There are many names in history but none of them are ours. The fact of his pulse, the way he pulled his body in, out of shyness or shame or a desire not to disturb the air around him. Everyone could see the way his muscles worked, the way we look like animals, his skin barely keeping him inside. I wanted to take him home and rough him up and get my hands inside him, drive my body into his like a crash test car.
I wanted to be wanted and he was very beautiful, kissed with his eyes closed, and only felt good while moving. Try explaining a life bundled with episodes of this— swallowing mud, swallowing glass, the smell of blood on the first four knuckles. I wish it was mine. The Torn-Up Road 4 I want to tell you this story without having to say that I ran out into the street to prove something, that he chased after me and threw me into the gravel. The prayer of going nowhere going nowhere.
A Primer for the Small Weird Loves 1 The blond boy in the red trunks is holding your head underwater because he is trying to kill you, and you deserve it, you do, and you know this, and you are ready to die in this swimming pool because you wanted to touch his hands and lips and this means your life is over anyway. You try to warn him, you tell him you will want to get inside him, and ruin him, but he doesn't listen. You do this, you do. You take the things you love and tear them apart or you pin them down with your body and pretend they're yours.
So, you kiss him, and he doesn't move, he doesn't pull away, and you keep on kissing him. And he hasn't moved, he's frozen, and you've kissed him, and he'll never forgive you, and maybe now he'll leave you alone. Oh, the things we invent when we are scared and want to be rescued.
Straw House, Straw Dog 2 Four dreams in a row, four dreams in a row, four dreams in a row, fall down right there. Ashes to ashes. You are a fever I am learning to live with, and everything is happening at the wrong end of a very long tunnel. Saying Your Names All night I stretched my arms across him, rivers of blood, the dark woods, singing with all my skin and bone Please keep him safe.
Let him lay his head on my chest and we will be like sailors, swimming in the sound of it, dashed to pieces. Makes a cathedral, him pressing against me, his lips at my neck, and yes, I do believe his mouth is heaven, his kisses falling over me like stars. You Are Jeff 4 Your name is Jeff and somewhere up ahead of you your brother has pulled to the side of the road and he is waiting for you with a lug wrench clutched in his greasy fist. When he throws the wrench into the air it will catch the light as it spins toward you.
Look—it looks like a star. You had expected something else, anything else, but the wrench never reaches you. It hangs in the air like that, spinning in the air like that. They all have perfect teeth: white, square, clean, even. Come back from the window, Jefferson. Take off those wet clothes and come over here, by the fire.
Blood everywhere, he said, the red light hemorrhaging from everywhere at once. The train station blue, your lips blue, hands cold and the blue wind.
Or a horse, your favorite horse now raised up again out of the mud and galloping galloping always toward you. Now look at the lights, the lights.
Hold onto your breath. I will come back from the dead for you. This could be a city. This could be a graveyard. This could be the basket of a big balloon. Leave the lights on.
Leave a trail of letters like those little knots of bread we used to dream about. We used to dream about them. We used to do a lot of things. Put your hand to the knob, your mouth to the hand, pick up the bread and devour it.
Keep talking. Snow and Dirty Rain I had a dream about you. We were in the gold room where everyone finally gets what they want. You said Tell me about your books, your visions made of flesh and light and I said This is the Moon. This is the Sun. Let me name the stars for you. Let me take you there. The splash of my tongue melting you like a sugar cube We were in the gold room where everyone finally gets what they want, so I said What do you want, sweetheart?
Here I am leaving you clues. I am singing now while Rome burns. We are all just trying to be holy. My applejack, my silent night, just mash your lips against me. We are all going forward. None of us are going back. View all 4 comments. Nov 13, Vishous rated it it was amazing Shelves: review , male-pov , poetry , short , m-m , adult , romance , buddy-read-with-racht , my-favourite , visholicious. When I started reading this I couldn't believe what I got myself into.
I am not a poetry fan so some parts at the beginning cracked me up and I tried to find some sense in them and I failed. But later Some parts Most parts Literally broke my heart And for those parts I am giving this 5 stars because I can't 4. Do you want it? Do you want anything I have? Will you throw me to the ground like you mean it, reach inside and wrestle it out with your bare hands? The lawn drowned, the sky on fire, the gold light falling backward through the glass of every room.
