fubar user: Alexander Shaumyan (320539)

I'm a poet and a survivor. I was born in Moscow, Russia, in 1962 and have been living in the US since 1975. I have published several books of poetry and I'm widely known around the internet. I am influenced by many Russian poets, Beat poetry (Ginsberg, Corso, Ferlinghetti), Charles Bukowski, e.e. cummings, Emily Dickinson, Weldon Kees, T.S. Eliot, Robinson Jeffers, Dylan Thomas, Anne Sexton, Heinrich Heine, Bertolt Brecht, Rainer Maria Rilke, Federico Garcia Lorca, and many other poets throughout the world. I've done several translations of other poets. My poetry ranges from lyrical to satirical, to just plain crazy. I'm a big fan of Mary Prankster from Maryland who became a counterculture cult hero with her intelligent and uncensored punk lyrics. She is down to earth and loyal to her fans and never compromises her creativity just to get radio play. She brought soul and intelligence to the rebellious punk sound. One of her songs The World Is Full of Bastards has the same title as my famous poem that I published in a college magazine in 1990. I've been writing poetry since 1986. I also draw and paint. You can check out my small art gallery where I added a few works by my artistic friends.

NOTE: I have great news. I have a part in a movie called American Surfrider (2006), written and directed by Carey Borth. It is a documentary about the Annual Labor Day surfing competition in Malibu in 2004 and I'm reading my poem The Healing Wind in the background. This is my big break into Hollywood. :) Here's the plot summary for the movie, written by Carey Borth:

A bunch of filmmakers flew to California to document the Annual Labor Day Surfing competition in 2004 where they interviewed over 60 surfers from around the world. Meanwhile, a team interviewed surfers at Sheboygan, Wisconsin, for their annual Great Lakes surfing event. Who had higher waves? You'll be surprised.

Links to Alexander Shaumyan on Internet

Check out Jessica Mellott -- a talented young singer from Maryland.

Some Girls Are Dumb and Shallow

Some girls are dumb and shallow
And only want to screw
Or find some sugar daddy
To make their dreams come true.

And they will tell you stories
Of their hard luck lives,
But I don't feel compassion
For their games and lies.

Some girls will build you up
And take you for a ride
Or make you lose your head,
While cheating on your wife.

Some girls use sex to trap you
And make you cry in pain
But I've learned my lesson--
I go for heart and brains.

I like them to be real
And warm and loving too--
Without phony kisses
That they'll send to you.

I know it by now--
I know what I miss--
I miss the depth and soul--
I miss a tender kiss.

I miss the joy and laughter
Of simply holding hands--
Not phony "I love you"s
And empty one-night stands.

Some say that sex is better
Than no sex at all--
But sex without love
Can really scar a soul.

Some girls are dumb and shallow,
Some girls are cruel and cold--
But they'll end up alone
When they're used up and old.

May 22, 2004
Copyright (c) by Alexander Shaumyan

Anarchy Is For Lovers

(for Natercia)

They came together--red and black--
In a revolt like no other,
And there is no turning back,
For anarchy is for lovers.

The truth is greater than the lies
Of hollow gods and class divisions,
For loving hearts all rules defy
With a transcendent common vision.

No wars, no boundaries, no states,
No need to subjugate each other,
No rich, no poor, no one to hate--
Just peace and love for one another.

They came together--young and old--
No hippie freaks, but with a vision--
They came together in revolt
Against all wars and all divisions.

They saw the truth, they saw the light
In a revolt like no other,
Standing determined in their fight,
For anarchy is for lovers.

October 18, 2004
Copyright (c) by Alexander Shaumyan

Cafe de Nuit

The world is such a bore.
I look at all the blank
expressions here
at Delaney's Tap Room,
where Jake--the local artist--
makes several incisions
with his knife upon
his hand, letting the blood
drip onto this white bandage
of cloth, wiping the blood
with it, while I wonder
what's the point of all this--
I guess it's better than
being a junkie--another
nasty habit that he quit...
Another guy says all
my joking about gay shit
makes him nervous,
so I better keep away...

