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American Hustle [You Playin' Me]

Cast: Christian Bale, Amy Adams, Bradley Cooper

clip from American Hustle, directed by David O. Russell (2013)
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Healthy Back Bag

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poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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Adrienne Vittadini

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poem by Caasder Fronds
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Medley: Pick A Bale Of Cotton / On Top Of Old Smokey / Midnight Special

Gonna jump down, spin around, pick a bale of cotton
Gonna jump down, spin around, pick a bale a day
Gonna jump down, spin around, pick a bale of cotton
Gonna jump down, spin around, pick a bale a day
Oh lordy
Pick a bale of cotton
Oh lordy
Pick a bale a day
Oh lordy
Pick a bale of cotton
Oh lordy
Pick a bale a day
I said me and my buddy gonna pick a bale of cotton
Now me and my buddy gonna pick a bale a day
I said me and my buddy gonna pick a bale of cotton
Now me and my buddy gonna pick a bale a day
Oh lordy
Pick a bale of cotton
Oh lordy
Pick a bale a day
Oh lordy
Pick a bale of cotton
Oh lordy
Pick a bale a day
On top of old Smokey
all covered with snow
I lost my true lover
by courting so slow
For courting's a pleasure
And parting is brief
and a false-hearted lover
is worse than a thief
On top of old Smokey
all covered with snow
I lost my true lover
by courting so slow
Well, you wake up in the morning
Hear the ding dong ring
You go marching to the table
See the same old thing
See the fork on the table
Nothing in your pan
If you say a thing about it
You're in trouble with the man
Let the midnight special
Shine a light on me
Let the midnight special
Shine it's everlovin' light on me
If you ever go to Houston
Well you'd better act right

[...] Read more

song performed by ABBA
Added by Lucian Velea
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Pick A Bale Of Cotton

Gonna jump down
Spin around
Pick a bale of cotton
Gonna jump down
Spin around
Pick a bale a day
Gonna jump down
Spin around
Pick a bale of cotton
Gonna jump down
Spin around
Pick a bale a day
Oh, lordy
Pick a bale of cotton
Oh, lordy
Pick a bale a day
Oh, lordy
Pick a bale of cotton
Oh, lordy
Pick a bale a day
I said
Me and my buddy gonna pick a bale of cotton
Now
Me and my buddy gonna pick a bale a day
I said
Me and my buddy gonna pick a bale of cotton
Now
Me and my buddy gonna pick a bale a day
Oh, lordy
Pick a bale of cotton
Oh, lordy
Pick a bale a day
Oh, lordy
Pick a bale of cotton
Oh, lordy
Pick a bale a day

song performed by ABBA
Added by Lucian Velea
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Amys In The Attic

Mr. piser, I think you should come up here
Amys in the attic and brain has gone ecstatic
Not another day of all the suffering and pain I was just a little boy ever so naive
Amy was my best friend, I never want to hurt her
I never wanna ever wanna think about her murder
On the playground, I chase her down the slide
I chase her cross the monkey bars and she would run and hide
Jinglin and tumbling, I pushed her off the sled
Amy coincidently hit her head
Dumbling inside my brain, down came the wade
Amy isnt answering, who would get the blame?
Amy isnt laughing, amy isnt crying
Amy isnt really breathing, God I think shes dying
Suddenly, the air is cold I must get her inside
Even though she died, amy has to hide
Nobody must ever know that I made amy sick
Lock her up forever in the attic
Maybe it is best to die, thinking did she really die
Im thinking if its really true then how come I am telling you
And if I really meant to do it, should I be a victim to
Should I walk the terror stairs, and savior all my
Terror fears, no
Mr. piser, I think you should come up here
Amys in the attic and my brain has gone ecstatic
Every day I suffer but eleven years have passed
How long will this keep and the nightmares last
Sitting in my living room, another strange feeling
I think Im hearing tiny footsteps on the ceiling
Looking in my mirror, the image isnt clear
I feel as if a little girl is standing at my rear and
Then I awake at the blink of an eye
Voices from the attic yellin, why?
What if amy wasnt dead living in the box
Banging on the walls, rattling the locks
Feeding on the roaches, rodents, and filth
And when theres nothing left, she feeds off herself
Why do I think in amy of this way?
She was once a lovely girl running out to play
Maybe its all a dream insane fanatic
Maybe theres no amy in the attic after all
Maybe it is best to die, thinking did she really die
Im thinking if its really true then how come I am telling you
And if I really meant to do it, should I be a victim to
Should I walk the terror stairs, and savior all my
Terror fears, no
Mr. piser, I think you should come up here
Amys in the attic and my brain has gone ecstatic
Maybe it is best to die, thinking did she really die
Im thinking if its really true then how come I am telling you
And if I really meant to do it, should I be a victim to

