Illinois    

NOW I make a leaf of Voices–for I have found nothing mightier than
they are,
And I have found that no word spoken, but is beautiful, in its place.

O what is it in me that makes me tremble so at voices?
Surely, whoever speaks to me in the right voice, him or her I shall
As the water follows the moon, silently, with fluid steps, anywhere
around the globe.

All waits for the right voices;
Where is the practis’d and perfect organ? Where is the develop’d
For I see every word utter’d thence, has deeper, sweeter, new sounds,
impossible on less terms.

I see brains and lips closed–tympans and temples unstruck,
Until that comes which has the quality to strike and to unclose,
Until that comes which has the quality to bring forth what lies
slumbering, forever ready, in all words.

WALT  WHITMAN (1819 – 1892)

Each small gleam was a voice,
A lantern voice —
In little songs of carmine, violet, green, gold.
A chorus of colours came over the water;
The wondrous leaf-shadow no longer wavered,
No pines crooned on the hills,
The blue night was elsewhere a silence,
When the chorus of colours came over the water,
Little songs of carmine, violet, green, gold.

Small glowing pebbles
Thrown on the dark plane of evening
Sing good ballads of God
And eternity, with soul’s rest.
Little priests, little holy fathers,
None can doubt the truth of your hymning,
When the marvellous chorus comes over the water,
Songs of carmine, violet, green, gold.

STEPHEN CRANE – (1871 – 1900)