Wyld Ryce

S3 E29 | CLIP

Young Poets

As young poets, they are on the right track to have the "right stuff."

AIRED: May 14, 1980 | 0:06:41
ABOUT THE PROGRAM
TRANSCRIPT

YOU KNOW?

>> YOU KNOW, ACTUALLY, HE HAS

A LOT IN COMMON WITH TOM

WOLFE.

THEY BOTH CHRONICLE SOMETHING

OUTSIDE THEMSELVES.

IT'S THEIR ARTISTRY THAT MAKES

THE SUBJECTS COME ALIVE AND

THEY BOTH LOOK SO WRONG FOR

THEIR PART.

YOU'D NEVER MISTAKE TOM WOLFE

FOR AN ASTRONAUT.

AND IF I MET CHUCK AT A PARTY,

I DON'T THINK I'D EVER GUESS

THAT HE MADE FILMS LIKE THAT,

HE LOOKS SO UNPUNK.

BUT BACK TO THE PYRAMIDS.

OUR NEXT PIECE IS ABOUT A

GROUP OF YOUNG, VERY YOUNG

POETS.

ARTISTS WHO ARE JUST TAKING

THE FIRST STEPS UP THEIR

PARTICULAR PYRAMID.

AT THIS STAGE IN THE GAME,

IT'S HARD TO TELL WHETHER

THEY'VE GOT THE RIGHT STUFF OR

NOT.

BUT THEY CERTAINLY HAVE CAUGHT

THE IDEA.

THEY'RE FINDING POETRY, POETRY

IN THE WORLD AROUND THEM, AND

THAT'S WHAT IT'S ALL ABOUT.

>> I'VE COME TO THE CONCLUSION,

NOW I'VE COME TO KNOW, YOU

CANNOT BUILD A SNOWMAN IF YOU

HAVEN'T ANY SNOW.

[ Applause ]

>> IT WAS A GATHERING, A

CELEBRATION, AN EXPLOSION OF

WHITE PETALS.

THE POETRY PUBLICATION READING

AT LANDMARK CENTER, AFTER

ANTHOLOGY OF POEMS WRITTEN BY

STUDENTS, WHEN A POET CAME TO

THEIR SCHOOL FOR A WEEK OF

RESIDENCY.

>> ALL OF THE STUDENTS ARE

SITTING IN THE FRONT ROW.

ARE YOU A LITTLE NERVOUS?

I FEEL A LITTLE NERVOUS MYSELF,

AND I SOMETIMES THINK THAT'S

PART OF WHAT POETRY IS.

SOMETIMES WHEN I'M WRITING, I

FEEL A LITTLE SWELLING AND IT

TURNS OUT THAT IT'S THAT

NERVOUS ATTENTION THAT COMES

THROUGH PAYING ATTENTION TO

DETAILS AND THINGS THAT ARE

IMPORTANT.

AND THIS EVENT IS IMPORTANT.

THE NAME OF THE BOOK OF POETRY,

WHICH WE'RE CELEBRATING TODAY,

IS A BOOK CALLED AN EXPLOSION

OF WHITE PETALS.

HERE'S THE BOOK.

AND WHEN I WAS THINKING ABOUT

THE TITLE, I WAS THINKING

ABOUT THAT WONDERFUL SENSE OF

THE PETALS OF WHITE FLOWERS

AND ALSO OF THE SHEETS OF

PAPER THAT THE STUDENTS HAVE

IN THEIR HANDS TODAY AND ARE

GOING TO READ FROM.

I'M SURE THAT IT WILL MAKE A

DELIGHTFUL EXPLOSION.

>> MY BROTHER'S A LITTLE RACK

ON. HIS HANDS REACH INTO

EVERYTHING.

RACOON.

I'M A HUNTER, I COME, I AIM.

BUBBLE GUM.

GIVE HIM A SECOND CHANCE.

>> THE NAME OF MY POEM IS

FEELINGS.

I HEARD A SONG THAT OPENED MY

HEART.

I TRIED TO GO WITH IT TO ENTER

MY SECRET DREAMS.

WITH JOY I FLEW INTO THE

DISTANCE.

BRING ME TOWARD ITSELF.

THEN MY JOY TURNED TO ANGER

AND I DROPPED LIKE A STONE

INTO THE DARKNESS.

>> SONGS OF DREAMING, I WAS IN

MY SILENT HALL, MY CAT WAS AS

SOFT AS A FUR COAT HANGING IN

THE CLOSET.

AS SHY AS A STRANGER WALKING

BY.

THE RUG WAS SO STILL I THOUGHT

I WAS DREAMING.

THE CHAIR WAS PEACEFUL AND SHE

THOUGHT IT WAS A STATUE.

THE DOOR WAS WHISPERING TO THE

TV SO QUOTE SHE THOUGHT THEY

WERE DAYDREAMING.

THE SPICES ON THE SHELF WERE

HIG OF PEACEFUL DREAMS.

