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Shel Silverstein Dies
cluening writes "I was shocked to see that one of the best poetry writers, Shel Silverstein, had died. Although not really technical in nature, I am sure his poems and drawings were enjoyed by a whole lot of the Slashdot community...
" I've enjoyed several of his coffee tables books over the past winter-it's sad to see people like this go. Update: 05/11 04:25 by H :Thanks to Jesse Berney for sending us the Washington Post write-up about Shel.
Shel Silverstein was an original a one of a kind, someone who lived his life doing what he lived, and his style was recognizably his and his alone. i think most of his can relate, at least indirectly, to someone who stood out in the crowd.
also, considering all of us was once a child, most of us read Shel Silverstein's poetry, and no matter how much of an outcast we felt like, or how sad or rejected we were, his poetry was and still can bring a smile to your face.
this is news for nerds, and there is more to life for most of us geeks then just technology. most of us also have a creative side, which is touched by other things other than a new linux kernel release.
Well, yes, but instead of feminist-historical, try feminist-hysterical, perhaps?
A feminist is a woman who has never had root. I mean that with no pun. Or a woman who has never had a gun, or a friendly Doberman, or a real dose of how well you can do in life, as a woman, with out a crutch. Like feminism.
Think that being a geek is tough? Try being a female geek. The feminists hate you as much as the prom queens for not being so weak that you need a dogma, like a boyfriend or a hatred of men.
I didn't see any insight there. None. Just whining like the secretaries that I occasionally deal with out of courtesy to the VPs who feel that the only reason that they aren't in the corner offices and making six figures is because they are a woman. Try because the people in the corner offices are twice as smart and work twice as hard.
I'm sorry, but I liked Silverstein a lot and I found that the only women who esposed screwed-up philosophies like the above were the pretty ones who went out with bad guys (in fact, who pursued bad guys against all reason and advice) and had the predictable terrible things happen to them and the ugly fat chicks who couldn't get a date. People like me (average weight, looks, and an abiding interest in computers and taking things apart from the time I was little) managed to do just fine, despite all those "awful men". I wish that these people would stop trying to rewrite the past to conform to their own twisted view of the world.
C'mon, let's see if we can take an AC's post to Score==5!
"The Smoke Off", by Shel Silverstein.
Now in the laid back California town of sunny San Raphael
Lived a girl named Pearly Sweetcake, you prob'ly knew her well.
She'd been stoned fifteen of her eighteen years and the story was widely told
That she could smoke 'em faster than anyone could roll.
Her legend finally reached New York, that Grove Street walk-up flat
Where dwelt The Calistoga Kid, a beatnik from the past
With long browned lightnin' fingers he takes a cultured toke
And says, "Hell, I can roll 'em faster, Jim, than any chick can smoke!"
So a note gets sent to San Raphael, "For the Championship of the World
The Kid demands a smoke off!" "Well, bring him on!" says Pearl,
"I'll grind his fingers off his hands, he'll roll until he drops!"
Says Calistog, "I'll smoke that twist till she blows up and pops!"
So they rent out Yankee Stadium and the word is quickly spread
"Come one, come all, who walk or crawl, price - just two lids a head
And from every town and hamlet, over land and sea they speed
The world's greatest dopers, with the Worlds greatest weed
Hashishers from Morocco, hemp smokers from Peru
And the Shamnicks from Bagun who puff the deadly Pugaroo
And those who call it Light of Life and those that call it boo.
See the dealers and their ladies wearing turquoise, lace, and leather
See the narcos and the closet smokers puffin' all together
From the teenies who smoke legal to the ones who've done some time
To the old man who smoked "reefer" back before it was a crime
And the grand old house that Ruth built is filled with the smoke and cries
Of fifty thousand screaming heads all stoned out of their minds.
And they play the national anthem and the crowd lets out a roar
As the spotlight hits The Kid and Pearl, ready for their smokin' war
At a table piled up high with grass, as high as a mountain peak
Just tops and buds of the rarest flowers, not one stem, branch or seed.
Maui Wowie, Panama Red and Acapulco Gold.
Kif from East Afghanistan and rare Alaskan Cold.
