The Tattooed Poets Project: Laura Goode

Today's tattooed poet is <a href="http://www.lauragoode.com/">Laura Goode</a>.<br /><br />I had the distinct pleasure of recommending a shop to Laura back in January when she was planning on getting a new tattoo in Los Angeles. Knowing she was going to be near Pasadena, a lovely city I once called home, I suggested <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Resurrection-Tattoo-Body-Piercing/117923024934106">Resurrection Tattoo</a> and she was very happy with the experience. This is what she got:  <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga_4_5NGep5XhXlMfmjDD7fUvJy_ONR2he5JQRFukTkdGtlmLB1QVQRtXokDaFOfx4uuHgyRLojCO2zMPfwOh7OlOlP8rwYNcSJj-soqI25TfEM2C3Y4eRzD2fRLQM0DsTZBv9WeSLktY/s1600/goode.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga_4_5NGep5XhXlMfmjDD7fUvJy_ONR2he5JQRFukTkdGtlmLB1QVQRtXokDaFOfx4uuHgyRLojCO2zMPfwOh7OlOlP8rwYNcSJj-soqI25TfEM2C3Y4eRzD2fRLQM0DsTZBv9WeSLktY/s640/goode.jpg" width="382" /></a></div><br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">"My newest tattoo, a peacock feather, is an homage of sorts to my friend Jon, who died of cancer on January 20, 2011. Jon’s middle name was Skanda; <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Murugan">Skanda</a> is a Hindu god associated with the sword, symbolizing his protection, and the peacock, symbolizing his destruction of the ego. Skanda is often depicted riding around on a magic peacock, and I like to picture Jon doing that now.</blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/8/81/Murugan_by_Raja_Ravi_Varma.jpg/439px-Murugan_by_Raja_Ravi_Varma.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/8/81/Murugan_by_Raja_Ravi_Varma.jpg/439px-Murugan_by_Raja_Ravi_Varma.jpg" width="468" /></a></div><br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">The particularity of Jon, and the shape and singularity of the hole his absence leaves in my life, was that he was not just friend to me, but more than that, sometimes transcendently, he was collaborator. Our relationship was marked by fervent bursts of art. He starred in, and photographed, the first play I ever wrote. He art-directed my second. He took the author photo for the jacket of my first novel. He was my colleague, my interlocutor, in innumerable conversations about queer theory and Chinese propaganda art and writing and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aphex_Twin">Aphex Twin</a> and, eventually, cancer. He called the Facebook album of my author photos 'Portrait of An Author As A Young Author’s Portrait.' He told me that if there were ever a Lifetime movie made about my life, it would be titled 'Laura Goode: Heart of Gold, Womb of Steel.' During a period of time in our lives marked by wild, leaping growth, Jon wove so many fibers into the fabric of my initiation as an artist. I hope I did the same in his, but I don’t have the luxury of asking him.</blockquote><blockquote class="tr_bq">For all these reasons, it felt appropriate to mark Jon’s impact on my life, as well as the impact of his departure from it, with a work of art. I got the feather at <a href="http://www.yelp.com/biz/resurrection-tattoo-and-body-piercing-pasadena">Resurrection</a> in Pasadena with one of my and Jon’s best friends, <a href="http://meeramenon.com/">Meera Menon</a>, who got her own feather for Jon. Afterwards, Meera and I talked about how we experienced the pain of paying homage to him in a skin-abrading way: it doesn’t hurt as much as losing him, I told her I had been thinking. We confided that we both thought the pain brought us somehow closer to Jon, closer to how much pain he had experienced himself.</blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT3rd32WYHjibYKhdvJvEEBa4sKdQ2okPHwy9ipFT9PAKIHQs1r3awkDC6KFrHqlF2GDylS-stGAqNxdYnqiN_fKE-8cmT3KrKtE5VFpviUkTjJGdw0oyJVT3EghyphenhyphenkXZTR-Zg3Dg5wFTs/s1600/goode+detail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT3rd32WYHjibYKhdvJvEEBa4sKdQ2okPHwy9ipFT9PAKIHQs1r3awkDC6KFrHqlF2GDylS-stGAqNxdYnqiN_fKE-8cmT3KrKtE5VFpviUkTjJGdw0oyJVT3EghyphenhyphenkXZTR-Zg3Dg5wFTs/s640/goode+detail.jpg" width="490" /></a></div><blockquote class="tr_bq">I look at Jon’s feather now, knowing it will walk with me always, and its splashes of wild color, its heady plumage, bring me some of the joy that Jon himself once brought me. As Skanda’s paradoxical peacock illuminates, death destroys the ego, and both the pain of losing Jon and the more literal pain of memorializing him physically have humbled me. In life Jon raised me up to the rafters of the imagination, and in death he brought me back down to earth. The below poem, I think, celebrates both contributions."</blockquote><br /><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">What The Body Becomes </span></b><br /><br />Look up in wonder: the recluse<br />& the moors have come in.<br /><br />The garden’s elegant logic, a mystic<br />event, greening. A return, if one<br /><br />is willing, to the fine dark clay<br />earth. A channel somehow<br /><br />open; another closed irrevocably.<br />I have so much still to say.<br /><br />The rite of production<br />is one, too, of consumption—<br /><br />the coal, wood, even peat<br />of day. Of life. Renewable<br /><br />resources. The fact<br />of heat. We, miners<br /><br />exhorting the earth<br />to give us back the dead.<br /><br />This is what the body becomes:<br />the sustenance of another.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">~ ~ ~</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="http://www.lauragoode.com/">Laura Goode's</a> interracial gay hip-hop love story for teens, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Sister-Mischief-Laura-Goode/dp/0763646407">Sister Mischief</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=bill03-20&l=as2&o=1&a=0763646407" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" />, was released by <a href="http://www.candlewick.com/">Candlewick Press</a> in 2011. Her poems and essays have appeared in <a href="http://therumpus.net/author/laura-goode/">The Rumpus</a>, <a href="http://lareviewofbooks.org/">The Los Angeles Review of Books</a>, <a href="http://feministing.com/">Feministing</a>, <a href="http://www.thefastertimes.com/about/?u=lauragoode">The Faster Times</a>, <a href="http://www.bostonreview.net/">Boston Review</a>, <a href="http://www.denverquarterly.com/">Denver Quarterly</a>, <a href="http://dossierjournal.com/read/uncategorized/dossier-asks-tell-us-about-your-first-time/">Dossier</a>, <a href="http://www.slope.org/">Slope</a>, <a href="http://www.fawltmag.com/four/">Fawlt</a>, and other publications. She is currently producing her first feature film, <a href="http://www.farahgoesbang.com/">FARAH GOES BANG</a>, co-written with the filmmaker <a href="http://meeramenon.com/">Meera Menon</a>. Laura was raised outside Minneapolis, received her BA and MFA from <a href="http://www.columbia.edu/">Columbia University</a>, and now lives in San Francisco; you can follow her on Twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/lauragoode">@lauragoode</a>.<br /><span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span><br /><span style="text-align: center;">Thanks to Laura for sharing her tattoo and poem with us here on Tattoosday!</span><br /><br /><span style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">This entry is ©2012 Tattoosday. The poem and tattoo are reprinted with the poet's permission.</span> </span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">If you are reading this on another web site other than Tattoosday, without attribution, please note that it has been copied without the author's permission and is in violation of copyright laws. Please feel free to visit http://tattoosday.blogspot.com and read our original content. Please let me know if you saw this elsewhere so I contact the webmaster of the offending site and advise them of this violation in their Terms of Use Agreement.</span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?lt1=_blank&bc1=000000&IS2=1&bg1=FFFFFF&fc1=000000&lc1=0000FF&t=bill03-20&o=1&p=8&l=as4&m=amazon&f=ifr&ref=ss_til&asins=0763646407" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe></div>

The Tattooed Poets Project: Laura Goode

Today's tattooed poet is Laura Goode . I had the distinct pleasure of recommending a shop to Laura back in January when she was planning...

