Canadian Poetry Association association canadienne de la poesie
"The Ruse" Oil on Panel 24" x 18" Duncan Regehr, RCA www.duncanregehr.com
Poemata
CANADA’S NATIONAL POETRY ORGANIZATION
“In Silence” I hear time passing, as a rose unfurls, dew slips off a leaf and birdsong changes shape. In silence too I feel the child within me blowing bubbles. Joyce Goodwin
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In Memory: Ted Plantos and Gilda Mekler Featured ‘Cover Artist’ Duncan Regehr CPA Poetry Contest Winners & HM’s Article ‘Writing for Children’ by Naseem Hrab Poem by Carol Desjarlais New Members - Our Featured Poets Article ‘Power of Words’ by Lini R. Grol Poetry by David Fraser and D. Allard Poetry by Katie M. Flaherty and Bernice Lever Article ‘Poets Against War’ by Sandra Stephenson Poem by Duncan Regehr Letters & Announcements Article ‘Oh, Yeah! Resolution’ by Abeer Khan Poem by David Fraser Reviews by Alan Brown and T. Van den Akkler Kuhne Spoken Word Evenings & SBA Winner 2006 Poetry by Duncan Regehr, David Fraser, Lini Grol and Brian Stevens Moncton Chapter FlatSigned Competition Winners FlatSigned Winning Poems 11 REASONS to read poetry Message from Poemata Committee and poem by Mark Gorman Chapter info and Poems by Darlene Spong Henderson and Mark Gorman CPA Executives and Coordinators, AIMS, Membership Form and Contact Info
Poemata
“Here's Looking at Bogie, Sweetheart” Bogie's my man, Sweetheart Now take it & like it & if you don't like it, I'll fondle my own ear lobe I suppose you'll say like Captain Renault in Casablanca, You're a rank sentimentalist But as time goes by, you'll see... the harder the shell the softer the heart That's what makes Bogie Bogie Moral ambiguity on a tough face There's hostile forces everywhere, Kid, & you need the wit of a Rick or Sam Spade to torpedo your way through like the African Queen It all began at the Black Mesa Filling Station & Bar-B-Q I'd just ordered ham & petrified eggs when Duke Mantee put a gun to my head I swung around on the stool expecting to see Bette Davis eyes, but saw puffed-up despair instead, & I said, I've killed men for looking at me like that Duke snarled back, Who'd you expect, Shirley Temple? "Rocks" Diamond is my man, Angel So's Chips Maguire & Roy "Mad Dog" Earle Three cheap hoodlums who hang around hotel lobbies with heaters in their clothes These guys don't slap so good in the evening, but they all know how to whistle They just put their lips together & blow Philip Marlowe & me are like two hills of beans, Angel & neither of us look like a pekinese that sits on people's laps while they're standing up It comes to me like a photograph against the eyelids I was wearing a trench coat the night I met Bogie We stopped on a rainy street to light each other's cigarette Bogie scowled in the headlights of cars with black & white windshields & said, Quit your stalling & stop biting your thumb I took the thumb from my mouth & Bogie flipped a coin into my hand as if to say Here, Pal, buy yourself a cigar Now you're wise to where I was last night in the rain, Sweetheart I was with a private dick on a public street We went to the Blue Parrot Bar & swapped shots between drinks & drinks between shots
Bogie liked his rye with more rocks than San Quentin He chased it down with a martini while I had a double Shirley Temple & a straw I tapped Bogie's glass with mine & said, Here's to plain talking I'm a man who likes talking to a man who likes talking But he warned me, People lose teeth talking like that So I asked him, Do you want me to learn how to stutter? No, he said, just stop talking like a sap It looked like the beginning of a beautiful friendship when Bogie confessed, A private dick is just a guy who's paid to do other people's laundry This stuff about people's laundry didn't wash with me I wanted to know why a private dick came so cheap Only twenty-five dollars a day & expenses I don't object to a parasite I just object to a cut-rate one Bogie squinted from the smoke that closed his eyes until they were the size of the olives in his martini I sipped hard on my fifth Shirley Temple but the suction made my dimples cave-in, & my jaw just collapsed on the bar That's when Bogie said, Don't go simple on me But I complained Of all the Shirley Temple joints in all the towns in all the world, I have to lose my dimples here Ted Plantos This and other poems can be found in the book Mosquito Nirvana, Wolsak and Wynn, 1993.
Dear James, On behalf of the Canadian Poetry Association and poetry everywhere we offer our deepest sympathy to you and your family on the loss of your wife Gilda. a SMILE, a TOUCH, a gentle laugh REMEMBERED a voice softly WHISPERED in the wind… may the memories held deep within your heart help soothe your spirit at this time
forever in poetry, Donna Allard CPA President
Poemata
Featured Cover Artist Duncan Regehr Please visit Mr. Regehr's website to see more of his artwork: http://www.duncanregehr.com
"Quill VI" Ink on Paper 24" x18" Š Duncan Regehr 2003
"Feathers"
DUNCAN REGEHR, RCA
Between the corner and the window where your wings lie on the floor there is a gap of sleeping atmosphere no dust plays, no molecules stir
Duncan Regehr was born in Alberta and raised in Victoria, Canada. As a child he was encouraged by his father, artist Peter Regehr, to develop his talents. He later studied painting with Dutch Surrealist, Henry Poesiat, as well as literature, psychology and sociology at Camosun College on Vancouver Island.
it is naked it holds absence I have stroked the wings, lifted them turned them over to study the shyest feathers rolled the down of soft protection in my fingers spanned the strength of quills that bind then gently re-settled the wings exactly as they were before I am a foreign substance here an unaccountable disturbance to this weightless place that waits for density, for reckoning to occur I will watch the naked place as if it was a nest Scan from corner to the window to sense the faintest vibration the ripple of thought that wakes the sleeping air you will not arrive before your space is born Duncan Regehr
He first exhibited in 1974 at the Stratford Festival in Ontario. The following year he showed at the Yorkville Art Center in Toronto. In 1980 he traveled to California where he began to develop his work in film and from 1986 to the present has continued to paint, write and film throughout the world. Numerous exhibitions in Canada, The United States, Britain and Europe have attracted the attention of museums, critics and the public. Duncan Regehr's work is found in important collections worldwide, including The Smithsonian Institute (USA), The Jilin Collection (China), The Kunsthallen (Copenhagen), Focus on Masters Ventura Archives for the J Paul Getty Museum (USA), The Syllavethy Collection of Scotland (GB), and several more. His automonograph, "The Dragon's Eye: An Artist's View" received international acclaim and was lauded by art critics and literary reviewers for its visual and poetic excellence. In 1996 Regehr won the American Vision Award of Distinction In The Arts, and, in the year 2000 he was granted the lifetime appellation, ‘Royal Canadian Artist' with honours, by the Queen's Governor General and The Royal Canadian Academy of Art for his outstanding artistic achievements. Duncan Regehr lives and works out of studios in Canada and the US. Please visit his website to view more of his art: http://www.duncanregehr.com.
Poemata 2006 Canadian Poetry Association Poetry Award Winners
war musket grasses Donna Allard
Julio’s Pencil Debbie Okun Hill
I see no soldier’s uniform as I walk along these shores but I do see the red blood cliffs and musket grasses and dry puzzle clay remnants but I have yet put all the pieces together to see the whole picture when the English and French bore arms for this Bay a little known fact told me by a local a few weeks ago he said to follow the water trails or streams with one of those magnetic things and see what the past will bring forward, he said many have found muskets beneath the red clay graves instead I prefer to walk, feel the clay between my toes get my jeans red with the dye so I can at least feel some connection with the soldiers who walked these trails
at my desk I hear you scratching like a rodent trapped between two walls, paper thin blackboard dust, chalk ghost telepathic cry from foreign land loose leaf, your whispers escaping through windows without glass thin shudders shuttering rusty screens screaming in Monte Bonito your home near Santiago a place where tourists fly in, pass by ignore your hunger ignore your pain
now cattle and a few horses roam here in the Fundy sun safe and secure they keep a watchful eye on me and I wonder if the stories were ever passed down to their newborn, I can’t believe stories are for humans only, if you look closely at domestic animals and wildlife you can sense a presence, a feeling, that maybe their memories passed down through the ages are holding the last unwritten entry of lost lives along these grassy shores and red cliffs well I must get back, the sun is setting and I fear the ghosts may not like my curious nature as I walk through this unmarked graveyard Judges Comment: To me this was the outstanding submission to the contest. The highest compliment I can pay it is "Purdyesque"! I felt engaged in the poet's ramble among relics on a battlefield from Canada's past. The language is casual but poetic - the poet isn't "trying too hard" to impress - & ironically this makes their observations stronger & more believable. The casual self-deprecation of the short final stanza - "I fear the ghosts may not like my curious nature" - added a welcome humorous touch to this stroll on the old Canadian battlefield. EXCELLENT!
