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Violin Limericks

Life in general: Limericks about violins, violinists, and classical music. Original or not, keep it clean.

From Sander Marcus
Posted October 14, 2005 at 06:19 AM

From me (Sandy Marcus):

The Emperor liked to go ridin',
And his music was good, I'm confidin'.
But he's never returned,
And I've always yearned
To find out if Franz Josef was hidin'.
(.....Haydn?)

On the fiddle we all want to flower,
But it's Heifetz who has all the power.
If considering quitting,
It's much more fitting
To blame it on Leopold Auer.

If the music reviews start to faze you,
The advice that I have will amaze you:
Ignore all the static,
Store your violin in the attic,
And buy a Guarneri del Jesu.

To play the Concerto Tchaikovsky
Demands violin skills like Wieniewski.
You can't be weak,
You need schmaltz plus technique
To play it just good enoughsky.

If you like violin neverending,
A piece with a coda still pending,
Then I'll swear, to the letter,
You can't do any better
Than Vaugh-Williams' "The Lark Ascending."

From Emily Grossman:

Uninsulting? Not at all!
Just look in the bathroom stall:
Poets heckle and rhyme,
"For a really good time,
Give Expletive Harry a call..."

From George Phillips:

There once was a fellow named Paganini
Who loved to do tricks that were cheeky.
With a stroke from his bow,
He started to go,
And suddenly vanished like Houdini.

From Jim Hoyle:

My girlfriend is always a-ruin'
The fact that I play so out of tune;
It's because my old fiddle
Plays flat in the middle,
And I gave that Yehudi Menuhin.

As I look at the listing, I pucker
My lips when I see one more sucker
Is playing yet again
The piece that's the bane
Of my life -- that blasted Max Bruch-er.

There was a violinist called Kogan
Who made it his personal slogan,
Never raise your bow arm
"Cos it's sure to bring harm --
Dann bestimmt is der Bogen geflogen*
(*Translation: The bow's sure to take off)

In this matter, Tom Lehrer's my moulder
When he wrote, in days simpler - though bolder -
That when anything's viewed
By the lewd, it gets skewed.
"Filth is in the mind of the beholder"

..err, wait a second.

my concert did suck
and i need much help
on bowings and augments
and maybe a little luck.

I ragged on the limerick shrink
and now I feel like a fink
turn me into a carcass
and give it to Marcus
Will he try to change what it think?

------------

What you notice at Heaven's gates
Is violinists rejected at high rates.
It's not sins' reprises
St. Peter despises,
It's the out-of-tune octaves he hates.

If I say something dumb, I don't dread it,
Cause you guys are there to edit.
Am I always hopin'
That my brain is open
To learning new things? You said it.

A violinist like David Nadien
Is the best that I've ever seen.
He serves up a confection
Of grace plus perfection,
And he's done it since he was a teen.

The secret to playing a coda
Is to apply the wisdom of Yoda:
Go back to the source,
Just feel the force,
And you'll play like Vasa Prihoda.

But when he took the violin in his hands
he was always surrounded by many fans
most were of the female gender
who to his emotive vibes did surrender

He titilated the senses in every way
women travelled miles to hear him play
and to this day his music lives on
bursting hearts and fingers with melodic song

It ain't Shakespearean sonnets; you can do it with a little practice, and I'm so happy to see people trying their hand at it in this discussion thread.

For the past few weeks, I've been in "limerick mode," and while it probably won't last (because I'll get sick of it), I'm starting to drive my family crazy. I just had a family brunch today with my wife, sister and her husband, niece and nephew, and my 90-year-old mother. My mother LOVES Wheel of Fortune. So my mind started spinning (just like the wheel), and out came:

Each contestant who appears on The Wheel,
Does exactly the same stupid spiel.
They tighten their bowel
And all buy a vowel,
And act like a perfect schlemeel.

Cordially, Sandy Marcus

The Beethoven concerto's a beauty
Paganini D major's a cutie
Barber is great
Tchaikovski's my taste
Wieniawski is fun, not a duty.

VERY NICE.

