Archive for April, 2008

04.29.2008

Posted in Music with tags , , , , , , , , on April 29, 2008 by Ryan Sanford Smith

Pepper (lyrics to the song by Butthole Surfers)

Marky got with Sharon
And Sharon got Sharice
She was sharing Sharon’s outlook
On the topic of disease
Mikey had a facial scar
And Bobby was a racist
They were all in love with dyin’
They were doing it in Texas
Tommy played piano
Like a kid out in the rain
Then he lost his leg in Dallas
He was dancing with a train
They were all in love with dyin’
They were drinking from a fountain
That was pouring like an avalanche
Coming down the mountain

I don’t mind the sun sometimes
The images it shows
I can taste you on my lips
And smell you in my clothes
Cinnamon and sugary
And softly spoken lies
You never know just how you look
Through other people’s eyes

Some will die in hot pursuit
In fiery auto crashes
Some will die in hot pursuit
While sifting through my ashes
Some will fall in love with life
And drink it from a fountain
That is pouring like an avalanche
Coming down the mountain

04.28.2008

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , on April 28, 2008 by Ryan Sanford Smith

Portofino (a poem by Spencer Reece)

Promise me you will not forget Portofino.
Promise me you will find the trompe l’oeil
on the bedroom walls at the Splendido.
The walls make a scene you cannot enter.

Perhaps then you will comprehend this longing
for permanence I often mentioned to you.
Across the harbor? A yellow church. A cliff.
Promise me you will witness the day diminish.

And when the roofs darken, when the stars drift
until they shatter on the sea’s finish,
you will know what I told you is true
when I said abandonment is beautiful.

04.27.2008

Posted in Poetry, Prose, Quotes with tags , , , , , , on April 27, 2008 by Ryan Sanford Smith

Letters To a Young Poet (an excerpt from the collected letters of Rainer Wilke)

You ask whether your verses are good. You ask me. You have asked others before. You send them to magazines. You compare them with other poems, and you are disturbed when certain editors reject your efforts. Now (since you have allowed me to advise you) I beg you to give up all that. You are looking outward, and that above all you should not do now. Nobody can counsel and help you, nobody. There is only one single way. Go into yourself. Search for the reason that bids you write; find out whether it is spread out its roots in the deepest places of your heart, acknowledge to yourself whether you would have to die if it were denied you to write. This above all–ask yourself in the stillest hour of the night: must I write?

04.26.2008

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , on April 27, 2008 by Ryan Sanford Smith

First & Last Fearpoem (a poem by Wallace Berman)

If only we can split
Before the curtain drops.

The Man swings close    bust eyes
Ace with dozen heads racked
His funk his down home fink
I’m clean my    buzz has its base
From the juice of the Czechoslovakian
Nectar: Tequila.

04.25.2008

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , on April 25, 2008 by Ryan Sanford Smith

The States (a poem by George Tsongas)

it’s an
amazing
place, where
no one enjoys

life

but they
all want
to live

forever.

04.24.2008

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , on April 24, 2008 by Ryan Sanford Smith

i like my body when it is with your (a poem by e. e. cummings)

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite a new thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like,, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh . . . . And eyes big Love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you quite so new

04.23.2008

Posted in Prose with tags , , , , , , on April 24, 2008 by Ryan Sanford Smith

Eat the Fruit (an excerpt from The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams)

“What are you talking about? ”
“Never mind, eat the fruit. ”
“You know, this place almost looks like the Garden of Eden. ”
“Eat the fruit. ”
“Sounds quite like it too. “

04.22.2008

Posted in Poetry on April 22, 2008 by Ryan Sanford Smith

you do it while you’re killing flies (A poem by Charles Bukowski)

Bach, I said, he had 20 children.
he played the horses during the day.
he fucked at night
and drank in the mornings.
he wrote music in between.

04.21.2008

Posted in Music with tags , , , , , , , on April 21, 2008 by Ryan Sanford Smith

Dead Souls (lyrics from the song by Joy Division, later covered by Nine Inch Nails for The Crow soundtrack)

Someone take these dreams away,
That point me to another day,
A duel of personalities,
That stretch all true realities.

That keep calling me,
They keep calling me,
Keep on calling me,
They keep calling me.

Where figures from the past stand tall,
And mocking voices ring the halls.
Imperialistic house of prayer,
Conquistadors who took their share.

That keep calling me,
They keep calling me,
Keep on calling me,
They keep calling me.

Calling me, calling me, calling me, calling me.

04.20.2008

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , on April 20, 2008 by Ryan Sanford Smith

Night Ferry to Naxos (a poem by Monica Youn)

All your carefully cultivated notions of realism

come to and end here, where the sentimental pink
funnels into the Peloponnese

like a rum and grenadine cocktail
poured down a taut throat. Tourist,

this is how the peace drains into you.
Your fingers uncurl on the deck railings,

and over your head, a spiraling umbilical
of ship-smoke looks back to the brown air of Athens,

which only now, behind you, is beginning
to take shape: a smog-shielded dome.

The flattering breeze picks out your contours
in silverpoint–its insinuations

sweet as fresh-laid sheets, a bedtime story,
mother love. Already above you,

half-heard, a tattoo of wingbeats, bare feet
racing in circles on hard-packed dirt.

You will have to become a hero like the rest of us.