you were my daughter’s brother adopted, fostered skin shadowed dark your real mother Maria still a student your father somewhere drifting in heat, humidity we sent you cheques to pay for school we wrote you letters and slipped in gifts we waited, waited, waited for your reply in Spanish but you never used your pencil they broke it, left you without words threw the lead of war back in my face used your eraser like your father did to whip you out Judges Comment: (finally something political)
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info@canadianpoetryassoc.com
Poemata
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2006 Canadian Poetry Association Poetry Award Winners Ravens’ Cry Tribute to Canada’s Peoples Poet Milton Acorn Donna Allard there was a man named Acorn who was adored by a few now a written outcast by a tittered latent Isle an indigo literary vision of ol’ Charlottetown’s Victorian Row I was young, too young to know, why a man chose a life so wretched in most people’s eyes cornered once during a walk, he looked me eye to eye, but I still could not see… this thirst for knowledge he wished to share with me but thanks to people, unlike me who judged and theorized, saw within those eyes and let it not be forgotten… a certain Acorn had fallen from a Red Oak Tree picking up from its earthy base a privileged wisdom many will never see…
Annual Poetry Competition Call for submissions: Deadline December 31, 2007 :: Open Theme
:: Submission Fee: $25.00 (1-5 poems) :: Go to website for details. www.canadianpoetryassoc.com/cpacontest.html
passing an indigo Raven cry’s a silent tears journey rain bowed upon silken blue Island sky’s Judges Comment: As a longtime friend & acolyte of Milton Acorn, I couldn't resist including a poem subtitled "Tribute to Canada's Peoples Poet" ... The poem is short enough to almost qualify as one of Acorn's creations, a jackpine sonnet. The language is clean but creative ("a tittered latent Isle" is a great neologism & accurate description of Prince Edward Island). Milton visits my friends & me often in his crow & raven incarnations, and I'm pleased to see his memory kept alive and vital in the CPA!
Honorable Mention’s: #1: "Starfire" Frank Threlkeld Judges Comment: Loved this poem, & wrote my own version of it about a quarter century ago - I believe in another life I was an Arcturean : ). It is so difficult to write a truly cosmic poem without sounding clichéd, & in my opinion this poet accomplishes this. The poet's knowledge of the cosmos is appealing, & although the language is sometimes a bit high blown, with "cerulean-cold" and "saffron-tinged", in this case these colourful descriptions are required, & they work! A beautiful piece which makes me want to play the Stones' "Their Satanic Majesties Request" over & over. The rhyme scheme is also done well, & it adds to the sense of macrocosmic order, just as the fractal design of a seashell replicates intergalactic star swirls. #2: “On The Evening News” Peggy Fletcher #3: "Pinned by Your Image on the Web" Debbie Okun Hill #4: "Whatever We Believe In" K.V. Skene #5: "Chestnuts At Greenwich" Marion Beck #6: “And Death Does What It Can” K.V. Skene #7: “Watching Fireworks over the Atlantic Ocean Looking East on New Year’s Eve from the Ninth Floor Balcony of a Tall Building by John B. Lee #8: “Insomniac” K.V. Skene #9: “In Spite of your Confusion” Linda Lee Crosfield #10: “Solar Collectors At Marieval” Marion Beck “Thank you everyone for supporting Canadian Poetry!” your president Donna Allard
Poemata “a perfect poem for children is one that tastes like a chocolate glazed donut”
where I’ll talk about why poetry is fun for reluctant readers and recommend some great Canadian children’s poems.
Naseem Hrab
Naseem Hrab is the librarian at the Canadian Children’s Book Centre (www.bookcentre.ca), a not-for-profit organization that promotes, supports and encourages the reading, writing and illustrating of Canadian books for children and teens. In Naseem’s opinion, a perfect poem for children is one that tastes like a chocolate glazed donut.
Reading a good poem written for children is a lot like chewing bubble gum: The words pop in your mouth. The rhymes burst and stick to your lips when you say them out loud. And after reading one, you just might find it stuck in (or behind) your ear waiting for you to chew on it later. From the ear-pleasing verses of Dennis Lee to the rollicking rhythms of Loris Lesynski to the witty words of Tiffany Stone, much of the Canadian poetry published for children is simply delightful. Where else could topics like knotted spaghetti, soups made out of little boys or complaining flamingos be discussed? Despite the fact that children’s poetry enchants both adults and children, there really isn’t a lot being published. There are several possible reasons for this lack: It’s possible that many school boards don’t make poetry a part of the curriculum; It’s possible that the scansion homework assigned in undergraduate poetry classes around Canada sours burgeoning adults on poetry’s sweetness; It’s possible that when people think of poetry, they think of high-flown, bombastic verses that strain their brains; It’s possible that much of the poetry manuscripts submitted to children’s publishers are…Well, not so excellent. A good poem for children is carefully crafted—If you want to write a poem that meets the gold standard, finding a word that rhymes with silver isn’t enough. That is, there’s more to children’s poetry than rhyme. A good children’s poem uses finely tuned metrical and rhythmic patterns. The number of feet and stresses (and absences of stress) found in a particular verse make a difference. A good children’s poem flows easily from the lips of all readers—Not just the lips of a poet who is trying to force words into verses where they don’t fit. Let’s just say that good poetry does not make the reader’s lips trip, slip, or flip. Now that we’ve briefly covered the technical qualities of good children’s poetry let’s move onto why it’s important. Reading poetry every day to children can make them more excited about words and language. It can show children that while playing with the Wii and Barbie are a lot of fun, playing with words can be a lot of fun, too! Using rhymes, puns, tongue twisters, portmanteaus, and nonsensical words (e.g., my own personal favorite: bananamaphone) can sweeten a poem. I like to think of plays-on-words as the only type of candy that won’t rot your teeth. I think I’ve satiated your sweet tooth for children’s poetry so I’ll bid you adieu. Join me in the next issue
Naseem Hrab
Librarian Canadian Children's Book Centre Suite 101, 40 Orchard View Blvd. Toronto, ON M4R 1B9 Phone: 416.975.0010 Fax: 416.975.8970 www.bookcentre.ca www.bookweek.ca
“A Fallen Bird’s Return” When I was little and pounding on black notes because I liked the jar of it, I knew nothing of harmony nor of wanting to play music for anyone special. With nerves knotting at the upper edge of my shoulder blades, I practiced scales. Stretching little hands and long fingers chord to chord, I found they fit a banging bravado needed for “Mine Eyes Have Seen The Glory”. “Amazing Grace” would not echo in the folds of memory nor “Lord, Help Me Jesus” and I hated the rote repetition needed to pass the Provincial Music Exams. In secret, I was listening to my own music while my hands picked at flats and sharps. I would wait until the teacher had left and I would play what my heart heard. I think I was practicing for you, Mother, for when we were both too old to be told what too play. I was moved to the bench in the Senior citizen music room. I asked them to move you close so maybe deafness could be replaced by thrum of my heart: “Robin’s Return”. How apropos that you would say, “That’s always been my favorite song.” Carol Desjarlais
Poemata Sharolyn Vettese
“Two Eggs for Breakfast” Remember; always start your day with a good breakfast Two fresh eggs, easy-over, will give you the energy of a party maniac If you’ve been excluded It’s okay to be a door-crasher Once in a while Darlene Spong Henderson
“Becoming The Sea” I want to phone in sick steal a day a day in a life gift it to myself when the tide is out and recession commands I will walk across the inlet step bold into its possessive wetness let it squander me acquiesce to gulls and bald eagles that pick me clean feel the skitter of crabs like a lover’s fingertips my bones would become a log jam harbour seals would cradle them laze on my polished solitude instead I go to work. Darlene Spong Henderson, is originally from London, Ontario, has been working her way westward with her family. She is a member of Poet’s Ink (St. Albert, Alberta), Shoreline Writers’ Society (Port Moody, BC), Federation of BC Writers, Canadian Poetry Association and is an Associate Member of the League of Canadian Poets. Darlene digs living and writing by the sea.
