Mash Up

It’s been an incredible week for me as far as music is concerned.  This time last Sunday evening I spent a peaceful evening soaking up Matt Epp’s acoustic excellence and last night I had the face blown right off my head with a rousing show at the Sea King Club care of The Stanfields.  With friends present, cheap beer sloshing around in my hand I stomped, sang and was blown away by the balls out, fist-pumping grit only The Stanfields can provide in the way of their distilled cocktail; punk hues, Celtic rock gumption and blistering delivery.  Their new record ‘Death & Taxes’ is a fiery collection of songs that stay true to all the dirtiest drunks in the history of liquor.  My favorite changes on every listen but the title track is just simply awesome and just as explosive live.  The Stanfields are a gang of rock warriors who band together to … well … show their chops and get you drunk off your arse with their wares.  They succeed in spades.  They are kicking off their tour with Gloryhound sharing the bill.  If they roll into your town, do yourself a favor and line up.  I dare you.

I have rock ‘n’ roll hangover today but managed to have a great brunch date and time to polish a new poem that I’ve been pecking at for a few days.  One of my newer pieces appears this month in Open Heart Forgery.  I’ve been following the American election as well as the politics on Canadian soil as well as our mayoral election that is looming.  Politics are a conundrum.  Everyone strives to be right, strives for the power, and will lie cheat and steal to get it.  I fear for the American people of Mitt Romney takes office.  Obama may not be a perfect President but allowing the GOP to take control will throw the nation back to the stone ages.  Scary that we live in a world where things like women’s rights and topics such as birth control are even up for discussion, being talked about by uneducated dolts who believe a woman’s body shuts the potential for pregnancy if she is raped.  Unreal.  Someone missed sex ed in grade school?  Let’s see how they’d feel if it were their daughters.  I’m of the opinion that people have the right to be who they are, love who they desire, pray to their chosen entity all with equal human rights and health care.  Seems like common sense to me.  Yeah?  Big business, war and the un-ending struggle to be the most powerful over-shadows our basic human need to live peacefully and happily.  Nothing is more certain than death and taxes.  Pun intended.

So, I wrote this poem in response to the overwhelming intake of political information of late and submitted it for the October issue of OHF.  Always such an honour to be published with other great local writers:

Mash Up

passionate discussion

unforgettable impression

pos.

derisive laughter

oppressive tradition

neg.

formal constraints

avant-garde aesthetic

opp.

illustrated audience

a mirror morphs into

a magnifying glass

advance your own agenda

subtle seize

visceral shock

muddled melee

tender tussle

true/false

right/wrong

&

the dangers of all

the things we take

for granted

**

Just as a reminder, if you live in the Halifax area, you can find copies of Open Heart Forgery all over town, in cafes, coffee houses, lobbies, nooks and crannies everywhere.  You are encouraged to forge it, share it and do it all over again the following month.  It’s such a brave and inspiring undertaking and so good for our area. I love stumbling across it when I’m in my travels.  Everyone needs a little poetry.

I wouldn’t typically share two poems in one post but as I said, I’ve been pecking at this new one now for a few days and feel like I’m ready to share it.  It sprung up after a quiet night I spent by myself, thinking.  Take from it what you need to but it soothed a deep ache that cropped up and surprised me.  My response to it was to write it out.

Wave of Staggering Loss

there is a detached mercy

that cannot be seen in us

as we stare into

self-descriptive sunlight

we are guided

perhaps misled

while reaching to accept

a wave of staggering loss

permissible

& audible

in a conflagration

of svelte language

intended to disarm

intended to defuse

unbendable nightmares

choreographed

by a nettled stir

converged

with a downward rapture

all designed to

question our brio

in accordance with

a degree of controversy

loss

our deconstruction

our keen denial

versus

our normative truth

**

And there you have it, a little of this and that, a little bit of poetry and now I’m going to set my iTunes to a new and awesome set-list I’ve prepared to aid me while I try my hand at making homemade fudge.

Hope your Sunday was full of love and peaceful feelings.