George Bush wanted to learn the violin,
He knew his intelligence he wouldn't win.
So he hired an instuctor,
Hoping to learn 42 Studies, Kreutzer.
And so the violin he did begin.

He started by holding the bow,
And plucking all of the strings in a row.
He hummed each pitch in his head
"That's weird" he then said,
"I swear that each string sounds too low."

With just 2 weeks of lessons, I'm aware
That something made Bush quickly declare,
"Tommorrow I will amaze all,
As I play solo at Carnegie Hall."
"Now I will leave to go there."

Knowing his pupil wasn't too bright,
Bush's teacher sadly said alright.
Bush went to New York,
To show off two weeks of work
Not knowing his playing could cause fright.

Arriving at Carnegie Hall,
Thinking that he would have a ball,
Bush opened the doors
And walked down a floor.
"Today I will defintly amaze all!"

Casually walking up to the stage,
(And almost causing an outrage)
Bush picked up his fiddle
And acting bashful,
Played til he was kicked offstage.

The critics from hell were there,
They told him his viola couldn't compare.
"What?" Bush had exclaimed,
As he felt ashamed,
This was just too much for him to bear.

Bush wanted to sink into a burrow,
Or shrink in to zip, zip zero.
"Look on the bright side," he said.
I should be glad,
That my violin wasnt actually a cello!

Now everyone, go make sure your violin is really a violin and not a violia.

And in the war between violins and violas,
Let this thought console us:
They may have a lower C,
But we have an upper E,
So don't let the violas control us.

Beethoven’s Fifth, those first four notes, da da da fate.
After what follows (which is its echo and its mate).
Is limerick rhythm,
Great limerick rhythm,
So limericks you....shouldn’t....haaaaate.

now regular limericks are crap
only good for a boring sap
the out of style
can think I'm vile
stay in your sandpile
I toss you in the round file
yo make way for funky limerap

And although I like the style of what I see
In the responses you're sending me,
You'll have to admit
It's not elegant a bit,
It's "rap" with a capital "C."

So let's keep up this little chat
(if we have time), and leave it at that.
In the limericks we all compose,
You can't be verbose,
And you have to cut the fat.

It's a sign he's exasperated
and feeling thoroughly berated
but I have to say that I'm his fan
that's right guy, I love you man
but just don't say we dated

However, the rhyming is clever
and I have enjoyed every letter.
But we've gotten away
and simply can't stay
from the topic of music forever. :)

As a violin student, Sibyl was trouble.
She sounded like she practiced in rubble.
Her intonation was sour,
Her bowing lacked power,
But, wow, could she play the Bach Double.

Because I sometimes say "we" when I cuss,
Some people don't consider it a plus.
If they ask do I have a maledy
Such as multiple personality,
My response is always, "Who, us?"

Music is a rhythmical art,
That's why you musicians are smart.
For life's beats you listen,
And you hear nature glisten,
Even the lub-dub of your heart.

There once was a violinist named Jascha
Who dominated the world like a pasha.
You may not agree
That from him you are free,
But his perfection and style will brainwash ya'.

Some critics eat violinists for dinner,
And call any string player a sinner.
Spew vitriol they may,
But I'm proud to say,
Ich bin ein violinner.

A violin belonging to Midge
Started eating food from the fridge.
While not quite awake,
She had made this mistake:
Have a dentist replace your bridge.

A millionnaire who owned a schooner
Threw a party with a band and a crooner.
But when told by a hand
Of a violinist in the band,
He also hired a harpooner.

Twelve-tone music may be expressible,
But to me it's still inaccessable.
I like it best
During a rest,
And when it's at zero decible.

Chorus:
Ohhhhhhh I ain't gotta worry no more no more
I'll lay in bed and snore and snore
nothing gonna work no way no how
All roads go to the poorhouse now

-Chorus copyright 2005, Jim W. Miller, The Smithsonian Collection.

Oh, I got plenty o' nothin',
And nothin's plenty for me...

;)

"Some claim that pianists are human,
And quote the case of Mr. Truman.
Saint-Saens, on the other hand,
Considered them a scurvy band.
'Ape-like they are,' he said, 'and simian,
Instead of normal men and womian.'"

