Ryan Van Winkle
Ryan Van Winkle Poems
An incompleteness ago:
my fingers and turpentine nails,
laser hairs standing cold.
The market of twilight,
...
"I think the sea is a useless teacher"
Marie Howe, From Nowhere
How I
looked towards
...
Flies land on her wrist, legs, the tips of her eyes
remind us we are alive. "Go find something dead,"
she says. And the sun is here for us, the wind
...
We dreamed and a bird flew
into our bedroom window
like a heavy book
dropped in the dark.
...
YELLOW ROOM
For two years
it was a bare light bulb
by the side of the bed.
...
Furniture, photos,
petals floating in water.
It was spring and the river
bloomed and rose.
...
I have known summers
where rain would come cool
as the underside of a pillow. Worms
would leave dusty chambers
...
October, still
the west is open.
Tonight sleep. Tomorrow
wake and still the west.
...
sits up with me when the power cuts,
tells about the trout at Unkee's Lake,
the wood house burned on the hill.
He says he was intimate with every
...
a world quiet as black
and white and warm
as an ironed collar. So,
I want to say sorry
...
"Nothing valuable can be lost by taking time. If there be an object to hurry any of you, in hot haste, to a step you would never take deliberately, that object will be frustrated by taking time; but no good object can be frustrated by it."
- Abraham Lincoln
...
Cover myself in blankets
of dust. Cover myself
in a second-hand poncho
Virginia Woolf could have worn
...
I woke up with Duke Ellington in Pines
like there was nothing else: no muesli nor porridge,
just Ellington and Pines and so it seemed
...
Today the breakers are clear,
sharp, sure in the sun.
And out there, in the squint of distance,
the waves have conversations.
...
Door, I have knocked, pushed,
licked and, for a year, stroked
your veins smooth as varnish.
My knuckles are hard, black beetles.
...
Ryan Van Winkle Biography
Ryan Van Winkle (born 1977, New Haven) is a poet, live artist, podcaster and critic living in Edinburgh. Originally from Connecticut, USA, he first arrived in Scotland for the turn of the millennium, and since then has made it his home. He is indefatigably active in the poetry scene there in various roles: as poet, literary promoter, journalist, and long-term member of the multi-arts collective 'The Forest'. His performance “Red Like Our Room Used to Feel” was celebrated as one of the highlights of the Edinburgh Fringe Festival in 2012. Van Winkle’s texts are the expression of a stark, often uneasy emotional honesty. In one performance project, for example, he gave individual readings to his audience in a space that recreated his own bedroom.)
The Best Poem Of Ryan Van Winkle
A Raincoat, A Spell of Rain Ago
An incompleteness ago:
my fingers and turpentine nails,
laser hairs standing cold.
The market of twilight,
horse left on the monument,
six legs, one raised as a rifle,
his man like an apple in a barn.
Red on red on red on red.
An incompleteness ago:
a mint melting in the bath, a mint
in pubic hairs and fingered dust,
a mint of dimes, pennies, nickels.
A quarter a quarter a quarter - call it
an incompleteness ago, a baby almost ate
a banana. Small spoons. Small spoons, small
incompletenesses ago.
The sinks are still buildings,
the counter a revolution,
the gorillas in the kitchen,
the coal train - an incomplete
the bruised boy - an incomplete
the candy shop - an incomplete
the tractor trails - an incomplete, no
incompleteness ago. No grief ago.
No moons ago, no alone ago,
no tires ago, no buzzard pond ago,
no dream ago, no Freud ago,
no pickled vans ago, no cherry ago,
no pits, no canyons, no shaved rocks
of ice from an incompleteness ago.
No red no red no red no
water for boil, no bottle,
no bottle for punch.
No gum. No shoe.
No shoe detective for my life.
No narrative. No born,
lived then died.
No tomb, no ash, no clay.
No bones, no dice
no smoke, no fire. No ants
on the way to mango.
No incompleteness.
No raincoat for the rat-ta-ta,
a raincoat ago. A dog ago.
A hat ago. A love ago. A week ago
there was only no.
No gas. No trucks, only tunnels.
Only pavement. No food, only smell.
No song in my voice.
No voice.
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4/26/2024 4:49:40 PM # 1.0.0.1119
