Calling all booklovers: beautiful bookstores

Here's an idea:  visiting these cities just to check out their bookstores.  Another dream for the dreamshelf... sigh!

After the Mountain: The A.M. Klein Reboot Project

One of my poems got into this lovely Snare Books chapbook anthology put together last November by poet and Concordia prof Jason Camlot to celebrate the launch of a new collection of essays, Failure’s Opposite: Listening to A.M. Klein, co-edited by Norman Ravvin and Sherry Simon (McGill-Queen’s UP, 2011).

In his call for contributions, Camlot wrote, "We invite reboots, remixes, rewrites and creative translations of A.M. Klein’s iconic poem, 'The Mountain'"  He went on to describe what reboots, etc. are:

The Reboot genre takes an iconic text or serial narrative and restarts its operating system from the beginning, in order to create something completely new, yet still affiliated with the original text. The Remix most commonly refers to an alternate version of a recorded song, giving new sound, accent, tempo and meaning to the original version. Creative Translation refers to the translation of a text into new terms of reference and situations of meaning, as well as a different language.

The call went out on Oct. 28, 2011 with a deadline of Nov. 15.  A remarkable number of poets responded, though -- the list, scanned from the back cover, can be seen to the left -- and what they came up with in such a short time is impressive indeed.  Nearly all of them sincerely heeded the call, engaging with the poem, feeling it out, entering its world and selecting choice elements, or dismantling and reconstructing it in cohesive recombinations that could well have been original poems, integral unto themselves.

Confession: I was one of those (and I suspect only one other) who didn't go through that process. 

For me the call came as a particularly amazing bit of synchronicity. Just the week previously, I had completed my own poem, "Mountain", as a part of a sequence on our apartment and neighbourhood which will appear in my own forthcoming collection (I've been living within view of Montreal's mountain for more than twenty years.) I had no idea at the time that Klein had written about the selfsame mountain -- and in a way, I'm glad I didn't, because had I been aware of his poem, I doubt could have composed my own as I did. The coincidence, though, was quite compelling.  As if the local zeitgeist had suddenly reared its head with poetry on Mont Royal in its mind...

As it is the two poems -- mine and his -- do bear some extraordinary resemblances. The first line in both highlight the cross -- in Klein's poem, "Who knows it only by the famous cross which bleeds/into fifty miles of night its light" -- and both emphasize the mountain's looming ancientness. 

Beyond that, as could be expected, the poems take quite different directions. 

Since this chapbook only circulated some 125 hand-numbered copies, I take the liberty to reproduce my poem here. (I notice fellow contributers Abby Paige and Stephen Morrissey have done likewise on their blogs.)

MOUNTAIN

We’ve placed a cross on your shoulder,
transmission tower,
spindly flag.

We’ve tunneled through you,
necklaced you with roads, paths
apartments, mansions clutching
like pearls at your throat.

You who came thrusting
forth in ancient storm of magma,
who rose
earthen breast, back
primordial.

Now the city gathers round,
temples, spires
obeisant to your deep bass voice—
but freeways, office buildings, industrial parks
oblivious.

We live beside you in tiny flats
watch ghostly screens,
eat, recline,
groom ourselves for the daily backandforth
don leather
for nights in halogen town.

Still—certain hours—you block the sun:
chilled by your encroaching gloom,
we peer from windows, terraces, to see you
throw off our ropes and stays, to loom.

An intelligent use of pathetic fallacy

Robert Bly
_____________________________

What Things Want


You have to let things
Occupy their own space.
This room is small,
But the green settee

Likes to be here.
The big marsh reeds,
Crowding out the slough,
Find the world good.

You have to let things
Be as they are.
Who knows which of us
Deserves the world more?

Between Page and Screen

A fascinating new format for poetry...

"The Second Fallacy"

C.Dale Young has an excellent poem up at The Chronicle of Higher Education.  The commentary is well worth reading too...

Adonis

A friend forwarded a link to an article about this very interesting, and quite certainly great Syrian poet...

On the strength of this tiny excerpt of his writing in translation -- spectacularly vatic! and so different from anything I encounter these days in English -- I decided to order his Selected.  


