It is amazing how much good poetry is attached to music. Think about how those words to a song speak to you, soothe or inspire you or astound you with their imagery, their symbolism, their depth of meaning, wit or beauty. Here we will read and say the words and phrases as lines and stanzas rather than sing them. Its important to get that music out of your head, and let the punctuation and meter lead you, rather than a beat or melody and pay attention to meaning. THE SOUNDS OF SILENCE by Paul Simon Hello darkness, my old friend, I've come to talk with you again, Because a vision softly creeping, Left its seeds while I was sleeping, And the vision that was planted in my brain Still remains Within the sound of silence. In restless dreams I walk alone Narrow streets of cobblestone, 'Neath the halo of a street lamp, I turned my collar to the cold and damp When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light That split the night And touched the sound of silence. And in the naked light I saw Ten thousand people, maybe more. People talking without speaking, People hearing without listening, People writing songs that voices never share And no one dared Disturb the sound of silence. "Fools" said I,"You do not know Silence like a cancer grows. Hear my words that I might teach you, Take my arms that I might reach you." But my words like silent raindrops fell, And echoed In the wells of silence And the people bowed and prayed To the neon god they made. And the sign flashed out its warning, In the words that it was forming. And the signs said, 'The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls And tenement halls. And whisper'd in the sounds of silence. MOMMA, LOOK SHARP by Scott Jarvis (written for the musical 1776.) Courier: Momma, hey momma, come lookin' for me I'm here in the meadow by the red maple tree Momma, hey momma, look sharp, here I be Hey, hey, momma look sharp Them soldiers, they fired. Oh ma, did we run But then we turned round and the battle begun Then I went under, oh ma, am I done? Hey, hey, momma look sharp My eyes are wide open, my face to the sky Is that you I'm hearin' in the tall grass nearby? Momma come find me before I do die Hey, hey, momma look sharp All: I'll close your eyes, my Billy Them eyes that cannot see And I'll bury you, my Billy Beneath the maple tree Courier: And never again will you whisper to me Hey, hey, momma look sharp
STRANGE FRUIT by Abel Meeropol (Billie Holliday first recorded it in 1937) Southern trees bear strange fruit, Blood on the leaves and blood at the root, Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze, Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees. Pastoral scene of the gallant south, The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth, Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh, Then the sudden smell of burning flesh. Here is fruit for the crows to pluck, For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck, For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop, Here is a strange and bitter crop