In propinquity,

Nic

Careful Abandon

I am firm believer in music, a devoted patron.  Last night my best friend Erica and I spent a peaceful evening stationed at The Carleton (in Halifax, Nova Scotia) to see my creative comrade Matt Epp play a one-man, acoustic show, part of his ‘Careful Abandon’ tour in support of his new acoustic record of the same name.

It’s always a happy occasion when Matt comes to town and that this time he was playing Mike & Mike’s premiere ‘listening room’ was a coo (that’s Mike Campbell and Mike Rhodes of Much Music fame).  The Carleton, for those of you who haven’t been, is a spectacular venue for intimate and interactive shows between artists and their audiences.  You are required to arrive, seat yourself, hydrate and heed the one rule of the room, ‘reserve quiet chatter for between songs’.  I am a BIG fan of this concept (like that of The Company House where I’ve also seen Matt perform).  I appreciate it because so often I’ve gone to shows and miss some of the power and the essence because senseless nattering is interrupting my intake.  I want to ‘listen’, absorb what an artist is sharing, not what so-and-so did on summer vacation.  I’m sure the stories are wonderful but I paid admission to see someone play, we can all talk later.  And, with someone like Matt, who shares straight from the deepest part of himself; it’s a privilege to be able to be still, be content and just listen.

Matt Epp is charismatic, a gentleman who makes music with a grateful heart.  His shoes are well-worn, touring and exploring the world, collecting stories, accumulating experiences and setting them to gorgeous music, always excited to be able to share them with others.  His extensive travels and expert story-telling ability make him an artist to be excited about, one to watch, follow and admire.  He is prosperous with the natural ability to communicate with others in earnest felicity through his unique soul-inspiring songwriting.  The songs he composes are rife with temperate ardor, kind-hearted humanity, spiritual reflection, tender in their goodness and always touch me.  His particular brand of artistic integrity, his effervescence and his soothing, angelic voice are only a few of the wonderful characteristics that make up the awesome-ness that is Matt Epp.

Erica and I sat ourselves at a cozy table next to the window overlooking a Halifax city street.  We shared a few delectable items from the menu, talking quietly until Matt took the stage, draped with two red heart red flags of ‘Amoria’ and set with a microphone stand, his guitars and simple stool holding his harmonica and a glass of water.  Every person present was there to see Matt.  They anticipated his arrival and welcomed him with a warm Nova Scotia reception. 

(performing a gorgeous Ryan Adams cover)

As usual, his show (of two sets and a short intermission) filled my heart to the point where it started to overflow.  I sat most of the time listeing, dangerously close to spilling tears.  It isn’t uncommon for me because his voice moves me.  He played two beautiful sets of songs both old and new, shared clever and silly stories in between with ease, audience participation included.  Particularly poignant was the story he shared about trip to Berlin where he was playing a show at the embassy.  He witnessed a tragic accident involving a young man on a scooter and a larger vehicle. He started his show with ‘Love Is Forever’ and talked about how the lyrics of the love song started to take on a whole new meaning to him because he watched the injured man’s clothes being cut away by paramedics.  It’s stories like these that bring his audience so close to the songs he shares.  It’s what I love the most about his shows.  My favorite moment though was when he played his last song of the night and realized he had nowhere to go when the room demanded an encore.  Being the cheeky guy he is, he hid behind the curtain on the stage.  For his encore, he asked what we’d like him to play.  Someone suggested more Bob Dylan (he shared a cover earlier along with a Sam Cooke tune and a lush Ryan Adams tribute after talking about working with his producer on his up-coming record with his full band due out next year).  After the Bob Dylan mention, someone else asked for ‘Orphan Horse’ followed by the suggestion he do ‘Orphan Horse’ AS Bob Dylan.  This struck Matt’s funny-bone and got everyone giggling.

It’s safe to say, after some quality time with Erica, taking in Matt’s show, talking with him a bit and two generous, bone crushing hugs later, my soul was well fed with kinship, music and laughter.  I really appreciate Matt’s generous spirit. He’s such a lovely human being and an exceptional artist.  I wish the whole world could sing in harmony with him because he understands the human heart, human decency and he believes in love, life and the whole crazy thing.

