Archives for posts with tag: riley tench

Riley’s ode to Trent U. In his own inimitable fashion.

Peterborough, Summer 1978, four poets were broadcast reading their poetry in 1-5 minute spots on CHEX TV’s noon hour variety program. The four poets were Ian David Arlett, Ward Maxwell, Riley Tench and Dennis Tourbin. Overall, thirty segments were aired.

Not sure how we arranged for the motor boat to drive through Riley. It’s live folks!

Peterborough, Summer 1978, four poets were broadcast reading their poetry in 1-5 minute spots on CHEX TV’s noon hour variety program. The four poets were Ian David Arlett, Ward Maxwell, Riley Tench and Dennis Tourbin. Overall, thirty segments were aired.

Peterborough, Summer 1978, four poets were broadcast reading their poetry in 3-5 minute spots on CHEX TV’s noon hour variety program. The four poets were Ian David Arlett, Ward Maxwell, Riley Tench and Dennis Tourbin. Overall, thirty segments were aired.

 

Poet in a tree, river adding ambient soundtrack. It’s make believe.
Peterborough, Summer 1978, four poets were broadcast reading their poetry in 1-2 minute spots on CHEX TV’s noon hour variety program. The four poets were Ian David Arlett, Ward Maxwell, Riley Tench and Dennis Tourbin. Overall, thirty segments were aired.

It’s my belief that the video clips of Riley in this series are the only reasonable quality videos of Riley reading his poetry. If so, it is with great pleasure that I present the man who really ignited poetry at Trent University, the one and only Poetry Editor at Arthur (the Trent student newspaper), and indefatigable champion of all things poetic—Riley Tench.

Peterborough, Summer 1978, four poets were broadcast reading their poetry in 1 minute spots on CHEX TV’s noon hour variety program. The four poets were Ian David Arlett, Ward Maxwell, Riley Tench and Dennis Tourbin. Overall, thirty segments were aired.

Driving the coast with a friend
he turns the radio on.
Im looking out at those gulf islands
Hey what you want that for eh
I say   looking out at those islands
lying like green whales.
And now in Ontario, driving the highway alone,
snow clouds above my head like fat whale bellies,
I turn the radio on.

© riley tench 1976/2014

This post ends the P’bo Poets. I’d like to thank Mike Dennis, Garth Douglas, Richard Harrison, Catherine Jenkins, John Tench and Rob Wipond. In fond memory of Ian David Arlett, Riley Tench and Dennis Tourbin.
The blog is going to go on a short hiatus for recharging.
Thanks for your support.
Ward Maxwell

See my fingers
see theyre black
see theyre burnt
(the flesh, the yellow fat rendered from the white bone)

Head is cracked: grey jelly boils
(soup of the head of a long pig)

An eye turns
(squeezed like soft fruit)

A pickled tongue
(vinegar and sweet herbs)

Bloody semen pools in the pit of the stomach
(lies like sauce on a thigh)

Ground under the feet is a block
(a grin from a second mouth)

Poet bleeds from many wounds
(poem: eaten by many mouths)

Riley Tench 1976/2014

When you see the title Peterborough Poets — that is Riley’s creation. I commenced this trophe of the blog not only to highlight all the wonderful poets I interacted with but to focus attention on Riley and the impact he had. Riley did not create the Peterborough Poets — but he laid the table they we sat at and dined at … and … he sat at the centre. Riley loved poetry — wm

i quiver like gut
im lost in a foul confusing way

yessir im cornered alright!

o i sing like string
by giant fingers plucked
and o im fearful, floating like feathers

its like — yes! —
a raw Chicken Wing!
yellow fat under white skin, th bone twists

o i sing like string

wing 2

listen ill tell ya about th chicken wing
what is see     say
yuv found ths chickn wing in th street
yu pick it up start playn with it
yur showin off fr yr frends
thrown it aroun walkin fancy swing it like a cane
fly whtit jump upanddown eat it beat it
wile thsis goin on yr frends
ar gettn in th car     ther goin away
yuv cum out to say gud by rite?
an yuv found ths chikn wng
wich binow is limp an grey
an as yu stand ther wavn gudby wth the chikn wing
(standn alon in th street wavn gudby wth the chikn wing)
yu kno wat it is
th bone u th chikn wng mvs loos wthin th skin now
fat an muscl hang whn yu shake it
its like yuv stopd on citystreetcornr
tu stand ther in th roar you kno sumthngs goin on
yu see th sky yu feel muvment wthin ya like th wing   chiknwng

© Riley Tench 1976/2014

its not th collectivity
nor th grande passions
wich do that eloquent liberation mayk
but rather the quiet playss
with tongues entwind
flesh within flesh, th
odors an slick juices
still present on th skin an lips

© Riley Tench, 1976/201

this is the first poem of Riley’s in the book Borders — wm

last night’s post I attributed to Riley Tench — was by me — whoops

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