Rob Mclennan's Blog, page 47

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Scott Mainprize

Scott Mainprize is a lawyer with experience incriminal, family, and refugee law. His grandfather spent his life never feelingsafe in exploring who he was. In contrast, Scott has written two novels andbeen an instructor at Wilfrid Laurier, Carleton University and UniversityCollege of the North, where he has taught courses on Indigenous-colonialhistory (in response to the TRC’s Calls to Action) and a course he designed onRestorative Justice. For the last 16-months he has been developing a legalsupport program to assist the 7,000 strong-Inuit community in Ottawa. As aTwo-Spirit person, Scott has been privileged to do all these things, none ofwhich he could have done 75 years ago. That said, their greatest adventure isjust beginning, as a new parent.

1 - How did your first book change your life? How does your most recentwork compare to your previous? How does it feel different?

Getting my first book out of me was a relief. I know a lot of talentedpeople who could write a book and never will.  On a superficial level, that first book mademe a professional writer, but it was also healing: toiling with the pleasuresand pains of my world and building something beautiful out of it all. It alsocarved out my writing process. I learned to trust my ability to use words withpurpose to take things back that had once been taken from me. My writing isalways going to be personal. That first book has served me well, both personallyand professionally.

Where A Waking Life was taking an internal world and lifting itinto a conversational narrative, The First Few Feet is about things somuch larger than the self. It’s about the pluralities of truth and history thatexist across Turtle Island and Inuit Nunangat. It’s about the depths of colonizationand shining light on the continuity of that effort that has taken place overthe last three hundred years. While it is very personal, I also felt a greatresponsibility to write it in a good way for many peoples—Indigenous, colonial,and those who are other. That is a weight that did not come with my firstnovel. I am grateful that this book is the very best I am capable of at thisstage in my life.

2 - How did you come to fiction first, as opposed to, say, poetry ornon-fiction?

My fiction takes heavily from non-fiction. Of course there areexceptions, but, on the whole, I see fiction as having a greater ability to findthe reader where they are at than non-fiction. It transcends time, space, andsituation in a different way. It also allows for flexibility in thestorytelling that true non-fiction doesn’t have access to. That is at least howI come to other works when I am the reader.

3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project? Doesyour writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first draftsappear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out ofcopious notes?

My first two novels were journeys. Each one had over a dozen drafts. Thestories had to find their own life through me as a conduit, I suppose. When thathappened, it was as though I was starting over, but now within the immense worldthat the previous drafts had developed. There are notes, maps, chronologies.They were journeys in every sense.

My next project seems different. Or, maybe I’m just lucky this time thatthe life of the story has been awake from the beginning. It’s a refreshingexperience.

4 - Where does a work of prose begin for you? Are you an author of shortpieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a"book" from the very beginning?

Like my own world, it begins seemingly as though it is severalfragmented pieces that need to be connected. Much like my own world, that’s notactually the case. There is a current of life connecting the tapestry that isat the heart of the story. I know it is there the whole time, I just don’t tendto see it for the first nine drafts.

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Areyou the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?

My other creative outlet is stand-up comedy, and I am a barrister bytrade, so I enjoy workshopping my narratives. That said, it is not essentialfor me to do readings of my novels. I have a deep respect for the notion thatthe story received by any reader is going to be different than the story awriter s offering. I don’t know that such workshopping supports this.

6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kindsof questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even thinkthe current questions are?

The stories I tell are rooted in concerns about the world. The FirstFew Feet is the story of hundreds of years of suppressed histories and whatthat means for the reconciliation we all face today, as selves, communities,and nations. These are urgent issues that some of us have been treading forcenturies, while others are being newly shocked by in this moment. How do we moveforward in a good way, now that we know the truths of the past? A Waking Life is a conversation questioning the dichotomy between ideas of life anddeath.

I am not trying to answer these questions. I simply raise them and tryto deconstruct some of the incomplete “answers” that have been accepted withoutquestion by large swaths of our society.

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in largerculture? Do they even have one? What do you think the role of the writer shouldbe?

There are different types of writers, who serve separate (equallyimportant) roles for society. Mine is as a storyteller. Whether I’m lawyering,performing comedy, or writing a novel, that’s the central current. As astoryteller, I see my role as being one that opens spaces for the conversationsI explore to continue beyond my self. Facilitating a discussion that has a lifeof its own or offering a new way of seeing an issue. I am sure other, moretechnically sound, writers, would see their roles differently. I happily differto them for the aggregate responsibilities of the profession.

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficultor essential (or both)?

I think it’s both difficult and essential. The editor I worked with on TheFirst Few Feet was very hands-off. For some reason, that really worked forthis piece. Maybe because of the personal nature of the story. The story I’vewritten isn’t the same story that any reader finds, so anyone who is willing toshare how to best bridge that fissure is vital to a better experience forwriter and reader. I think when good writers and good editors find each otherthey can lift a text to another level. As with most interpersonal dynamics, sometimesegos get in the way of that, but the end result is usually better for thecollaboration.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily givento you directly)?