Is that too much to expect? That I would name the stars for you? That I would take you there? The splash of my tongue melting you like a sugar cube?
View all 15 comments. Jul 12, Patrick Duggan rated it it was amazing Shelves: poetry. SIken's Crush , his first book which also won the Yale Young Poets' award in , is one of he most complete works of poetry I've come across in years.
He uses the pacing of his long line to slow time, and create a darker atmosphere within the verse, where shadows move from walls and creep along the legs of lovers. Time drags in elongated moments, or appears in flashes of memory and scenescape. His pace and image teach us fight from the first two pages how to read the work, and how to prepare yo SIken's Crush , his first book which also won the Yale Young Poets' award in , is one of he most complete works of poetry I've come across in years.
His pace and image teach us fight from the first two pages how to read the work, and how to prepare yourself for the worlds of panic, death, and love which are to come. Siken reminisces in sadness and joy, madness and damagingly clear thought.
He pairs image and notion with time and yearning. There is beauty in the voice and damage of this book. Siken's poems are punk rock anthems, old country ballads, 60's B-movies, pulp novels, tin pail lunch boxes stuffed with old polaroids and love letters. His poems progress to a down tempo drum beat, and the skill in line break leaves the reader constantly moving forward, the combination forces us to digest and contemplate the words as they come, but never let up a moment for us to stop chewing.
It's almost dumbfounding how Siken combines the long breath of a Ginsberg with the complete, unornamental word choice of a Creeley. Crush is a project in obsession. The repetition of pacing and break builds on the down tempo into a culminating panic under the weight of body and the gravity of obsessive love. Siken has, within Crush , created a world of love and death, of paranoia, where voices drift in and out, where the self questions its other aloud, causing disbelief in the fact of the world even as it builds around us into existence.
Mar 21, Daniel rated it it was amazing Shelves: poetry , favorites , lgbtq. Do you remember Prometheus? That thief of fire who was bound to the rock in order for the vulture to pick at his liver, every day? That liver grew back every day for the sole purpose of being eaten again.
Can you imagine what it would be like to know that your liver would be eaten from your body day after day? This is not a book ab Do you remember Prometheus? This is not a book about Prometheus, but it may as well be.
We are playing with fire here, after all. At least, love can feel like a fire. Every poem in this book is essentially the same. The poems are strong individually, but read together, they build something stronger. Images are repeated again and again with only slight variations driving on the road, running out onto the road, lying in the road.
Moving on is not something you can just will yourself to do. It may be that moving forward requires a lot of going round in circles. And we know where those circles are going to take us. We want to stop.
View all 3 comments. Absolutely loved it. With all my heart and tears. The pain and pleasure of reading the pain and pleasure of someone else's pain and pleasure. May 02, 'hayat rated it it was amazing. I read this sleepless and aching. I've read parts of this book separately and reading it whole now takes me to places I thought I left, a previous lover read to me a poem by him, I've read lines of the book once so many times that some days of mine were titled by some of these verses.
By the end of the book I was just drained from the bits of me that Siken's words swallowed. The poem Saying Your Names should be read loudly, so loudly that the names and the verses will take place in your mind and I read this sleepless and aching.
The poem Saying Your Names should be read loudly, so loudly that the names and the verses will take place in your mind and between your ribs. Dec 05, Sleepless Dreamer rated it really liked it. Review to come! Jun 01, ellie rated it it was amazing Shelves: queer-and-here , faves , poetry , boy-meets-boy. If you are a GR friend of mine, I have probably already sent you a poem or 2, or 3 from this book as I've taken my time to read through it. From the first line of the first poem "Scheherazade": "Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake and dress them in warm clothes again.
The desire to touch, the gesture of touching, becomes dangerous, damaging, after the hand, withheld for so long, finally makes an attempt at contact.
Simultaneously, and without pity, the natural world and its physical laws restrict the human form and its capacities. All of us are trapped in our skins and drowning in gravity. Physics is unforgiving. Nature is predatory. We do not walk through a passive landscape. It even speaks differently to the same person during different readings time, place, reader.
