"PS-400 British Writers- Transitory Being" by Numi Who

License $25

Album $6

"Transitory Being in the Eye of Nature" created from "The Old Cumberland Beggar" and "We Are Seven" by William Wordsworth; multitrack

lyricist instrumentalist soloist satirist humorist improvisationalist popite classic rocker poetryist electronicist progressivist acousticker pioneerionator contemporaryist electronic music mannheimie singer song writerer originalicist classicalister comedyiker vocalaloquist com posererie uniquer mult instrumentalist synthesizerismistytitian avant gardist game music mukiester neo classyciscicist pianerist cross genre dresser

Numi Who

I now create music so people can spend time with better company.

Cover Songs on Soundclick: https://www.soundclick.com/numiwhocreativecovers Writing: https://allpoetry.com/Mr._Numi_Who- Books: Numi Who? on Amazon (books) Art: http://wbiro.deviantart.com Early Art: http://www.flickr.com/photos/38154648@N00 Music Videos: http://www.youtube.com/user/wbiro Self-made Music Catalog (to 2016): http://numi-imagination-creations.me/01-art-catalog/wbiro_artistic_catalog_1967-2016_update_34.html Original Music on Soundcloud (more complete list there): https://soundcloud.com/wbiro Cover Songs on Soundcloud (more complete list there): https://soundcloud.com/user-288568536

Song Info

Genre

Podcasts • Poetry

Author

Words: William Wordsworth; Music: wbiro

Rights

Uploaded

November 09, 2014

Track Files

MP3

MP3 8.2 MB • 192 kbps • 5:56

Story behind the song

Keyboard/Vocal improvisation. Method: Pick up a book of old poetry. Scan for promising passages. Work out a chord framework for 'song'. Begin recording. While reading, rearrange poem into something new while creating the vocals and music. Real-time creativity on three levels- the words, the vocals, and the piano.

Lyrics

created from "The Old Cumberland Beggar"
by William Wordsworth


Of some small blessing-
He had been crying for such need
and needed kindness
for this single cause-
If we have, all of us,
one human heart, if
such pleasure is unknown
let it being known.

 

My neighbor wins
with punctual care each day,
as Friday comes;
I, alone,
from the star field
takes one unsparing handful
for charity.

 

My father, whose good works exalted
will not be mine-
a child who from his sole deeds
overhangs his head
from the green wall.

 

The silent monitor
which on his mind
must need impressed
the transitory thoughts
and self-congratulation
of each tree calling
and his charter and exemption-

 

Go and be man of it
in this cold abstinence
from evil deeds-
and these inevitable charities.

 

Long for some moments
in a weary life
in decay,
no one feels
that they feel themselves
the fathers
and the dealers-
of some small blessing.

 

Few are his pleasures
while his eye have not been doomed so long
to settle upon the earth
but not without
some effort they behold
the continents
of the horizontal sun
beneath the trees.

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