Sticks from Thailand, Ganja from the Islands, and Bangkok's Bloomin' Best.
And some of that wet imported shit that capsized off Key West.
Oaxacan tops and Kenya Bhang and Riviera Fleurs.
And that rare Manhatten Silver that grows down in the New York sewers.
And there's bubblin' ice cold lemonade and sweet grapes by the bunches.
And there's Hershey's bars, and Oreos, 'case anybody gets the munchies.
And the Calistoga Kid, he sneers, and Pearley, she just grins.
And the drums roll low and the crowd yells "GO!" and the world's first Smoke Off begins.
Kid flicks his magic fingers once and ZAP! that first joint's rolled.
Pearl takes one drag with her mighty lungs and WOOSH! that roach is cold.
Then The Kid he rolls his Super Bomb that'd paralyze a moose.
And Pearley takes one super hit and SLURP! that bomb' defused.
Then he rolls three in just ten seconds and she smokes 'em up in nine,
And everybody sits back and says, "This just might take some time."
See the blur of flyin' fingers, see the red coal burnin' bright
As the night turns into mornin' and the mornin' fades to night
And the autumn turns to summer and a whole damn year is gone
But the two still sit on that roach-filled stage, smokin' and rollin' on
With tremblin' hands he rolls his jays with fingers blue and stiff
She coughs and stares with bloodshot gaze, and puffs through blistered lips.
And as she reaches out her hand for another stick of gold
The Kid he gasps, "Goddamn it, bitch, there's nothin' left to roll!"
"Nothin' left to roll?", screams Pearl, "Is this some twisted joke?"
"I didn't come here to fuck around, man, I come here to SMOKE!"
And she reaches 'cross the table And grabs his bony sleeves
And she crumbles his body between her hands like dried and brittle leaves
Flickin' out his teeth and bones like useless stems and seeds
And then she rolls him in a Zig Zag and lights him like a roach.
And the fastest man with the fastest hands goes up in a puff of smoke.
In the laid-back California town of sunny San Raphael
Lives a girl named Pearly Sweetcake, you prob'ly know her well.
She's been stoned twenty-one of her twenty-four years, and the story's widely told.
How she still can smoke them faster than anyone can roll
While off in New York City on a street that has no name.
There's the hands of the Calistoga Kid in the Viper Hall of Fame
And underneath his fingers there's a little golden scroll
That says, Beware of Bein' the Roller When There's Nothin' Left to Roll.
In my 9th grade English class we just finished up a unit on books that have been banned. For the most part, schools and libraries banned such moderm classics as Brave New World and The Catcher in the Rye. Also on the list I was dumbfounded to read that "A Light in the Attic" was banned in numerous places, one of which is a town not more than 15 minutes from me. When seeing this, I asked my teacher the reason for the ban, and she said that the book was banned based on the drawing for the poem "Spelling Bee". In this poem, a bee signs a rather amusing message on someone's bare bottom. It saddens me to see that children will not get to read the great poems because of that. In 4th grade our class loved our Shel Silverstein books so much that our teacher let us act out a Silverstein poem of our choice. We toured the school to different classrooms showing our appreciation.
Sad.
Dyslexic.
This comment is brought to you by the drug caffiene, and the number 5.
The Giving Tree is not an instruction manual. It provides an example reflective of reality, but it does not promote it as right or good.
The book was not meant to be "nice." It illustrates a problematic and flawed relationship. I understand the boy as a presentation of bad behavior, not an example to emulate. He abuses the tree. Only in old age does he understand what he has done.
You ought to notice how little choice the tree has, too. You assert that the tree "willingly gives up each and every bit of itself." How can you write about the willingness of an entity that cannot reject or stop the actions of the boy? How much will have many women had historically? All the tree can do is emote, and it choses to love the boy.
The Giving Tree itself is a criticism. Perhaps he chose the female gender for the tree as part of a social commentary against the mistreatment of women. I would not put it beyond Silverstein. Critics with agenda must neglect this idea to write particular reviews. To do so misses an underlying theme of his work, honest consideration of alternatives.
Sigh...
Shel, Theo... Will the last one out please turn off the light?