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The Tattooed Poets Project: Fred Schmalz

Today's tattooed poet, Fred Schmalz, resides in Germany, a first for the Tattooed Poets Project.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5l7vAiSte2mKVVf_wydjaC-bbfujx69NxoyzJwwWInN-2nK4vzGGNCefr1Qfaimv99PCTVy2h47zyFN8lBL4ZEThPZ74I4nzh_uCnO_26vdxHGtI9oj2Vs6Tox6syYRTb9QXyhQ5ttDs/s1600/fred+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5l7vAiSte2mKVVf_wydjaC-bbfujx69NxoyzJwwWInN-2nK4vzGGNCefr1Qfaimv99PCTVy2h47zyFN8lBL4ZEThPZ74I4nzh_uCnO_26vdxHGtI9oj2Vs6Tox6syYRTb9QXyhQ5ttDs/s400/fred+1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />As you can see, he is also heavily-tattooed and, lucky for us, he sent us a lot of photos, so let's not waste any more time and take a look at his ink.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKY6NSWG_My73vIL2W8CDrHhmVrSlliMge-2kViB0elH5MKG4e9vr0-zBGlYkr_zI5twhoYeGC5oRIl_ygQZcg9V6sUo3so0LDxX9r2TZvTx2tiW7feG0toFCwGqlBZ0bBHeduA9USxm4/s1600/Fred+Right+Arm+Detail+Horiz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKY6NSWG_My73vIL2W8CDrHhmVrSlliMge-2kViB0elH5MKG4e9vr0-zBGlYkr_zI5twhoYeGC5oRIl_ygQZcg9V6sUo3so0LDxX9r2TZvTx2tiW7feG0toFCwGqlBZ0bBHeduA9USxm4/s640/Fred+Right+Arm+Detail+Horiz.jpg" width="314" /></a></div><br />I'll let Fred explain:<br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">"...a right arm upper half-sleeve related to a poem of mine ('I am here to tell you where I slept last night') which originally appeared in <a href="http://www.uglyducklingpresse.org/subscribe/6x6/">6x6</a> - containing a lily with a naked lady petal, a sleeping figure, and a text excerpt from the poem.<br /><br />This is intersected by half of a two-arm text strip (down the backs of both upper arms) with the first line of <a href="http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/739">Charles Olson's</a> <i><a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/241032">The Kingfishers</a></i> - What does not change / is the will to change. (the / which appears in the poem sits on the back of my neck).   </blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><blockquote class="tr_bq"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXEzLZ-QFNQO4ixMGTvWY_Wz_TBqDfuhcYOt6xSWMxpzmUU7YM0dB61PRKTDJ0Rhc1w3m27qGoWfX6RFDkSiRVDIU2tXYFtY57zSNQdj_F21gdDe1o3zDj6kuUbQOdLvmxMGLpUVksAAE/s1600/Fred+Back+View+(Vertical+Poem).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXEzLZ-QFNQO4ixMGTvWY_Wz_TBqDfuhcYOt6xSWMxpzmUU7YM0dB61PRKTDJ0Rhc1w3m27qGoWfX6RFDkSiRVDIU2tXYFtY57zSNQdj_F21gdDe1o3zDj6kuUbQOdLvmxMGLpUVksAAE/s400/Fred+Back+View+(Vertical+Poem).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>My right arm has the <a href="http://www.harrysmitharchives.com/index.html">Harry Smith</a> foot-of-the-Buddah three fish image which adorns all the later <a href="http://www.allenginsberg.org/">Allen Ginsberg</a> collections,</blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8h3UvR720Mm4nMHd725mg7oasD62gcA8-RLcNYRqek8JEbaqs3Rxb2vJ6XWsM2WN4PAqEhSK2lgCZszWcS2MpeXjWKnRlbdpa3RoMvnFiKEsEPMQr_DgpZyeGszTCHrV4Zgup7l_mBgQ/s1600/fred+sumac+arm+horiz+full+parallel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8h3UvR720Mm4nMHd725mg7oasD62gcA8-RLcNYRqek8JEbaqs3Rxb2vJ6XWsM2WN4PAqEhSK2lgCZszWcS2MpeXjWKnRlbdpa3RoMvnFiKEsEPMQr_DgpZyeGszTCHrV4Zgup7l_mBgQ/s640/fred+sumac+arm+horiz+full+parallel.jpg" width="188" /></a></div><br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">and several staghorn sumac branches with fruit. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYxUl_-UA5qM90uqMDBMqN-66NvOkmjuooaHLWjsTDAmD8mukxFNusA_Gk3vN2eKQq2h0NjjMIkdaOXJEvFjsqCliuyfJ8SdoleUh6VexuZVq644SQ-LFTUNx9yQgt8DRBDSnI8LRaoA4/s1600/Fred+Sumac.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYxUl_-UA5qM90uqMDBMqN-66NvOkmjuooaHLWjsTDAmD8mukxFNusA_Gk3vN2eKQq2h0NjjMIkdaOXJEvFjsqCliuyfJ8SdoleUh6VexuZVq644SQ-LFTUNx9yQgt8DRBDSnI8LRaoA4/s400/Fred+Sumac.jpg" width="400" /></a></blockquote><blockquote class="tr_bq"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTHQwEupiYkLhP_rEp1_3qudoVm8JUDrLFH0-EpDgwb3PZZSYEF2dR8JmUghjbQ6q7-ePV13EKqtUn5zkyhtmgaCbYyYQUBNiR4vYiZ2q3_rFQ99ogrGt7FkGfwvwjceSudk0ONnTJezI/s1600/Fred+Sumac+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTHQwEupiYkLhP_rEp1_3qudoVm8JUDrLFH0-EpDgwb3PZZSYEF2dR8JmUghjbQ6q7-ePV13EKqtUn5zkyhtmgaCbYyYQUBNiR4vYiZ2q3_rFQ99ogrGt7FkGfwvwjceSudk0ONnTJezI/s400/Fred+Sumac+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguH2BHO9MRQBCU6gWZ1-Op-QyVVawRt-0kXQJuXcPTC0Kwt2bCB3kIqyQpJX8iSGvRosQc9AWRETTZxsy8Yptsfn-6Rv-hifkCJQeG1-h2JmHhZnb20c_V6Ivgv-A5_TROr_yb_cOpKjQ/s1600/Sumac+detail+parallel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguH2BHO9MRQBCU6gWZ1-Op-QyVVawRt-0kXQJuXcPTC0Kwt2bCB3kIqyQpJX8iSGvRosQc9AWRETTZxsy8Yptsfn-6Rv-hifkCJQeG1-h2JmHhZnb20c_V6Ivgv-A5_TROr_yb_cOpKjQ/s320/Sumac+detail+parallel.jpg" width="201" /></a></div><br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">All except the three fish were inked by <a href="http://stephanietamez.com/tattoo/">Stephanie Tamez</a> at <a href="http://savedtattoo.com/">Saved Tattoo</a> in Brooklyn."</blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Stephanie Tamez is an amazing artist, and she is especially renown for her "type" tattoos. I know that I, if I was getting a tattoo with a lot of words, would put Stephanie at the top of my wish list.By way of bio:</div><br />The following poem from Fred appeared originally in <i>6x6</i> <a href="http://www.uglyducklingpresse.org/catalog/browse/item/?pubID=78">issue 14</a> from <a href="http://www.uglyducklingpresse.org/">Ugly Duckling Presse</a>.<br /><br /><b>WHERE I SLEPT LAST NIGHT</b><br /><br />A woman who shared <br />half my last name <br />gave me the bed below our bed. <br />Ask me to explain.<br />Etude. A green field. <br />Mat inflated with lung air. <br />Smoke screen for privacy. Privy. <br />A thin door and three thin walls. <br /><br />The bed hidden below our bed is our last bed. <br />Count back and beds become impossible <br />retrievals: <br />I may have slept <br />one summer in an Ohio hotel, my Saturdays <br />a fuck-fit carnage, dried palms <br />woven into the holy cross <br />you Polish Catholic <br /><br />you denial of love. <br />Bed deemed worthy of our backs. <br />Bed along with the rest of our loneliness. <br />Bed born of necessary grammar. <br />Bed requested by a shirtless man. <br />Robbed in this bed. <br /><br />My struggle is the struggle of men <br />and their otherness, <br />men without shame, men who are only <br />their small rooms. <br />Touch a hole in me and I seep water, <br />palms saffron and swollen– <br />my arms are ashen <br />and tremble like ivy. <br /><br />I told myself <br />this would only marginally be <br />about fucking, that so many <br />beds are entered and left alone,<br />that my love is a maker and I am a man <br />who leaves and returns to a bed <br />as he finds it, who sleeps as continuance, <br />who clothes in pillowcases <br />an ongoing occasion: our bodies’ <br />natural destination. <br /><br />Patient once. Stained. I shove <br />lover. Shovel over. It all ruptures, <br /><br />the groan where we come to rest, <br />one leg’s shudder before passing out. <br />Trap door clap. <br />Conception’s sudden pinch. <br />Meet mother. <br />Meet father.