#ryan teitman

[haveyoureadthispoem-poll]

"Every few months or so, I turn into a rock. First, my joints stiffen as if there’s weather coming. Then, I get the urge to read some doorstop novel. Finally, I become a rock. A smallish one, usually. My wife isn’t surprised anymore."

Read it here | Reblog for a larger sample size!

#closed polls #polls #poetry #poems #poetry polls #poets and writing #tumblr poetry #have you read this #paperweight #ryan teitman #rock and roll

[havingapoemwithyou]

paperweight by Ryan Teitman

#Ryan Teitman #poetry #poem

[allyourprettywords]

"Hard Prayer," Ryan Teitman

I walk home through the city. The stars wait behind the clouds like an orchestra for a conductor and windows yawn open

all through the neighborhood. Streetlights die off. Storefronts clap shut. I stop at a pearing tree, whose branches

curtsy with fruit. Saint Francis carried two pears in his cupped hands for months, until the sweetness of rot called down hundreds of birds.

They perched across his body, and he wore the flock like a coat to survive the winter. My jacket keeps out the chill. I walk home

though streets as quiet as confessionals. Traffic lights shepherd nothing but wind. I want to live inside this silence—and ruin it.

#Ryan Teitman #poem #poetry #silence

[weltenwellen]

Ryan Teitman, "Paperweight"

#poetry

[lotshusband]

mr nathaniel i’m sure u have answered this before i was just wondering (because u have such good taste and are a beauuuuutiful writer) your favorite poems of all time / of the moment. 😗 with love and power to defend off rude anons

Here is a very incomplete list of favorites:

Ephesians and The Cabinet of Things Swallowed by Ryan Teitman (“Litany for the City”)

After Abraham Mourns, He Requests Another Son by Mark Conway (“Any Holy City”)

Where is the Lake of Dreams? by Molly Fisk (“Listening to Winter”)

Elegy for the Left Hand by James Richardson (“Reservations”)

The Black Hen by Robert Bly (“Out of the Rolling Ocean”)

On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong (“Night Sky with Exit Wounds”)

Poem Set in the Day and in the Night by Max Ritvo (“Four Reincarnations”)

The Noisiness of Sleep by Ada Limón (“Bright Dead Things”)

The Unseen Hand of Zombie Jesus by Jamaal May (“The Big Book of Exit Strategies”)

Sleeping with the Dead by W. D. Ehrhart (“Sleeping with the Dead”)

The Sinclair Gift Emporium by Michael Bazzet (“You Must Remember This”)

Watson and the Shark by Colin Cheney (“here be monsters”)

the month of the vintage by Zulema Renee Summerfield (“everything faces all ways at once”)

The Birdman of Nogales by Alberto Ríos (“The Smallest Muscle in the Human Body”)

Marrying the Hangman and The Man with a Hole in his Throat by Margaret Atwood (“Two-Headed Poems”)

In the Desert by Stephen Crane (“The Black Riders and Other Lines”)

Hands by Donald Justice (“Night Light”)

Wishbone by Richard Siken (“Crush”)

Having a Coke with You by Frank O’Hara

#nathaniel.txt #replies #poetry recs #ivchava

[nathanielorion]

hey can u give us a foot-long rec list of poems? your writing is so lovely that i wonder what you like to read

Here is a very incomplete list of favorites:

Ephesians by Ryan Teitman (“Litany for the City”)

From the same book, The Cabinet of Things Swallowed

After Abraham Mourns, He Requests Another Son by Mark Conway (“Any Holy City”)

Where is the Lake of Dreams? by Molly Fisk (“Listening to Winter”)

Elegy for the Left Hand by James Richardson (“Reservations”)

The Black Hen by Robert Bly (“Out of the Rolling Ocean”)

On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong (“Night Sky with Exit Wounds”)

Poem Set in the Day and in the Night by Max Ritvo (“Four Reincarnations”)

The Noisiness of Sleep by Ada Limón (“Bright Dead Things”)

The Unseen Hand of Zombie Jesus by Jamaal May (“The Big Book of Exit Strategies”)

Sleeping with the Dead by W. D. Ehrhart (“Sleeping with the Dead”)

The Sinclair Gift Emporium by Michael Bazzet (“You Must Remember This”)

Watson and the Shark by Colin Cheney (“here be monsters”)

the month of the vintage by Zulema Renee Summerfield (“everything faces all ways at once”)