SHE THOUGHT THE TABLES HAD

WITHDRAWN BECAUSE THEY WERE SO

QUIET.

THE SPIDER CRAWLING ON THE

WALL WAS AS SILENT AS A DREAM.

SHE WHISPERED TO HER CAT, VERY

SOFTLY, I LOVE YOU AND VERY

PEACEFULLY WENT TO BED, AND

THEN THE WHOLE HOUSE WENT

DROWSYLY TO SLEEP.

>> THIS IS --

[ AUDIO UNINTELLIGIBLE ]

ROUGH AND HARD.

THIS IS LIKE WALKING THE

ELEPHANTS BIG AND BULKY.

VISIONS ARE LIKE SPLITTING THE

FLOOR DULL AND BLANK.

VISIONS ARE LIKE A MASSIVE

IRON KEEPING YOU AWAY FROM THE

OTHER WORLD.

>> LOOSEN YOUR HANDS AND

SLEEP.

LOOSEN YOUR DREAMS IN

TWILIGHT.

TAKE THE PATTERN OF NIGHT AND

SLEEP EASY.

GATHER THE SILENCE, TURNING ON

THE WIND.

GATHER THE FACES OF HAPPY

ONES.

SING IN THE NIGHT, AGAINST THE

WIND.

FLOAT ALONG THE BEAUTIFUL SKY

AND SLEEP EASY.

>> DREAM OF THE DREAMS THAT

NEVER WERE.

DREAM OF THE DREAMS THAT NEVER

WILL.

DREAM OF THE GYPSY DANCING IN

THE NIGHT.

DREAM OF MY HANDS ENDING THE

YEARS AND SLEEP EASY.

>> NIGHTTIME DREAMS.

ADD MIDNIGHT, THE OLD MEN

REMAIN ALONE WITH THEIR BITTER

THOUGHTS IN DARK AND DISCAN I

REMINISCES.

THEY BECOME YOUNG AGAIN.

THEY RELIVE THEIR LIFE.

FROM THE PLAYGROUND TO LAW

SCHOOL, THEY DON'T TALK.

THEIR MINDS ARE TOO BUSY TO

SPEAK.

THEIR SELF-CONSCIOUS TAKES

OVER FOR THE NIGHT.

BECOME ALIVE, WEARING COLORFUL

CLOTHES, HOLDING THE WORLD IN

THEIR HANDS.

LET THE -- BUT THE WORLD FALLS

APART.

DARK CLOUDS STORM IN THEIR

MINDS.

THE STORM TEARS THEIR MINDS.

THEY LEAVE THEIR BODIES TO

WANDER.

HAVE NOT OTHERS WHO FEEL

HAPPY.

THE FINE -- FIND PEOPLE WHO

ARE WORSE THAN ME, WHO ARE

TROUBLED OVER DOING SIMPLE

CHORES.

THEY'RE ASHAMED.

THEY TURN BACK TO THEIR BODIES

AND AWAKE TO START ANOTHER

DAY.

>> THE TITLE OF MY POEM IS

MOUNTAIN VALLEY WALK.

A SWEET WHISTLE OF GOODS KEEP

MY EARS AND THOUGHTS.

FLUTTERING CYSTALS OF A DAINTY

MOUNTAIN STREAM CATCH MY EYES.

A COOL CALM OF BREATH OF WIND

GENTLY MASSAGES IN THE CHEEKS.

I COME ALONG A GLITTERING

PASTURE.

BIRDS ARE DRIFTING.

SLOWLY, SILENTLY.

FOREVER IMPRISONING MY HEART.

>> TITLE OF MY POEM IS THE

BLACK RIVER.

THE BLACK RIVER RAGES

ENDLESSLY ON, OVER THE STONES,

CHUCKING UP TREE BRANCHES,

PULLING THEM DOWN TO ITS

DEPTH.

RUSHES DOWN A VALLEY WHERE

HORSES QUENCH THEIR THIRST.

THE MOON IS COVERED BY FROST

AND A SINGLE STAR SHINES.

THE BASE OF A MOUNTAIN -- THE

FACE OF THE MOUNTAIN SUDDENLY

STARES INTO THE RIVER.

A SMALL TREE, UPROOTED AND

THROWN INTO THE RIVER FLOATS

ON.

AS THE RIVER RUNS OVER THE

ROCKS, THE REEDS BOW TOWARDS

THE ROAD AS THE RIVER HURRY

RIS ON.

AS THE PEDDLER STOOPS TO DRINK,

THEY'RE SUCKED INTO THE RIVER.

HE CRIES OUT IN AGONY.

THROWS HIMSELF IN AFTER THEM.

THE NEXT MORNING, THE TRAVELER

FINDS HIS OWN.

[ Applause ]

>> ARE AVAILABLE FROM St. PAUL

COMPASS, A SPONSOR OF

MINNESOTA POETS IN THE SCHOOL.

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