Fan Michael Pollack stood up to ask his childhood idol a question during the Piano Man's recent Q&A at Vanderbilt University.
He asked to play with him. Joel answered.
"...and that's how you get to be a horn player in NYC... take a chance" Joel after the song.
If you don't ask, you don't get.
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Jessica Ceballo organized a great afternoon at the Avenue 50 Studio and the other readers, Mandy Kahn, Chiwan Choi and Brendan Constantine, were all stellar. We were excited to have a full room.
Above are the recordings of my pieces in a soundcloud set. Please have a listen, download if you like and share with friends you think might like it as well.
Available too, here is the pdf of those poems for download: Ryan Scott Nance The Bluebird Reading Series
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Noct
I was com
You said you would wai
Twelve hundred miles in a day -
I counted houses, then their ligh
Came home to an empt
Not even my shir
my green shir
Are you wearing it now?
It’s hot, the house is hot; the walls,
even the handle on the refr
What the f
What can anyone hope to keep?
If either of us could answer,
wou
I was lucky enough to read with Constantine yesterday on The Bluebird Reading Series, an amazing series hosted by Poet Jessica Ceballos in Highland Park's Avenue 50 Studio.
Later this month, Constantine and I will be reading together at the Rapp Poetry Saloon (8 p.m. March 22).
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The poems I prepared for today's reading:
Download: Ryan Scott Nance The Bluebird Reading Series
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From the mountains of Wyoming to the Sea of Cortez in Mexico, photographers and adventurers Will Stauffer-Norris and Zak Podmore travelled more than 1,700 miles along the Green and Colorado Rivers. Leaving in October of 2011 and arriving in the Sea of Cortez in January of 2012, the two journeyed for 113 days.
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photo by SKYE user Linda McCartney
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photo by SKYE user Liz Houser
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photo by SKYE user Rick Strohm
Quite a bit of snow out east... it's pretty, from this distance...
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Designer Daniel Nyari has created this playful set of Football Playmakers.
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Seems to be snowing a lot in Illinois and Wisconsin. Meanwhile in Hawaii...
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Richard Blais, winner of Top Chef All Stars, hosts this weekly mad-scientist of burger shows Burger Lab on Tasted, the first I've picked as the WSOTD (Web Series of the Day).
There are some pretty insane concoctions, Korean Barbecue Burger, Cheese Stuffed Burger and Pig-skin Burger (was aimed at the Superbowl watching moment).
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The Me Bird
by Pablo Neruda
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:
There is a fantastic Stencil-Cut Animation inspired by this poem of Neruda's.
translation by Pat @ Close
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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.
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Groningen, Netherlands by SKYE user hansolo
Jerusalem, Israel by SKYE user simsim
SKYE user rtsnance (me!)
SKYE user LoganWing
Waterloo, ON by SKYE user Joel Mieske
SKYE user timbo
SKYE user John McCarthy
I've snuck one of my photos into this batch.
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Bulent Kilic/AFP/Getty Images
Jae C. Hong/Associated Press
Andrea Merola/EPA
Patrick Seeger/dpa/Associated Press
Patrik Stollarz/AFP/Getty Images
Paul Ellis/AFP/Getty Images
Six of my favorites from this great set (47 photos in total) over at the Big Picture.
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photo by flickr/Jessy Roos
Peonies
by Mary Oliver
This morning the green fists of the peonies are getting ready
to break my heart
as the sun rises,
as the sun strokes them with his old, buttery fingers
and they open —
pools of lace,
white and pink —
and all day the black ants climb over them,
boring their deep and mysterious holes
into the curls,
craving the sweet sap,
taking it away
to their dark, underground cities —
and all day
under the shifty wind,
as in a dance to the great wedding,
the flowers bend their bright bodies,
and tip their fragrance to the air,
and rise,
their red stems holding
all that dampness and recklessness
gladly and lightly,
and there it is again —
beauty the brave, the exemplary,
blazing open.
Do you love this world?
Do you cherish your humble and silky life?
Do you adore the green grass, with its terror beneath?
Do you also hurry, half-dressed and barefoot, into the garden,
and softly,
and exclaiming of their dearness,
fill your arms with the white and pink flowers,
with their honeyed heaviness, their lush trembling,
their eagerness
to be wild and perfect for a moment, before they are
nothing, forever?
Mary Oliver will certainly be a poet I often reach for. She is a fearless and talented student of the world.
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Photographer Kevin Cooley's series called “Lights Edge”: long-exposure photographs of military-grade emergency flares into the night sky.
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On the whole, my adventure index is fairly low. Certainly in comparison with these CRAZIES!
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LIVING AT THE END OF TIME
By Robert Bly
There is so much sweetness in children’s voices,
And so much discontent at the end of day,
And so much satisfaction when a train goes by.
I don’t know why the rooster keeps crying,
Nor why elephants keep raising their trunks,
Nor why Hawthorne kept hearing trains at night.
A handsome child is a gift from God,
And a friend is a vein in the back of the hand,
And a wound is an inheritance from the wind.
Some say we are living at the end of time,
But I believe a thousand pagan ministers
Will arrive tomorrow to baptize the wind.
There’s nothing we need to do about John. The Baptist
Has been laying his hands on earth for so long
That the well water is sweet for a hundred miles.
It’s all right if we don’t know what the rooster
Is saying in the middle of the night, nor why we feel
So much satisfaction when a train goes by.
I read this poem by Bly to my 4 year old son, Jude, on the phone today and he sai: I like that poem.
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Olivier Valsecchi's series, “Klecksography”, builds symmetrical sculptures out of bodies, in a way that evokes the famous inklot tests of times past.
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Belarus from SKYE user Marina Agafonova
Nebraska Snow Storm by SKYE user Katie Tripp
Angola by SKYE user Xania Debo
India by SKYE user Ashraf Achu
Aleppo, Syria by SKYE user Avda Bave Roj
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photo by VinothChandar
Ye Flowery Banks (Bonie Doon)
Ye flowery banks o' bonie Doon,
How can ye blume sae fair?
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae fu' o' care?
Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird,
That sings upon the bough;
Thou minds me o' the happy days,
When my fause love was true.
Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird,
That sings beside thy mate;
For sae I sat, and sae I sang,
And wist na o' my fate.
Aft hae I rov'd by bonie Doon
To see the wood-bine twine,
And ilka bird sang o' its luve,
And sae did I o' mine.
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose
Frae aff its thorny tree;
And my fause luver staw my rose
But left the thorn wi' me.
Burn is the most well known poet in the Lallans language (Lowland Scots language).
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