Article: Art and Violence
For Arte del Mundo I recently wrote a short essay on several questions about art and violence, the connection between the two in our world today, and the role art serves in response to violence and change--Check out the article here-- the site is mostly in Spanish so you will need to scroll down to find the piece--
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Cool Read: Salacious--
This is not a new book (2005), but for some low-brow (always fun) entertainment, I recently read The Man Who Invented Rock Hudson: The Pretty Boys and Dirty Deals of Henry Wilson, by Robert Hofler, Carroll and Graf, publishers--The book uncovers the life and fascinating career of the man who discovered Hudson, along with scores of other Hollywood hunks of the 50's and 60's such as Tab Hunter and Troy Donahue--After World War 2, Henry Wilson created a whole new genre of male actors using his own fantasy of the perfect all-american male as the template--He adored his "clients" and was on a never-ending hunt for the next big idol-or conquest--Acting as father-figure, confessor, acting and grooming coach, and not above cohersing sex out of his new clients, the man was a ruthlessly driven, complex star-maker--One of the most powerful agents in Hollywood, Wilson had extensive connections in the studios, the media, even the mob that he used to further (and in the case of blackmail, save) the careers of his famous male clients--The author has filled the book with delicious tidbits and first-hand accounts of the private lives and sexual peccadillos of stars like Rock Hudson, Guy Madison, and Tab Hunter, the male "hollywood set" of the time--A fun, entertaining read--clearly not Proust, but worthy of the beach--
This is not a new book (2005), but for some low-brow (always fun) entertainment, I recently read The Man Who Invented Rock Hudson: The Pretty Boys and Dirty Deals of Henry Wilson, by Robert Hofler, Carroll and Graf, publishers--The book uncovers the life and fascinating career of the man who discovered Hudson, along with scores of other Hollywood hunks of the 50's and 60's such as Tab Hunter and Troy Donahue--After World War 2, Henry Wilson created a whole new genre of male actors using his own fantasy of the perfect all-american male as the template--He adored his "clients" and was on a never-ending hunt for the next big idol-or conquest--Acting as father-figure, confessor, acting and grooming coach, and not above cohersing sex out of his new clients, the man was a ruthlessly driven, complex star-maker--One of the most powerful agents in Hollywood, Wilson had extensive connections in the studios, the media, even the mob that he used to further (and in the case of blackmail, save) the careers of his famous male clients--The author has filled the book with delicious tidbits and first-hand accounts of the private lives and sexual peccadillos of stars like Rock Hudson, Guy Madison, and Tab Hunter, the male "hollywood set" of the time--A fun, entertaining read--clearly not Proust, but worthy of the beach--
Monday, April 20, 2009
Poem 3 from recent reading--
This is the third of the poems I read that evening--I wrote this short one a few years back for someone I adored--
For N---
i want you beautiful as the moon on water
pale skin glowing eyes twinkling stars
above the reflecting plains of your moist
undulations no harsh voice of crow echoing
over this land just the delicate rustle of ibis
legs in grass on the marsh of this bed my
reeds grow in the warm divide of you
your mouth sweet like a spring your exhalations
wings of a mourning dove in my ears
-Timothy Wright April 2009
Please respect the copyright of this work--do not reproduce without express permission--
This is the third of the poems I read that evening--I wrote this short one a few years back for someone I adored--
For N---
i want you beautiful as the moon on water
pale skin glowing eyes twinkling stars
above the reflecting plains of your moist
undulations no harsh voice of crow echoing
over this land just the delicate rustle of ibis
legs in grass on the marsh of this bed my
reeds grow in the warm divide of you
your mouth sweet like a spring your exhalations
wings of a mourning dove in my ears
-Timothy Wright April 2009
Please respect the copyright of this work--do not reproduce without express permission--
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Poem from recent reading.