I am sure I will get more out of this collection as I continue to open this book again regularly. Sep 28, Frau Sorge Yuki rated it it was amazing Shelves: poetry , m-m , read I think that's the most beautiful piece of poetry I've ever read.
I won't convince you. Here's my fav poem. Little Beast 1 An all-night barbecue. A dance on the courthouse lawn. The radio aches a little tune thet tells the story of what the night is thinking. It's thinking of love.
It's thinking about stabbing us to death and leaving our bodies in a dumpster. That's a nice touch, stains in the night, whiskey kisses for everyone.
Tonight, by the freeway, a man eating a fruit pie with a buckknife carv I think that's the most beautiful piece of poetry I've ever read. Tonight, by the freeway, a man eating a fruit pie with a buckknife carves the likeness of his lover's face into the motel wall.
I like him and I want to be like him, my hands no longer an afterthought. I'm sure you remember. I was on the phone with you, sweetheart. There are many names in the history but none of them are ours.
I wanted to be wanted and he was very beautiful, kissed with his eyes closed, and only felt good when moving. You could drown in those eyes, I said, so it's summer, so it's suicide, so we're helpless in sleep and struggling at the bottom of the pool. Mirrors and shop windows returned our faces to us, replete with tight lips and the eyes that remained eyes and not the doorway we had hoped for.
His wounds healed, the skin a bit thicker that before, scars like train tracks on his arms and on his body underneath his shirt. But damn if there isn't anything sexier than a slender boy with a handgun. I'd like my money's worth. Try explaining a life bundled with episodes of this-- swallowing mud, swallowing glass, the smell of blood on the first four knuckles. We pull our boots with both hands but we can't punch ourselves awake and all I can do is stand on the curb and say Sorry about the blood in your mouth, I wish it was mine.
I couldn't get the boy to kill me, but I wore his jacket for the longest time. Feb 05, Joshie rated it liked it Shelves: poetry. A poetry collection inconsolable of its particular homosexual aching and desire, Crush grinds words into a cup of caffeine-infused affection.
Whilst it also traverses realisations and remembrances throughout the complications of same sex attraction, it is insatiably hungry for love and the many faces it dons. It ravages it with kisses until it's bruised. It leaves. They all have perfect teeth: The Torn-Up Road 4 I want to tell you this story without having to say that I ran out into the street to prove something, that he chased after me and threw me into the gravel.
Notify me of new posts via email. Put your hand to the knob, your mouth ny the hand, pick up the bread and devour it. It is waiting, like a broken door, like the red dog that chases its tail and eats your rose- bushes and then must be forgiven.
Dispatched from the UK in 2 business days When will my order arrive? Richard Siken writes a pulsing, rambling, surrealistic, and cinematic verse. A Guide to the Pleasures of Writing Poetry. These poems feel like a punch to the gut in the most satisfying of ways. I have always wondered what is the essence that makes prose a lasting memory and deeply flows into my veins. I had four dreams in a row where you were burned, about to burn, or still on fire.
As in, would a parent be okay with their teen reading this? Buy the selected items together This item: Part One establishes several motifs that wind their way through the poems of parts two and three effectively binding them together.
His ability to talk about both the beautiful and the ugly aspects of human desire that make the reader feel sympathy for the speaker often while laughing is what makes this book stand out. Whenever I forget what poems should feel like, or how much to invest in the writing of one, I pick up this book. This is the Sun. The radio aches a little tune that ricjard the story of what the night is thinking.
You could love this boy with all your heart. Is he singing to you? We use cookies to give rixhard the best possible experience. The book was published in multiple languages including English, consists of 62 pages and is available in Paperback format. The main characters of this poetry, lgbt story are ,. Please note that the tricks or techniques listed in this pdf are either fictional or claimed to work by its creator.
We do not guarantee that these techniques will work for you. Some of the techniques listed in Crush may require a sound knowledge of Hypnosis, users are advised to either leave those sections or must have a basic understanding of the subject before practicing them. DMCA and Copyright : The book is not hosted on our servers, to remove the file please contact the source url.
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