---
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Posted by jimmylin:
From Kubrick to Silverstein, it seems like all of the bright writers/directors/artists are just dying off. I remember seeing 2001 at school and all of the great things it inspired. I remember having one of Silverstein's books read to me in elementary school. Hearing news like this just saddens all the great childhood memories I had. (sobbing)
Shel Silverstein was truly something else. I remember reading his books when I was just a little kid.
I still have A Light in the Attic on my bookshelf now, as well as Where the Sidewalk Ends.
Maybe I'll open them up and look through them again, just this once.
_The Great Lafcadio_, definitely my favorty. Also features Uncle Shelby.
However, it's not so nice when you consider this to be a model of male/female relationships. The tree doesn't have a life of her own, doesn't have much choice over whether she gets carved into or cut down, and even gets neglected for long periods of time while the boy is off "in foreign lands" or wooing a human female: somehow, I can see him telling his wife that he needs to be seeing a younger, prettier, woman, no offence, hon, understand? It's just that he needs someone that will get him over this little problem he's been having in bed... He'll come back, promise!...Meanwhile, he needs your bank account, continued housekeeping and, um, iron my shirts without starch, eh? See you at dinner tonight, six, have it on the table... RIGHT. Or telling that younger woman, sorry honey, gotta dump you, I'm married, and geez, if it weren't for that no-fault divorce law, I'd of paid for that abortion, understand? Uh-huh....Or telling a psychiatrist "You know, all my problems come from having to cater to women all the time, you know my mother never really loved me...Understand?"
Somehow, it's the kind of thing I'd expect from
a staff cartoonist for Playboy (which he was) written at the height of the feminine mystique (which it was). Can't really hate him, his adult work was so appealing. Love him, hate him. Bye-bye Shel. Pinch an angel's butt for me.
teleny, friend of cats.
The article didn't mention this old classic of his, which is still in print! Shel Silverstein definitely fits under "Stuff that matters." Thanks for posting the article.
Don't forget the great smoke off. Shel seemed to have a funy way of releiving tension.
I think writing cutsy stuff all the time lent him to strange other works. I liked that other stuff alot (uncle shelby.. The great smoke off)
Sigh... Dr. Seuss Died a few years ago.
Hehe.. picture Dr. Seuss and Shel in whatever afterlife you believe in.
Must be quite the bit of work they are writing!
Batty
The baby bat
Screamed out in fright,
"Turn on the dark,
I'm afraid of the light."
It is dark times, indeed. Rest In Peace, Shel.
While I always feel a little morbid doing something like this, I will have to get out my copy of ``Freakin' At The Freakers Ball'' tonight and give it a listen. He was a great songwriter (``Boy Named Sue'', ``On The Cover of the Rolling Stone'', etc.) in addition to the poetry and children's books that he did. Great stuff and too bad that there won't be any more.
CUR ALLOC 20195.....5804M
Man you're in a bad mood. Maybe killing yourself would fix all your problems.
Of course, I never read Dr.Seuss; maybe if I had, I'd be hating life too.
Then again, everyone dies, so no need to feel badly because of it.
-AS
-AS
*Pikachu*
My uncle gave me this book when I was 7...I spent countless hours reading and re-reading this book until i had broken the binding. A few months ago while moving, I happened upon it in a stack of old books. Time to give it another read. "Nobody" was a favorite poem of mine - helped ease the pain of being a 9 year old geek with no friends :) My oldest nephew is 4 - it'll be time to pass it along to him soon. Thanks for everything, Shel...we'll miss you.
-Sean
I usally try not to post long quotes, but this is such a great piece, I have removed most of the formatting to conserve space, if you never read Shel Siverstein, This is just a small piece from his great wealth of works. *thanks to deborah for the silver silverstein link from her post below*
Where The Sidewalk Ends
There is a place where the sidewalk ends And before the street begins, And there the grass grows soft and white, And there the sun burns crimson bright, And there the moon-bird rests from his flight To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black And the dark street winds and bends Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow, And watch where the chalk-white arrows go To the place where the sidewalk ends. Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go, For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends
Shel Silverstein, there's a name I have not heard for some time. When I was in elementry school, I think I owned every one of his books, if I remember correctly, Where the Sidewalk Ends was my favorite. I still can vividly remember the covers, simple, white with black lettering. There was an elegance to his works, that they could be written to please a child, and yet still convey a feeling of well being that seemed to stay with you forever.