The Birdman of Nogales by Alberto Ríos (“The Smallest Muscle in the Human Body”)

Marrying the Hangman by Margaret Atwood (“Two-Headed Poems”)

From the same book, The Man with a Hole in his Throat

In the Desert by Stephen Crane (“The Black Riders and Other Lines”)

Hands by Donald Justice (“Night Light”)

Wishbone by Richard Siken

From the same book:

Little Beast

Scheherazade

You Are Jeff

Saying Your Names

From Siken’s book “War of the Foxes”

Portrait of Fryderyk in Shifting Light 

Birds Hover the Trampled Field

War of the Foxes

Landscape with Fruit Rot and Millipede

#hopefully this is someplace to start! #if anybody wants illicit links to these poems i can always put together an imgur file haha #just lmk if that's something you guys want :) #answered #anon

[poetrypository]

Circles, Ryan Teitman

Let what begins continue. Let your dog turn

up his nose at the plate of vegetables you delicately

smashed on the floor. How far are we now from the place

they sealed the boy inside the well when they couldn’t

figure out how to save him? They didn’t want to

hear his cries anymore. So they boarded up the mouth and continued

with the picnic, even as their children grew wet with rain.

This summer, tornadoes will circle our town,

a runaway will circle her final destination on a map,

and dogs will stalk circles around a wounded deer.

I couldn’t tell you how to dress that leg. You’ve never

been alone before, but I forget that sometimes. I know

how to make bandages from bedsheets; my grandmother told me

stories from the war, how her garden was full of scrap metal,

how she served tomatoes dressed in oil and rust, yet sweeter than before.

She’d say, let what begins continue, and gesture vaguely at the sky,

as if the sky was where everything happened.

#ryan teitman

[finishinglinepress]

FINISHING LINE PRESS CHAPBOOK OF THE DAY: What Do You Do? by Kathryn Donohue $14.99, paper https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/what-do-you-do-by-kathryn-donohue/ Kathryn Donohue is a writer and teacher who lives in Ithaca, New York with her husband and daughter. Her poems have appeared in journals including American Chordata, Gettysburg Review, Newtown Literary, and Typo Magazine. The poems in Kate Donohue’s debut are not about her life — instead, they question what having a life really means. They are not about where she is from — they question what it means to come from somewhere. They are not about inheritance, either — they question how to construct our lives and our generation from an inherited language and history: “We’ll use the words we’ve been given” — and if we follow her lead, we’ll see the importance of recording details that often go unrecorded: “An old priest/ told my brother// he loved Scranton, because the mountains made him think of an island.” Here, any ordinary shred of experience opens up a possibility for poetry, and Donohue’s poetry, intimate and worldly at once, is also deeply generous precisely because of its unwavering honesty. “What Do You Do?” is not about what is done but about what response to the world — given the baffling, raw, and chaotic thing it is — will suffice. This work comes from that rare and real place where pain and confusion can transform into art. Hopefully, this chapbook is just the beginning of what Donohue will give us. –Sarah V. Schweig “Kate Donohue writes a rare kind of poem: sharp as a dart, but restorative as a salve. “I want to be the one who wins / and the one who cleans the wounds,” she writes. While her poems are framed by questions, they offer something much richer than mere answers: they offer intelligence, honesty, and language wielded like a surgeon’s scalpel. Every time I read these poems, I find something new to admire.” –Ryan Teitman RESERVE YOUR COPY TODAY PREORDER SHIPS OCTOBER 5, 2018 https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/what-do-you-do-by-kathryn-donohue/#poetry

#poetry

[sevenseasons]

The songbird that escapes from a burning house will build its nest in the shape of a cage. Ryan Teitman

[losingthenobelprize]

Tweeted

I had the incredible good fortune to interview the multi-talented @patrickmcoleman about his book Fire Season. https://t.co/jIiUG6Spqz

— Ryan Teitman (@RyanTeitman) February 10, 2019

#IFTTT #Twitter

[emilysobservatory]

For my Illustration junior thesis project, I decided to make a comic based on Ryan Teitman’s poem “Strange Elegy.” Marked by feelings of nostalgia, memories and fairy tales seemingly meld together, remembrance reborn in a form much like myth. Loss and hope stand at odds with each other, trying to look ahead while finding oneself ever drawn back, into the depths of a long-since faded past.