When you’ve had a bad day Don’t be a wet-blanket, or a stick-in-the-mud Go out sky-larking to clear your mind And take it all in Get to know your neighbours And when you need their help Go barn-storming And, when some sexually-enhanced guy looks like he’s got a banana Just tell him you’ve seen better Remember Buckets? That bull had balls down to his knees
“Unconditional Love” You were a wildfire in a prairie field An accident waiting to happen You made an Everest out of my patience But gave me flowers along the way You showed me love My sweetheart boy Sharolyn Vettese, live in Toronto, Ontario, and has been a student of the Creative Writing Program at the University of Toronto Continuing Studies. She didn’t like poetry, but enrolled in Poetry because she was a candidate in the federal election and thought it would be less of a commitment than writing fiction. She became hooked on poetry when she saw that it was the perfect form for today’s harried readers. She is a wife, a mother, an innovator working on a wind turbine for urban and rural locations, a photographer, and she enjoys life for what it offers every day. Email: sharolyn.vettese@rogers.com.
25 New Members 2006-2007
This issue: NS David MacInnis; NB Carole Bossé; QC Shirley Tucker; ON Tracy Carreau, Ryan Dietrich, Darlene Spong Henderson, Kimberly Humphreys, Mrs. Mary A. Lonergan, Helen Bajorck MacDonald, Victoria Martin, Judy Murray, Ursula Penner, Frank Threlkeld, Sharolyn Vettese; AB Christina Szeman; BC Michael Levis, Gerrit Verstraete, Hope West; USA Will Jackson Arkansas
Poemata Gerrit V. L. Verstraete. Selections from the epic “Cerulean Odyssey – the Second Journey” Cerulean Odyssey is a series of epic poems that I began in 2004. In January of 2007, I began writing the third of Cerulean’s journeys. In total, Cerulean Odyssey, comprises over 300 tableaux (verses).
1 cold winter breath of morning long I wait in silent dark momentum frozen with a breast lies swollen pockets full of miracle maps to plan the epic of my second journey the city of my hope and longing built divine with ancient hands I have touched her lips before an odyssey of painful travel to the centre of my weeping soul a year before the day of tribulation when the forest was too dark to see the road a wandering dream her welcome only comfort beside the sacred river of reprieve in the end she sent me back hours turned to honeycomb of years garden springs of diamond gates cascading hair of sweet scented herbs bathed in milk and wine her eyes like doves turned to me and then she spoke of distant pastures this vision is not yet to be time must return with patient provision when I came walking on daytime’s wake write she said the epic of your forest odyssey only to hear a pounding hollow echo no longer chained to my feet a will renewed to climb the canyons steep a mind resolved calling deep to deep a heart reborn reward to reap I turned away and hid my odyssey tears fears of years of endless burning sand then I felt her beloved hand 2 but first a list of ready remedies provisions for a better way pages filled with words of living bound in centuries of truth oil of gladness for a flight through prison leaves of healing wrapped in care bread of life sustaining my thoughts protected clear in steps of ready peace a shield of shelter from depression when arrows fly in fiery wind accusing and condemning double edged sword my prayer to silence pointing fingers
3 a full moon searches wide to look for faith and fear unwanted communion cold separated for the sake of sanity I step into the night’s abode while the sun lies sleeping on my trembling heart beat song despite the calm of random reason thoughts of new and brighter days heaven bound in endless volumes assurance is a river wide confidence at times still lacking strong winds do mountains break after the storm an earthen quake but the lord was not in the thunder fires will consume a broken altar twelve stones the cost of repair and then the voice familiar of a gently blowing sound what are you doing Cerulean and where to lead your steps Gerrit V.L.Verstraete is a classical drawing master, poet, mentor, teacher, and an active community member. He was born in 1945. He began his fine art studies as a child in the Netherlands, his country of birth. After completing high school in 1964, in Wallaceburg, Ontario, he enrolled at the Ontario College of Art & Design in Toronto. He graduated with honours in 1968, and is an Associate (AOCA) of the college. Later he completed a Bachelor of Fine Art Degree at the Open University of British Columbia. He founded and owned a design studio that soon grew into a nationally accredited advertising agency. During the late sixties he began to develop his writing skills in addition to visual arts. His first published poem appeared in 1964, in a regional newspaper. In 1976, his writing became more public when Coach House Press, published a poem titled "The Argument," in a book titled "This Is My Best." In 1993, he moved his family, including six children, to Gabriola Island, British Columbia. Visit his online studio at http://www.gverstraete.com/.
Gerrit V.L.Verstraete
Poemata Will Jackson
“The Shame of Humanity” My brother’s blood is in the dirt, And others call me hero. A thousand orphans weep in sorrow, But the world roars with joy. Shirley Tucker
“Africa” I am floating in the endless tide of a distant shore; I lack the strength to swim inwards or outwards; My first and last thoughts, each day, are of you I pray that you will not become a distant memory; Help me to reach the warm comforting arms of your sandy beach; Take me into your heart and hold me forever.
Shirley Tucker - I'm a nurse and have been for longer than I Sometimes care to remember, but I've taken great satisfaction in helping people all these years. I'm an avid bird watcher who owns two friendly felines. Needless to say this complicates life a little. I have traveled a lot and have now the good fortune to live in a place I love which is in the middle of the country. So on starry nights it is easy to stimulate the imagination and write, write, write. Occasionally I like something enough to share with my close and dear friends. Life’s a journey and I try to fill it with positive thoughts and a lot of humor.
My sister’s blood is in the dirt, And others call me great. A thousand orphans have no hope, But the mad world celebrates. I have said farewell to reason, And filled the earth with hatred. I have said farewell to love, And filled the earth with death. A thousand orphans see my guilt, And I am sickened by the truth. My brother and sister are dead. And their blood torments my soul.
“Death of a Lie” I once believed a beautiful lie That caused my heart to dream, And when that lie passed away, I did not feel so free. The lie had crippled my life: It made me labor in vain. My heart needed to be healed Before I’d dare to hope again. Freedom is standing by yourself, When all the lies have died. Freedom is knowing your own power, Becoming stronger, after you’ve cried.
Will Jackson was born in Lake Providence, Louisiana. In his community, Mr. Jackson was very active in the civil rights movement. He helped to organize the Y.D.E.C.: Young Democrats of East Carrol Parish. In 1969 he was drafted into the army where he remained for three years. In 1973 he published a short novel “Sweet Desperations”. During the 1980’s Mr. Jackson started The Jackson Peace Campaign. In 2000 he moved to Little Rock, Arkansas. The Canadian Booksellers Association: www.cbabook.org/find/default.asp
Poemata THE POWER OF WORDS
“The Hero He Never Had”
(even in chapbooks) Lini R. Grol
That kid lacing up his skates beside the cold raw pond legs wobbly with his first attempts, a hero’s phantom hand supporting his awkward strides, that arm around the shoulder sort of feel imagined only in his dreams, that older piece of guidance brimming with integrity and time to listen to some idle thoughts, cosmic questions full of wonder and the stars.
At the book signing, of my first hardcover book of poetry, my friends asked about one of my and their favorite story “COURAGE” that they had read in a periodical. “Too bad it’s not in your book,” they said with obvious regret… (Just the same, they bought my book of poetry. Bless them). Later I thought about their remarks about the COURAGE story, and of my far away family and friends who never had read my story about this courageous and amusing girl. Then I decided to make COURAGE into a small Chapbook, and retyped the story into the half page format, it went into16 pages, plus the title page. I ordered only 25 CHAPBOOKS to send to my family and friends. Printing cost? $2. - per book, and postage. To my surprise my family and my friends were delighted and at once ordered several copies which I sold them at $3.- to cover the postage. Soon I had to order more, which at a larger quantity cost far less per copy. I then sold these chapbooks at a charitable craft sale for $5. - with 50% of the profit going to the charity and sold that day 50 books at $5.- = $250. That left me $125.00 a small profit but most important more exposure as a writer. For at the next craft and book sale there were more people who knew about the COURAGE booklet and bought some copies, as well as some hard cover books of my poetry (too expensive for many people). Every businessman will tell you that it takes time to make a name for your product, be it chocolate, soap, or books.