[...] Read more

song performed by Insane Clown Posse
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Once In Love With Amy

I caught you sir
Having a look at her
As she went strolling by
Now didn't your heart go
Boom,boom,boom,boom,boom
And didn't you sigh a sigh
I warned you sir
Never to dream of her
Just bid such thoughs begone
Or it'll be
Boom,boom,boom,boom,boom,boom,boom
Boom,boom,boom,boom
From then on
For once in love with Amy
Always in love with Amy
Ever and ever fasinated by her
Sets your heart a fire to stay
Once you're kissed by Amy
Tear up your list it's Amy
Ply her with bon-bons, poetry,and flowers
Moon a million hours away
You might be quiet the fickle hearted rover
So care free and bold
Who loves a girl
And later thinks it over
And just quits cold
But once in love with Amy
Alway in love with Amy
Ever and ever sweetly you'll romance her
Trouble is the answer will be
That Amy rather stay in love with me
Da,da,da,da,da,da,da,da,da,da
Ever and ever fasinated by her
(Barry talks) oh I just love this song so much
I want everybody to sing along with me
Once your kissed by Amy
(backround singers)once your kissed by Amy
(Barry)tear up your list it's Amy
(backround singers)tear up your list it's Amy
(Barry) ply her with bon-bon,poetry,and flowers
(backround singers)ply her with bon-bons, poetry,and flowers
(Barry) moon a million hours away
(backround singers)moon a million hours away
(Barry)come on let me take it please
You might be quite the fickle hearted rover
So care free and bold
Who loves a girl and later thinks it over
And just quits cold
(Barry)everybody sing
Once in love with Amy

[...] Read more

song performed by Barry Manilow
Added by Lucian Velea
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Bradley The Kind Heart

Bradley The Kind Heart

I remember the day,
I was sending off "Unfreezing Prince Emeray".
I was at Kinkos and approached Bradley with my book,
I asked him for his opinion after he had a look.
Funny Bradley has one of my character's names,
I met his mother Jean and my life was never the same.
I helped Bradley's mother at the end of her time here,
She was a great storyteller, artist, inventor and very sincere.
Jean said she loved Bradley and me and then she passed on,
I bought Shieka pup for Laddy so he would'nt be withdrawn.
Now Bradley helped me out with Shieka and my Acura car,
I drove Black Cherry for miles very far.
He was there when I bought Black Pearl,
she is my new ride that was a miracle.
Bradley I have Sam the dog from the carnival,
She helped Shieka and Shiekee bond real well.
Bradley was there when "Unfreezing Prince Emeray"
was mailed back in soft cover.
Since then I've put Jean in my Butterfly books
as the Butterfly Queen Fairy Godmother.
Thank you Bradley, for you have a kind heart,
your generosity helped me get a new start

Written by Suzae Chevalier on October 11,2011

poem by Suzae Chevalier
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Bradley The Kind Heart

I remember the day,
I was sending off “Unfreezing Prince Emeray”.
I was at Kinkos and approached Bradley with my book,
I asked him for his opinion after he had a look.
Funny Bradley has one of my character’s names,
I met his mother Jean and my life was never the same.
I helped Bradley’s mother at the end of her time here,
She was a great storyteller, artist, inventor and very sincere.
Jean said she loved Bradley and me and then she passed on,
I bought Shieka pup for Laddy so he would'nt be withdrawn.
Now Bradley helped me out with Shieka and my Acura car,
I drove Black Cherry for miles very far.
He was there when I bought Black Pearl,
she is my new ride that was a miracle.
Bradley I have Sam the dog from the carnival,
She helped Shieka and Shiekee bond real well.
Bradley was there when “Unfreezing Prince Emeray”
was mailed back in soft cover.
Since then I’ve put Jean in my Butterfly books
as the Butterfly Queen Fairy Godmother.
Thank you Bradley, for you have a kind heart,
your generosity helped me get a new start.

poem by Christina Sunrise
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Jealousy

'The Roman Catholic Church has never forgiven us for converting Sir Arthur Conan Doyle from his Agnosticism; and when Men like Mr. Dennis Bradley can no longer be Content with the old Faith, a Spirit of Jealousy is naturally roused.'
-A Spiritualist Paper

She sat upon her Seven Hills
She rent the scarlet robes about her,
Nor yet in her two thousand years
Had ever grieved that men should doubt her;
But what new horror shakes the mind
Making her moan and mutter madly;
Lo! Rome's high heart is broken at last
Her foes have borrowed Dennis Bradley.