Embrace the silences. The power of the space between our words is often morepowerful than the words themselves. Silence isn’t scary. Not in the stories wetell; nor, in the lives that shape them.

That was the advice I got before I went out on stage the first nightthat I performed stand-up comedy. I’ve found it equally helpful as a courtroomlawyer, a hospice social worker, a community developer, professor, and writer.There must be something to it that’s worth sharing here.

10 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you evenhave one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?

My writing ebbs when I have space for it and flows when I don’t. If Ihave a day to write, I’ll use an hour well. If I have no time, I will beinspired. I have gotten used to waking up at 3 AM to secure my words to paperand working until dawn. There is a serenity to working at night.

True to form, now that I am a single father, the next writing venturethat is finding life in me is making itself known with increasing fervor thesedays. 

11 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for(for lack of a better word) inspiration?

The stories I tell find their own way into the world. I see myself asmore of an assist in the process. When the process “stalls” I trust that itwill “unstall” when the story is ready. That is the luxury with not being afull-time writer. The story doesn’t have to carry that pressure the way itwould if my rent depended on it.

12 - What fragrance reminds you of home?

Mold. The place I called home growing up was covered in wall mold. Homeisn’t always a sanctuary. It drove me out and into the world.

13 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but arethere any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, scienceor visual art?

My stories come from life. They reverberate with the people, places, andanimate beings I have shared space with. That’s the part I am conscious of. Thereis a whole world of contributors I am not conscious of as well.

14 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, orsimply your life outside of your work?

David Rakoff. Someone who was a brilliant essayist/satirist broke awayfrom his comfort zone with his last work, Love, Dishonor, Marry, Die, Cherish, Perish. As an individual piece, it’s worth reading. As a contrastto his previous works, it is inspiring. It made me rethink my idea of what itmeans to be an accomplished writer. I’d rather write four extremely differentbooks (in form and substance), than forty novels clearly written by the sameperson.

Writers whose individual works became a friend include Tomson Highway, JamesBaldwin, Mikhail Bakhtin, Mikhail Bulgakov, Yann Martel, Shirley MacLaine,Richard Bach, Paul Monette, and Vito Russo.  I mean, the list goes on (and on, and on). Ijust need to stop somewhere.

15 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?

I have had the privilege of living so many of my dreams already. I havealready done all the things I once felt I “needed” to do to feel fulfilled. Ihave performed stand-up comedy, became a lawyer, written books I’m proud of, craftedand taught a course on restorative justice and developed a legal supportprogram for the Inuit community in/around Ottawa. More than doing any of thesethings, I am proud that I did them n a way that has always been true to myself.I find that I walk in this world very differently than most of the people Ioccupy space with. I am proud that I found my way on this journey of lifedespite the obstacles.

By far, the most important thing to me is the journey I am justembarking on—fatherhood. That has always been the only thing I ever reallywanted in life; from the time I was twelve years old. As a Two-Spirit person, Ididn’t know that the colonial infrastructure would ever allow me to do that onmy terms.  I did it. I found my son. Thatis what I needed to do in this life.

I still have dreams and pursuits, of course, but it’s selfish to expectthey will all materialize. I’ve had more than my share in this life already.

16 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would itbe? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had younot been a writer?

I think I am a pretty good lawyer and instructor. I enjoy thoseprofessions. They make me a better writer as well. I don’t think I’d be veryinteresting if all I did was write. That’s not me.

17 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?

The only stories I write are the ones I think no one else is able totell. The ones I hoped I would find when I picked up other works and read differentstories.

So long as that continues to happen, I will continue to write. I willalso continue to enjoy reading the stories that compel me to write.

18 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last greatfilm?

Book: A Confederacy of Dunces. A bit of a cheat because it’s are-read. As I sat reading it in class (the first time), I couldn’t stoplaughing uproariously to myself. It released this tension in my mind thathumour and advocacy need be separate beasts. Each is far more persuasive whensupported by the other.

Film: One Sings, The Other Doesn’t. A subject as polarizing todayas it was upon its release. It’s handled with an equal respect for the choicesmade by the two protagonists. An under-appreciated gem in the Varda canon.

19 - What are you currently working on?

I’ll keep that a secret. Stay tuned, though.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

what we did on our summer staycation, (part one,

Okay,not entirely. We had been aiming for a genealogical drive across New Englandfor a few days, attending sites for either Christine or myself (as much as theyoung ladies might have tolerated), but my broken foot (my driving foot) threwa wrench into that, which was frustrating (although I'll admit I don't mind that we aren't in the United States right now, given all the stress). We’d actually been originallyplanning for summer 2020 to do this same drive, but then the onset of theCovid-era delayed that plan. We will get there, I’m sure.