That kid tracing back his steps finds an uncle with handle bars to ride upon, that person who could show him tracks of animals in snow, teach him how to swim, shout his name to the rafters of the rink when he scored a goal or wrestled in the corner for the puck, then later, much later, man to man drinking beer firelight on their faces, darkness from the forest all around working out the pain of love and loss together until that kid is sane again. Little bits accumulated over time, not the body that he could touch but fragments sewn together to make the hero that he never had. David Fraser 2006
“Women Can Die Gently”
And my little book of COURAGE was in Dutch and therefore had a rather limited audience. Yet my little chapbook did help me a lot, and did some good as well. There is a saying that God helps those who try to help themselves. It worked for me, and I hope it will work for every aspiring writer.
She escapes the moon’s sudden monthly death She escapes the sun’s fiery obsession She escapes the poets’ passionate indigo blots She escapes the terror of reality She escapes the intimacy of history She escapes the hand of perception She escapes the twisted umbilical cord of rebirth She escapes necessity and dies gently into thought
Lini Richarda Grol Lini’s books are listed on the CPA blog: http://cpatalkpoetry.wordpress.com
Donna Allard 2007
Poemata Katie Marshall Flaherty new book titled "Unfathom." HERE is the title poem "Far Away" about Alzheimer's that was short listed for the Descant/Collins Best Canadian Poem for 2006. In her new book you’ll find another poem called "Unfinished" reflecting about her friend Bev's death from cancer. Go online and purchase “Unfathom” today!
“Far Away” Pictures taped on the wall, tenderly showing sequence— panties before skirt, socks before shoes—set me wondering what an Alzheimer mind feels like inside … scrolling back to childhood where daughters seem sisters, déjà vous cobweb, and Sleepwalkers startle and wake under snowy lamp-posts where I think I must know you but your name dissolves like tissue in a tub.
“SAVING the WORLD for JESSICA” That’s what sister Blanche says about her first grandchild; Somehow each empty soup tin, finished pop bottle and reread newspaper becomes more than a scrap, even a symbol of reuse, reduce, recycle, but another inch of cleaner earth, another ounce of purer water or lungful of sweeter air for that cherished granddaughter. If only we all had our own Jessica, Jake or Jahail to dream a future for, to save this world for? Bernice Lever “Shaping”
Such a mind a stalwart mule refusing the harness and cart: ox cart, oxo cubes, hugs and kisses, signatures flatten to a scrawl and this was once poetry with words like luminous and They say you stew in your own juices— if you were sweet you thicken; if sour, then Old Sneep sucking on a lemon.
Your hands, like the sea that laps at its beaches each promontory and fiord are intimate with my every curve smoothing my slack molding into hardness my every desire with your caresses.
How is it amnesia doesn’t wipe away language? The life-story forgotten but not the words; we lost the way but not the meaning I am lost.
My body, worn as a rocky shoreline or strewn with storm’s wreckage, is refreshed by your loving waters cleansing me of pain eroding away terror until your tears join us in a rainbow.
Aren’t we all? And to be shuffling down the corridor vague as melting clocks, dilly dally, daily times and dill pickles, doorknobs opening the tin and sons become brothers, names fall away like flesh from soup-stock bones. Lily pad thoughts float on murky ponds, white and clean as these daisys on the gurney, chalk-white like the nurses’ sensible shoes but somehow those fingernails on a slate, black hole sucking in everything like a hoover; eightball rebounding but never sunk. And sometimes, after long long days of staring at nothingness: Oh! Lemon squares! Kate Marshall Flaherty
Bernice Lever - Past Executive Boards: Canadian Authors Association (Vancouver and National) and Bowen Island Arts Council. Retired College English teacher. Bernice Lever's recent poetry books are in Canadian bookstores and libraries. Copies of some of the older titles are available at her readings or by mail order. Bernice's poetry books by mail vary in price from $5. to $15. post paid. Official website www.colourofwords.com .
Poemata
Poets Against War It is a responsibility some poets bear, to write about war. In response to Sam Hamill’s request (co-founder of Copper Canyon Press) made of me, to write about writing about war, I wrote the following. A fuller essay is posted at www.poetsagainstthewar.org (winter newsletter).
Sounds like too much work? Try writing poetry. Try living through war. The truth of the dictum, "This too will pass" is far quicker when one is well than when one suffers. Thence the exigency that we be quick upon ourselves. People, land and animals are suffering in our name. Sandra Stephenson www.poetsagainstwar.ca
FOR ME A POEM DAILY BLOOMS
"Treasure"
Peace is not an aspiration, but an act, an actualization. Poetry, for me, is an aspiration. In the act of writing is actualization.
The traveler's watch is timeless now dead hands rigored at twenty to five it leans against the dry mudded wattle the convex of its face a precise match to the curvature of the crumbling sides that glitter with iridescent mica-chips mother of pearl, angles of mirror crystals from the mountains
How do these two go together? Why do Bill Moyers and Howard Zinn "turn to the poets" when all other sense seems lost (Bill Moyers in "Letter to Westpoint", Howard Zinn in "Rise like Lions")? Why are the poets of India and Persia studied still, and recited in days-long marathons of memory? Why are prayers renewed every day, or several times a day? Why does love, expressed each time in the same words, continue to carry truth? Peace is not different from poetry and prayer. It is not something to be aspired to and attained in some distant time under different circumstances. Like a poem, peace needs to be written out, acted out now, today, under any circumstances, wherever you are. And repeated tomorrow, or this evening; and then again on waking the next day. For me a poem blooms daily, and daily withers away. We will never achieve lasting peace without building it every day. The meaning of "eternal" is, quite literally, "days without end". Peace is an act because it requires each of us to recognize and master the moment when we would have war. Recognizing that moment, regardless of how "too late" it seems, turns the war-impulse into a sequence of moments in the same way that recognition of a key image unlocks a poem. Poets teach us how to walk through the personal challenges of each moment of joy and of internal conflict: when we want revenge, when we want justice regardless of harm to others, when we want to give in to the urge to hurl words and other projectiles wantonly, explosively. Self-mastery. Brings peace. Brings freedom. Brings brotherhood. Brings happiness. Is gone again in twenty minutes and needs to be re-enacted.