Here is a second poem, it is about the demise of nature's role as a mysterious, primal, worshipped entity in our world of green living and global warming---NATURE informs a lot of my writing, along with SEX and RELIGION--
the sleep of an old god is profound-a heartbreak
he was the world once now watching
it wane with dwindling sleepy eyes
through corolla nestled in calyx scent
faded color a memory
he lingers in galls falls like scales from
moth's wings haunts the mysterious
bubbles clustered at pond's edge his
quiet regret a whisper of fin in brackish
water the muted gleam of once-silver scales
he clasps death between rich gritty loins
a sterile pod his waiting cenotaph no seed
to scatter no green dreams of sticky sap
where stranded insects wait patiently for
hungry birds an offering to nothing no
remembrance for a stranger who picks up
a fallen bluebird feather more precious than
diamonds listening to cicada song more lovely
than bach and touches face to forest floor
kissing the sleeper goodnight
Timothy Wright April 2009
Please respect the copyright of this work--do not reproduce without express permission--
Here is a second poem, it is about the demise of nature's role as a mysterious, primal, worshipped entity in our world of green living and global warming---NATURE informs a lot of my writing, along with SEX and RELIGION--
the sleep of an old god is profound-a heartbreak
he was the world once now watching
it wane with dwindling sleepy eyes
through corolla nestled in calyx scent
faded color a memory
he lingers in galls falls like scales from
moth's wings haunts the mysterious
bubbles clustered at pond's edge his
quiet regret a whisper of fin in brackish
water the muted gleam of once-silver scales
he clasps death between rich gritty loins
a sterile pod his waiting cenotaph no seed
to scatter no green dreams of sticky sap
where stranded insects wait patiently for
hungry birds an offering to nothing no
remembrance for a stranger who picks up
a fallen bluebird feather more precious than
diamonds listening to cicada song more lovely
than bach and touches face to forest floor
kissing the sleeper goodnight
Timothy Wright April 2009
Please respect the copyright of this work--do not reproduce without express permission--
Monday, April 13, 2009
Recent poetry reading at Outwrite Books
Tuesday last week I read with two other poets, Alice Teeter and Lakara Foster, at Outwrite Books here in midtown--the evening was a success, and thanks goes out to the evening's host (and fine poet) Franklin Abbott as well as Philip Rafshoon, owner of Outwrite Books --thanks also to the attendees, who came "out" to support their local poets--I will be posting several of the poems I read from that evening in the next few days--Here is the first:
Our Weather
it's dark today the clouds gathering to storm at one
another they'll roil and roll and rain rain rain casting
temperamental flashes of lightning and thunder until
they're sort of blandly tired and then they'll morph
into potent grey fugues that last a long while and threaten
to start a tempest again but don't because they've spent
themselves which is typical of clouds lingering lowly lowly
until just as evening comes a furtive breeze sneaks under
and pushes them apart allowing the sun's last rays
to filter through and catch momentarily on a bright leaf
a velvety flower the hint of a rueful smile and it goes down
leaving the evening warm with sparkling stars and one
of us says to the other what do you want for dinner?
-Timothy Wright April 2009
Please respect the copyright of this poem--do not reproduce without express permission--thanks--
Tuesday last week I read with two other poets, Alice Teeter and Lakara Foster, at Outwrite Books here in midtown--the evening was a success, and thanks goes out to the evening's host (and fine poet) Franklin Abbott as well as Philip Rafshoon, owner of Outwrite Books --thanks also to the attendees, who came "out" to support their local poets--I will be posting several of the poems I read from that evening in the next few days--Here is the first:
Our Weather
it's dark today the clouds gathering to storm at one
another they'll roil and roll and rain rain rain casting
temperamental flashes of lightning and thunder until
they're sort of blandly tired and then they'll morph
into potent grey fugues that last a long while and threaten
to start a tempest again but don't because they've spent
themselves which is typical of clouds lingering lowly lowly
until just as evening comes a furtive breeze sneaks under
and pushes them apart allowing the sun's last rays
to filter through and catch momentarily on a bright leaf
a velvety flower the hint of a rueful smile and it goes down
leaving the evening warm with sparkling stars and one
of us says to the other what do you want for dinner?
-Timothy Wright April 2009
Please respect the copyright of this poem--do not reproduce without express permission--thanks--
Invitation Design
I recently created this design for an Atlanta Ballet Corps de Ballet event, below--
I recently created this design for an Atlanta Ballet Corps de Ballet event, below--
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Poetry Reading
This Tuesday, April 7th, I will be reading poems at 7:30 along with two other poets at Outwrite Books -- The evening's host is poet and author Franklin Abbott--Please show up and support your local poets!--check out event details here --
This Tuesday, April 7th, I will be reading poems at 7:30 along with two other poets at Outwrite Books -- The evening's host is poet and author Franklin Abbott--Please show up and support your local poets!--check out event details here --
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Poem
Inspiring: The sea and its old but potent God
I wrote this poem last year about neptune, who captured my imaginantion:
neptune
his lips
the narrow rose shell of them
pale sunset at the edges
vermillion moving inwards
more moist and vibrant then-
warm and wet
are parted
beyond the entrance
a grotto of orderly pearls
a quivering meat
a smell of the sea
in the cavern leading up
from his soul
Please respect the copyright of this poem and do not reproduce without my express permission.
I wrote this poem last year about neptune, who captured my imaginantion:
neptune
his lips
the narrow rose shell of them
pale sunset at the edges
vermillion moving inwards
more moist and vibrant then-
warm and wet
are parted
beyond the entrance
a grotto of orderly pearls
a quivering meat
a smell of the sea
in the cavern leading up
from his soul
Please respect the copyright of this poem and do not reproduce without my express permission.
What I admire/what interests me now
Shells and poems of the sea (check out my poem neptune)--Asia (crowded, ancient, still mysterious in many ways)--foo dogs (Thanks David B., and more on that soon)--MARCEL Proust (always)--Easter and eggs and carrots--crepe paper (part of a new project)--chapbooks and 'ZINES--inkblots (my own erotic ones)--and especially pop artist and 80's icon Keith HARING, below:
Keith Haring Photographed by Annie Leibovitz
Shells and poems of the sea (check out my poem neptune)--Asia (crowded, ancient, still mysterious in many ways)--foo dogs (Thanks David B., and more on that soon)--MARCEL Proust (always)--Easter and eggs and carrots--crepe paper (part of a new project)--chapbooks and 'ZINES--inkblots (my own erotic ones)--and especially pop artist and 80's icon Keith HARING, below:
Keith Haring Photographed by Annie Leibovitz
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