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2018 Best New Talent - Short and Sweet Festival Sydney
2014 Pushcart Prize nominee. (more)

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Video Poem - Sun Drenched Rosy Days

2008 Christian Ethan Mosconi



Sun Drenched Rosy Days



I hope you liked it. Even if you didn't leave a comment anyway.


I have a new Author Page on Facebook. Feel free to join. It's an Open Group so people can discuss all these related to writing; Authors, Books, Blogs, Screenplays, Poetry etc.

Until Next Week,


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Greatest Written Films - The Grapes of Wrath



Celebrating the written word in film.
Character, Dialouge and Subtext over traditional plot.




The Grapes of Wrath

1940


The Grapes of Wrath covers the period of the American Great Depression. Henry Fonda in one of his penultimate roles returns from a stint in prison to find his family have been evicted from their farm. He is forced to pack up all his belongings on the back of a truck and along with his family move into one of the ‘Dustbowl camps’ in California is search of work. But there are many others in the same situation. Life is cheap here. There is much corruption and crime. Every day is a battle. With it’s realistic portrayal, there is a pseudo-documentary feel here, (despite the dated trailer). This is powerful drama.









The screenplay by Nunally Johnson was based on the novel by John Steinbeck (Of Mice and Men) which was published a year earlier and had caused an uproar. It was accused of being communist propaganda and Steinbeck of being a socialist. The Farmers Federation protested the loudest as they had been shown to treat the mainly migrant families depicted in the book poorly. Some said that Steinbeck had exaggerated that conditions to prove a point, but in fact, he had underplayed them. The film was also controversial for the same political reasons.
Naturally, the controversy caused the book to be widely read and was soon considered a classic. Steinbeck won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1962.






Interestingly, Lenin banned the film in Russia as it showed that even the poorest of Americans could afford a car.

The picture was directed by John Ford with a sense of reality rare for its time. Its stunning black and white cinematography by Gregg Toland, who would go on to shoot Citizen Kane the following year, contributes to the ambience. The Grapes of Wrath earned many Oscar nominations, and Ford won for direction.

The film is still poignant, historically relevant, beautifully written and one of the greatest films ever to come out of America.




More Greatest Written Films


Coming in July, an insight into my six completed novels.
Next week, a new, original video poem, Sun Drenched Rosy Days.



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Poem - What’s in her Name?



What’s in her Name?


Her name was Sarah.
Not her real name.
And I didn’t know it
Before she died.
But I knew her face,
Her form...
As I passed her in the hallways.



I soon began to smile
Developing into a Hello
Gestating into the smallest of small talk
By the coffee machine.
I did not know her name
She was a face
A persona
That I had created
Based on snippets of conversation
And the way she dressed
The way she moved
Her poise by the coffee machine.
In order to find position for her
Inside my realm
I had to create one for her.
Without comprehending it,
She was catalogued.
Later,
After her sudden death,
I began to learn more about her
Starting with her name.
I had never asked her what it was.
I collected snippets
From other conversations
And a more complete portrait emerged.
The way she dressed
And moved
Did not represent what I thought I knew
My realm was false.
I know her name
Her name was Sarah
Not her real name,
But I did not know her at all.




Next week, an entry from the Greatest Written Films.
Soon, A new Video Poem, Sun Drenched Rosy Days.


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'Once she was slim.' - A Tribute to the Victims of the U.S. Tornados, April 2011.



Once she was slim.


A short fiction.


Thinking about the phone conversation with her daughter she’d had not twenty minutes before, wondering if her advice had been taken onboard, even though she already knew the answer, there came a sound like a reversing truck.
A moving ‘disintegration’ if such a thing were possible. A noise that had no comparison in her seventy six years, though enough to charge her veins with adrenalin.
Before she could cross to the stream of daylight through the front window in search of answers and possible escape, she was rising from the floor and the roof twisted and the wall crumbled.
Gravity shifted and she was carried sideways and something hit her so hard that she almost didn’t feel it, an overwhelming numbness that left her with the knowledge that the right side of her body was now useless.
The light was shut out and she felt wet, soaking, as though having emerged from a pool, though she had not been in one for over a dozen years because of a child who had stared at her in her hair cap and goggles and at the lumps in her costume from her age and the reminders of her four children that had been left on her body and the boy’s stare was intrusive as though she were not a real person and just a thing of curiosity and more than likely repulsion but it was not his fault really as he was just a little one but it was enough to guarantee that she never went back to that pool or any other one as it was not a pleasant thing to have your body betray you even though you know it’s inevitable for all and was one of the more disappointing things in life as it’s the same body that was once universally adored and doesn’t that feel like a lifetime ago. Yet she knows that it’s not water that swirls around her but the debris of her shattered home and the wetness must be coming from her and it can only be the fluid of her life and she closes her mouth and her eyes to protect them and that’s all that she can do even though this is not real, cannot be real, and if it is, then perhaps this is what death feels like. A pain like piercing blades shoots through her chest and surely something has hit her in the dark and the reality of being so vulnerable scares her coupled with the noise like a jet plane hovering above and perhaps one has crashed into her home or more likely it’s the worst of nature or the finger of God as her punishment for having left her children’s father years before despite his consistent emotional cruelty and this is a mistake of sorts, a fatal one and she coughs and splutters and is rolling or flying and if that be true then whatever may come in the next few seconds will surely be the end.




















As of May 3, 2011, 354 people were killed as a result of the tornado outbreak in the southern states of the U.S. in particular Alabama, from April 25 - 28. Many people are still missing.


Donate or help here:

http://www.redcross.org/


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Next week,

A Poem, What's in Her Name.

Followed by one of the Greatest Written Films.

Soon, A Video Poem - Sun Drenched Rosy Days.


Until Then,

Count your blessings and enjoy life.
I know I will be.

=]