If she must lean on lesser props
Of earthly fame or ancient art,
Make shift with Raphael and Racine
Put up with Dante and Descartes,
Not wholly can she mask her grief
But touch the wound and murmur sadly,
'These lesser things are theirs to love
Who lose the love of Mr. Bradley.'

She saw great Origen depart
And Photius rend the world asunder,
Her cry to all the East rolled back
In Islam its ironic thunder,
She lost Jerusalem and the North
Accepting these arrangements gladly
Until it came to be a case
Of Conan Doyle v. Dennis Bradley.

O fond and foolish hopes that still
In broken hearts unbroken burn,
What if, grown weary of new ways,
The precious wanderer should return
The Trumpet whose uncertain sound
Has just been cracking rather badly
May yet within her courts remain
His Trumpet-blown by Dennis Bradley.

His and her Trumpet blown before
The battle where the good cause wins
Louder than all the Irish harps
Or the Italian violins;
When armed and mounted like St. Joan
She meets the mad world riding madly
Under the Oriflamme of old
Crying, 'Mont-joie St. Dennis Bradley!'

But in this hour she sorrows still,
Though all anew the generations

[...] Read more

poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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Amy

D folger
Wish that I could wish away love
Every memory
All the things young dreams are made of
That ever used to be
Cos if I could leave it all behind me
Thered be nothing left to constantly remind me
Of amy, of amy
She comes and goes just like the seasons
Keeping me on the run
Between the fever and the reason
Im not the only one
And I guess Ill always feel the same about love
And Ill find it hard to even live without the love
Of amy, amy, oh amy
Amy, amy, amy, amy...

song performed by Roy Orbison
Added by Lucian Velea
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I Need Thee Every Hour / Nothing But The Blood

(Duet with Vince Gill)
(Amy)
I need Thee every hour, most gracious Lord;
No tender voice like Thine can peace afford.
I need Thee, O I need Thee;
Every hour I need Thee;
O bless me now, my Savior,
I come to Thee.
(Amy)
What can wash away my sin?
(Amy and Vince)
Nothing but the blood of Jesus;
(Vince)
What can make me whole again?
(Amy and Vince)
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
(Amy Vince and background vocals)
Oh! Precious is the flow
That makes me white as snow;
No other fount I know,
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
(Amy)
For my pardon, this I see,
(Amy and Vince)
Nothing but the blood of Jesus;
(Vince)
For my cleansing, this my plea,
(Amy and Vince)
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
(Amy Vince and background vocals)
Oh! Precious is the flow
That makes me white as snow;
No other fount I know,
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
Oh! Precious is the flow
That makes me white as snow;
No other fount I know,
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
Oh! Precious is the flow
That makes me white as snow;
No other fount I know,
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.

song performed by Amy Grant
Added by Lucian Velea
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Allegany Camp

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poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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Rumination Haj

Caught in an expressive cul-de-sac,
all imagery goes down the tube
iconoclastically, with lack
of space that curves when artists cube,
on a rumination haj,
searching an interior Mecca
thoughts collected as collage,
minimally like a Necker.

David Hadjou reviews John Adams’s Hallelujah Junction (“Music Lessons: A memoir by the composer John Adams is a collage of memory criticism, theory and ruminations on creativity, ” NYT Book Review, October 26,2008) :
Commonly mistaken for a minimalist, Adams has employed the minimalist aesthetic primarily as a point of departure. He recognized fairly early that “minimalism as a governing aesthetic could and would rapidly exhaust itself, ” as he writes here. “Like Cubism in painting, it was a radically new idea, but its reductive worldview would soon leave its practitioners caught in an expressive cul-de-sac.” Adams’s importance as a composer is rooted not so much in his having done anything new, but, rather, in his having done very well the things he has done: operas (“Nixon in China” and “The Death of Klinghoffer, ” both staged by Peter Sellars) , symphonic choral works (“On the Transmigration of Souls, ” an elegy to the victims of the Sept.11 attacks, which won the Pulitzer Prize for music in 2003) , piano pieces and a dozen or so other major compositions of various kinds. His music is minimal in the sense that Adams employs as few materials as necessary, rather than as few as possible, though he strives for and tends to achieve a maximalism of effect. With “Hallelujah Junction, ” Adams has put in prose an argument against the ideology of aesthetic continuum, a case that his music has always articulated eloquently by example. “That particular continuum I found ridiculously exclusive, being founded on a kind of Darwinian view of stylistic evolution, ” he argues. If a composition “didn’t in some way advance the evolution of the language, yielding progress either by a technological innovation or in the increasing complexity of the discourse, it was not even worth discussing.” Who cares? John Adams. And, so, now do we.

