10 plays
‘BETH’ from the collection “Naming Names”
Written by Ryan J. Tressel
RJT:Acoustic guitars, organ, voice
6 plays
MICHIGAN from the collection “Naming Names”
Written by Ryan J. Tressel
RJT: Drums, electric guitar, voice, piano
3 plays
EMILY from the collection “Naming Names”
Written by Ryan J. Tressel
Recorded 2/15/10
D.Morey: Lead electric guitar
RJT: Acoustic and electric guitars, voice.
7 plays
BARBARA from the collection “Naming Names”
I’m never going to think about Barbara again. I’ll erase her from my mind. I’ll spend my days reading books that she left and circling new words I find. I’ll look them up in the dictionary that I keep by my shelf and I’ll remember them all and forget everything else. I’ll write letters to the newspaper and I’ll point out their partisan slant. I’ll do the crossword until it gets too hard and then I’ll crease the pleats of my pants. Iron all the clothes I own until my room fills with steam and I’ll fold them all until I’m too tired to dream. I’ll visit my mother and I’ll bring her dinner, maybe date that girl from the gym. I’ll ask her questions about her old boyfriend and I’ll rank myself to him. I’m tabula rasa: this is my first day on the world, and for all intents and purposes she’ll be my very first girl. I’ll take her name and write poetry for her, I’ll keep them unread in my drawer. I won’t let her see them, won’t let her know that maybe I love her more than she could love me. She could just go. Then I’ll write a whole book using all the new words I know.
Written & recorded by Ryan J. Tressel, 2/20/10.
RJT: Guitar, bass, piano, voice.
2 plays
DRAG THE LAKE from the collection “Choreography”
Martin’s got the stars & stripes waving from his truck. It’s bigger than his cab. Without the wind to make it fly, the damn thing just looks sad. His left brake light’s out, we’ve been behind him for miles, all down route 34. Dottie left him years ago, then she moved next door. “Drag the lake” the sheriff said. “Who knows what we’ll find?” Margie’s hand grew so cold as it sank away in mine. “What about the boyfriend?” he asked. I said, “Jake’s at LSU.” I couldn’t even believe my ears; he was the sweetest boy I knew. But both of their shirts were wrinkled when they’d come down to dinner. I guess every man’s a saint, and every man’s a sinner. Why do these thoughts haunt me like a spirit? If you’ve got an answer, I’d like to hear it. Traffic light at Carleton ave is out as we pull up. I look left and almost get creamed by a pick-up truck. It’s been four days now and five nights and Marge aint said a word. The mail’s in a pile on the floor and the milk has started to turn. I pull over to the side of road, weird things in my chest. Moving silent, dragging their feet, like crippled ghosts I guess. We were supposed to meet the sheriff, but because of Martin, now we’re late. I take my foot off the brake, but don’t accelerate. This morning I tried to read the paper, poured myself a drink. Mouth was dry, words didn’t make sense. Lord, why must all your creatures sink?
Written by Ryan J. Tressel
RJT: All instruments
Recorded August 2007
1 play
LAST NIGHT I DREAMED OF SCARLET from the collection “Choreography”
The laundry’s on the floor and the sheets are off the bed. Last night I dreamed of scarlet and an angel soaking wet. My mother couldn’t wake me, the house foundation turned to clay. And I became tornadoes and the sun turned west to pray. The smell of salty flowers as the waves began to crest. And the smear of Charlie’s fingerprints smashing beetles in my dress. I know I shouldn’t trust these thoughts that burn my hands, but they make me so excited, other houses other lands. I tied a ribbon in my hair until my hands turned black from the cold and thw whipping wind. There was no turning back. His brow was damp with plum juice, his muscles ripped and taut. I took his body to mine; we became a frightening knot. And in the morning’s chasm, between the twilight’s sea, I dreamed of black and scarlet in violent choreography.
Written by Ryan J. Tressel
RJT: All instruments
Recorded August 2007.