A whole emerald and beads of garnet nestle in the nooks of forked lattice from which a veil of gossamer crossed with fine golden fibers still descends, interlacing an abstract weave of burnished chestnut silk palest palomino hair, fur of ebony-mink and a vortex of cerulean ribbon threads Deeper inside, the framework splits sliver shards from a long lost lamp reflect in silver coins clustered beside a child's aqua-tinged ring looped over a wee brown knuckle of well worn willow, where also hangs a tiny ringless bell that peels gilt into the bowl The lower whorl is graced with a jadeite like that found near the river bank a trace of filament-fungi limns the base shell chips touch a drop of crimson amber flecked with broken insect wings casting an aura soft as fallen dusk over ivory buttons from a foreign beast and the clasp of my mother's brooch At the bottom, on a bed of frayed moss lies a green plastic soldier beneath him the key to my home. Duncan Regehr
Poemata Dear CPA members and friends of poetry: The POEMATA Committee and the CPA Executives want to open a new category for a poetry contest. “An Adult Category: Writing Poetry for Children”. Do we have adult CPA members who write poems for children (like Dennis Lee) and should we have a category for children’s poetry (by an adult) in our awards? This was brought to me by: Meghan Howe Library Assistant The Canadian Children's Book Centre Ontario meghan@bookcentre.ca. Also I am wondering if there is an interest in a CPA Book Awards? Only for CPA members. We have so many members who are published that it seems to be time to have our own book award contest. Email us with your comments. your prez Donna Allard
Atlantic writers have generated an extraordinary literary output from the nineteenth century on, with pathbreakers such as Thomas Haliburton and Thomas McCulloch, who blazed the trail for such satirists as Mark Twain and Stephen Leacock. The region produced the first distinctive Canadian landscape poets: Archibald Lampman, Duncan Campbell Scott, Charles G.D. Roberts, Bliss Carman, and E.J. Pratt. The remarkable production never flagged throughout the twentieth-century, with strong writing by Charles Bruce, Ralph Connor, Thomas Raddall, Frank Parker Day, Hugh MacLennan, Nellie McClung, L.M. Montgomery, Alden Nowlan, and Ernest Buckler. More recently, Atlantic Canada has provided compelling prose, drama, and poetry by writers such as David Adams Richards, Joan Clark, Alistair MacLeod, Wayne Johnston, Bernice Morgan, Helen Porter, Maxine Tynes, George Elliott Clarke, Rita Joe, and David Woods, with their heterogeneous yet distinctive textures and flavours. Yet, interestingly, the literature has had to struggle against the dynamics of marginalization. If, as Herb Wyile and Jeanette Lynes have argued, regions are simultaneously distinctive and "traditionally subordinate", can the excentred position be transformed from a weakness into a strength? More on the Canadian Literature Website. (http://www.canlit.ca/submit/callsub.html.) ePost by Donna Allard
Canadian Writers’ Foundation Founded in 1931, the Canadian Writers’ Foundation is a registered charity with only one aim—to help Canada’s writers when they fall on hard times. It’s not a job that anyone wants to think about, and it’s not very glamorous, but Pierre Berton—who served on the Foundation’s board for more than twenty years considered it “essential to the literary well-being of Canada.” E.J. Pratt, Alfred Desrochers, Milton Acorn, Roger Brien, Dorothy Livesay, Norman Levine—these are only a few of the distinguished men and women who have been forced to turn to the Foundation for help. Why? Because literary and artistic success don’t necessarily lead to economic success. Fame, unfortunately, doesn’t pay bills. And although many government programs help writers during their working lives, none offer them aid when they no longer can…because they’re too old or too sick, or have been struck down by accident. Here’s where the Foundation steps in. And its modest grants are often all that separate humiliation from dignity, misery from decency. Spread out across the country, the Foundation’s directors are all volunteers, and many are writers themselves. But to carry on their work, they need your help, and the help of everyone who truly loves Canadian literature. If you would like to make a donation—or know of a Canadian writer who might need the Foundation— please contact us. Contacting The Canadian Writers' Foundation Head Office Donations and physical correspondence can be mailed to our office: The Canadian Writers' Foundation, Inc. PO Box 13281, Kanata Station Ottawa, ON K2K 1X4 For further information about the Canadian Writers' Foundation please contact: Suzanne Williams Executive Secretary Phone: (613) 256-6937 Fax: (613) 256-5457 Email: info@canadianwritersfoundation.org Or Gilles Frappier President Phone: (819) 663-2264 Fax: (819) 663-2179
The Banff Centre accepting applications for: 2007 Writing Studio April 30 - June 2, 2007 Application deadline: Nov 1, 2006 Financial assistance is available. For more information: The Banff Centre, Office of the Registrar 107 Tunnel Mountain Drive, Box 1020 Banff, Alberta T1L 1H5, CANADA 1-800-565-9989 or 1-403-762-6180 arts_info@banffcentre.ca www.banffcentre.ca
CBC Literary Awards http://www.radio-canada.ca/prixlitteraires/
The Writers' Trust: www.writerstrust.com.
Poemata Letters & Announcements Barbara Elizabeth Mercer, CPA (Canadian Portrait Academy) Author, Poet, Visual Artist and Member of Canadian Poetry Association. Is happy to announce becoming a new member of the Canadian Authors Association. All due to the efforts of Donna Allard and The Canadian Poetry Association Thank you, Barbara E. Mercer Official Website: www.barbaraemercer.com
Dear Donna, We are very proud to unveil the titles of the short listed works in each category for the 2006 CBC Literary Awards. Visit the Winners section of our website at www.cbc.ca/literaryawards to discover them.You will hear short excerpts of the short listed entries on CBC Radio One during the week of February 19, 2007. English-language winners will be announced on CBC Radio's "The Arts Tonight" on Friday, February 23, 2007 at 8 p.m EST. (French-language winners will be announced on the same day on La Première Chaîne de Radio-Canada's program, "Christiane Charette.") Best regards, Sophie Cazenave Awards Administrator
Literary Readings, Literary Festivals and Author Residencies Deadlines 1 March 2007 – For readings, festivals and author residencies taking place between 1 July 2007 and 30 June 2008. (Author residencies have only one deadline per year.) 1 September 2007 – For readings and festivals taking place between 1 January and 31 December 2008. Go to www.canadacouncil.ca for more information.
CPA Board Update: Pierre Beaumier accepted the position of CPA 2007 Poemata Assistant Editor and Interim National Coordinator: Pierre Beaumier 1264 Curry Avenue Upper Apt. Windsor, Ontario Canada N9B 2C9 Email: grrovymotion@hotmail.com
CBC Literary Awards / Prix Littéraires Radio-Canada http://www.cbc.ca/literaryawards http://www.radio-canada.ca/prixlitteraires
Update: David Fraser lives in Nanoose Bay, on Vancouver Island. He is the founder and editor of Ascent Aspirations Magazine, www.ascentaspirations.ca, since 1997. His poetry and short fiction have appeared in over 40 journals including Three Candles, Regina Weese, Ardent, and Ygdrasil. He has published a collection of his poetry, Going to the Well (2004), a collection of short fiction, The Dark Side of the Billboard (2006)and edited and published Ascent Aspirations Magazine Anthology One (Dec. 2005), and Ascent Aspirations Magazine Anthology Two Windfire, and Anthology Three, AguaTerra http://www.ascentaspirations.ca/aapublishing.htm. A second collection of poetry, Running Down the Wind will appear in spring 2007. David is currently the BC Federation of Writers Regional Director for The Islands Region. He can be reached at; Ascent Aspirations Publishing www.ascentaspirations.ca ascentaspirations@shaw.ca or ascent@bcsupernet.com
Dear Donna, You might mention in the next Poemata that I am the director of the Purdy Country Literary Festival. This will run for four days in Hastings, Northumberland, and Prince Edward Counties in Ontario. The dates are August 4 - 7, 2007. All CPA members are welcome to take part, but reading cards are filling up already. Thus, poets who want to read should contact me A.S.A.P. I will then pass their info on to one of the reading hosts. Fraternally, . . . James james@meklerdeahl.com
Dear Ms. Allard, Thank you very much. We will add the CPA to our Links & Supporters page and it would be greatly appreciated if you would dedicate a 1/2 page to the CWF in your magazine Poemata. Regards, Sue Williams http://www.canadianwritersfoundation.org
Poemata What’s your New Year Resolution? “Oh, Yeah! Resolution, I forget all about it.” Many people say this because whatever they promise to do as a New Year Resolution, they don’t stay on it. As the year comes to an end, and the next year begins, their resolution remains the same as before. I’m not accusing them. Maybe they have some problems, which keep them from fulfilling their resolution, but I think if we make a resolution, we should stay on it and try hard to accomplish it. Otherwise, don’t make it. Understood? Okay, I’m little bit harsh on those people, but what about me? Do I stay on it every year? Well! Each year I don’t have “a resolution” but “resolutions” and these resolutions are really simple. Like, I’ll spread peach and glee or be a good daughter, sister, wife and a mother. But this year I’ve added some more important things. So let’s begin. My first resolution, as always, is to be a very obedient daughter and a supportive sister. I know I am already, but I want to be extra ideal this year. Other resolution is to be a more loveable wife and affectionate mother. As I told you that I am already but this year I’ll be extremely perfect. And my family’s support and prayers are always with me to perform these resolutions each year. My next resolution is to get more involved in writing good articles and poems and whatever I can write to serve, so that people can recognize me with my literary work. I also want to contribute more to dearest, awesome Poemata. And to fulfill this resolution, I need my CPA members’ best wishes. Or else, I’ll end up like the people who have the same resolution next year, and the next and the next… My last but not the least resolution is, to pray as much as I can for my mom. She recently passed away on October 30, 2006. She was a brave woman, who fought the renal disease all her life without any complaints, till the end. I call her “The Miracle Lady”. I’ll never ever forget her dedication, love and care for us. She always believed in me, and she used to tell every one “I know Abeer can do it.” Dad, Waseem, Aihber, Akaisha and me will always love you Mom! God bless her. Amen!
Now what’s your New Year resolution? I just want to say, that if you’re a poet, don’t let poetry die. Spread it, nourish it and keep it unblemished for coming generations. Accept my best wishes for whatever your New Year Resolution is. I pray you can stay on it and fulfill it. From the pen of a poetry lover, Abeer Khan. (This article is dedicated to my darling, caring brave and kind mother Shadman Roohi Khatoon.)
