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Ben Nuttall-Smith
- Male
- Crescent Beach, B.C.
- Canada
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Profile Information
- Relationship Status:
- Single
- About Me:
- Ben Nuttall-Smith taught Music, Theatre, Art, and Language until he retired in 1991. He now lives in Crescent Beach, near Vancouver B.C., where he writes, paints, makes music, and travels with his best friend and soulmate.
A member of the Canadian Authors’ Association, the Federation of British
Columbia Writers and the Canadian Poetry Association, Ben has published a memoir entitled “The Chameleon Sings” Surviving and Healing from Childhood Sexual Abuse and two books of poetry “Word Painting” and “Splashes of Light”. His current projects include an historical novel about Quétzalcoatl of the Toltecs in the Tenth Century, “Flying With White Eagle” – story of a West Coast bush pilot, and “Run Skinny Run” – rewrite of his memoir from a different angle
- Website:
- http://BenNuttall-Smith.ca
- Favorite Books:
- Leonard Cohen – Book of Longing, Patrick Taylor – An Irish Country Doctor, Guy Vanderhaeghe – The Last Crossing, Frank McCourt – Angela's Ashes & 'Tis, Patrick Lane – There is a Season, ... only to name a few.
- Favorite Canadian Authors:
- Guy Vanderhaeghe, Patrick Lane, Michael Ondaatje, Anthony Dalton, Leonard Cohen and many others.
- Favorite TV Shows:
- CBC News,
my world
i want to grow up in a world
where little birds nest in the trees,
i want to feel the breeze
and taste the cool clean air
i want to walk down by the river,
see the moon among the ripples,
count the stars and smell wild flowers
and know i'm free.
all my neighbours would be friendly;
they'd be white and brown and black,
and i'd know each name
and show them that i care,
i want my children to be happy
and my children's children too;
i need to know they'll laugh and sing
and cry like me.
in that world we'd fight all wars
around a table in a hall
with wooden soldiers and lead sailors in a line.
and then the losers and the winners
would invite us all to dinners
where we'd cheer the referee,
a child of nine.
what a world this world would be
where i'd need you and you'd need me
and every one we met would smile
and call us "friend",
if we hurry, we'll just make it,
change the world before they break it
call for love and bring the madness to an end.
i want to grow up in a world
where little birds nest in the trees,
i want to feel the breeze
and taste the cool clean air
i want to walk down by the river,
see the moon among the ripples,
count the stars and smell wild flowers
and know i'm free.
all my neighbours would be friendly;
they'd be white and brown and black,
and i'd know each name
and show them that i care,
i want my children to be happy
and my children's children too;
i need to know they'll laugh and sing
and cry like me.
in that world we'd fight all wars
around a table in a hall
with wooden soldiers and lead sailors in a line.
and then the losers and the winners
would invite us all to dinners
where we'd cheer the referee,
a child of nine.
what a world this world would be
where i'd need you and you'd need me
and every one we met would smile
and call us "friend",
if we hurry, we'll just make it,
change the world before they break it
call for love and bring the madness to an end.
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Tiny birds flutter rock-brown hills,
grape-stacked boxes promise sweet mascatel
beneath robin-egg sky, by flowered bushes,
along this dusty road to the murmuring sea.
Ten minutes walk below, frothy lines purr
along the rocky shore. Today we stroll
the yellow sand, snap blue-domed chapels
and white cubes among the scatterings
Thick palms, pink blossoms, brown goats graze tufts
sundried hay on stony hills beside our parasol.
*****
My body language wont speak Greek
Yes is NAH, my head shakes NO
NO is OKHEE - I nod affirmative.
Cant control reflexes of life-learned speech.
ATHENS HOTEL - September 8-9
What could be louder than an Athens hotel room at two a.m.?
Shouts, clacking horns, motorcycles, busses,
a rattling air-conditioner.
By eight, laundry flutters midst satellite dishes,
antennae, potted greenery, and shirtless men
sipping coffee on cluttered balconies.
More voices join the babble on the street below.
\In the lobby, Frank Snatra croons
through cellphone chatter, and
clik-clak of tiny wheels on tile.
Scam Artists
French "tourist" approaches, map in hand,
"Monsieur, vous parlez francais?"
Why me, a tourist obviously?
Of course, I answer, "Oui."
Accomplices cruise in from side and rear.
Margot yells me from my kindness.
Bye for now. Ben and Margot. enjoying fish, wine, uzo, grapes, and everything.
Margot and I are off to Greece and Italy for inspiration. I have cast my lines into the sea of contests and look forward to meeting an agent and/or publisher at the Surrey International Writers Conference upon our return. I have a three YA book series and a memoir to pitch. Blood, Feathers and Holy Men is historical fiction 10th Century. My memoir is Run Skinny run – Surviving and Healing from Childhood Sexual Abuse. In the interim, I'll concentrate on poetry and painting. Cheers.