<br />It wasn’t supposed to <br />happen this way, but ten years earlier, <br />when the notion held a romance, <br /><br />you flew and I shattered a little<br />Blue vial in the sink.<br /><i>What will my body do?</i><br /><i>My replaceable body…</i><br /><i>Tornado, be quick and pass.</i><br />We have spoken of the surfaces of things <br />but not their natural environment. <br />Morning’s minor reflections pass <br />without elucidation. We maze<br /><br />the new route home, resting as relatives.<br />Red hair, red socks, for miles <br />you draft the come-back of good news, <br />clean living, moon creeping into a skylight. <br />Who washes over me? <br />Your hip joints <br /><br />loosen like rain clouds over mountains. <br />That pair of lost slippers–the furry pink ones <br />I see under the door or peeking <br />through laundry at me. <br />I guessed the light, which was <br /><i>our old apartment two in the morning </i><br /><i>after a heavy snow. </i><br />I suffer no physical realignment <br />and thus lack chemicals to warn me of fatherhood. <br />No hemorrhaging in the spoils of joints. <br />But I find that I am unusually hungry.<br /><br />I could have gone on loving <br />without my shirt, could have <br />asked that your hand warm <br />my skin, heat radiation, radiance. <br />You stood in the kitchen and told me you love me <br />more today, that it grows in you– <br /><br /><br />pause of a woman <br />lost between synapses–<br />idea derailed on the stretch to dinner. <br />The coarse fabric you knit drops stitches.<br /><br />The bed borrowed from the landlord <br />is almost too small for one, <br />or <i>too narrow</i>, the length <br />sufficing since neither of us is long. <br />Beds turn on us.<br />We sicken of comfort. <br />Homebound, practicing loneliness, <br />six hands surround me. They pin me <br />in my fever. They hold the sheet. <br />Modesty, honestly. <br /><br />The room we’re offered is a fuckless marble hull. <br />The fireplace only works <br />if I break up the furniture. <br />The television works. <br />The refrigerator does not work. <br />The stove works. <br />The blankets work. <br />The rug underfoot doubles as a bed– <br /><br />already it has been rolled up.<br />We are alive with our calcium deposits.<br />Our chipped plates<br />returned to the top cupboard<br />breathe out a scent <br />I associate with you, the meal <br />fed me from that part-life <br />where we camped in the front room <br />of a condemned house, <br />lauding our insomnia, how morning <br />never seemed so remote. But here <br /><br />rules loosen: run in snow and melt our feet. <br />Wake in a semi-truck state <br />full of chocolate milk and headlamp, <br />full of typhus. Mingle <br />among loves and recall a swallow <br />asleep on what I took to be a bed, <br />the broken hour set like a table<br />tracing the road’s curve. <br />Ground beneath us heaves east, <br /><br />incandescent, the motions my hands make <br />grotesque, sanctimonious. Your <br />desire to feed me. <br />I eat a pear, <br />take a drink of water. <br /><br />The sun outweighs us. It has no recollection, <br />blue in a tall shank of light. <br />This greets me <br />upon entering the house. <br />And the vinegar waft of the staircase. <br />Carpet pile flattened by feet <br />headed to bed ten thousand times. Or twenty thousand <br />feet knocking off at once:<br /><br />here are my feet, ashen relics. <br />Tied to each arch is a bent branch, <br />the wood still warm. I walk with them <br />to the back door. <br />Then a dial turns and tiny notches align <br />with the moon. Resistance <br />attaches to every object in the house. <br />Our curtains haven’t kept the ocean out. <br />We are the peninsula’s only hum.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">~ ~ ~</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">Fred Schmalz's first collection, <i>Some Animals</i>, is forthcoming in 2014 from <a href="http://www.jacklegpress.com/home.html">Jackleg Press</a>. His work has appeared in <a href="http://www.apublicspace.org/">A Public Space</a>, <a href="http://www.cca.edu/academics/graduate/writing/1111">1111</a>, <a href="http://www.zolandpoetry.com/">Zoland Poetry</a>, <a href="http://lungfull.org/">LUNGFULL!</a>, <a href="http://www.spinning-jenny.com/">Spinning Jenny</a>, <a href="http://www.conduit.org/">Conduit</a>, <a href="http://www.jubilat.org/jubilat/">jubilat</a>, <a href="http://www.blackocean.org/handsome/">Handsome</a>, <a href="http://theblueletter.org/">The Blue Letter</a>, <a href="http://buydoublecrosspress.blogspot.com/2011/06/we-are-so-happy-to-know-something-2.html">We are so happy to know something</a> and <a href="http://www.wavepoetry.com/bedazzler">The Bedazzler</a> from <a href="http://www.wavepoetry.com/">Wave Books</a>. His poems were included in <i>La Familia Americana</i>, a bilingual anthology of new American poets published in Spain by <a href="http://www.cosmopoetica.es/">Cosmopoetica </a>in 2010. An exhibition of contemporary German illustrators responding to his poems will be staged at <a href="http://www.rotopolpress.de/en">Rotopol Press</a> in 2012. He is founding editor of <i>swerve magazine</i>. He lives in Kassel, Germany.</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">Thanks to Fred for sharing his awesome tattoos and poetry with us here on Tattoosday's Tattooed Poets Project!</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><b id="internal-source-marker_0.08169631497003138"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This entry is ©2012 Tattoosday. The poem and tattoos are reprinted with the poet's permission.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">If you are reading this on another web site other than Tattoosday, without attribution, please note that it has been copied without the author's permission and is in violation of copyright laws. Please feel free to visit </span><a href="http://tattoosday.blogspot.com/"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">http://tattoosday.blogspot.com</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> and read our original content. Please let me know if you saw this elsewhere so I contact the webmaster of the offending site and advise them of this violation in their Terms of Use Agreement.</span></span></b></div><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />

