BECAUSE JEFF FARRELL IS A GENIUS

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First of all, even though some of you (Rob) are annoying in noting that I haven't written anything in a while, it's nice to know there are people out there who want me to write stuff. And a double thanks to everyone who wrote or called to say nice things about my grandmother. She was a swell lady. In the interest of keeping everyone who cares current, I'm experiencing both a massive workload and a relative dearth of creativity, so for the time being, even though there's a lot that I could write about...I'm not going to.

Instead, I'd rather to introduce anyone who reads my blog to someone with so much talent that I'm often worried he's going to burst at the seams with it. I first met Jeff Farrell a few months into Freshman Year at JMU, and ever since then I've considered him one of the most clever and brilliant people I know. One night, perhaps Junior Year, Jeff and I (forming an unbeatable squad which we labeled Jeo(!)ff Squared) were up against my roommate Chris and a visiting brother of a friend also named Chris in a game of beer pong. I very commonly and unoriginally noted, "Hey, Geoff and Jeff versus Chris and Chris. Neat." Farrell thought for about a millisecond, pointed across the table and yelled, "Four people, two names, one game. GO!"

That should tell you we're dealing with an unbridled brain here.

Back to Farrell in a second - I need to make sure you know something up front here so you understand the potentcy of my convictions and the deep respect I have for this guy's work: I HATE most poetry. Hate it. I do not feel bad about applying the word "hate" to my feelings about most poetry. Either it's dull, distracted "classic" fodder or some pretentious d*uchebag trying to extrapolate simple ideas from his head, only turning them into thesaurus-level conglomerations of fake angst and depression. Remember that word "pretentious", because that's good enough to cover most poetry. It sucks. And I generally don't like poetry that doesn't rhyme. What's the point? If you're not going to rhyme, write it out in prose. Don't waste my time. Great poetry to me is Dr. Seuss.

And then there's Jeff Farrell.

Now mind you, I'm not just touting this guy because he's my friend. I have many friends - who shall all remain nameless - who write poetry that sucks. Just sucks - it's dead in that category of Most Poetry. Notice, then, that I'm not putting theirs on my blog. I think that should say something in itself, as I'm a writer, and like most (hopefully) good writers I have an ego the size of Grand Central Station; my blog is MY creative outlet where I'm trying to convince you that I'M a brilliant genius, not someone else. But Farrell...well, like I said, the man is a brilliant genius, and a more brilliant genius than I could ever hope to be, and there's something about his poetry that's not like the rest of the poetry out there. So I'm going to post it here for you.

There's something about his stuff that gets me. I don't know what it is, so I'm not going to bother to try to expound on that; rather, I'll let you read it and just silently bet that it grabs you the same way. Jeff's got a manner of not just finding the right words and not just stringing them together, but of starting with a simple concept, building upon that concept with simple analogies, metaphors and symbolism, and then finishing it with something so simple that it has to double back over complicated twice just to get there. Here's a great example, a passage from a poem of his that I decided not to use here:

I found myself
Following your footsteps in the sand
I lost my heart,
And found it in your outstretched hand

Do you see what he did there? He started with something simple, used a little bit of symbolism ("lost my heart") that anyone could (and that millions of lesser idiots have tried to) use, and then BOOM! The end hits you like a ton of bricks...even though, as just a line on its own, it's really no more complicated than the rest. Remember this in the very last poem, which flirts dangerously with slipping into Pretentious D*uchebag Territory (TM) before it smacks you in the face with what, in my opinion, are the two best lines of poetry I've ever read.

Needless to say, the following is Copyright - Jeff Farrell, 2006. Don't be surprised if in a few years you see a book with a few of these in it. If I have my way it'll steal a line from one of his poems and be titled Forever is a Word We'll Never Live to See.

Enjoy:

A Nickel

When we first met
each of your smiles cost me a nickel,
I spent all of my money that December,
do you remember,
we lay sprawled out on your rug
and the smoldering fire was the blazing sun
and we would touch, like whispers
and listen to the bathtub water run
and our sleepy kisses on the couch
drowned everything else out
and our laughter gained us new peace
and we didn't even have to speak,
our eyes said everything,
and we would bring the hammock inside
on those cold evenings
and lay in it for hours
listening to each other breathing,
and unwrap ourselves like slow secrets,
we always were so easy
and free with our dreams,
do you remember,
I spent all my money on your smile that December.