This is truely a great loss. I would hope that someday I will get to read his books to my children, along with other unforgettable childrens works (where the wild things go, wrinkle in time, Narnia crhonicals...)
Sad news...If anyone thinks this is off-topic, I would like to let them know that there is a Shel Silverstein poem entitled "The GNOME, the Gnat, and the GNU"!
I always bought his books three or four at a time just so I would have extras to give away.
Dyslexics Untie!
the ultimate lesson in optimism under duress:
i'm being eaten by a boa constrictor (oh no! it's up to my toe!)
http://www.ezy.net/~quix/shel.html
-- First post (by a female living in a state that begins with M and does not end in a vowel with a birthday that falls
God's Wheel
God says to me with a kind of smile,
"Hey how would you like to be God awhile
And steer the world?"
"Okay," says I, "I'll give it a try.
Where do I set?
How much do I get?
What time is lunch?
When can I quit?
"Gimme back that wheel," says God.
"I don't think you're quite ready yet."
- Shel Silverstein
"If one is really a superior person, the fact is likely to leak out without too much assistance" -- John Andrew Holmes
One of the world's most wonderful poets has died. He wrote many things that meant a lot to many different people. He will be missed.
When I was just starting third grade, I was one of the very few students that could not read. The "see dick run, run dick run" books had not quite worked for me. I just could not grasp the see and say method of reading. I cannot do phonics in the English language to this day. I could woo my teachers into believing in my intelligence through my extensive vocabulary and my musical ability, but I could not read more than three words in a row consistantly. Spelling tests were my nightmare.
Our teachers read to us every day, either a poem or a chapter from a children's novel. I loved to listen to the poems from Where the Sidewalk End's or the delicious tales by Roal Dahl in his novellas. I could not read, but it was not for a lack of wanting. My mother read to me at night. I read the OZ books through the sound of her voice, a chapter a night. I could draw, I could speak, and I could sing well ahead of my peers, but they could read.
One day, I decided that I wanted my mother to read a book by Beverly Cleary to me. It was mid-afternoon. My mother had other things that she need to get done, so she told me no. Being stong-willed, I decided that I was going to try to read it myself even though I knew only a few words on sight. Curled up on the couch in the sunlight, I started to get comfortable so that I could try to read the book.
With painful slowness, I silently played with each typed word untill I knew what it was. If I did not know the word at all, I figured it out from the context. At some point in this ardous endevour, something a little bizzare happened. I stopped seeing the words on the page or even hearing the sounds of the sylables. The meter and the letters, everything on the page was gone. All that was left, all that was really necessary, came forth to me as images in my mind. A complete realm flowed forth from this book. I understood in silence, what it meant to read.
I could not prove that I had discovered the secret to most people. I still could not, and honestly to this day cannot, read aloud without faltering and stuttering through the words on the page. I would skip articles and prepositions when asked to read. I still have to ask someone else how to pronounce a word if it is not familliar to me. I do not know phonics, but I do know meanings.
From that day on, I read everything that I could. I needed to catch up to my peers in school. I discovered just how much fun reading can truely be after I finished that 250 or so page book and took up the book that every single person in my class loved to read out of during our playtime. I was reading Where the Sidewalk Ends. I learned meter and time. I also learned the exceptions to the grammatical rules we were taught.
I loved those books more then anything. They were written with little children in mind filled with the good humor of the gross and disgusting stuff. I read from it all of the time. Through those poems, I learned to read and be able to say the words on the pages. It is still very difficult for me, but with out them, I would never have been able to do it at all.
--telos
"Alt-F4 that's for quitting" quoth Dan_Wood
I used to work for the public library and it always made me so happy to see his books circulate a lot. Sometimes they didn't, but now and then we wouldn't have a single copy in the whole place
The Giving Tree should be required reading for everyone.