With careful abandon, I lost myself in his calming presence and his meaningful music.  I was touched by sincerity as he humbly thanked each of us for the accolades and for sharing the evening with him.  As with any event so anticipated, it went by so fast.  For now, I have a new acoustic record to enjoy until be passes through town again.  That and I snuck the gig poster from the front door of the bar as I left. But shhhh, don’t tell anyone.  It’s proudly displayed on my rock wall along with our ‘gangsta’ photograph we took together at the back of the bar.  If you want to see it, you’ll have come visit.  It’s pretty rad.

I strongly encourage you all to acquaint yourselves with Matt’s music.  You’ll be happy you did.

My next musical adventure:  The Stanfields this Saturday at the Sea King Cub.  I’ve been looking forward to that since August!

Heads are sure to roll.

In Propinquity,

Nic

PS - Matt recorded a song with Serena Ryder that I am SO pumped for!  I LOVE her.  And to have two of my favorite Canadians singing together is just solid gold.

Fifty Shades of What?

For the most part, people think I am fabulous, unless of course we are debating E.L. James and ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ phenomenon.  Don’t mistake me, I am not a prude; it isn’t the blindfold that offends me, I’ve been there and quite enjoyed the .. ahem .. outcome.  This trilogy that has decorated bedrooms, heated up book-clubs, discussed fervently on mommy-blogs and topped best-seller lists, is a bit of a conundrum.  Granted, it has people excited (pun intended) about reading and even I can’t balk at that and by several accounts, it has magically saved marriages and spiced up amorous relations but as much of a fan as I am of all of those elements, I cannot get beyond bad writing and unrealistic dialogue.  The reality is, sex sells and James’ books, that started as cheesy Twilight fan fiction and developed into Fifty Shades of Grey, landed a woman serving mid-life crisis antics through erotic musings on Time’s annual list of ‘The 100 Most Influential People’.  Really?  All it takes is writing down your dirtiest Team Edward inspired fantasies under the guise ‘Snowqueen Icedragon’ on a fan fiction site, changing the names and details and becoming a literary success overnight?  Erika Leonard James struck gold and good for her.  No writer needs to be poised to dismantle another’s success it’s just that it’s hard to imagine knowing there are so many talented, unpublished authors who work their fingers to the bone writing manuscript after manuscript in the hopes of achieving literary success and a slice of mommy porn fan fiction is what makes the grade.  Astounding in my humble opinion.

I have read several volumes of titillating erotica over the years with goose-bump inducing effects and language that’ll make you slide off of your chair.  Those pages worked for me because they were carefully crafted and well written without ever having to refer to anyone’s ‘lip biting inner goddess’.  Maybe I’m a snob but I prefer a little intelligence in my erotica, even perhaps a little poetry.  Double entendres go a long way in erotica, verbal foreplay and blocks in which to build sexual tension.  That’s what mama like.

Writing erotic fiction is not my strong suit.  I have attempted it in the past a few times, once just for fun and another for the sole purpose of arousing a partner.  It was a challenging exercise to try and not make it cliché or a collection of filthy four letter words.  I will admit, there were filthy four letter words involved in the piece but I worked really hard (pun again intended) to at least try to create an atmosphere steeped in the emotional desire I possessed for my lover.  The pages are long lost now but I wish I still had it so that I could see how I scored now in the light of James’ success. 

Did I mention before that the first time I was ever published it was in a local erotica poetry journal called ‘Desiderata’?  I was young, a teenager.  I discovered the journal at a local bookstore.  I read the submission guidelines and sent in my poem.  They accepted and I was thrilled!  I’d been working so hard, sending away work and query letters and getting rejection letters back faster than I could read them.  It was a welcome reward, to have my work received with excitement.  At that time, I was also eager to prove, especially to my father, I was serious about writing and how much I wanted to pursue it.  It was impossible for him to support my creative pursuits, when I’d talk about it he was always quick to dismiss it in favor of talk about more practical paths.  His insistence never did pull the pen out of my hand and when I received my free copies of the journal and my whopping $2 I made my poor Dad blush brighter than a tomato when he read my first published poem with the whole family present.  I felt validated and proud of myself for being so rebellious and for showing him I was indeed capable of this writing thing. (Side-note: I was actually paid $10 for my poem but I bought a subscription of the journal – I framed the $2 bill with a copy of the cheque and it sits on my writing desk to this day.)