The Edge of the World [excerpt]   

      I release the earth and I imprison the skies.  I fall down in order to stay faithful to
the light, in order to make the world ambiguous, fascinating, changeable, dangerous, in
order to announce the steps beyond.
     The blood of the gods is still fresh on my clothes.  A seagull's scream echoes
through my pages.  Let me just pack up my words and leave.

White Collar

A poem of mine is included in The White Collar Book:  Poetry and Prose of Canadian Business Life (edited by Bruce & Carolyn Meyer, Black Moss Press), which appeared on bookstands (virtual and real) just before Christmas.  I cracked it open over the holidays, and found it an enjoyable and engaging read.  Included here are fine poems by contemporaries such as Brian Bartlett, Marilyn Bowering, April Bulmer, Bill Howell, Raymond Souster, Robert Sward, and Priscilla Uppal; a stand-out story by Barry Callaghan, an intriguing and suggestive e-mail exchange by Steven Heighton, plus choice selections culled from the archives of Canadian letters – “My Financial Career” by Stephen Leacock, “The Stenographers” by PK Page, “Five Percent” by Robert Service, and “Annual Banquet: Chambre de Commerce” by AM Klein.  Needless to say, it gladdens me to be included in this company. One eyebrow-raising aspect of the collection is that its foreword is written by none other than Conrad Black – and a humble, well-written piece of prose it is, quite free of his usual overbearing prolixity.

My own contribution to the collection is a dark and brooding pantoum – not strictly autobiographical, although I’ve definitely been through psychological periods like this.  With its two-steps-forward, two-steps-back pattern (the second and fourth line of each stanza becomes the first and third line of each succeeding stanza), the pantoum is such an apt form to express the state of being stuck.    

PANTOUM OF A HIRED MAN

He woke to dawn’s grey tombstone light.

Faces he met that day were a blur.

Each day seemed like any other:

A fidging of channels, all the same. 

Faces he met that day were a blur:

If they said hello, he said hello back.

Fidging of channels it was, all the same. 

Riding on subways, he felt like a number.

If they said hello, he said hello back:

If they asked him how he was, he said, “I feel fine.”

But riding on subways, he felt like a number.

If he showed up or didn’t, it didn’t really matter.

If they asked him how he was, he said, “I feel fine.”

And the wife was good, the kids were great,

But if he showed up or didn’t, it didn’t really matter:

Within him, a strife he could not define.

And the wife was good, the kids were great.

When he wandered into rooms, he wondered why,

Within him a strife he could not define.

All was decided: no need to complain.

When he wandered into rooms, he wondered why.

She was there, they were there; pleasure, and laughter.

All was decided: no need to complain.

He had his papers and tasks, so what was he after?

She was there, they were there, and pleasure, and laughter,

But words like “drag” and “heartache” came quickly to mind.

He had his papers and tasks, so what was he after?

This too would prove hard – oh, so hard – to define.

Words like “drag” and “heartache” came quickly to mind.

Each day seemed like every single other.

Faces he met were always a blur

   As dawn dimmed to dusk: grey tombstone light.

A sidenote:  in earlier drafts line four was “a switching of channels, all the same” – a dull note that never really satisfied, that made the whole poem feel inchoate.  Just tweaking that to the unusual “fidging” seemed to sharpen the poem’s focus, clarify its angst, make it feel finished.

Certain funky aspects of this collection will stretch and challenge some readers' expectations. It’s fair to say that for most of us, the term “white collar” conjures up notions of “office land” – that gauzy realm of work cubicles and corner offices, administrivia, pecking orders, board meetings, and the like.  As per this Wikipedia definition. Most of the works in White Collar deal with just that – but others (including some of the best in the collection) are written about or from the point of view of an ultrasound technician, a foot doctor for the homeless, a GP, a dentist, a creative writing teacher, a piano teacher. Hmm.  Even teaching – is it really white collar work?  When our work overlaps with the office – attendance, marks submission time – it does take on that quality. So, too, with those interminable meetings.  Most teachers I’ve asked, though, find it hard to think of themselves as “white collar workers” per se. Open collar, perhaps?  A profession nearly as old as the notorious “oldest profession”, for most of the last two millennia, it’s been definitely black collar, as in the distinction between “town” and “gown”.  In the broadest definition, I suppose, anything not strictly “blue” could be considered white collar, including a surgeon in his scrubs.  

