Thursday, July 2, 2009
Casino In Singapore?
Monday, June 29, 2009
Favourite Poet
And there's still more: his unmistakable illustrative style is another crucial element to his appeal. Just as no writer sounds like Shel, no other artist's vision is as delightfully, sophisticatingly cockeyed.
One can only marvel that he makes the time to respond so kindly to his friends' requests. In the following work, let's be glad he did. Drawing on his characteristic passion for list making, he shows how the deed is not just in the wish but in the sublimation."
--------- A blurb by Otto Penzler from his crime anthology Murder for Revenge (1998)
An American poet, singer-songwriter, musician, composer, cartoonist, screenwriter, and author - Shel Silverstein (September 25, 1930–May 10, 1999). This very talented individual strikes me as my favourite poet, because the poems he composed are just so addictive and intriguing. What do you get when you throw creativity, lots of wit, rhymes, stories, adventure and intelligence onto a piece of paper - a work of Silverstein.
It is amazing that Silverstein composes poems without any influences. None at all. No favourite poets. He wrote down what came from his mind. His own style.
When he was a kid in his teens, Silverstein was not good at ball, and could not dance. There goes the girls. Thus, he devoted his time to writing and from then developed a great interest in it and formed his own style of poems. The bewildering thing is, it is said that he read no other poems from distinguished poets, none that he knew of. Amazing, is it not? A teenager producing various mesmerizing short stories and poetry out of nowhere, just solely on his very talented mind. A prodigy indeed. Though some of his work may be filled with profanities, it is solely in the name of wit and realism. The world we are in. Face it.
Silverstein had his own view of how his life started out:"When I was a kid — 12, 14, around there — I would much rather have been a good baseball player or a hit with the girls. But I couldn't play ball, I couldn't dance. So I started to draw and to write. I was also lucky that I didn't have anybody to copy, be impressed by. I had developed my own style; I was creating before I knew there was a Thurber, a Benchley, a Price, and a Steinberg. I never saw their work till I was around 30. By the time I got to where I was attracting girls, I was already into work, and it was more important to me. Not that I wouldn't rather make love, but the work has become a habit."
— Jean F. Mercier. "Shel Silverstein", Publishers Weekly, February 24, 1975).
Here are some of his works you can enjoy:
Picture Puzzle Piece by Shel Silverstein
One picture puzzle piece
Lyin' on the sidewalk,
One picture puzzle piece
Soakin' in the rain.
It might be a button of blue
On the coat of the woman
Who lived in a shoe.
It might be a magical bean,
Or a fold in the red
Velvet robe of a queen.
It might be the one little bite
Of the apple her stepmother
Gave to Snow White.
It might be the veil of a bride
Or a bottle with some evil genie inside.
It might be a small tuft of hair
On the big bouncy belly
Of Bobo the Bear.
It might be a bit of the cloak
Of the Witch of the West
As she melted to smoke.
It might be a shadowy trace
Of a tear that runs down an angel's face.
Nothing has more possibilities
Than one old wet picture puzzle piece.
Bear In There by Shel Silverstein
There's a Polar Bear
In our Frigidaire--
He likes it 'cause it's cold in there.
With his seat in the meat
And his face in the fish
And his big hairy paws
In the buttery dish,
He's nibbling the noodles,
He's munching the rice,
He's slurping the soda,
He's licking the ice.
And he lets out a roar
If you open the door.
And it gives me a scare
To know he's in there--
That Polary Bear
In our Fridgitydaire.
Whatif by Shel Silverstein
Last night, while I lay thinking here,
some Whatifs crawled inside my ear
and pranced and partied all night long
and sang their same old Whatif song:
Whatif I'm dumb in school?
Whatif they've closed the swimming pool?
Whatif I get beat up?
Whatif there's poison in my cup?
Whatif I start to cry?
Whatif I get sick and die?
Whatif I flunk that test?
Whatif green hair grows on my chest?
Whatif nobody likes me?
Whatif a bolt of lightning strikes me?
Whatif I don't grow talle?
Whatif my head starts getting smaller?
Whatif the fish won't bite?
Whatif the wind tears up my kite?
Whatif they start a war?
Whatif my parents get divorced?
Whatif the bus is late?
Whatif my teeth don't grow in straight?
Whatif I tear my pants?
Whatif I never learn to dance?
Everything seems well, and then
the nighttime Whatifs strike again!
My tribute:
Silverstein,
O'Silverstein,
thy shall say your name.
A legend you shall be,
in thy heart and always will be.
Sources: http://www.wikipedia.com
http://www.famouspoetsandpoems.com
Yahoo! Answers
Sunday, June 28, 2009
They sold the cause for the queen
And when the lights all went out, we watched our lives on the screen
I hate the ending myself,
But it started with an alright scene
It was the roar of the crowd that gave me heartache to sing
It was alive when they smiled and said,
"You won't feel a thing"
And as we ran from the cops we laughed so hard It would sting
Yeah Yeah, Oh
If i'm so wrong (so wrong, so wrong)
how can you listen all night long?
(night long, night long)
How will it matter after i'm gone?
because you never learned a goddamned thing
You're just a sad song with nothing to say
About a life long wait for a hospital stay
Well if you think that i'm wrong,
This never meant nothing to you
I spent my high school career
Spit on and shoved to agree
So I could watch all my heroes sell a car on tv
Bring out the old guillotine
We'll show 'em what we all mean
Yeah, Yeah, Oh
If i'm so wrong (so wrong, so wrong)
How can you listen all night long?
(night long, night long)
How will it matter long after i'm gone
Because you never learned a god damned thing
You're just a sad song with nothing to say about a life long wait for a hospital stay
Well if you think that i'm wrong,
This never meant nothing to you
So go,
Go, just go, run away.
Now where did you run to? and where did you hide?
Go find another way...
Woah oh, Woah oh...
You're just a sad song with nothing to say about a life long wait for a hospital stay
And if you think that i'm wrong, this never meant nothing to you, come on
You're just a sad song with nothing to say about a life long wait For a hospital stay
And if you think that i'm wrong, this never meant Nothing to you
At all...
At all...
At all...
I hate the ending myself,
But it started with an alright scene"
And as we ran from the cops we laughed so hard It would sting"
Spit on and shoved to agree"