The Tattooed Poets Project: Fred Schmalz

Today's tattooed poet, Fred Schmalz, resides in Germany, a first for the Tattooed Poets Project. As you can see, he is also heavily-tatt...

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The Tattooed Poets Project: Amy Rafferty

<div class="tr_bq">Today's tattooed poet is Amy Rafferty.</div><br />Amy narrates her history of getting tattooed:<br /><blockquote> "I've never been that sure why I got my tattoos and to be honest I'd probably put it down to poor impulse control.</blockquote><blockquote>I got my first when I was seventeen. Me and my friend Suzy were wondering around bored one day and we found ourselves looking in the window at Terry's Tattoo Studio. We could see all the big, hard men in there, grimacing and posing, with their arms covered in thistles and doves and black panthers.</blockquote><blockquote>To us it looked dead exciting and grown up and 'cool' and so we snuck in for a closer look.<br />An hour later we came out, all red-faced and tearfuI, me with a butterfly on my stomach and Suzy with a flaming heart on her shoulder.</blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmH3xbPzEMFcic8q_Ft75spyQ7kHqyRnQOGH4rc97tBkuYb5YYb8KuhCM2Tz_8dA0pNwzrRNu3lbAIjWYtDJqDdD3Twgmmm3yysbPlFsVeE4x_zgZzlXL3DBp1EYUUnIWQvl4OyZmhZyE/s1600/rafferty+back.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmH3xbPzEMFcic8q_Ft75spyQ7kHqyRnQOGH4rc97tBkuYb5YYb8KuhCM2Tz_8dA0pNwzrRNu3lbAIjWYtDJqDdD3Twgmmm3yysbPlFsVeE4x_zgZzlXL3DBp1EYUUnIWQvl4OyZmhZyE/s320/rafferty+back.jpg" width="265" /></a></div><blockquote>We thought we were pure rock 'n' roll but we were too scared to tell our parents what we'd done. We both left it at that but then, ten years later, I got a Chinese good luck symbol on my back, ostensibly to bring me good luck but mostly it was to impress a sailor I was keen on.<br /><br />My dragon was next and that was to show I was brave (or getting braver) and the flowers on my leg started off as a single bud from when my friend Polly and I went to get tattoos together and over the years the bud has grown. I think there's some meaning in that.</blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuENQnLewmjYkyP1lO8JJBdkTk1C-aL-D8Dbq_s4-mPEeYL80k_VKO_St2HYgP1xEuQMLlRWAd1fNjU068Hz3T15J41XikR4TNkoMPe-BTvO91gMw2m8I3WGnUCM8cYsoARR2O4quq03c/s1600/rafferty+tattoo+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuENQnLewmjYkyP1lO8JJBdkTk1C-aL-D8Dbq_s4-mPEeYL80k_VKO_St2HYgP1xEuQMLlRWAd1fNjU068Hz3T15J41XikR4TNkoMPe-BTvO91gMw2m8I3WGnUCM8cYsoARR2O4quq03c/s320/rafferty+tattoo+1.jpg" width="310" /></a></div><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote>In 2007 my Dad died suddenly and I had this strange instinct to let him know that I was okay, that I was coping, and so I think that's why my flower grew as it did. </blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtg4c9QFTriuNuhfk4ZTMmCsBDT3IZR7-e841SOlPxSDlwFWxloYGd9vYPS9iVm5uKczFYLLCx8aFXvuhYrT4HljepLV-LI2cOSUioYQiJnqs_uuz_pWdOoewc87prb8dxhtdrJRAIk_o/s1600/rafferty+tattoo+mid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtg4c9QFTriuNuhfk4ZTMmCsBDT3IZR7-e841SOlPxSDlwFWxloYGd9vYPS9iVm5uKczFYLLCx8aFXvuhYrT4HljepLV-LI2cOSUioYQiJnqs_uuz_pWdOoewc87prb8dxhtdrJRAIk_o/s640/rafferty+tattoo+mid.jpg" width="334" /></a></div><blockquote>And if somehow my Dad was aware of all this? Well he'd probably be shaking his head and saying ruefully "daft lassie, what are ye up to now?"</blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeLcwNJCh4FecY7c4gC36pMC7AFK6N50Y85bedx-jJcrvNVJpaYOQWmdqg__TVy4xDZLff9TpJyKrovW2K_L0Tyeh4SYPg7wPaFFKaQjP4JFX9LqSD_3ucEQBAxFI8fHiyhWfxved8Od8/s1600/rafferty+tattoo+finish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeLcwNJCh4FecY7c4gC36pMC7AFK6N50Y85bedx-jJcrvNVJpaYOQWmdqg__TVy4xDZLff9TpJyKrovW2K_L0Tyeh4SYPg7wPaFFKaQjP4JFX9LqSD_3ucEQBAxFI8fHiyhWfxved8Od8/s640/rafferty+tattoo+finish.jpg" width="272" /></a></div><blockquote>I love the idea of that. He thought when it came to making big, life-changing decisions that I was an idiot and yes, he was probably right but he also showed a grudging and loving admiration for my impulsive side. </blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSBlApFqjitW09-LXzupZ7boJqN8YcVv7TFwRjqo4BdfWHFfdhawqbip-mR-2lD8iJowPsdjyRKMBsDbKPbXs3USeXA0OPdzRVgHhIMIpN7zqjVZ273Kc6OG-4UiORg5oHCGU59sbP6kg/s1600/rafferty+tattoo+finish+detail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSBlApFqjitW09-LXzupZ7boJqN8YcVv7TFwRjqo4BdfWHFfdhawqbip-mR-2lD8iJowPsdjyRKMBsDbKPbXs3USeXA0OPdzRVgHhIMIpN7zqjVZ273Kc6OG-4UiORg5oHCGU59sbP6kg/s400/rafferty+tattoo+finish+detail.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><blockquote>For now, I think I'm done with tattoos, but you never can tell when I'll take a wee notion for another."</blockquote>It's cool seeing the evolution of this, Amy's floral tattoo, that has grown along with her.<br /><br />She sent us this lovely poem:<br /><br /><br /><b><span style="font-size: large;">Directions</span></b>.<br /><br />What you remember of them most is<br /><br />that they could not stop talking,<br />and that the road from Inverardran veered left,<br />and took you from the kirk by the Toll<br />of Atholl to the Shoulder’s Choke<br />where you heard them both,<br />heralding their own as the worst.<br /><br />Then by Stob Binnien,<br />shrouded in cloud and the eldest,<br />who sucked black mints,<br />black-tongued, bright-eyed and spry.<br />She picked at stitches and thought aloud<br />if it had been made in ‘Ehberdeen’<br />then it would have been made fitter<br />for its own purposes.<br /><br />And the younger, the witcher,<br />the one you loved,<br />all hook-eyed and pleasure driven,<br />passing the pretty lace between them.<br />She pulled it through but worse<br />this time, tighter, the threads biting.<br />She winked at you, slowly, dropping a lid<br />and said “it just depends who you know”<br /><br />And then Ben More and the great pools,<br />the flooded lights of Saint Fillan,<br />patron saint of the mad and the over-bound<br /><br />and between them, a circle of pretty white lace,<br />holding them both together.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">~ ~ ~</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Amy Rafferty is a Glaswegian living in the West Midlands. Her poetry and prose can be found in several anthologies and publications, both on-line and off.<br /><br />In 2009 she received a highly-commended mention for her poetry collection, <u>Pétursdóttir and the Land of Tiny Voices</u> and in 2010, two of her poems were short listed for the <a href="http://www.fishpublishing.com/poetry-contest-competition.php">international Fish poetry prize</a>. Amy is a postgraduate student of Creative Writing at <a href="http://www.gla.ac.uk/">Glasgow University</a> and sings with the cult, Glasgow band, <a href="http://www.myspace.com/therecoveryclub">The Recovery Club</a>. She is also the baby in the graveyard scene of the original <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0070917/">Wicker Man</a> movie but she doesn't like to talk about it.  <br /><br />If you should wish, you can hear Amy singing <a href="http://www.myspace.com/therecoveryclub">here</a>.<br /><br />Thanks to Amy for sharing her words and ink with us here on Tattoosday!<br /><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">This entry is ©2012 Tattoosday. The poem and tattoos are reprinted with the poet's permission. </span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"> If you are reading this on another web site other than Tattoosday, without attribution, please note that it has been copied without the author's permission and is in violation of copyright laws. Please feel free to visit http://tattoosday.blogspot.com and read our original content. Please let me know if you saw this elsewhere so I contact the webmaster of the offending site and advise them of this violation in their Terms of Use Agreement.</span>

