Noir Poets – Page 2 – FilmsNoir.Net -all about film noir

Noir Poets: Philip Marlowe

Who am I cutting my throat for this time? A blonde with sexy eyes and too many door keys? A girl from Manhattan, Kansas? I don’t know. All I know is that something isn’t what it seems and the old tired but always reliable hunch tells me that if the hand is played the way it is dealt the wrong person is going to lose the pot. Is that any of my business? Well, what is my business? Do I know? Did I ever know? Let’s not go into that. You’re not human tonight, Marlowe. Maybe I never was or ever will be. Maybe I’m an ectoplasm with a private license. Maybe we all get like this in the cold half-lit world where always the wrong thing happens and never the right.

– Raymond Chandler, The Little Sister (NY 1941)

Noir Poets: Tupac Shakur

March 1997 Amin and Bunlay (Grade 7/8) Bonaventure Meadows Public School London, Ontario, Canada

California Love (1995)

Out on bail fresh outta jail, California dreamin
Soon as I stepped on the scene, I’m hearin hoochies screamin
Fiendin for money and alcohol
the life of a west side playa where cowards die and its all ball
Only in Cali where we riot not rally to live and die
In L.A. we wearin Chucks not Ballies (that’s right)
Dressed in Locs and khaki suits and ride is what we do
Flossin but have caution we collide with other crews
Famous cause we program worldwide
Let’em recognize from Long Beach to Rosecrans
Bumpin and grindin like a slow jam, it’s west side
So you know the row won’t bow down to no man
Say what you say
But give me that bomb beat from Dre
Let me serenade the streets of L.A.
From Oakland to Sacktown
The Bay Area and back down
Cali is where they put they mack down
Give me love!

Noir Poets: The Judas Cradle

When I Was Little I Used to Write Letters to God

I’ll die with this pen in my hand if I have to
I will not call out your name one more time
Destroy everything and set fire to every lie has ever been told to you
So lets dance tonight and leave this world to burn
It only takes five fingers to make a fist
I will not pray for dreams to come true or spend more days on my knees in search of you
This is my life and I take back everything I have ever asked for
I’ll burn myself clean
You were never right and I was never wrong
I have no time for heroes and no space for saviors

– The Judas Cradle (2004)

Noir Poets: Lyle Lovett

Promises (1996)

Promises given
And promises broken
Words stain my lips
Just like blood on my hands

And words are like poison
That sinks down inside you
And some things you do
You just don’t understand

I offer no reason
I ask for no pity
I make no excuse
For the way that I am

And words are like poison
That sinks down inside you
And some things you do
You just don’t understand

If God is my witness
Then God is my savior
But if you are my judge
Then I’m already damned

And words are like poison
That sinks down inside you
And some things you do
You just don’t understand

And would if my fingers
To cut off and give you
Could gain my redemption
I’d cut off my hands

But words are like poison
That bends you and blinds you
And some things you do
You just don’t understand

So this is my story
And I hope that it finds you
For your sweet attention
I cannot demand

And words are like poison
That lives down inside you
And some things you do
You just don’t understand

Noir Poets: Johnny Cash

In Your Mind

In your mind, in your mind
One foot on Jacob’s ladder
And one foot in the fire
And it all goes down in your mind

Living at the bottom of the stairs in your life
Never a smile knocking on your door
The air is blue and so are you
Prehistoric monsters on the floor

Last verse of your last song
And God don’t hear dead men
The end of the line is in your mind
And you’ll be staying in

In your mind, in your mind
Bone for bone and skin for skin
Eye for eye and tooth for tooth
Heart for heart and soul for soul
Somebody said what is true

Lock it up and close it down
The sound of morning like a dove
High beyond the rattle and roar
Look into the face of love

In your mind, in your mind
One foot on Jacob’s ladder
And one foot in the fire
And it all goes down in your mind

In your mind, in your mind
Sunday words are back again
And you’ll eat your fun of the middleman’s pie
But just a piece you understand
You’ll get the rest up in the sky

Praise and glory, wounded angel
Shuffling round the room
Eternity is down the hall
And you sit there bending spoons
In your mind, in your mind
Father, son and holy ghost
Sacrificial drops the pain
On a silver planet cross
Sanctification on a chain