There once was a violinist named Miller,
whose limericks surely were killer!
But the piper came by
one day to say "Hi!"
Together they'd play
for the rest of the day,
Until the piper became Jim's biller.

Sandy Marcus is quite the educato'
when it comes to Freud and Plato;
and on Dickinson and Keats
he sure knows his beats
but on the violin, can he hold a bow?

Dorothy Parker
ONE PERFECT ROSE

A single flow'r he sent me, since we met.
All tenderly his messenger he chose;
Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet -
One perfect rose.

I knew the language of the floweret;
"My fragile leaves," it said, "his heart enclose."
Love long has taken for his amulet
One perfect rose.

Why is it no one ever sent me yet
One perfect limousine, do you suppose?
Ah no, it's always just my luck to get
One perfect rose.

What a romantic the lady was!

(And, by the way, I am a Chicagoan who is old enough to have seen Starker many, many times when he was first cellist with the Chicago Symphony under Reiner)

And even her stalwart defender
Is shown as a rhyming pretender
When he can't even get
Lines lined up, much less set
Well-placed accents and rhymes. Just surrender!

In short, it's myself I critique
In a manner, we see, too oblique.
If my doggerel you view
As directed at you,
You misread my intent, which was weak.

er...I should add "in any case", but I have to go teach and so haven't the time to rework the second limerick to inlude that, somehow. Um. Take over on the Bram threads, Sandy, ok?

And I'm not lovesick thankyouverymuch. I'm feeling rather hale and hearty from it, actually. Then again...she did switch the LSD and the sugar bowls...

(for years I've been trying to think of a limerick with elf, self, shelf, and Guelph, but little has come forth...at least anything clean)

Each limerick presents an occasion
To create laughter, and not persuasion.
With no topic taboo,
Any punchline will do.
And to me that's the basic equation.

PS. Mind if I plug to a orchestral poem of mine?
Tchaikovsky Serenade for Strings

(I've wanted to say this for a long time.)

Dorothy Parker
ONE PERFECT ROSE

A single flow'r he sent me, since we met.
All tenderly his messenger he chose;
Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet -
One perfect rose.

I knew the language of the floweret;
"My fragile leaves," it said, "his heart enclose."
Love long has taken for his amulet
One perfect rose.

Why is it no one ever sent me yet
One perfect limousine, do you suppose?
Ah no, it's always just my luck to get
One perfect rose.

What a romantic the lady was!
-------------------------------

Well, this is a limerick thread! Allow me to rewrite it in the correct format:

A rose - how romantic! But, ah!,
I scent his design from afar;
I'm afraid that this weed
Just ain't going to lead
To it yet, till he's bought me a car.

The was a young fellow called John
Who ventured into writing a song
He found it tough
and he had had enough,
and said #### it it takes too long

And, Amber, actually you were off to a pretty good start. Write the last line first, with the payoff word at the very end. For example, if you're rhyming with words 'violinist' and 'finished,' what rhymes with those? What occurred to me is 'diminished,' which has multiple meanings. So, how about this for a last line,

"The whole concerto was diminished."

Like in,

"Not only the chords,
But the whole concerto was diminished."

Then think of a first line.

"There once was a young violinist."

Now play with it:

There once was a young violinist,
Who played music that was never quite finished.
To put it in words,
Not only the chords,
But the whole concerto was diminished.

Not a work of art, certainly, but certainly passable and certainly fun to write.

Believe me, if I learned to do it, YOU can do it. It just takes practice, an ear for rhythm, a willingness to play with words, a serviceable rhyming dictionary, and a constant search for double meanings. Simple, huh?

Are you familiar with the famous Henny Youngman joke about ethics in business?
You own a dry-cleaning place, and a guy brings in a suit to be cleaned. When he leaves, you find a $100 bill in a pocket. The ethical question is this: Should you tell your partner?

And you know, I'm sure, the famous line by Brahms, when someone reminded him that the main theme of the last movement of the 1st Symphony bore a striking resemblance to Beethoven's "Ode To Joy" theme. Brahms responded something like, "Anyone can see that."