So yes, not a big fan of the ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ thing.  And Ann Rice's Sleeping Beauty trilogy is FAR superior if you're into that sort of stuff.  I read it ages ago.  I won’t be devouring the books like so many of my friends and family members have.  My impression is not sight unseen.  I did peek at the pages when I saw the first volume stationed on my friend’s coffee table.  The excerpt I read didn’t impress me, cementing my opinion.  I am on the nay-sayer’s side of the debate.  And like I said, I’m happy people are reading and saving their relationships and all that jazz, good on them, I just don’t buy into the hype.  I am curious though how the former TV exec will follow up her current success.  A trilogy loosely based on ‘The Avengers’ fan fiction?  I’d be ok with a human Thor and Iron Man sandwich.  Menage a YUM.

The following poem won’t catapult me into international fame, land me on any prestigious lists or have the boys breaking down my door but it’s original work:

Bedland Avenue

your palm pressing against the skin of my bare back, tactile

pulling me closer and closer to you, Champion of Flesh

breath quickens

cheeks flush

your gentle man fingers crossing the soft equator of my voluptuous centre

edging me closer and closer to something I will never be able to describe

muscles tighten

world releases

Bedland Avenue

the shape of you in the sheets

the smell of you in my hair

the size of you inside

you rolling yourself over flat on your back to allow me to climb new heights

push in the coin

open the curtains

cue the music

suspend

**

Cold shower time?  Maybe.  Whatever shade of grey you prefer, it’s sexy time.

In propinquity,

Nic

Like Most Revelations

I’ve been pre-occupied with life lately with little time for intellectual thinking, writing and blogging.  I’ve barely had time to read a book (speaking of which, I need some new reading material so if you have any book suggestions for me, fire away).  Between a nasty 24 hour flu bug, the Labor Day weekend and various other pesky things, I’ve been busy and to be truthful, a little zapped of my creative energy, blocked if you will.  Where are you, Steven Pressfield!? Gee whiz, didn’t I just talk about that?!  Hypocrites of the world untie!  Yes, I intentionally said untie.  My one stab at humour today. 

I finally managed to get my groove back a little bit working on a little something for another writer friend of mine and in turn, this poem built itself this afternoon, out of the blue.  Aided by the sound of the driving rain, a steamy cup of green tea and my favorite pen for scribbling, it was born.   I’m certain that I’ll revisit and revise at some point but I’m sharing it here and now because it was such a delightful surprise that for lack of a better phrase, brightened this grey day.

Interesting about revelations and/or epiphanies, do they actually have a lasting impact on us when they reveal themselves to our scattered minds and fragile hearts?  Like New Year’s resolutions, how truly strong are we as human beings to abide by the good intentions that are instilled from wanting better for ourselves or discovering a piece of information that can transform?  I have accomplished crazy things like teaching myself how to like peanut butter and yogurt yet I struggle to stand by something like Yoga because doing downward dog poses are going to help center my core and align my whole being or standing by the striking clarity about a particular event or situation and when PMS strikes or you see a face in a crowd that even though you said you were the ruler of your own universe can obliterate your starship to dust.  It begs the question, do revelations really change us or do our mood, location, company, and outside influence sway us back to our old ways of thinking and/or feeling. 

Just something to ponder.  I think perhaps it’s equal helpings of both.  You decide for yourself.

The poem:

Like Most Revelations

Like most revelations

it is the intonation that resonates

more than the implication

it is the accumulated wisdom

that weighs down

the out-lived

the out-numbered

the ousted

Like most revelations

it is the sensation akin

to letting go of black daylight

that reverberates the

prolonged proportions 

of truthfulness

of gracefulness

of repose

Like most revelations

they move out and down

they move back and up

from the outside inward

and nestles

down

deep

Like most revelations

it is the insinuation of

augmented knowledge

that misleads the limits

we alter ourselves

because

we believe we are exposed

when the conversation turns

panegyric 

**

Enough out of me today.  

In propinquity,

Nic

PS - Holy POOP, it's September!