1 play
CIRCUS from the collection “Choreography”
A light switch is out of reach. There are lessons only darkness can teach the both of us, none to each. A cigar starts its lonely burn. Ash and smoke both in turn the smallest thing it will ever learn. At dawn the circus tent collapsed and woke the lions from their naps. Their heads were fire, their tails were asps that bit your wrist before it got kissed so spit the poison on my tongue. Look out love, here we come. A lullaby in a voice that’s strange. A bezoar blows across the range, and its shaow says that things can change. Curtain crumpled beyond repair hangs from the stage like your hair hides your eyes, filters your air. Like a colony of wasps gather pollen, he gathers props, he doesn’t wait until the fire stops. And much fun is made of the bucket brigade: their shoes are floppy, their mouths are dumb, look out love, here we come. Like the movement of the glaciers, you know her scent but you can’t place her. She’s gone to become one with nature. The yellowed palms, the broken back crisscross here like railway tracks that scar the land like heart attacks. The clown car fits only 29 they need to leave one behind and tell strangers that they find that the joke is on the best of us. The iron in our blood turns to rust and until it can no longer run, look out love, here we come.
Written by Ryan J. Tressel
RJT: All instruments
Recorded August 2007.
0 plays
BEFORE THE BALLET from the collection “Choreography”
Before the ballet, it seems cliche, I was yours like the leaf is the air’s. I was ready to fall, and if you were unhappy at all, I was largely unaware. Before the ballet, you looked away, you were wearing my favorite dress. You moved out the next day, what can I say? It’s funny how life moves, I guess. Ain’t it funny how life moves, I guess.
Written by Ryan J. Tressel
RJT: All instruments
Recorded August, 2007.
1 play
I’M SORRY DIANE & LARA’S COAT from the collection “1988”
I’M SORRY DIANE I took the baby and the bathwater and I lost them in the fog. Punched a hole in your beehive and left the honey for the dogs. I offered you my kisses and charged interest on each one and promised they were weightless when they might have weighed a ton. And I was never any good, when I was your man
so I’m sorry, Diane. My eyes were keen as lasers and my heart demanded proof
I promised you every star but then left them on the roof and the house we shared the foundation laid with sand but I’m sorry, Diane. Send the children to my mother’s while you collect yourself I’ll be gone. I won’t need your help. So I swear I’ll write them letters and each month I’ll send a check I’ll teach them little hatreds
you’ll be unable to detect And I was never any good. And I never will. But still. But still.
Written by Ryan J. Tressel
RJT: All instruments
LARA’S COAT A prayer for Spring; rising mercury looms and the brides of Good Housekeeping sharpen their brooms and Lara leaves her coat on a hook in my room.
Carcasses of snowbanks slither to dark parts of lawns and the birds sing librettos to the face of the dawn and Lara walks home with no jacket on. The grass it grows greener, the sky deeper blue and the chimney makes noises: raccoons in the flu. And sleeves become shorter, the nights shorter, too. It’s there with the otter as they swim down the brook and it’s there in the maps of the weatherman’s petulant looks and it’s there in the dangling of Lara’s coat on my hook. And summer’s the scaffold and fall is the rope and winter’s a eulogy read by the pope. But spring, perhaps cruelly, is to give us our hope. That makes it easy to think as the winds come from the west and the skeleton trees begin budding new flesh that Lara’s coat might hang here forever, I guess.
Written by Ryan J. Tressel
RJT: All instruments
Recorded July 2007.
1 play
RUBE GOLDBERG & WALKMAN from the collection “1988”
RUBE GOLDBERG God put this machine inside my chest Rube Goldberg by design the fault is His, not mine, I guess. Attentive lies, phantom caress Black candlelight and poisoned wine God put deceipt inside my chest. And on the vineyard he dropped the pest that separated grape from vine the rot is his not mine, I guess And what should be borne from Earth’s breast as the green bud begins to climb God sets His sun down in the west Just as rot cannot from wood divest anymore than needle from the pine The decay is yours, not mine, I guess And love is a mousetrap lever pressed or the last domino in the line or the final move in this game of chess
the queen is mine, God takes the rest.
Written by Ryan J. Tressel
RJT: All instruments
WALKMAN Walking home on School Street, the birds are signing just for me. But I’m not even listening, I’m just rocking to my walkman. The music roaring like the surf
punches holes into the earth Just magnetism hard at work Powering my walkman But I’m not listening. I crave the music like a fiend just close my eyes and count the beats all the eighths and the sixteenths come marching through my walkman The only time I’m ever free is when I flip to Side B the hiss of tape, the sweet release of listening to my walkman But I’m not listening. I’m not listening to you. The fuzzy headphones are the best at night I clutch them to my chest while listening to the EBS intoning “This is just a test.” My crystal ball is finally clear
and I can see my future years so why the hurt and why the tears? I want an answer I’m all ears.
Written by Ryan J. Tressel
RJT: All instruments
Recorded July 2007.