And, by the way, the reason I think that why an otherwise goofy pastime like writing limericks helps in music is because when you begin looking for the potential rhythm in words (which we all use all the time), it simply increases your attention to rhythm more of the time in everyday life, not just when you are making music, so listening for rhythm becomes more second nature.

In addition to rythm, I also find that a tune runs through my head when I read a limerick

This is a great thread. I'll be sorry when it reaches 100. Sandy, you'll have to start another one!

Judy

---
Since I From Love, by Geoffrey Chaucer
(or not, as the scholars will decide):

SINCE I from Love escaped am so fat,
I ne'er think to be in his prison ta'en;
Since I am free, I count him not a bean.

He may answer, and saye this and that;
I do no force, I speak right as I mean;
Since I from Love escaped am so fat.

Love hath my name struck out of his slat,
And he is struck out of my bookes clean,
For ever more; there is none other mean;
Since I from Love escaped am so fat.
---

For those of a vocal persuasion
There's a song for every occasion
The poem above
was enscribed, with love
in Vaughn-Williams' outrageous composition.

"Merciless Beauty", the cycle is called
To be sung in the very best halls
With strings beside
The tension is high
And the audience may collapse and bawl!

Though attacking icons is a thing we don't fear,
And this thread holds nothing dear,
There's one sacred cow
To whom we all bow --
Henny Youngman's star shines brightest here.

Some of these limericks are o'er riddled with fleas,
And dost not charm the soul (Geez!).
We are amidst a mire
Of doggeral afire,
So do take my limericks, please.

Poor Chausson fell off his bike,
And missed a chance for audiences he'd like.
He didn't get to show'em
Much more than the Poeme.
Perhaps he should have taken a hike.

No matter how much you might long
To avoid pronouncing it wrong,
Some greats had a name
That could make your tongue lame,
Such as the Belgian, Henri Vieuxtemps.

You don't have to be in Mensa
To enjoy a great violin cadenza.
But if you hate these joys,
You'll be visited by one of the boys
(Either Don Corleone or Clemenza).

Today's violinists rock'em sock'em,
And I really don't mean to mock'em.
But it's too bad
There's no CD to be had
To hear a Paganini or Joachim.

Oh, my God, I forgot--
Joachim recorded (not a lot).
He was old and frail,
And his tone was pale.
But that doesn't matter a jot.

The critic crouches in the theater chair,
And throws darts at anyone performing there,
And hears only what's wrong,
Instead of the song.
But criticize the critic? You wouldn't dare.

O, disdain the poison pen.
You are such talented women and men
That you can play with panache
The most sentimental hash,
And then do it again and again.

Ode to Response Number 100:

As we near the inevitable coda,
The mighty limerick will have reached its quota.
One hundred entries furious
(Some all-knowing, some curious)
I celebrate with a whiskey and soda.

:)

"The hunter crouches in his blind,
'Neath camouflage of every kind,
And conjures up a quacking noise
To lend allure to his decoys.
This grown-up man,
With pluck and luck,
Is hoping to outwit a duck."

Ah, yes, the vibrato issue.
Get it wrong, the audience will hiss you.
If you have to be choosy,
Make it thick and juicy,
And not as thin as paper tissue.

I have a lot of qualms
About playing anything by Brahms.
My anxiety's mounting
To correctly get the counting,
It's easier to practice psalms.

Liking concertos over opera is what I please.
I suppose opera's nice, but these
Questions keep ringing:
Why do the dying start singing?
And who the devil is Mephistopheles?

Veracini's baroque pieces I do fancy
Some gigues, gavottes, maybe even a bourree
It's simply divine
To play in duple time
Nimble fingers moving so lively

Well, I listen to Schumann occasionally
It's currently Rimsky-Korsakov for me
I play and re-play
Everytime, everyday
It's a wonder I've retained my sanity

The composer Prokofiev (Serge),
The classical form did regurge.
You don't have to be Freud
To see I'm overjoyed
That he avoided the Stalinist purge.

If your student's playing is reeking
and his music isnt speaking
drop a dime
while there's time
and make little bigfoot stop shrieking

:)

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