The Tattooed Poets Project: Amy Rafferty

Today's tattooed poet is Amy Rafferty. Amy narrates her history of getting tattooed:  "I've never been that sure why I got my t...

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The Tattooed Poets Project: Iris Cushing

Today's tattooed poet is Iris Cushing. Iris sent us this photo: <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3oey9kzCjm4dwmMo9Ir9cLW9qukgs4iHbnBx7xA9D5TfnlOkVj9JooqsoZ3A6U72A9FPjvVPzK5E9VANZ-rrOuFNH_QrhUyMdV5-Qsc1A63GLLN3n8xIhQssA4PgqVjunJT9yea_XJNA/s1600/Iris+Cushing+tattoo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3oey9kzCjm4dwmMo9Ir9cLW9qukgs4iHbnBx7xA9D5TfnlOkVj9JooqsoZ3A6U72A9FPjvVPzK5E9VANZ-rrOuFNH_QrhUyMdV5-Qsc1A63GLLN3n8xIhQssA4PgqVjunJT9yea_XJNA/s400/Iris+Cushing+tattoo.jpg" width="298" /></a></div><br />Iris explains:<br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">"This is a drawing by the poet <a href="http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/7">Elizabeth Bishop</a>, which I found in her <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0374146454/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=bill03-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0374146454">Edgar Allan Poe & The Juke-Box: Uncollected Poems, Drafts, and Fragments</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=bill03-20&l=as2&o=1&a=0374146454" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" />, edited by <a href="http://www.poetrysociety.org/psa/poetry/poets/alice_quinn/">Alice Quinn</a>. It illustrates a dream that Bishop had while she was at <a href="http://www.yaddo.org/">Yaddo</a> in 1950, about an owl riding on the back of a rabbit. I love that Bishop was a poet who drew, who rendered her inner and out experiences in diverse ways. I was reading a ton of her work when I got this tattoo in 2009. There were a lot of barn owls and jack rabbits in the country where I grew up in Northern California. Reclusive, mysterious creatures. I wanted to have the image in my life always--it's something I decided to live with, those animals, her simple drawing. I got it done at <a href="http://www.inkstoptattoonyc.com/">Inkstop Tattoo</a> in the East Village." </blockquote><br />Iris sent us this poem:<br /><br /><b><span style="font-size: large;">Sequence</span></b><br /><br />Together, we identify<br />a single tendril of smoke<br />above the prairie<br />and follow it to a teepee<br />disguised as a wedding gown.<br />Two puffed-sleeve<br />chimneys and a satin<br />bodice catch wind.<br />The white tulle train<br />is full of spiders.<br />You circle the teepee<br />six times before lifting<br />its hem from the long grass.<br />When you turn your face<br />to nod me under, your eyes<br />reflect a fire.<br /><br />Inside, we find<br />a medicine man who can<br />transform AA batteries<br />into AAA batteries.<br />We empty our flashlight<br />for a demo.<br />He wears a spangled robe.<br />Says he sews a single sequin<br />on his garment every time<br />something important happens.<br />He calls it the Sequins of Events.<br />He can see we were born<br />under the sign of Michael<br />Jackson’s hair in flames.<br />Each hair on your head,<br />he says, is a little circuit,<br />a limp lightning rod.<br />He strums a ukulele<br />strung with copper wire.<br />But when asked<br />if our visit this evening<br />will merit a new sequin<br />on his sleeve,<br />or even on his collar,<br />he hands us our batteries<br />and stares into the fire.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"> ~ ~ ~</div><br />Iris Marble Cushing was born in Tarzana, California in 1983. She is an editor for <a href="http://argosbooks.org/">Argos Books</a> and for <a href="http://www.circumferencemag.com/">Circumference: A Journal of Poetry in Translation</a>, both based in Brooklyn. In 2011, Iris was a writer-in-residence at <a href="http://www.nps.gov/grca/index.htm">Grand Canyon National Park</a>. Her work has appeared in the <a href="http://bostonreview.net/">Boston Review</a> and other places.<br /><br />Thanks to Iris for her contribution to the Tattooed Poets Project on Tattoosday!<br /><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">This entry is ©2012 Tattoosday. The poem and tattoo are reprinted with the poet's permission. </span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">If you are reading this on another web site other than Tattoosday, without attribution, please note that it has been copied without the author's permission and is in violation of copyright laws. Please feel free to visit http://tattoosday.blogspot.com and read our original content. Please let me know if you saw this elsewhere so I contact the webmaster of the offending site and advise them of this violation in their Terms of Use Agreement.</span>

The Tattooed Poets Project: Iris Cushing

Today's tattooed poet is Iris Cushing. Iris sent us this photo: Iris explains: "This is a drawing by the poet Elizabeth Bishop , ...

