blog of innocence podcast

Ben venga maggio by Piffaro, The Concord Ensemble From the Album Trionfo d’Amore e della Morte: Florentine Music for a Medici Procession Visit the Blog of Innocence for the full post.

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Carro della morte by Piffaro, The Concord Ensemble From the Album Trionfo d’Amore e della Morte: Florentine Music for a Medici Procession

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Liffe, Liffe, Lanze Maine by Anonymous From the Album Musique De La Renaissance Au Temps De Botticelli

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Les Preludes

To read my latest essay, “On Music” visit the Blog of Innocence . . . There you will also find a full version of Les Preludes for your listening pleasure.

On Music

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Lyrics to The Charm Of Innocence : I was born with the charm of innocence On my back like a cross Thorns upon my forehead Round my neck I wore it Sometimes a rabbit’s claw Sometimes an albatross

It began at a school that turned boys into gentlemen Then turned them on to debauchery I was forced to my knees in front of these gentlemen If I refused they would torture me On Sundays I’d stalk the Botanical Garden And under my uniform something would harden Whenever I passed a girl of my own age

Or did it begin with au pair girls from Germany Paid by the hour to look after us? Did it begin with that first opportunity To corner a stranger with nakedness? Maybe the clinical way they undressed me Stayed with me and deeply distressed me I think, at heart, I’m something of a prude

I was born with the charm of innocence On my back like a cross Thorns upon my forehead Round my neck I wore it Sometimes a rabbit’s claw Sometimes an albatross

Then at 18 I decided I wanted To be a commercial photographer I rented a studio down by the docks Which I shared with a friendly pornographer I photographed models in fluorescent light Whose veins were so blue and whose breasts were so white I assumed, like the moon, women were blue cheese

When I left home I already had five years Of self abuse under my belt I found certain women who’d let me try anything Just to find out how it felt In some garish hotel room with vile decoration The wallpaper witnessed my first pollination The paisley patterns witnessed an abortion

I was born with the charm of innocence On my back like a cross Thorns upon my forehead Round my neck I wore it Sometimes a rabbit’s claw Sometimes an albatross

In the army they taught me to share the abuse That I’d kept up ’til then to myself There’s nothing like killing For coaxing a shy boy of twenty-one out of his shell In the dark continent with a peace-keeping force I fell in with a bunch of Algerian whores And promised them I’d try and keep in touch

We met up again in the 18th arrondisement I remember them well Their lank stringy hair and their big bulbous noses Their unmistakable smell I’d approach all the ugliest, seediest jerks And ask them to keep a young model in work Some men, thank Christ, don’t discriminate at all

I was born with the charm of innocence On my back like a cross Thorns upon my forehead Round my neck I wore it Sometimes a rabbit’s claw Sometimes an albatross

I will pass my old age by a pale two-bar fire Patiently waiting to die Twitching the lace as the schoolgirls go past Tracing a page of Bataille And if you catch sight of my secondhand coat Leaving behind it a faint whiff of goat Remember both of us are naked underneath

I thought it would end with the first obscene phone call The second professional kill But somehow detached from my actual behaviour This innocence burdens me still Up in the attic I pick up the brush Paint in the crow’s feet, paint out the blush The face this portrait is of is still capable of The face this portrait is supposed to be of is still capable of The face this portrait is of is still capable of (Paint out the blush of shame) The face this portrait is supposed to be of is still capable of (Paint out the blush of shame) The face this portrait is of is still capable of (Paint out the blush of shame) The face this portrait is supposed to be of is still capable of (Paint out the blush of shame) The face this portrait is of is still capable of (Paint out the blush of shame) The face this portrait is supposed to be of is still capable of (Paint out the blush of shame)

(Paint out the blush of shame) (Paint out the blush of shame) (Paint out the blush of shame) [ The Charm Of Innocence Lyrics on http://www.lyricsmania.com/ ]

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Check out Fred Ferraris, a new poet at Escape into Life, arts and culture webzine.

Here’s the audio version of his prose, “Hit Me”:

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my cats are eager to know what I do in my garage and so is my father–

I write poetry at dawn

rebellion ended some time ago destructed me into flames all I have now is a little

cigarette to burn before daybreak the birds to call my name the echoes in the empty backyards

I’m not suffering here maybe I was yesterday, early this hour I’m bright shimmering with silence

a trap I once stuck my foot in now has no power to contain the loops of knots don’t fit anymore and rebellion is a word for children

but I’m a man terribly aware of my freedom to do destructive things

More Poetry . . .

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Out of the cloudy liquid comes joy–a pure, admirable feeling

then there is the gravely turn of the wheel over the restless, buried dead

you’re led down that familiar path from your childhood, to the end of the cul de sac

a retreat into a lonely, reassuring place.

We’re blessed with everything but everything is never enough

and how do we explain regression?

the drink on the table empty–go fill another glass

cigarettes in the new jacket pocket five more until daybreak

More Poetry . . .

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i relish these days even the smoke that pours from my lips is sweet even the stranger makes me secretly smile

i relish these days of quick, intense pain the arresting hours of doubt and the wild, bright future that just breaks in

i relish the moon that keeps me company while i write these poems to a forgotten son

i relish conversations in the dark with my cats the playful gestures of their paws

i relish a meal with a new friend parmesan shards on my lips as nervous laughter erupts

i relish my whole uninterrupted self the silos of pain and the exclamatory Yes coming from nowhere and never

i relish giant moments like these which embrace me could this life be anymore unknown?

More Poetry . . .

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the anxious child beating in my heart is you furious whirling child of discontent and love you disentangle with grace never losing touch with unmistakable anguish you fall belatedly to the bottom of the world

a cycle will remake you as a cycle broke you down and all your thoughts about the world won’t matter

i’m young again with you i’m blind and naked and undefeated anxious child come dance with me

what are you afraid of only lovers speak this way what are you running from timid infant on a wave

the dark engulfing world will cower behind you and me

More Poetry . . .

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