POTD - Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley - Read by Bryan Cranston

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Ozymandias

by Percy Bysshe Shelley

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
`My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away". 

 

This teaser introduced the final season of AMC's Breaking Bad, read by the show's star, Bryan Cranston.  

POTD - Viking Ships in Los Angeles by Brandon Brown from Poesia Para La Gente

Viking Ships in Los Angeles

by Brandon Brown 

The simple have their slogans, and the wise their proverbs. 
A builder has wood, rough and lifeless in piles. 
My eyes, they have your eyes. My breath mixes with your breath.
Once, we drew a map to your house on a brown paper napkin and sailed 
through neighborhood alleys like Viking ships 
until we reached your staircase, its flickering light bulb 
suspended above us like some artist sketched it 
over our heads to show everyone that our brains were full 
of ideas. Really, we were just dreaming of buried treasure 
and our hands on each other’s bodies, 
tracing one another’s mouths with our tongues. Here, 
on these same steps, our fingers now have 
another set of fingers to hold and study like hammers or worn-faced coins. 
And it’s here where I have built for us a tower, 
one that stretches up from the planks of the creaking deck under our feet 
so that when you and I scale it, we can look out 
over all the familiar houses, yapping dogs and divorcees sunbathing in their backyards. 
Each time I cup your face in my hand, I know that I’ll be with you 
as my hair grows longer and my clothes become old. I know 
that if you leave your body before I leave my body, I’ll carry you down 
from our perch like wood from the pile, polish two coins 
with my trembling fingers, and rest them on your eyes as you begin 
to float down the tar-black river on a bed made of flowers and sticks. 

I had the privilege of meeting Brandon (@yourmoneyisours ) during our Poesia Para La Gente on the LA Metro. He read a number of poems, but this one, read at edge of the pond in Macarthur Park just lit us all up. He was gracious enough to let me publish it here on 5 things. 

The links directly to Brandon reading his poem: on Vimeo

Below is the whole video (his poem starts at 22:35) 

On Sunday afternoon, June 30th, several poets met to ride the LA Metro and at each stop and along the way shared their poems and spoken word with fellow Angelenos. There were many poems and tales, but for the sake of expediency I chose just one poem from each poet to include in the video.

light: things v1

Our first version of "things" is now available over on Readymag

get it here »​

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Some of our favorite things that resonate with a specific lens. This version is centered on light and includes original prose, poetry and dance, as well.​

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I would love to hear what you think in the comments and please share if you think there are people who might enjoy it.​

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Thanks,​

Ryan

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Cheetahs are So Cool and How the words Cheetah and Poem are Etymologically Related

With a flexible spine and feet like tire treads, the cheetah is built not only for speed - but for unrivaled acceleration.

My daughter just finished a report on cheetahs for her kindergarten class. This is one of the videos she found in her research. 

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Her research spurred me to revisit and understand better something I had come across years ago: The idea that the words cheetah and poem come from the same Indo-European root words. 

​Bradshaw of the Future explains:

cheetah and poem

The Proto-Indo-European root is *kʷei-, "to pile up, build, make". The o-grade form *kʷoi- became Sanskrit काय kāya "body", which combined with चित्र citra "variegated , spotted , speckled" to formचित्रकाय citrakāya "striped-body, tiger or panther". This became Hindi चीता cītā, borrowed into English ascheetah.

The suffixed form *kʷoiw-eyo- became Greek ποιέω poieō "to create" and ποιημα poiēma, borrowed into Latin as poēma, borrowed into English as poem thru French.

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POTD - Rocket Fantastic [excerpt] by Gabrielle Calvocoressi

Rocket Fantastic [excerpt]

by Gabrielle Calvocoressi

It's ridiculous what fame
can buy you. Not the beast
but the tiny, frightened
man who brings him
in a cage from Alhambra,
who stands in the doorway
as the three girls finish,
get off the bed and walk down 
to the pool, giggling as they pass.
The Bandleader borrowed
a tiger because we saw it 
in a reel the studio sent over,
some movie about a prince
that played against the wall
of the upstairs bedroom. 
Sometimes a girl would jump 
into the pool and the waves  
shimmered up. In the movie
the prince brings the tiger
to the castle and it rules
alongside him, "That's not 
believable," the Bandleader  
said and then, "Don't stop." 
And then, "Ah. Right there."
The prince would place his hand 
on the tiger's head and grab 
his hair in his fist and move 
it around. I liked to watch 
him start to want things, a wetness
forming in his mind. There were 
three girls squealing in the pool
and the waves  came up to us 
as ripples of light that I passed 
my fingers through, "You're blue 
with gold stripes," the Bandleader 
said, looking up at me 
but imagining the tiger beside him 
already, before he even  
reached for the phone.