“Chasing Sticks and Running Down the Wind” On the good days Patches thinks she is a lamb kicking up her heels, propeller tail round and round for balance as she runs. On other days she clicks the night time hardwood of the house searching for her home, lost and gulping for some air. Her time has come; like all of us, we have a time, a time to return the elements that we are back to the fertile places we were born. Many fear this moment, speculate on conjured images of light and dark, forever peace or fire and pain, but Patches now led quietly by the leash knows only journey, like her life, knows only dreams of chasing sticks, running down four foot waves, digging holes in cool sand to lie in the shade of summer’s heat, or chasing down the autumn wind along the beach, fur out flat, a rippling blur. I sometimes wonder why we torture ourselves with pets, knowing we are doomed to grieve for them? Perhaps they teach us how to love, to see each day as new, full of dreams. Maybe in their final days they show us how to die, how to take that moment as it arrives still chasing sticks, running down the wind. David Fraser 2005
Poemata Review by ALLAN BROWN Patrick Lane, ed., Anecdote and Witch in White (Leaf Press, PO Box 416, Lantzville, BC. V0R 2H0; $10.00) 2006; Daniel Rajala, Ferry Crossings (Multicultural Books, 307 Birchwood Court, 6911 Gilbert Rd., Richmond, BC, V7C 3V7; $10.00) 2006; Chris Rooney and Karl Germyn, eds., The Christian Radical: A Journal of Christianity and AnarchoPacifism, Vol. 2 Issue 3, January 2007(distributed free). I've been reading different kinds of poetry for about as long as I've been writing it -- a bit over 50 years now. And one of the things I learn as well as continue to enjoy about the experience is how different voices/volumes form and reform themselves in different relationships. These four collections from British Columbia, for instance, move well if somewhat unexpectedly together as examples of how the poetical is the political, to slightly adjust a familiar expression. I began to think about this while reading The Christian Radical, an unmistakably political gathering of intense prose, and recognizing its poetic/creative aspects. Daniel Rajala's personal and social concerns have always informed his poems; and the writers who produced the two Leaf Press anthologies did so as a community. The 11 writers who contributed to Anecdote and the 13 represented in Witch in White, along with their indefatigable editor and leader Patrick Lane, are of course and remain individuals, but also function here in a special way as a community, or "polis." The poets at the annual workshops held at the Glenairely Retreat centre on Vancouver Island -- mostly from BC, but sometimes also from elsewhere -- exchange comments and ideas to help each other, as well as themselves. Each themed set presents one poem by a participant, chosen by agreement between the writer and the workshop co-ordinator. Lane provides an Introduction to each volume in which he briefly defines and comments on the theme or approach that guided and binds the particular pieces. The material in Anecdote deals with "[s]ome incident, some moment in time caught and told to inform as much as to entertain"; the work in Witch in White is gathered more abstractly in terms of any poetic pattern that "go[es] back to the roots of sound, the music made as we dance out meanings under meaning."
Any human being, observed carefully enough, refracts and then reflects as many and one together. Sandy Martin's quietly wondering lyric "The Piano Player" in Anecdote details how an unnamed "him" is first seen/heard with "his fingers moving over the keys" in the quiet of her new home on Galliano Island, and then, as "He goes outside / to adjust sawblades and carry heavy things," how still "[a] note follows him. “Victoria poet Susan Stenson deals more generally, yet still vividly with her thought-provoking "Carry the Guilt of the World (After Dunn's "Oklahoma City"). which concludes the set with a question that is its own answer. Both words and worlds meet with a provocative certainty/uncertainty: "All our poems are like answering / the question of a small child: why???" "Nothing makes sense," as she or rather as her poem asserts; then goes on to make it, "Like sorrow. Like remorse. Like us." Stenson's voice speaks again in Witch in White on a national level with the loose sonnet "Livorno," invoking a strangely ambiguous Italy which, though it is "a country preparing for war," yet also pauses to hear, or perhaps transcends itself as "the hills rewinding their psalms." Leanne McIntosh of Nanaimo takes and lifts up the music of William Wordsworth himself in "Ensemble," with its witty image of "a poet in the rain /surrounded by daffodils." Another bit of almost grotesque parody that is also unmistakably real introduces "The Muse of Glenairely" by Victoria social activist Dvora Levin, abruptly and memorably invoking "the witch in white, / sweet slutty smile in barefoot shoes." The message is clear: as these writers continue to walk, readers will continue to follow. Each of Daniel Rajala's 11 short collections to date exhibit the mountain poet (as he often calls himself) recording and sometimes reflecting upon his surroundings and himself as a part of them. It is, in a way, utterly self-absorbed -- a common enough human situation; and it is this commonness that redeems it, allowing it at its best to expand and explore and thus lose its otherwise restrictive point of view. Rajala's typical voice is abrupt, harsh and plaintive at once, as "I got a phone call one night / coming from some place like hell" ("The Black Hole"). Sometimes he expresses a gentler, humorous side, as with the quietly Transgendered monologue "Good Morning," whose speaker quite practically "cooked a continued...
Poemata seafood omelet . . . and / when I talked about it with another woman she / said that I should have tried some salsa sauce." The title poem finally combines scattered, apparently unrelated references to "[s]ome people" moving through their various frenzied activities to generalize the hope that "maybe one of them / will have a change of heart." Here is the creative paradox of Rajala's poetry, that its unremitting self-absorption achieves finally a kind of functional neutrality, rendering it selfless. As I mentioned at the beginning of this study, the contents of The Christian Radical can most usefully be considered as poetic (samples of a poetic making, or "poesis") by means of the concentration of their subject matter and their vivid revelation of the American and Canadian Anarcho-Pacifist gatherings. Appropriately enough, the Washington-based co-organizer Eric Anglada's interpretative mini-essay "Witness to Life: Anarchism and Christianity" is introduced by a passage from Thomas Merton's Asia Journal which recognizes and asserts "the marginal person, the meditative person, or the poet [as] a witness to life." The voice of Steven Woods, who is currently serving a death sentence at a prison in Texas, roars out as compellingly as any dramatic monologue in "The Illusion of Hope," a description of the enervating "22hour lockdown." Sister Victoria Marie, co-founders of the Vancouver Catholic Worker, provides an interestingre-adjustment of perspective, towards several quiet expressions of love from Creator to Creature and back again, quoted and illustrated from the medieval mystics. Editor Chris Rooney brings this issue of The Christian Radical to a close with the gritty realism of "Making Monsters into Martyrs," an extended, confusing, but intensely moving meditation on the execution of Saddam Hussein. Death and life seem strangely parallel here, one against or for the other; and like all the strange yet familiar others in these four collections, still searching for and in some ways suggesting a (perhaps) achievable one. For more information contact: Ursula Vaira, publisher <www.leafpress.ca>; <mtnpoet2002@yahoo.com>; <the.christian.radical.zine@gmail.com>. [Allan Brown was born in Victoria and presently lives in Powell River, BC. His poems have been published in various Canadian serials since 1962 and are partly collected in 19 books and chapbooks. His reviews have appeared since 1976.] Thank you Allan for accepting the position of
CPA Book Reviewer- Poemata Staff.
REVIEW: VICTORS AND VICTIMS in WW II . Poetry by Lini R, Grol First Printing January.2007 ISBN 987-0-9782339-3-8 22 Pages stapled. $8.Passion Among The Cacti Press. 782 Stirling S. KITCHENER. ON. N2M 3K3 This is almost the slimmest book of poetry by Lini R.Grol. Its cover shows her trademark a black and white scissor cut illustration: WHERE DREAMS ARE WAITING. These WWII poems, some are well known from the media, speak eloquently but without bitterness of known hardships during WWII. Their loss of home, their homeless and fear to be caught in crossfiring while wandering in search for a save place to rest for at least for while. Their constant hunger and losses, of bravery, and tenacity, but also of hope, as seen in her illustration, of finding hope in dreams and tranquility. Most known are Liniâ&#x20AC;&#x2DC;s poems to the liberators of Holland. These Liberation poems have since 1970 been broadcast in Canada, Holland and on WORLD RADIO and can be found in books and magazines. They are read by her or others, during services on REMEMBRANCE DAY. Her poems are short, at best one page long. But easily to understand. After all, English is not her inborn language, but she has won prizes for some of her poems and stories, and her poem TORONTO was chosen for an educational DV on CANADA and its ethnic population. Reading this modest book about VICTORS and VICTIMS gives an insight about those living and fighting and giving their life during WWII in Holland, and of the empathy and gratitude of the people of HOLLAND to LIBERATORS . Review by T. van den AKKER - KUHNE.