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The Tattooed Poets Project: Ira Sukrungruang

<div>Today's tattooed poet is <a href="http://www.sukrungruang.com/">Ira Sukrungruang</a>. Before checking out his tattoo, here’s what Ira had to say about ink:<br /><blockquote class="tr_bq">"I thought if I held off until I was thirty, it meant I really wanted a tattoo. It meant that I’ve been thinking about getting a tattoo since I was fifteen and waited nearly fifteen years to finally have one done. I’m a guy who wants things, and sometimes my wants are fleeting, like a child with a new toy; after an hour of play, I’m bored.</blockquote><blockquote class="tr_bq">But after that one tattoo—an enormous dragon on my right calf—I’ve been getting a tattoo done every year, and I love every one of them. </blockquote><blockquote class="tr_bq">My tattoos are a way to call attention to my body on my own terms. For most of my life, I was fat. When I got my first tattoo, I was close to four-hundred pounds, and I wanted people to look at me because of my tattoo, not because I was enormous. I think long and hard about my tattoos. I have a total of five, and I’m thinking about getting another one done soon. All my tattoos have stories, and because they have stories, I wanted a tattoo artist who I not only trusted, but was a close friend, a person who would do what I wanted, and share in my life. My artist is the poet <a href="http://ruthawad.com/">Ruth Awad</a>, and I can say with certainty, she is the best. </blockquote><blockquote class="tr_bq">I don’t give Ruth easy tattoos. On average, my tattoos take about 4-10 hours to complete. Because I am Thai-American, my tattoos reflect my dual life. It is my way of paying homage to my culture, my parents, my life as a Buddhist. There is one tattoo, however, I love most. It was the simplest one. It took only two hours to complete. It is the image of Buddha on my chest. </blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4v72Adw4J6SOCP5dfiw4DOjBB30-RNIalfZJGW-SF7eTQP2E5XOzrRc7G_ftm90gBLujNGdscjtQW2BDSY-JI68DW_izreMhoJWwydMzhEa71NcBCYZBOdBUqduzg3Ydg9hwS-AGEEq8/s1600/Ira+buddha.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4v72Adw4J6SOCP5dfiw4DOjBB30-RNIalfZJGW-SF7eTQP2E5XOzrRc7G_ftm90gBLujNGdscjtQW2BDSY-JI68DW_izreMhoJWwydMzhEa71NcBCYZBOdBUqduzg3Ydg9hwS-AGEEq8/s400/Ira+buddha.jpg" width="299" /></a></div><blockquote class="tr_bq">I used to wear a Buddha around my neck at all times. I was never without him. When I was nervous, I chewed on him. When I was scared, I’d grasp him tight in my hand. My mother gave me my Buddha. She said to keep him close to my heart. He would protect me. For most of my life, I had. Suddenly, I developed a skin allergy. I broke out in hives and rashes. I was allergic to Buddha! To fix this, to always have him with me, I decided to have Buddha tattooed on my chest. He is the first thing I see every morning and the last thing every night. There is a comfort in that. Seeing him there, in a jungle of chest hair, makes me feel lighter." </blockquote><br />Ira shared this poem with us, which first appeared in Mead Magazine, under the title "In the Keeping of Men":<br /><br /><b><i>Sleeping Venus</i></b><br /><br />               “To be born a woman has been to be born, within an allotted and confined space,                                              into the keeping of men.” –John Berger, <i>Ways of Seeing</i><br /><br />I am learning to see, letting light dance<br />within my retinas, letting it slosh<br />around orbed-pupils, like an aerating wine.<br /><br />There walked a woman today, at the grocery<br />store, who turned the heads of the meat men behind<br />refrigerated steaks. How they devoured<br />her elegant stride. How her presence was body<br />without mind. They will remember her—only<br />briefly—as the one with long legs, the one with gracious<br />hips, and she will be catalogued<br />away with infinite others, a forever list<br />of parts.<br /><br />Giorgione, when you painted Venus, reclined,<br />her hand seductively positioned above her groin,<br />what dreams did you give her? Did you fill<br />her head with the scent of olives and Tuscan<br />suns? Does painter and subject occupy<br />the same breath?<br /><br />My wife sits alone<br />in her room, the night air<br />laden with grief,<br />a guitar on her lap. How do I paint<br />her voice and the sound of pluck chords? How do I<br />capture the beating within her chest,<br />the sad song singing in her heart?<br /><br />I am learning to see.<br />First, I close my eyes.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"> ~ ~ ~</div><br />Ira Sukrungruang is the author of the memoir <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Talk-Thai-Adventures-Buddhist-Boy/dp/082621889X">Talk Thai: The Adventures of Buddhist Boy</a>.  His poems have been published in <a href="http://www.northamericanreview.org/">North American Review</a>, <a href="http://witness.blackmountaininstitute.org/">Witness</a>, <a href="http://www.riverstyx.org/">River Styx</a>, and many other journals. He teaches in the MFA program at <a href="http://www.usf.edu/">University of South Florida</a> and is the editor of <a href="http://sweetlit.com/">Sweet: A Literary Confection</a>. For more information about him, visit: <a href="http://www.sukrungruang.com/">www.sukrungruang.com</a>.<br /><br />Thanks to Ira for sharing his tattoo and poetry with us here on Tattoosday!<br /><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">This entry is ©2012 Tattoosday. The poem and tattoo are reprinted with the poet's permission. </span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">If you are reading this on another web site other than Tattoosday, without attribution, please note that it has been copied without the author's permission and is in violation of copyright laws. Please feel free to visit http://tattoosday.blogspot.com and read our original content. Please let me know if you saw this elsewhere so I contact the webmaster of the offending site and advise them of this violation in their Terms of Use Agreement.</span></div>

The Tattooed Poets Project: Ira Sukrungruang

Today's tattooed poet is Ira Sukrungruang . Before checking out his tattoo, here’s what Ira had to say about ink: "I thought if I ...