One poem, Seymour Mayne’s “For the Dentist Who Extracted My Last Wisdom Tooth” gave me pause: does it really belong here? Another – H. Masoud Taj’s “The Domain of the Inbetween” – is a lengthy meditation on the metaphysics of structures: dwellings, walls and the like. One could say that these evoke the psychological/spiritual underpinnings of white collar work. Inclusions such as these do serve, nevertheless, to make White Collar a varied and refreshing read.    

"Parquet" and "Parlons Francais"

Two of my poems appear in the most recent issue of Poetry Quebec.

Montreal: League of Poets Benefit reading/party

This Sunday December 18th, the Words & Music Show presents a special performance and party featuring 16 poets from the League of Canadian Poets, as well as music by Maica Mia, and more.
The evening will present work from a Who's Who of the Montreal poetry scene, including:

Fortner Anderson
Rebecca Banks
Maxianne Berger
Jennifer Boire
Brian Campbell
Endre Farkas
Charlotte Hussey
Catherine Kidd
Nancy R. Lange
Julie Mahfood
Lesley Pasquin
Elizabeth Robert
Bryan Sentes
Carolyn Marie Souaid
Heather Grace Stewart
Vincent Tinguely

It all takes place at the
Casa del Popolo (performance space)
4873 St-Laurent (walk in past the bar and 1st door to your left) Sunday December 18th Doors open 8PM; show starts 9
$5

The Words & Music Show is hosted by poet/performer Ian Ferrier. It is sponsored by the Canada Council for the Arts, the Quebec Writers' Federation, CKUT 90.3FM and Wired on Words Productions.

For more information, write to the
poets@wiredonwords,com

Hassane Amraoui

L'arc-en-ciel du désert, Hassane Amraoui

A weak and disappointing presidency

The president is fond of referring to “the arc of history,” paraphrasing the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s famous statement that “the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” But with his deep-seated aversion to conflict and his profound failure to understand bully dynamics — in which conciliation is always the wrong course of action, because bullies perceive it as weakness and just punch harder the next time — he has broken that arc and has likely bent it backward for at least a generation.

And in today's Globe and Mail, another insightful forensic article...

RIP Willard Eldrin Campbell



Dad et moi...



March 6, 1924-August 11, 2011

Passed away last week at Sunnybrook Veterans’ Hospital after a lengthy struggle with Alzheimer’s. Born and raised in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, Willard later moved to Toronto, where he settled and raised his family. In his life he had been a farm hand, a factory worker, a writer, a World War II veteran, trade unionist, mature university student, school teacher and school librarian. He is survived by his loving wife Celia, son Brian, daughter Bonnie Wilson, and grandsons Thomas and Jonathan Wilson. He will be cherished in their memory as a peaceful and compassionate man, insightful and idealistic, with a gentle sense of humour and keen interest in politics and the arts, especially literature and poetry. He enjoyed music of all kinds – classical, jazz, folk, pop – and was frequently humming a tune. His children in particular owe to him their love of literature, music, and the world of ideas. His rich and inspiring life was commemorated in a private service.
　
Heartfelt thanks to the dedicated staff at K3 Sunnybrook Veterans’ Hospital for their years of care and support. In lieu of flowers, please consider making a donation to the Alzheimer Society of Canada.

-- Obituary, Globe & Mail

Citizenship Study Misguide

There's an excellent article by Stephen Henighan in Geist on the increased militarism and blatant right-wing revisionism in the most recent edition of Discover Canada: The Rights and Responsibilities of Citizenship, otherwise known as the Citizenship Guide, the booklet that introduces immigrants to Canada.  I was similarly creeped out by it when I last looked at it, in January.  (It's interesting to know what my immigrant students have to study to become citizens.) Other highlights Henighan points out: Medicare is bypassed in a fleeting reference to the Canada Health Act; Tommy Douglas isn't mentioned; the CBC, government aid agencies like CUSO and CIDA, the right to unionize, gay and lesbian rights also vanish. The only two waves of political refugees mentioned are Hungarians who "escaped Soviet tyranny" in 1957 and Vietnamese who "fled from Communism" after 1975, ignoring, of course, the thousands of refugees who fled military dictatorships in Latin America in the '70s and '80s.