The world is such a bore--
these overpriced drinks,
these empty conversations
about this and that
and nothing much at all--
I hear the chicken wings
are excellent here.
My friend is doing crack.
A few days earlier some girl
would let him eat her pussy
in exchange for xanax,
though he never got a blowjob.

The world is such a bore.
I talk to Marshall--a homeless
old man, who spends his
monthly checks on booze
and cat food for his kitties,
while sleeping in the graveyard.
He has a temporary place to stay
right now. He tells me he's
the luckiest man in the world.
Somehow I don't believe him.

The world is such a bore.
Here's John who came out of jail
several months ago. He now works
with his hands, laying shingles
on roofs of houses.
I hear Pam is now in jail for writing
phony checks, she used to fuck
for drugs and money--two hundred
dollars for a full relief.
Jeff highly recommends her.
He says he's getting married
to his latest girlfriend,
but I doubt it--he never stayed with
anyone for too long.

The world is such a bore,
as I stand here, observing this
pool game--the only thing that
seems to matter here.
Sometimes I show them my poems,
but there is such a chasm
between my vision
and what's in front of me--
this crazy circus of fucked-up people
with their fucked-up lives
and fucked-up loves,
these people, who are
deaf and blind
to anything of beauty and of meaning.

I have another beer,
as this endless game continues,
and the jukebox plays
the same old song, the same old song...

July 13, 2002
Copyright (c) by Alexander Shaumyan

Place Where Light Is

In these cold rainy nights,
In these streets, in these dreams
I'll walk in my solitude
To a place where light is.

Do not ask who I am,
Do not ask where I go--
I've lost all direction,
Yet I always knew this--
I'll find my way back
To a place where light is.

No, it can't be that far--
I've walked many miles,
I've seen it in a smile
Of a girl like a breeze--
I'll find my way back
To a place where light is.

I've been walking in darkness
Of frozen minds,
I saw hearts that were numb
And eyes that were blind,
I saw tears and pain,
War and disease,
But I just kept on walking
To a place where light is.

Yes, I know it's near,
By those mulberry trees
And those valleys of daffodils,
Where the hummingbirds sing,
Where my love rests in waiting
With a smile like a breeze--
Yes, I'll find my way back
To a place where light is.

May 23, 2003
Copyright Â© by Alexander Shaumyan

* * * * * *

Touch

Everything here is yellow and green.
--Anne Sexton

You pull me into your
delicate sea,
As I shiver at your touch,
Now I'm a valley and you're
a mountain,
Now I'm dark green and you're
bright yellow,
You play me like an instrument,
pulling my strings
one by one,
As I respond in a symphony
of poetic madness,
Crying on my pillow, I hug
the empty space
between us,
Longing for the night when
I first touched you.

Love, darling, is a silent mistress,
who comes streaming through
my fingers in gentle tears.
We have lost the softness
and the tenderness of her touch,
Sleeping on a bed of nails,
we scream in agony of her
passing.

But I know that deep inside you
there is a flower growing,
longing for the moisture
of a kiss, for the freedom
of the ocean.
We meet and part in its darkness,
leaving a trail of tears behind us.

May 31, 1987
Copyright (c) by Alexander Shaumyan

Beyond the Constellations of the Bears

for Crystal

On this day of cerulean bears
That across silent eyelashes ran,
I foresee past blue waters a stirring
In the hollows of eyes--a command.
--Velimir Khlebnikov (1885-1922)

Beyond the constellations of the Bears
I see reflections of the ancient gods
And I can see the moon inside your hair,
Feeling the music pulsing in my blood.
Beyond the ruins of forgotten cities,
Beyond the battlefields where myriads died,
Beyond religions, wars and hollow treaties,
I see the ancient wisdom in your eyes.
Let daily sermons fall upon deaf ears,
Let prophets come and go as they please,
Let churches go on exploiting fear--
The truth is the wind, the rocks, the trees--
It's what I know in my heart, it's what you know
Each time I look inside your playful eyes,
And when it's time for you and me to go,
The truth is in our love that never dies.

February 16, 1997
Copyright (c) by Alexander Shaumyan