#MICA Illustration #sequential art #Ryan Teitman #Strange Elegy #poetry #long post #i was that nerd in your english class who'd raise their hand to explain some passage the teacher just read #i can't help it

[missedstations]

“Prayer to Saint Anthony, Finder of Lost Things” - Ryan Teitman

I have lost: churches cupped in my hands, the moon drowned in a glass, pocket watches tied to tree stumps, watchdogs swimming in lakes of whiskey, hungry fingers to the night saw’s teeth. Keep those. Please find my hearts, those thousand knotted plums fled from my body. Return the small one in the pit of my stomach, worn smooth as marble. Return the one in my left hand that beats with the stroke of a hammer. Return the cilia-pricked one in my ear that hears the memories of animals. Return the one in my knee that sings like a bellows. The one in my wrist that stutters my pulse like a skipping record. The one in my right hand that spins sand into glass. The one in my eye that plucks the streets from the city. The one in my tongue that shakes the sea from the shoreline. Return the one in my heart that builds ships in a bottle, with its small surgeon hands.

#Poems #Prayer to Saint Anthony Finder of Lost Things #Ryan Teitman

[pigmenting]

A cathedral of bodies opening to each other on beds smooth as altars. A cathedral of hands unbuttoning the skin of every prayer within reach.

Ryan Teitman, from “Cathedrals” in Litany for the City

#Ryan Teitman #Cathedrals #Litany for the City #quote #ughhghh

[lotshusband]

one of my assignments for online school is to do a prepared reading of 390 - 450 words from a poem and I was wondering if you knew of any fairly long poems bc uhh that's a fair amount of words lmao

Oh Boy Do I! I generally like shorter poems better, but here are a handful of my favorite long ones:

Little Beast by Richard Siken

Marrying the Hangman by Margaret Atwood

Whoever You Are Holding Me Now in Hand by Walt Whitman

On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong

What The Angels Left by Marie Howe [page one] [page two]

In the City in Which I Love You by Li-Young Lee

I also really like “Ephesians” by Ryan T. Teitman (from his book Litany for the City), but I couldn’t find it online and unfortunately my copy is in California. It’s worth checking out if it’s in your library, though! 

#nathaniel.txt #replies #poetry #anon

[poem-locker]

Ryan Teitman, "Ode to a Hawk with Wings Burning"

When our eyes can’t adjust to the fog of late light burning

off under a heat of darkness, a black flower blooms

for a single minute, and the bees waiting for its nectar

die of thirst. They drop one by one into a furry pile around the stem,

not knowing that the scarcity of its opening fails to make the juice

any sweeter. We lie when we think that the rare and the sacred

are like twin, unborn colts—legs tangled as they float in the barrel

of their mother’s belly. A girl keeps a halved pear in a jar by her bedside

and says that it’s her dead puppy’s ear, so everyone believes her

when she kisses the glass container goodnight, and carries it on walks

around the neighborhood. You can learn the most horrible things, if you listen

in the moment between night and day. I would name that moment, but to name it

would make it grow, would give old women the leisure to kneel at the altar and light

candle after candle to ward it all away. I won’t let it have a cadence

of the commonplace. I won’t let my mother’s botany book grow any bigger.

I won’t let the neighborhood kids catch another creature from my dreams,

like the day two boys dipped a hawk in gasoline,

and tossed it into the night with its wings still burning.

We didn’t know what to do when the deer tangled his antlers in the rusty spokes

of the landfill bicycle at the edge of town, so we rode

from street to street, leaving baskets of baby fish

at the doors of every church we could find. Pray for the filly

with the lame leg. Pray for the father with the iron burn on his thigh.

Pray for the moon to float down like a lost paper lantern

that finds a midnight funeral and settles—still smoldering—

on the bare, burning branches that cradle the ashes of a hawk.

#ryan teitman

[fluttering-slips]

Work

Some mornings, the clouds  settle rooftop low,             holding us in place  like a specimen slide.

I spend my days  wondering how a hammer             weighs the hand  that holds it,

or how the starlings apron  the stoplights             at Alcatraz  and Adeline.

A glassworker told me once  that she could tell             by the scars  who bandages their fingers

and who kisses closed  the wounds. I don't             know how  my father woke

hours before sunrise  each morning and worked             until long past sunset.  Sleep was a country

to retire to, an Ecuador.  I live where the light is             thin, and clothes us  like linen.

In the hills above town,  a black snake scrawls             across the path  like a signature.

I still have countries  left to discover, and ballets             of work  for my hands to learn. RYAN TEITMAN

#Work #RYAN TEITMAN #POETRY