10/26/08

poem by Gershon Hepner
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The Ballad of the White Horse

DEDICATION

Of great limbs gone to chaos,
A great face turned to night--
Why bend above a shapeless shroud
Seeking in such archaic cloud
Sight of strong lords and light?

Where seven sunken Englands
Lie buried one by one,
Why should one idle spade, I wonder,
Shake up the dust of thanes like thunder
To smoke and choke the sun?

In cloud of clay so cast to heaven
What shape shall man discern?
These lords may light the mystery
Of mastery or victory,
And these ride high in history,
But these shall not return.

Gored on the Norman gonfalon
The Golden Dragon died:
We shall not wake with ballad strings
The good time of the smaller things,
We shall not see the holy kings
Ride down by Severn side.

Stiff, strange, and quaintly coloured
As the broidery of Bayeux
The England of that dawn remains,
And this of Alfred and the Danes
Seems like the tales a whole tribe feigns
Too English to be true.

Of a good king on an island
That ruled once on a time;
And as he walked by an apple tree
There came green devils out of the sea
With sea-plants trailing heavily
And tracks of opal slime.

Yet Alfred is no fairy tale;
His days as our days ran,
He also looked forth for an hour
On peopled plains and skies that lower,
From those few windows in the tower
That is the head of a man.

But who shall look from Alfred's hood

[...] Read more

poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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University Of Central Florida Volleyball

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poem by Caasder Fronds
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In Pursuit of the Poetic Soul of Ryan Adams

In Pursuit of the Poetic Soul of Ryan Adams

By Uriah Lee Hamilton

Last day of summer, football Saturday afternoon. A Warm breeze was pushing me toward Ann Arbor like a happy autumn leaf in pursuit of the beautiful poetic soul of Ryan Adams. Lovely charming mood all the way playing Easy Tiger and Demolition and feeling like the universe was kind and smiling.
Exit off 94 West onto State Street and all excited to make my way to Liberty Street and the heart of the College town I love. Kids were milling around everywhere in their gold and blue, gleeful and happy that Michigan is now playing 500 football after a discouraging start. Parking spaces across the street from Michigan Theater in the parking structure are all taken, I have to drive to the roof and still wait for a football fan to leave.
Me and my friend Cassandra start walking around and dig everything and everyone we see. Ann Arbor brings out your gentle Jack Kerouac nature, the part of you that wants to praise everything for it’s sad but beautiful, integral purpose to this existence.
We enter an Eastern clothing and folk art store that is positively charming and enlightening. I can’t remember the name of the store. Perhaps, it is called the Enchanted Sarong. It almost felt like George Harrison was there with us, beautiful carved statues of Buddha and Krishna and Ganesha were everywhere. The sales lady was friendly and helpful and said sweetly, “we’re Om friendly” as we asked about carved symbols for the breath-word Om. The serene incense Nag Champa drifted through the room but it was now time to leave and make our way to the Ryan Adams concert at Michigan Theater.
I purchased my tickets the very minute they went on sale and prayed I had front row despite my tickets saying double A. No Such luck, but I was still happy to be in row 27. As I was waiting for the show to begin, I saw my concert friend Jeremy and got his attention. He looked as happy and as excited as myself and said he had spent a fortune at some cool record store. Jeremy then handed me a beautiful soundboard copy of Ryan Adams at the Gem Theater in downtown Detroit June 20th 2007. Man, how I’ve been longing for that show! I then gave Jeremy a copy of Ryan’s punk rock band the Finger.
Now the lights go out and the music begins. Ryan Opens with Goodnight Rose and closes with Goodnight Hollywood Boulevard. Everything in-between is just magical. The first auspicious sign was that Ryan came out playing guitar! ! In June, he only sang, he didn’t play any instruments, some injury sidelined him. The June Show as a result was more subtle, almost like MTV Unplugged. Subtle but amazing. Last night was more rocking and adventurous with reworked extended arrangements, ala the Grateful Dead. In particular was a long and lovely version of Off Broadway from Easy Tiger. At the completion of Off Broadway, I shouted, “That was gorgeous! ” Of course, I may have added an expletive, all in the interest of ecstatic joy for music.
Ryan told a story during the show about running into a girl on her way to the concert that didn’t recognize him because he dresses like a plumber. My friend after the show said she thought she saw Ryan Adams on the street near the theater. I asked, “Really? ” She said, “I saw someone that looked like a plumber.” I can say, I didn’t see Ryan on the streets anywhere in Ann Arbor yesterday, but I have been known to miss a plumber or two in my day.
The first two songs in the encore made the whole show for me. Ryan came out by himself with an acoustic guitar and sang Call Me On Your Way Back Home. Toward the end of the song, Ryan played harmonica and I screamed like a schoolgirl, pretty much the way I do whenever Bobby Dylan plays harmonica! And if that wasn’t enough to make the end of summer completely magical, Ryan then sat down at the piano and sang Sylvia Plath: Oh my God, the point of tears! I’ve waited six years to hear him sing that song live from the Album Gold. As I told my friend, that was the song that sealed the deal making Ryan Adams my modern hero! If you want to get my attention and loyalty, sing about one of the tragic poets I love.