Calvocoressi picked her 5 contemporary books of poems to read for us.

Reading a Poem - B by Sarah Kay - Read by Harper Rose Perez

http://5thingsilearnedtoday.com/read-b-by-sarah-kay-

B

by Sarah Kay

If I should have a daughter…“Instead of “Mom”, she’s gonna call me “Point B.” Because that way, she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always find her way to me. And I’m going to paint the solar system on the back of her hands so that she has to learn the entire universe before she can say “Oh, I know that like the back of my hand.”

She’s gonna learn that this life will hit you, hard, in the face, wait for you to get back up so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air. There is hurt, here, that cannot be fixed by band-aids or poetry, so the first time she realizes that Wonder-woman isn’t coming, I’ll make sure she knows she doesn’t have to wear the cape all by herself. Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I’ve tried.

And “Baby,” I’ll tell her “don’t keep your nose up in the air like that, I know that trick, you’re just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him. Or else, find the boy who lit the fire in the first place to see if you can change him.”

But I know that she will anyway, so instead I’ll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boats nearby, ‘cause there is no heartbreak that chocolate can’t fix. Okay, there’s a few heartbreaks chocolate can’t fix. But that’s what the rain boots are for, because rain will wash away everything if you let it.

I want her to see the world through the underside of a glass bottom boat, to look through a magnifying glass at the galaxies that exist on the pin point of a human mind. Because that’s how my mom taught me. That there’ll be days like this, “There’ll be days like this my momma said” when you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises. When you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the very people you wanna save are the ones standing on your cape. When your boots will fill with rain and you’ll be up to your knees in disappointment and those are the very days you have all the more reason to say “thank you,” ‘cause there is nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline no matter how many times it’s sent away.

You will put the “wind” in win some lose some, you will put the “star” in starting over and over, and no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life.

And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting I am pretty damn naive but I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar. It can crumble so easily but don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it.

“Baby,” I’ll tell her “remember your mama is a worrier but your papa is a warrior and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more.”

Remember that good things come in threes and so do bad things and always apologize when you’ve done something wrong but don’t you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining.

Your voice is small but don’t ever stop singing and when they finally hand you heartbreak, slip hatred and war under your doorstep and hand you hand-outs on street corners of cynicism and defeat, you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.

 ​

4 - The Me Bird - Stencil Cut Animation

The short film "The Me Bird" is a free interpretation of the homonym poem by Pablo Neruda. The inspiration in the strata stencil technique helps conceptualize the repetition of layers as the past of our movements and actions. The frames depicted as jail and the past as a burden serve as the background for the story of a ballerina on a journey towards freedom. A diversified artistic experimentation recreates the tempest that connects bird and dancer. www.18bis.tv www.facebook.com/18bis Watch the making of: www.vimeo.com/60860949 // O curta The Me Bird é uma livre interpretação do poema homônimo de Pablo Neruda. A inspiração na técnica strata stencil ajuda a conceituar a repetição de camadas como o passado de nossos movimentos e ações. As molduras como jaula e o passado como fardo servem de pano de fundo para a história de uma bailarina em sua jornada rumo à liberdade. Através de variada experimentação artística, recria-se a tormenta que conecta pássaro e dançarina. I am the Pablo Bird, bird of a single feather, a flier in the clear shadow and obscure clarity, my wings are unseen, my ears resound when I walk among the trees or beneath the tombstones like an unlucky umbrella or a naked sword, stretched like a bow or round like a grape, I fly on and on not knowing, wounded in the dark night, who is waiting for me, who does not want my song, who desires my death, who will not know I'm arriving and will not come to subdue me, to bleed me, to twist me, or to kiss my clothes, torn by the shrieking wind. That's why I come and go, fly and don't fly but sing: I am the furious bird of the calm storm. Pablo Neruda

The beautiful Neruda poem, "The Me Bird" inspired this truly awesome stencil cut animation, created by 18bis.

The making-of video is pretty awesome too.​

The making of "The Me Bird", animation inspired by a poem by Pablo Neruda. The edit reveals the creative process of the short film. Music: Thee, Stranded Horse - Churning strides Watch the animation: https://vimeo.com/60763684 // Making of de "The Me Bird", animação inspirada em um poema de Pablo Neruda. As imagens contam um pouco do processo de criação do curta. Música: Thee, Stranded Horse - Churning strides Veja a animação: https://vimeo.com/60763684

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