Poemata
SPOKEN WORD Friday, March 30, 2007 Friday, April 27, 2007 Friday, May 25, 2007 AND Friday, June 29, 2007 8 to 9:30 p.m. The Walter Peteryschuk Turret Room The Lawrence House Centre for the Arts 127 Christina Street South SARNIA, Ontario Free Admission
The Canadian Poetry Association would like to announce the 2006 winner of the
Shaunt Basmajian Chapbook Award
Join us for an informal
evening of poetry reading and storytelling by local members of the Canadian Poetry Association, Canadian Federation of Poets, The Ontario Poetry Society, Writers in Transition (WIT), and the community. Anyone may come to share their own writings, the work of a favorite writer or just be part of the audience at this open mike scheduled for the last Friday of every month except December, July and August. Hosted by Canadian Poetry Association member Debbie Okun Hill, Sarnia poet Lois Nantais and storyteller Ena Forbes. For further information, e-mail lnantais@rivernet.net or call The Lawrence House (519) 337-0507.
An Evening of Great Lake-Inspired Poetry Date: Wednesday, April 18, 2007 Time: 6:30 to 9 p.m. Location: Oshawa Public Library, McLaughlin Branch Check www.wcdr.org/wcdr/?p=342 for further information. Fee: None. Description: A lovely spring evening of poetry readings and social interaction with guests such as Governor-General nominated Barry Dempster and Griffin Prize nominee Phil Hall in celebration of Poetry Month. Come and soak up the experience!
"Kate Marshall Flaherty" Kate Marshall Flaherty celebrated the launch of her first book, entitled Tilted Equilibrium, May of 2006, and launched her first CD, Deepening Stillness, in June. Kate Marshall Flaherty lives in Toronto with her husband and three children. She leads poetry sweatshop workshops, guides meditation and mindfulness retreats, and is a founding member of the Children's Peace Theatre Toronto.
*** 1996 marked the inauguration of the Shaunt Basmajian Chapbook Award: an annual manuscript publication competition and award named in memory of one of the CPA's founding members, Shaunt Basmajian. The contest is open to members and nonmembers alike. List of previous winners is available. We hope that this will encourage you to keep writing and keep submitting these fine manuscripts for publication to add to our Canadian Literary Heritage. Wayne Ray
Poemata “Last of the Summer Raspberries” Today the last of the summer raspberries dip heads through November fog, fruit still sweet, cool, wet in mouth. Just when even in this dying season “Ruse” I hold this nipple on my tongue, by Duncan Regehr two women like pages in the wind flip back and forth; one recovering “Bestowment” post-op, the morphine drip carrying her away from me; the other Without a secret now, younger, bred of our flesh you lie broken in a broken sleep, leaves the house, my cautioning and broken deeper in, your gift voice on roads and fog, that spills across this pale sheet, your blessed broken gift, once only yours so much yeah, yeah wasted air. Today of the last raspberries of the season now mine . . . a drying mess of red. This carnage of romance, I would escape. her car is careening off the road moments pregnant with maimed limbs and death, metal torn, paint scraped, Quickly now, bits of broken glass, tufts of grass, chill feet into heartless boots “X Voices” leaf debris, unscratched weeping, and I will ease away, (inspired by movie Blood Diamond) hugs tears, held blood and bone but as lifeless leather saps living flesh intact with breath and life. I feel my heat still drawn in you, I sit by the rivers edge All the rest is mere dust we leave I cannot uncuddle the naked trust voices of the ripples as we move on. and walk on limbs, cold-blooded. strange unheard of voices silver lips kissing the shoreline. David Fraser Give me Salome's guillotine kiss as sunderance equal to your own, above a seagull white and gray and send me stumbling senseless searching for its mid day meal “Peace in Room 77” of my touch, my thoughts, my self high above to pierce the waters’ mirror removed from riven innocence . . . only to see death for miles. I see you stare at the ceiling, your gift, your blessed broken gift the soft sound of a sparrow braced day after day without moving so red against your white. against the rustling leaves, and wonder why you are smiling it hot so hot the sky turns gray at what wondrous vistas The sacred bait of poetry lightening in the distance, smell of rain. are opening up to you disguised a hollow voice with ruse, which I can not share and lured your deepest secret over the hill people scramble for shelter for I am rushing of my feet to the shallows of base desire, guns ringing off in the air and getting nowhere. but your trust, too bountiful, HOLD IT! overwhelms this snare, as void . . . screamed across the valley of peace Outside the sky is dark it is impossible to steal a given gift. one more shot down and wild winds howl, the whole world wars, Your gentle trap is merciless, what is this place? am I here? and men and women growl, a guileless vice with velvet jaws more guns ring out but you in your blessed silence that gives, and gives, and gives THUD THUD!! see peace and love on your ceiling, no quarter for false verity, do I feel the strength to stay, while serenely listening but holds your truth as mine . . . my lord what is wrong with this land to the sacred music of your soul. I am forever caught, within the deepest part of you. I am floating, floating far away gilding high Lini Richarda Grol like the seagull, looking down and hearing Duncan Regehr the voices of the ripples millions of bodies lie face down and The latest edition of Library and Archives the voices become clear
Canada's e-Newsletter is now available at this address: www.collectionscanada.ca/e-newsletter/index-e.html
Brian Stevens
Poemata CRPA Flat Signed Poetry Competition 1st and 2nd cash prize winner's cheques will be mailed out with the next issue of Poemata. Third prize is a CPA membership for 2008. All winning poems will be on CPA website and of course Chocolate River Poetry Association website and blog. All HM's winner's names and poem titles will be listed as well.
Congratulations
Flat Signed 2006 Poetry Competition Winners: Chocolate River Poetry Association *Blind Judging by CPA Members in good standing.
Winning Poems: 1st Place: Moonbeams Trish Shields, BC
2nd Place: Guardians Katie Marshall Flaherty, ON
3rd Place: Raven's Cry D. Allard, NB
Honourable Mentions: · · · · · · · · · ·
Shelling Katie Marshall Flaherty, ON As Time Goes By Irene Edstrom, ON Missing Heather Angka, NS Looking To The Future Trish Shields, BC Crack Katie Marshall Flaherty, ON We Are Gems Jean Kay, BC No Way Out Karen Chapman, NB Ghost Ships D. Allard, NB Chasing Zoë Katie Marshall Flaherty, ON Chilean Dream by D. Allard NB
River Bones Press will be publishing the 2006 21st Chocolate River Poetry Association Festival participating authors’ anthology. The festival was held at Hopewell Cape/Fundy NB. The CRPA Flat Signed Competition winners and HM's will be added to this anthology and a copy will be sent to 1st 2nd and 3rd place winners. The anthology cover artist is poet Helen Bar-Lev from Israel with her drawing of the Fundy Rocks. We at CRPA wish to thank everyone for making this 1st Flat Signed poetry competition such a success. We will be holding another this year – same open theme and fee! The deadline is December 31st 2007. All contest details are on the website” http://chocolateriverpoets.moonfruit.com. This contest is open to the public! Again thank you for your participation in the CRPA! Yours, Donna Stevens Chocolate River Poetry Association Email chocolateriver.poets@gmail.com Website http://chocolateriverpoets.moonfruit.com Blog http://crpa.wordpress.com
FLATSIGNED (flat-saend) adj.Term originally coined by Stephen King to describe books signed by the author directly on the page of the book. The signature is not signed onto a bookplate and stuck onto the book, nor is it inscribed to some particular person. This is the most desirable type of collectible book.
