Lac Connelly -- another angle

Lac Connelly was the place of my "poetic rebirth" (at least, I like to think of it that way). We last came up here four years ago. Just days before that last trip, I bought a used laptop. I went there with the intention to write. I did write a lot of journal stuff, and ... a few poems. What was significant to me was that I reconnected with a poetic voice that had been pretty well dormant during more than ten years of artistic focus on music, songwriting and recording. But my feelings about Lac Connelly are rather more complex than the idyllic impressions I gave in the last two posts.

We first visited my friends' cottage in March or April when there was still snow on the ground, and it looked like the picture I've been drawing -- the idyllic retreat. But it turns out that we were not aware (nor made aware) of one drawback that becomes pretty damned obvious during just one day spent here in the summer: that is, there are a lot of cottages, and a lot of boats. Above is a picture taken along the shore from the front of the cottage: the blue boat in the foreground is the next door neighbour's, and so on down the line. (My friends, to their credit, don't possess a motor boat.) Lac Connelly is only about an hour north of Montreal, so a lot of people don't come here to to get away from it all, but to bring it all with them. Quite a number of the neighbours live in them all year round, and commute. Their idea of fun is to get into a car on the water (otherwise known as speedboat) and drive. At times, in front of our humble retreat, there would be as many as ten or twelve boats in the water, including speedboats trailing waterskiers, seadoos, platform boats with bikini parties that looked for all the world like a 1980's beer commercial, etc. At times the noise was like a dozen or so lawnmowers on the water. Forget about swimming or canoeing with those wakes! After an intensive six weeks of teaching English Second Language immersion, my jangled nerves took considerable exception. This is the poem that resulted. Three years later it got printed along with two other poems in Prairie Fire (Spring, 2006).


LAC CONNELLY

motorboat roar
radio chatter

stillness we have always sought

septic tank quoosh
fridge motor klick
cleek clak wrrrr

slow thrum of heart
in waters of origin

speed-smeared highway a streaked grey funnel
veering, swerving, squreeling tire rubber

oooooooweeeoooooweeeoooo loon across water
crickets'
layered veeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

listen! engines now chainsaw bizzzzing
engines now bizzzzzzzzzzzz on the waters

but warblers are beyond the name of warbler
they are tswee tswee tswee soo soo-soo tswee tswee
aural whisps of breeze...

"among blaring newspapers
& thundering combustion
contemplatives are lost!"

rocks impervious
waters lap round
rocks impervious
waters lap round


********

Four years later, we came back. The reasons?

Well, despite everything, it is beautiful. The two following summers we rented a cottage (also through friends) that was truly an idyllic "get away from it all", but it was pretty far north -- near Mount Laurier, about 5 hours drive north of Montreal -- and the last August we went there, it got cold (like near freezing). During the intervening years, we got closer to the friends who rented us the cottage. This time, we took the disruptions in stride, and during the weekdays it was pretty quiet. And we did get some good writing done.

By the way, a number of other Quebec writers have spent productive time here, including Jose Acquelin.