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The Tattooed Poets Project: Erica Mena

<div class="tr_bq">Among this year's Tattooed Poets' submissions, this is one of my favorite photos:</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8c3WH5sUzJPQusZu9uun138LMYDOeerTnJBAG_8D_ZM5uxUZcJlbPAgnTnlkiG9R_cp-kPWEAJ0qPHk3m-7KeJWCxeTQJESXJo-i_4Hqp11jbT39hDf3B51ZCPeLECwxZAwP4RySkt2A/s1600/neruda_tattoo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8c3WH5sUzJPQusZu9uun138LMYDOeerTnJBAG_8D_ZM5uxUZcJlbPAgnTnlkiG9R_cp-kPWEAJ0qPHk3m-7KeJWCxeTQJESXJo-i_4Hqp11jbT39hDf3B51ZCPeLECwxZAwP4RySkt2A/s640/neruda_tattoo.JPG" width="424" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photograph by <a href="http://www.juliechen.net/">Julie Chen</a></td></tr></tbody></table>This was submitted by the poet Erica Mena, whose tattoo was inspired by the great <a href="http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/279">Pablo Neruda</a>.<br /><br />Erica gives us the detail behind these wonderful tattoos:<br /><blockquote> "This is my most intimate tattoo, my Neruda tattoo: 'Love is so short, forgetting is so long.' It's a full line (punctuation included) from <a href="http://oxypoet.blogspot.com/2008/04/billyblogs-favorite-poems-28-any-one-of.html">Poem XX</a> of Neruda's <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0143039962/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=bill03-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0143039962">Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair</a> in translation by <a href="http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/123">W.S. Merwin</a>. The fish in concentric circles is the symbol printed on all of Neruda's books from mid-way through his career, and was drawn from the bronze statue at his most famous house in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Isla_Negra">Isla Negra</a>. The other two images were drawn by the tattoo artist, in response to two other lines from the same poem: 'The same night whitening the same trees. / We of that time are no longer the same.' and 'Write, for example: the night is shattered / and stars shiver blue in the distance.' The design and work were done by <a href="http://pumpkintattoo.com/our-staff/meet-fat-ram/">Ram</a> at <a href="http://pumpkintattoo.com/">Fat Ram's Pumpkin Tattoo</a> in Jamaica Plain, Massachusetts. </blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-YPBQe7e4-ytxjG7HnOH0SITbwjcEMMCzNgCd9ZngNc8-lIsuz6g6-RL795-i5hdBLi2cliRZWWmCGq0E8sMVY-ZGEX2KUVXJOpm6OoAXZqofq3yIq9AbFuFW_ED26nKAm6NXq8RvpAA/s1600/neruda_tattoo+detail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-YPBQe7e4-ytxjG7HnOH0SITbwjcEMMCzNgCd9ZngNc8-lIsuz6g6-RL795-i5hdBLi2cliRZWWmCGq0E8sMVY-ZGEX2KUVXJOpm6OoAXZqofq3yIq9AbFuFW_ED26nKAm6NXq8RvpAA/s400/neruda_tattoo+detail.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><blockquote>I read Merwin's translation of Neruda's <u>Twenty Love Poems</u> when I was fifteen, and had that conversion experience, the moment when you realize this is what you want your life to be about. Not the sentiment, but the poetry. These poems, and this line in particular, convinced me that poetry can move between languages, times and places, freely and with no loss, when put into the right hands. When getting the tattoo, I considered getting the Spanish line: 'El amor es tan corto, el olvido es tan largo,' but chose the English because that was how I first encountered it. Out of all my tattoos it also hurt the most to get, fittingly I suppose--there was a moment where Ram was outlining the circles where it felt like my entire leg was on fire. Totally worth it."</blockquote>I would add that I concur with Erica completely and offer up, as proof, my post over on BillyBlog in April 2008 <a href="http://oxypoet.blogspot.com/2008/04/billyblogs-favorite-poems-28-any-one-of.html">here</a>. I was running down my favorite poems for National Poetry Month and #28 was any of the poems in the book, and it just so happens I pointed to Poem XX as one shining example. The original edition translated by Merwin and illustrated by Jan Thompson is a must-have in anyone's library. But, I digress.<br /><br />Erica offered us two poems, one of her own and one she translated. We'll share both:<br /><br /><b>(no subject) (spam poem #3)</b><br /><br />good evening websit<br />Stop being a nervous wreck<br /><br />I will like you to accept this token<br />So hard you can break an egg<br /><br />hoping you will understand my point<br />this is not a myth<br /><br />Every person dreams about meeting someone<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">~ ~ ~ </div><br /><b><span style="font-size: large;">Deus ex Machina</span></b><br /><br />Throw the dice, Lord, your turn has come and it is winter. The trident is cornered, the mountains covered with a skin of ash. Lord, behold light’s song here, your due, in the stillness of the sea and the pure discretion of the endless night. Behold your son, Fire, burning the whole surface with his touch and seducing the water with his gilded tongue. Look here, Lord, his stepsister Dawn, liquid hierophant, maker of shape. In their terrible language they tell of celebrations, obedience, sin. This time, Lord, throw to us the seed and the male of the healthier species. Don’t announce him by chance, because he will become a cry and rise up with the warm murmur of pavement, and once again be lost to us, punished, denied. Let none but you, oh Lord, wield the butcher’s knife this time; mature a chord when life ceases and rain unexpectedly cleanses the lovers’ yoked hips. Throw the dice, Lord, your turn has inevitably come. Cast them without fear from your wide hand, because luck’s twelve sides won’t wait, and the sky points towards multitudes and disaster. Throw them, Lord, your turn has come and it is burning summer.<br /><br /><i>Translation of “Deus ex machina.” From</i> La invención del día [<i>The Invention of the Day</i>]<i>. © José Mármol. By arrangement with the author. Translation © 2011 by Erica Mena. All rights reserved.</i><br /><i><i> Published in <a href="http://wordswithoutborders.org/article/deus-ex-machina#ixzz1oB39g7IF">Words Without Borders</a>, November, 2011</i></i><br /><i><i><br /></i></i><br />Erica Mena is a poet, translator and print designer, not necessarily in that order. Her poetry and translations have appeared or are forthcoming in <a href="http://www.vanitasmagazine.net/van_dex.htm">Vanitas</a>, <a href="http://www.longwood.edu/dospassosreview/">The Dos Passos Review</a>, <a href="http://www.durationpress.com/pressedwafer/mag.htm">Pressed Wafer</a>, <u>Arrowsmith Press</u>, <a href="http://wordswithoutborders.org/">Words Without Borders</a>, <a href="http://iowareview.uiowa.edu/">The Iowa Review</a>, <a href="http://www.kenyonreview.org/">The Kenyon Review</a>, <a href="http://www.pen.org/page.php/prmID/150">PEN America</a>, <a href="http://asymptotejournal.com/listing.php?cat=Poetry">Asymptote</a>, <a href="http://www.catranslation.org/">Two Lines</a> and others. She is the coordinator and co-host of <a href="http://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/reading-the-world/id354090868">Reading the World Podcast</a>, a monthly conversation about literary translation. She is the founding editor of <a href="http://www.anomalouspress.org/">Anomalous Press</a>.<br /><br />Thanks to Erica for contributing this wonderful entry of the tattooed Poets project on Tattoosday!<br /><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">This entry is ©2012 Tattoosday. The poem and tattoo are reprinted with the poet's permission. </span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">If you are reading this on another web site other than Tattoosday, without attribution, please note that it has been copied without the author's permission and is in violation of copyright laws. Please feel free to visit http://tattoosday.blogspot.com and read our original content. Please let me know if you saw this elsewhere so I contact the webmaster of the offending site and advise them of this violation in their Terms of Use Agreement.</span>

The Tattooed Poets Project: Erica Mena

Among this year's Tattooed Poets' submissions, this is one of my favorite photos: Photograph by Julie Chen This was submitted by the...