Poemata Moonbeams
Guardians
there are moments of quiet desperation when I glimpse the child that used to be intermingled with the young woman preparing to cross the precipice
I thought I saw the radiance once— while holding the head of a dying friend.
studiously reading a book her face in shadows long hair still a cascade of blonde she reminds me of all the quiet times we have shared her small hands are calloused roughened previously by monkey bars, skipping ropes and school structures now by basketball practice soccer games and the flute watching her fingers flying over the keys, her mouth just so is glorious to watch my ears never quenched this same mouth parted from me for what seems such a long time we made music then, we two - she with questing mouth me with cooing vocals at each pull now she plays solo lashes flashing and dimples well displayed her childhood hanging in threads - mid chrysalis tugging at the heart of me reminding me to catch moments bottle them up for later, spend them miserly in the dark when soft baby hands with delicate birdie kisses fill my mind Trish Shields British Columbia
Is it true? Orbs of light, spark-darting, playful, can be glimpsed with the naked eye? We lie on our backs, palms lotus-open and soft under a clear sky, gazing as through a veil, while they, like translucent stars, weave and worry over our dizzied brains, hover above our heads. How long have they journeyed? Across the universe and here they wink as if to smile at our tiny struggles, speck’d and spotted, to draw each others’ energy. Can their soft sheen brighten our dark grooves and harsh patterns— fill the yawning spaces, connect the separated stardust? Katie Marshall Flaherty Ontario Ravens’ Cry Tribute to Canada’s Peoples Poet Milton Acorn
there was a man named Acorn who was adored by a few now a written outcast by a tittered latent Isle an indigo literary vision of ol’ Charlottetown’s Victorian Row I was young, too young to know, why a man chose a life so wretched in most people’s eyes, he cornered once during a walk, looked me eye to eye, but I still could not see… this thirst for knowledge he wished to share with me but thanks to people, unlike me who judged and theorized, saw within those eyes and let it not be forgotten… that a certain Acorn had fallen from a Red Oak Tree picking up from its earthy base a privileged wisdom many will never see… passing an indigo Ravens’ cry a silent tears journey rain bowed upon silken blue Island sky’s D onna Allard New Brunswick
Poemata Most books may be ordered from: Coutts Library Services, Inc. 6900 Kinsman Court PO Box 1000 Niagara Falls, Ontario L2E 7E7
Poetry Collection at the
For more information contact Sophia Kaszuba U.C. Librarian B ooks donated by the C anad ian P oetry A ssociation http://www.library.utoronto.ca/canpoetry/ucl_poetry3.htm
The Unacknowledged Acorn “Beyond Bethune: People's Poetry and Milton Acorn's Metaphor for the Canadian Fate" By Terry Barker ISBN 919-67246-9 Synaxis Press
Hand Upon The Dunes By Donna Allard River Bones Press ISBN: 0-9738671-4-0 $15.00
Canadian Awards Index www.bookcentre.ca/awards/award_ind/index.shtml
The World Of My Soul sonnets By Will Jackson ISBN 0-937457-35-3 Jackson Book Company PO Box 94325, Park Hill Station North Little Rock, Arkansas 72190
POEMATA IS FOR ALL MEMBERS not a chosen few… so send in your poems, write an article, review a book, interview a poet, or let us know what you are up to. If you don’t send it – we can’t print it!
Poemata
Message from the POEMATA Committee: Hi All, This email is to update the POEMATA committee and membership on the state of our publication and to discuss potential changes. Firstly, my thanks to everyone who contributes to the newsletter in whatever way you do - we could not have gotten this far without all of you. Secondly, a special thank you to Donna for her time laying out the newsletter, especially the last issue we just did, I know it takes time away from your paying clients - so many thanks are due to you. So, we have now published several issues of Poemata in the new format and it's time to discuss how it has gone so far. I am personally pleased with the look and the content thus far but have some ambitions for improvement. Areas of concern for me are: we have little input from many (most) regions of the country and we need to get people involved some how. I am happy with the level of involvement - though there is room for more. But, I think we need to get the other areas of the country onto our pages too. We have managed to get Pierre Beaumier as assistant editor for us and Allan Brown to be our POEMATA Book Review Coordinator. I hope they are just the first of several prominent individuals who will take on volunteer positions. Advertising hasn't really taken off yet. I haven't had the time to pursue that as it should be, so we need to find someone to do this. Now for our problem - file size has become a major issue if we are to use PDF. This may or may not be a technical glitch which can be resolved. But the last (test) issue turned out to be very big making for very long down loading times. This alone is going to prevent people from reading it. Also, the size issue is going to restrict our growth potential and photo quality. Even if we fix the problem of size, it will only be a temporary fix as I would like to see the newsletter expand to 3 or 4 times its current size. So, to address this problem I am proposing that we evolve our format away from PDF to an on line Blog format. There are advantages and disadvantages. The main disadvantage is that a Blog is less printer friendly. We would loose the ability to print it out as a single document. This may or may not be a concern. And there is a cost to
that change. A Blog will cost us between 2 and 3 hundred to set up. The advantages are many; there is no size limit and downloading time won't be a factor either. Photo quality is very good and there is no limit to the number of photos. There is also better potential for advertising revenue from an on line publication than there is from what we have now, which is sort of an online publication. Also, layout becomes much easier. While graphics and overall style are limited, the posting of text and pics, links and advertising banners is extremely easy. Departments could get the ability to manage their own stuff, IE: Reviews could have it's own page and they could lay it out to suit themselves for example, try new things, play around with it. We will continue to publish hard copies of POEMATA for the National Library Archives and for the membership. But we must consider an online POEMATA magazine. We have some experience with Blogs and from my point of view it would be an improvement. So, that's the discussion opener. Tell me what you think. If we decided to go with a blog version of POEMATA we would need to raise the $ to do it. I'm thinking through advertising on the site. The CPA Blog /Listserve right now has over 2000 hits in a few months, so it is reaching a lot of people. The Blog POEMATA will be membership only viewing. Feedback welcomed. Thanks everyone, Brian Stevens – POEMATA Committee Canadian Poetry Association. “Lately” Sometimes lately I feel as though You’re coming at me Like some old-fashioned Rorschach Test. I mean, sometimes of late it feels like You’re scoring my answers yo Your questions And so often lately I scratch my Head (figuratively, in the main). And wonder if you’re giving me A passing grade. Because if you’re not (giving me Good marks), if you don’t think I’m Pulling my weight. I could leave You, and go somewhere else Who knows? It could be that Neither one of us would miss Very much Mark Gorman
Poemata “Monday Through Friday” I queue along this platform pull Celia Cruz through ear phones try to deny the destination. Groggy cattle, we board vie for seats and day’s dream begins. I steal quicksilver glimpses watery vignettes captured in shards of sky and light. Blue heron gives the cold shoulder while cormorants glide like harpoons.
CPA Calendar of Events http://canadianpoetryassociation.moonfruit.com NEW CPA BLOG - Listserve http://cpatalkpoetry.wordpress.com
“Penelope” Too often have I walked, Weary, tired and cold, In the weak, slurred Footsteps Of loneliness, In a sense dying as I trod. I have spent too many mornings And evenings Trudging, Slowly and painfully, in The same cruel footsteps Of isolation I have known too many Other people who also cared And whose poverty Of experiences Have also brought them to Some ”unwholesome” places. But I wonder if I really have The right To be alone and Proud, For I wonder how often I Have really offered care. Mark Gorman
Always with pen with paper this day with Yusef Komunyakaa in my pack I pursue inspiration. Freight cars pass on spinning bronze coins promise wheat and, from my youth, I recall warnings of hobos. Waterfront Station disturbs my reverie and, groggy cattle, we disembark trudge to dream breakers disguised by glass, granite, steel. Darlene Spong Henderson
Please mail all membership renewal cheques and correspondences to: CPA 331 Elmwood Dr. Suite 4-212 Moncton, NB, Canada E1A -1X6
Copyright Here are two places to get started if you are doing any research on copyright in Canada. For a comprehensive window on the world of copyright both in Canada and around the globe (in both English and French), Access Copyright www.accesscopyright.ca or visit Copyright Central online at www.copyrightcentral.ca. For information on fair dealing and other copyright issues, read CIPO’s “A Guide to Copyrights” or visit our website for more details. POEMATA DISCLAIMER: We would like to thank the participating poets and writers, the proofreaders and all those who work to make this magazine possible. While all care has been taken to ensure accuracy, no guarantee is implied or given by the Editor and/or publisher, the poets, the writers or the proofreaders. If you want to unsubscribe: email us.
Poemata
2006-2007 CPA Executive Board of Directors and Coordinators President Donna Allard NB Vice President (interim) Liz Rolls (Holmes) MB Secretary Open Treasurer Brian Stevens NB National Coordinator (interim) Pierre Beaumier ON Media Coordinator Ronda Eller ON
CPA Life Member Award Committee: No award this year. CPA Poetry Competitions: Coordinator Brian Stevens NB Poemata: Editor-in-chief Donna Allard NB Assistant Editor Pierre Beaumier ON Book Review Coordinator Allan Brown BC Cartoonist Ronda Eller ON Manager B. Stevens NB River Bones Press NB Internet Committee: Webmaster Donna Allard Official Site Paypal Manager Brian Stevens Blog/Listserve Manager Donna Allard CPA Official Bookstore Coordinator: Donna Allard Manager (CRPA) Allan Brown Online Book Review Coordinator Continuity Coordinator: Brian Stevens NB
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