Conduits of the Sublime
By Scott Vanya
()
About this ebook
I have been working, feeling, seeing in recent months the infinitesimal boundary between ourself and the sublime. And like Xeno's paradox, the oh-so-thin veneer DOES disappear. And then and only then do true poems come out.
All the writing I have ever done, is just a means of wearing away that layer: being ever closer to the moment, the moment that does not end.
And if these poems are conduits to the sublime, then so is every man and every woman.
Peace. Begin.
-S
Scott Vanya
I've been writing for a very long time, what seems like my whole life, taking it seriously from the time I was about 11. Now, at 46, I think I may be starting to get the hang of it: Say what you feel, as passionately as you can, but always with an ear turned to those who are listening.Most of my more serious work is done at live performances, which i do totally extemporaneously, channeling the mood of the room as my fingers play on the guitar. You can see some of that if you go to "my" website. (Open Mics Austin is a platform I created to showcase the Spoken Word scene here in Austin, TX. Only a small role in which i play.)As far as I can tell what makes good writing is LOVE. Love ,plainly simply, and with no strings attached.I put these words/books before you, not so much because I want something back from it, because I think and feel like I feel my bones and my soul, if you were to see the world, experience it like it do, for even a brief moment, you would walk away from that happier, more alive, compassionate and in tune with all those around you.Peace, good will, and harmony. Let those be your guiding light.Agape forever,Scott VanyaPublication Credits:Stepping Stones Magazine, The Main Street Rag, www.carcinogenicpoetry.com, Texas Art Initiative, Phoenix New Life Poetry, Walt’s Corner, Manna, Perigee, Chicago Literary Review, Mobius, Cosmic Trend, Pitchfork, Romantics Quarterly, Artisan, Pegasus, The Neovictorian, Red Owl, The Story Teller, The Blind Man's Rainbow, Atlantic Pacific Press
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Conduits of the Sublime - Scott Vanya
Preface
I have been working, feeling, seeing in recent months the infinitesimal boundary between ourself and the sublime. And like Xeno's paradox, the oh-so-thin veneer DOES disappear. And then and only then do true poems come out.
All the writing I have ever done, is just a means of wearing away that layer: being ever closer to the moment, the moment that does not end.
And if these poems are conduits to the sublime, then so is every man and every woman.
Peace. Begin.
-S
Previous:Next
No one knew what yesterday would bring
But let us not bow our heads
in shame about what
we have or have not.
And let us not
seek out the differences
but the similarities.
On some backporches
the sun is out
and the flowers are in bloom
while on others
the moonflowers are closing
and nothing is around
but drought.
Yet on both of them hearts are beating.
No one knew what yesterday would bring.
But do we turn away from that?
To the gutter? To the trash and rubbish
heaped up around us?
Or do we seek, look out, within,
past the infinitesimally thin veneer
that separates us
from the Sublime?
I have wondered streets, and alleys,
sat on benches
and rested as have you.
Written with friends, got drunk and stoned with others,
as have (perhaps) you.
And in the call of it there was always something
just out of reach,
just on the tip of my tongue
like the words
I love you.
And it's all going to be O.K.
So let us not wonder what yesterday