As I point out in my comment to the article, the arts are as underemphasized as the military is over-emphasized in the guide – on the one page dealing with Canadian culture, some literary names are mentioned, but all those pictured on the page are sports figures. The only performing artists pictured in the whole guide are an anonymous Prince Edward Island fiddler, and in another small picture, a bagpiper and congo drummer in an open-air market. There is one poem quoted in full in the guide: John McRae's simultaneously magnificent and sanctimonious elegy, "In Flander's Fields". Plus, of course, our National Anthem and God Save the Queen.

Consider the cover of the guide: two pudgy Canadians paddling on the Rideau Canal with the Parliament Buildings behind them, who, in their identical red life jackets and yellow baseball caps, bring to mind the Mackenzie brothers. Other images: the Canadarm (yup! always of service to our big neighbors to the south), a bemedalled veteran, a moose, tulips in front of the parliament buildings, a maple leaf, an altar piece bearing a crucifix (National Assembly of Quebec? not sure here).

As if that’s not enough, the Conservative government has also beefed up the presence of the military in the citizenship ceremony, with members of the military seated on the platform with the presiding judge, standing in the receiving line congratulating the new citizens, even giving a two to three-minute speech.

Overall, the portrayal of our culture in the Guide is not only out-and-out militaristic, but almost unendurably bland…and gives the lie to the Canada I know well.

James Tate: The Book of Lies

The Book of Lies

I’d like to have a word
with you. Could we be alone
for a minute? I have been lying
until now. Do you believe

I believe myself? Do you believe
yourself when you believe me? Lying
is natural. Forgive me. Could we be alone
forever? Forgive us all. The word is

my enemy. I have never been alone;
bribes, betrayals. I am lying
even now. Can you believe
that? I give you my word.

–James Tate

News

A poem of mine has been accepted for Mind Your Own Business: Canadian Poetry and Prose of the White Collar World, an anthology edited by Bruce Meyer to be published this fall by Black Moss Press.  Not that I've spent a lot of time in offices where white collar work is done -- just enough, it seems, to write a convincing poem about a certain cipher who does.  It's called "Pantoum for a Hired Man". The pantoum, with all its reinforced recapitulation -- such a good form for evoking being stuck.

Art too Easy

Here's a contoversial article by Raphael Bendahan in Toronto's Now Magazine about the malaise of contemporary art. Bendahan's chapbook, Sit Up, has recently been published by Sky of Ink Press -- more about that later.  My own take?  I agree with both RB as well as most of the critical comments pasted below the article.  The article is intended as a polemic, to provoke readers (and artists) out of today's complacent and overly polite malaise into a (hopefully) constructive and consciousness-raising conversation.  (Now actually asked for a rant.) RB is fully aware (I've talked with him about it) that there are exciting exceptions to his thesis about contemporary art -- and that what is exciting is always exceptional, even rare. I've also told him that the same article with slight variations could have been written in the 50's or the 20's.  As Stephen Pinker points out, though, it is our bias is to react to general observations as if they are meant to apply to every last case -- and, of course, to over-react as a consequence.  

Goethe: Symbolism vs. Allegory

There is a great difference, whether the poet seeks the particular for the sake of the general or sees the general in the particular. From the former procedure there ensues allegory, in which the particular serves only as illustration, as example of the general. The latter procedure, however, is genuinely the nature of poetry; it expresses something particular, without thinking of the general or pointing to it.

Allegory transforms the phenomenon into a concept, the concept into an image, but in such a way that the concept always remains bounded in the image, and is entirely to be kept and held in it, and to be expressed by it.

Symbolism . . . transforms the phenomenon into idea, the idea into an image, and in such a way that the idea remains always infinitely active and unapproachable in the image, and even if expressed in all languages, still would remain inexpressible.

--Goethe, Maxims and Reflections

News

Two prose poems from Passenger Flight with French translations by poets Nancy Lange and Véronique Gagnon are forthcoming in Brèves littéraires, the journal of the Société Litteraire de Laval. 

An Unremitting Eye

My review of Steven Heighton's fifth poetry collection, Patient Frame, is up at The Rover.  A book I highly recommend, by the way.

The fresh phrase here is "Global Weirding".