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The Tattooed Poets Project: Shannon Phillips

Today's tattooed poet is Shannon Phillips. She has five tattoos, none of which are in color. All of them are on her back. She sent us a few photos so we could appreciate them:<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX1U6h3CvCU1LWQbTUDezkZqTTj4OghyDYFw_M2NoJvI2OwGFYPOig9oPrWML7_szMpkZst6BDNZEWTh_VYXQfbWx8YPYRg5i0ui7gOGUSxEm1zXFKPzdVUgQu-H9TiSVPtsJk6jQ5weI/s1600/Shannon+Back.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX1U6h3CvCU1LWQbTUDezkZqTTj4OghyDYFw_M2NoJvI2OwGFYPOig9oPrWML7_szMpkZst6BDNZEWTh_VYXQfbWx8YPYRg5i0ui7gOGUSxEm1zXFKPzdVUgQu-H9TiSVPtsJk6jQ5weI/s640/Shannon+Back.jpg" width="446" /></a></div><br />I'll let Shannon tell their stories:<br /><blockquote>"I knew I wanted a tattoo, but the commitment to one idea was freaking me out.  However, I took an Art of Mexico class and when I learned the term 'Nepantla' I knew that was it. Nepantla is a term in Nahuatl that roughly means 'on the border' or 'in between.' It seemed perfect. I got the tattoo done at a place off Pacific Coast Highway in Sunset Beach, California. It was a birthday gift from an ex that I was still friends with.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI2iR3dO1x0x6A4YuEAf0gAXCMyBOD9Ga9enHMwItdQu_aE6sNya2OkYaGHwdF79Np7XMvyfeq31Hmz9vMnD-wfcNe-GUGhr9ItlMkMdwhRJYHEDv968iE63tQXyO7fE-sscRnupBnciw/s1600/shannon+ring.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI2iR3dO1x0x6A4YuEAf0gAXCMyBOD9Ga9enHMwItdQu_aE6sNya2OkYaGHwdF79Np7XMvyfeq31Hmz9vMnD-wfcNe-GUGhr9ItlMkMdwhRJYHEDv968iE63tQXyO7fE-sscRnupBnciw/s400/shannon+ring.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />The next tattoo I got was of a coyote ouroboros. I love the coyote as a trickster symbol in Native American myth and I was also very drawn to the symbolism behind the ouroboros, the life-death-life cycle. I did not relate to the more classic ouroboros images of a dragon or a snake so I asked a young artist named Natalie Robles to design the coyote ouroboros for me. The tattoo was done at <a href="http://www.yelp.com/biz/atomic-tattoo-and-body-piercing-hollywood">Atomic Tattoo</a> off Hollywood Boulevard [in Los Angeles].<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj88heZadLG67dH9N8vOquQfadKvTfR7hhhlQC3u4z70EGeRDWlwrsrE_OcUgh2L280yvUFeJycyCbBzsg4kCL_OdXv17HXDVEoH_vqef8L0rIMJiA6orT-i-1J3qjk68rfgsAkGIhbP8c/s1600/shannon+cat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj88heZadLG67dH9N8vOquQfadKvTfR7hhhlQC3u4z70EGeRDWlwrsrE_OcUgh2L280yvUFeJycyCbBzsg4kCL_OdXv17HXDVEoH_vqef8L0rIMJiA6orT-i-1J3qjk68rfgsAkGIhbP8c/s400/shannon+cat.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />On the drive to a wedding in Arizona, my friend and I decided to get almost-matching tattoos. It seemed that since we were both people who had tattoos that we should have at least one on a whim. It had to be something simple since we didn't have a chance to research the tattoo shop. We settled on cat silhouettes.<br /><br />The next tattoo I had done [seen at the bottom of the back in the top photo above] was at a shop in Lake Forest, California.  While walking to class one day at Cal State Long Beach, a flyer grabbed my attention – it depicted an awareness ribbon designed to resemble an Asian character. I saw it and I simply knew.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvNOcEPj9D9bgOvHyMJNlRdWtcFK5Vq87_DkNhPNJGStj7x7TT3h6_4flrIdSWrHQFdM8XNLqtsICMpqhym-jRtLA8FV_7i64hEoriHC7BILM9oS0KP7cth1U40uQl5fuA8wNwc6ZhMt0/s1600/qpq.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvNOcEPj9D9bgOvHyMJNlRdWtcFK5Vq87_DkNhPNJGStj7x7TT3h6_4flrIdSWrHQFdM8XNLqtsICMpqhym-jRtLA8FV_7i64hEoriHC7BILM9oS0KP7cth1U40uQl5fuA8wNwc6ZhMt0/s640/qpq.jpg" width="507" /></a></div><br />My <i>quid pro quo</i>\ tattoo was done at <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Wicked-Ink-Tattoos-Body-Piercing/128795187164269?v=info">Wicked Ink</a> in Knoxville, Tennessee.  I had heard the phrase literally translated to 'what for whom' and I had known for some time I wanted a tattoo that embodied my fascination with the structure of power. Again, I wanted something simple because I hadn't researched the tattoo shop – I was on another trip. I chose a female tattoo artist because it occurred to me that all my previous tattoos had been done by men."</blockquote>Shannon sent us three poems to consider and I selected this one:<br /><br /><b>To My Stretchmarks</b> <br /><br />Fossilized jelly fish tendrils.<br /><br />Moon-colored veins,<br />chalk-scrawled tree roots,<br />icicle milk.<br /><br />On my hips,<br />Nature tattoos lightning.<br /><br /><i>--originally published in </i><a href="http://www.csulb.edu/web/journals/riprap/">RipRap</a><i> #30, 2008</i><br /><div style="text-align: center;">~ ~ ~</div><br />Shannon Phillips earned an MFA in creative writing from <a href="http://www.csulb.edu/">Cal State University Long Beach</a>. Her work has been published in <a href="http://www.pearlmag.com/">Pearl</a>, <a href="http://verdadmagazine.org/vol3/poetry/phillips.html">Verdad</a>, <a href="http://www.csulb.edu/web/journals/riprap/">RipRap</a>, <i>Rectangle</i>, and her poem “Plum” placed second in <a href="http://www.beyondbaroque.org/">Beyond Baroque's</a> First Ever Poetry Contest. She previously taught ESL for two years and now edits <a href="http://www.carnivalitmag.com/">Carnival</a>, an online literary magazine.<br /><br />Thanks to Shannon for sharing her poem and all of her tattoos with us on Tattoosday. I'd also like to thank her for referring us to Eric Morago, who appeared on the Tattooed Poets Project here, earlier this month.<br /><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">This entry is ©2012 Tattoosday. The poem and tattoos are reprinted with the poet's permission.</span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">If you are reading this on another web site other than Tattoosday, without attribution, please note that it has been copied without the author's permission and is in violation of copyright laws. Please feel free to visit http://tattoosday.blogspot.com and read our original content. Please let me know if you saw this elsewhere so I contact the webmaster of the offending site and advise </span>

The Tattooed Poets Project: Shannon Phillips

Today's tattooed poet is Shannon Phillips. She has five tattoos, none of which are in color. All of them are on her back. She sent us a ...

Read more »