Can Never Be

I know it down deep
I know it in the emptiness of sleep
I'm a creep
and a freak
can't meet the eyes
that pass me on these streets
and what I want can never be

I can feel it steaming up
from the sidewalk's heat
whispered in the sewers of the city
you don't have to speak
I know I'm weak
a creep and a freak
the whole world has got me beat
car windows stuffed with eyes
glare at me
I stare at my feet

I just need a little peace of mind
a little fucking relief
once in a while
but my wanting needing doesn't sleep
even when I dream it bleeds
and I know down deep
I'm a creep
and a freak
I shy away from common speech
my laughter turns to broken screams
and what I want can never be

Mellow

I love the mellow
I love to bellow,
in silence
I love the hello
but not the goodbye
that lurks behind it
I hate to wake up
but I love to be blinded with sleep
head on a pillow
I love the billowing
smoke of my dreams

I let the tires go
I love to drive slow
stereo volume rising
I love the yellow
but hate the red light
that lurks behind it
I hate the brakes
I love the steady speed
eyes in the rear view
I love the two lanes of my past
as they fall away behind me

I love the mellow
I love to bellow,
in silence
I love the hello
but not the goodbye
that lurks behind it
I hate my knees
I love your elbow
and the sleeve that defines it
I hate to wake up
love to go blind with sleep
head on a pillow
you're the sill
supporting
my window panes of peace

Melancholy Nights

They were the most melancholy nights of my life
sipping on music and wine
thinking of you
and your future and mine
and the impossibility of them being tied
for very long
yet there I was falling in love with you
song after song
and I almost believed we could make it
by the time
my second bottle was gone

They were the most melancholy nights of my life
my shadow flickering
with the candle flames
that danced across the walls and wrote your name
and I wrote along
in despair over your future and mine
and the impossibility of them being tied
for very long
yet there I was falling in love with you
song after song
and I almost believed we'd beat forever
by the time
my second bottle was gone

I can't take my mind off of you

Sitting down
or laying in your room,
we talk in confidence
about the lives we used to choose,
wonder on the future
how it comes along so soon,
and all the scars that fade away
and the ones that never do,
and your mind, it's a maze
your smile sinks me gently down into,
and your eyes, they remind me
of everything beautiful and bruised

drove so many miles
just to wind up in this room,
so close the roads between us
like threads woven in a loom,
how far apart our pasts are
more than ocean and the moon,
yet still the pull between us now
is greater than those two,
and your mind, it's a maze
your presence pulls me gently down into,
and your eyes, they remind me
of everything beautiful and bruised.

I cannot scream

I cannot scream
I'd never stop screaming
ears would be ringing
eyes staring unblinking
but the screaming, the screaming
would never stop being
until the breathing, the breathing
until the air in my lungs
stopped coming and leaving
until the heart in my chest
stopped beating and beating,

The screams in my gut
have reasons and reasons
each one of them bloated
with secrets and demons
none of them easing
none happy
none pleasing and pleasing
they've been whispers and whispers
for too many seasons
their nature is yelling
and screaming, and screaming
from the winter winds freezing
to the summer sun beating and beating,

I cannot scream
I'd never stop screaming
until the air in my lungs
stopped coming and leaving,
until the heart in my chest
stopped drumming,
stopped running,
stopped beating and beating.

In the middle of the night

in the middle of the night
sometimes the backyard is better than the bedroom
i think the moon agrees,
and only she knows
that the hammock is swaying from our two bodies rocking
and not the breeze,
she brings our secrets to her grave
however pale or flush and enticing,
and all the while she's falling through the sky
the two of us are climbing

A Pause

I'm a comma,
a pause,
an abridged edition of living
polite applause,
a fool in the rain
a fool full of flaws,
totally lost sometimes
I'm a lost cause,

I'm a question mark,
a half-written card,
an abridged version of a person
spattered applause,
a lightning rod in rain
a freak full of flaws,
incredibly lost sometimes
I'm a lost cause

Thank You

I would burn everything I believe for you
I would break this heart in two
I would rip it out and hand it over
if you asked me to
die bleeding beneath your shadow
in the middle of the afternoon
and thank you for the shade