poem by Uriah Hamilton
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American Hustle

Cast: Jennifer Lawrence, Christian Bale, Amy Adams, Jeremy Renner, Bradley Cooper, Robert De Niro, Elisabeth Rohm, Michael Pena, Jack Huston, Louis C.K.

trailer for American Hustle, directed by David O. Russell (2013)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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American Hustle [trailer 2]

Cast: Jennifer Lawrence, Christian Bale, Amy Adams, Jeremy Renner, Bradley Cooper, Robert De Niro, Elisabeth Rohm, Michael Pena, Jack Huston, Louis C.K.

trailer for American Hustle, directed by David O. Russell (2013)
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American Hustle [Power Drunk]

Cast: Christian Bale, Amy Adams, Bradley Cooper

clip from American Hustle, directed by David O. Russell (2013)
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A Fable For Critics

Phoebus, sitting one day in a laurel-tree's shade,
Was reminded of Daphne, of whom it was made,
For the god being one day too warm in his wooing,
She took to the tree to escape his pursuing;
Be the cause what it might, from his offers she shrunk,
And, Ginevra-like, shut herself up in a trunk;
And, though 'twas a step into which he had driven her,
He somehow or other had never forgiven her;
Her memory he nursed as a kind of a tonic,
Something bitter to chew when he'd play the Byronic,
And I can't count the obstinate nymphs that he brought over
By a strange kind of smile he put on when he thought of her.
'My case is like Dido's,' he sometimes remarked;
'When I last saw my love, she was fairly embarked
In a laurel, as _she_ thought-but (ah, how Fate mocks!)
She has found it by this time a very bad box;
Let hunters from me take this saw when they need it,-
You're not always sure of your game when you've treed it.
Just conceive such a change taking place in one's mistress!
What romance would be left?-who can flatter or kiss trees?
And, for mercy's sake, how could one keep up a dialogue
With a dull wooden thing that will live and will die a log,-
Not to say that the thought would forever intrude
That you've less chance to win her the more she is wood?
Ah! it went to my heart, and the memory still grieves,
To see those loved graces all taking their leaves;
Those charms beyond speech, so enchanting but now,
As they left me forever, each making its bough!
If her tongue _had_ a tang sometimes more than was right,
Her new bark is worse than ten times her old bite.'

Now, Daphne-before she was happily treeified-
Over all other blossoms the lily had deified,
And when she expected the god on a visit
('Twas before he had made his intentions explicit),
Some buds she arranged with a vast deal of care,
To look as if artlessly twined in her hair,
Where they seemed, as he said, when he paid his addresses,
Like the day breaking through, the long night of her tresses;
So whenever he wished to be quite irresistible,
Like a man with eight trumps in his hand at a whist-table
(I feared me at first that the rhyme was untwistable,
Though I might have lugged in an allusion to Cristabel),-
He would take up a lily, and gloomily look in it,
As I shall at the--, when they cut up my book in it.

Well, here, after all the bad rhyme I've been spinning,
I've got back at last to my story's beginning:
Sitting there, as I say, in the shade of his mistress,
As dull as a volume of old Chester mysteries,

[...] Read more

poem by James Russell Lowell
Added by Poetry Lover
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