They say redemption draws knives
Storms of silence from above
Stop your ears close your eyes
Try to find the face of love

In your mind, in your mind
One foot on Jacob’s ladder
And one foot in the fire
And it all goes down in your mind

________________________________________
Johnny Cash (1995) Song of Cash, Inc (ASCAP)

Noir Poets: Raymond Chandler

It got darker. I thought; and thought in my mind moved with a kind of sluggish stealthiness, as if it was being watched by bitter and sadistic eyes. I thought of dead eyes looking at a moonless sky, with black blood at the corners of the mouths beneath them. I thought of nasty old women beaten to death against the posts of their dirty beds. I thought of a man with bright blond hair who was afraid and didn’t quite know what he was afraid of, who was sensitive enough to know that something was wrong, and too vain or too dull to guess what it was that was wrong. I thought of beautiful rich women who could be had. I thought of nice slim curious girls who lived alone and could be had too, in a different way. I thought of cops, tough cops that could be greased and yet were not by any means all bad, like Hemingway. Fat prosperous cops with Chamber of Commerce voices, like Chief Wax. Slim, smart and deadly cops like Randall, who for all their smartness and deadliness were not free to do a clean job in a clean way. I thought of sour old goats like Nulty who had given up trying. I though of Indians and psychics and dope doctors.

Raymond Chandler, Farewell, My Lovely, 1940, ch.34 par.3

Noir Poets: Jack Kerouac

I stayed in San Francisco a week and had the beatest time of my life… I stopped, frozen with ecstasy on the sidewalk. I looked down Market Street. I didn’t know whether it was that or Canal Street in New Orleans: it led to water, ambiguous, universal water, just as 42nd Street, New York, leads to water, and you never know where you are… And for just a moment I had reached the point of ecstasy that I always wanted to reach, which was the complete step across chronological time into timeless shadows, and wonderment in the bleakness of the mortal realm, and the sensation of death kicking at my heels to move on, with a phantom dogging its own heels, and myself hurrying to a plank where all the angels dove off and flew into the holy void of uncreated emptiness, the potent and inconceivable radiancies shining in bright Mind Essence, innumerable lotuslands falling open in the magic mothswarm of heaven. I could hear an indescribable seething roar which wasn’t in my ear but everywhere and had nothing to do with sounds. I realized that I had died and been reborn numberless times but just didn’t remember especially because the transitions from life to death and back to life are so ghostly easy, a magical action for naught, like falling asleep and waking up again a million times, the utter casualness and deep ignorance of it. I realized it was only because of the stability of the intrinsic Mind that these ripples of birth and death took place, like the action of wind on a sheet of pure, serene, mirror-like water. I felt sweet, swinging bliss, like a big shot of heroin in the mainline vein; like a gulp of wine late in the afternoon and it makes you shudder; my feet tingled. I thought I was going to die the very next moment. But I didn’t die, and walked four miles and picked up ten long butts and took them back to Marylou’s hotel room and poured their tobacco in my old pipe and lit up. I was too young to know what had happened.

On The Road, 1957

Noir Poets: Bob Dylan

Not Dark Yet

Shadows are falling and I’ve been here all day
It’s too hot to sleep, time is running away
Feel like my soul has turned into steel
I’ve still got the scars that the sun didn’t heal
There’s not even room enough to be anywhere
It’s not dark yet, but it’s getting there

Well, my sense of humanity has gone down the drain
Behind every beautiful thing there’s been some kind of pain
She wrote me a letter and she wrote it so kind
She put down in writing what was in her mind
I just don’t see why I should even care
It’s not dark yet, but it’s getting there

Well, I’ve been to London and I’ve been to gay Paree
I’ve followed the river and I got to the sea
I’ve been down on the bottom of a world full of lies
I ain’t looking for nothing in anyone’s eyes
Sometimes my burden seems more than I can bear
It’s not dark yet, but it’s getting there

I was born here and I’ll die here against my will
I know it looks like I’m moving, but I’m standing still
Every nerve in my body is so vacant and numb
I can’t even remember what it was I came here to get away from
Don’t even hear a murmur of a prayer
It’s not dark yet, but it’s getting there

Copyright © 1997 by Special Rider Music