Insteadof a New England drive, we spent three days in Picton with father-in-law andhis wife, as our young ladies spent their days in the pool. Our original planhad us another two nights at Great Wolf Lodge [just like last year], so thatdidn’t change. What were we to do? A couple of days not moving in Picton wasn't necessarily the worst of ideas, honestly. Christine sat and read her book, I sat with notebook and pen and a mound of my usual reading. The kids in the pool. I am sketching out notes towards further sections of "the green notebook," as well as editing the larger manuscript. I'm also travelling with my novel-in-progress manuscript and recent short story manuscript, to get some editing/scribbling done on that, but I haven't quite made it there yet. I've made notes on about a dozen books (poetry and memoir and essays and short stories) and gone through "the green notebook" twice.

Tuesday we made for Great Wolf, Christine having to do the driving, which knocked her out a bit. Her energy isn't what it once was, after all. Mother-in-law met us there with a nephew, so the young ladies had a cousin to play with, which everyone appreciated. They adore each other but also wear on each other, as you might imagine. I with broken foot spent much time in the lobby with notebook and reading etcetera as the wee children ran around on quests, so that worked out quite well. Thursday we head back to Picton, and hopefully get there in time to catch the evening reading at the local bookstore (Sneha Madhavan-Reese and Spencer Gordon and Matthew Tierney).

Oh, and at the Newcastle 401 en route rest stop, heading out this way, I ended up seeing my former mid-1990s roommate Rob Haller? I honestly hadn't seen him in fifteen years or so, so that was absolutely great. I've always been fond of that guy, and we just lost track of each other once he married and moved outside the city limits. The kids were indifferent, their father "talking to some random guy," as they told their mother. Well, then.

Before I knew him, Rob was apparently the tour manager for the band Fluid Waffle, his main job keeping four of the members of the band from killing the other guy in the band they thought was irritating. Once that other guy left the band, the remaining four changed their name to Furnaceface, and became 1980s/90s Ottawa indie darlings. Back when Rob and I were hanging out, his girlfriend at the time (who was my roommate) was irritated (and did not think it was appropriate) that we turned the 1995 Quebec Referendum into a drinking game. I mean, what else were we to do?

Katie Naughton, The Real Ethereal

 

the question of address(elegy: apartment)

with you I have reached
the limits of reason withyou
described the trajectory
you had two chairs andmine
was never close enough
at breakfast I want toyou
close to you be to you
I tell you everything I see
the kitchen every day I map
my heart the morning foryou
the cat circles us liesin the sun
the large room at the top
of the old house
everything I said to youfailed
it my self and the limits
of what I could know I felt

Followingchapbooks through above/ground press and Dancing Girl Press [see my review of such here] (the second ofwhich is folded into this current work) comes Brooklyn, New York-based poet and editor Katie Naughton’s full-length poetry debut, The Real Ethereal (FortCollins CO: Delete Press, 2024). Set in four sections of staggered, staccato lyrics—“daybook,” “hour song,” “the question of address” and “the real ethereal”—Naughton examinesfragments, frictions and accumulations, allowing individual points and posits togather, cluster and group into larger structures that reveal themselves slowly,as the forest through the trees. There is something of the collection thatoffers itself as a single through-line, a single, extended thought or lyricsentence that runs the length and breadth of it, from one moment unto the next.“the billowing bright day is gone we did not / have the money to keep it,” shewrites, as part of the opening section-sequence “day book,” “the picture taken/ upstairs the light and heat coming through / the window then the house / torndown the waste mass / of drywall plaster and beams that was the most / money I everknew and so much [.]” The accumulations are layered, and propulsive: one line andthen another in sequence.

Iwould presume that Naughton would be well aware of the implications of composingsuch an opening sequence, especially writing from Buffalo (where she has been adoctoral candidate in the Poetics program, only recently relocating to Brooklyn),as an echo of the late Robert Creeley’s infamous A Day Book (New York:Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1972). While it has been more than fifty years since thepublication of that particular work, Creeley’s shadow looms large across contemporarypoetics, after all, and nowhere more than Buffalo, where he taught forthirty-seven years as Distinguished Professor and Samuel P. Capen Professor ofPoetics, from 1966 to 2003. “the image world shimmers in our neighbor’s windows/ the vacant house,” she writes, “and who left it / pink hearts and red a sugarcrystal glitter / in winter [.]”

Naughtonbegins this collection with her “day book” poems, suggesting a movement throughtime, but the poems of The Real Ethereal hold to an immediacy, aperpetual moment across the American present through parsed and penetratingshort-form lengths. “morning takes me take the street traffics / daily timethrough me though morning,” she writes, to open “my love in strange places,”the poem that begins the second section, “comes already strange and I leave /the choirs of history and their small bells [.]” Her lyrics really do propelwith their expansiveness, their ongoingness, offering a simultaneous, infiniteand open-ended present. “dawn is not mine day still breaks yellow,” begins thepoem “warming ending what it may you persist.” Naughton seeks questions of elegyand address, between what is real and what is less than, and what makes thedifference, striding the line between concrete and abstract. She seeksquestions around the complexities of ethics vs. capitalism, and what can beheld, or held against; seeking answers to how not only to be present, but tosomehow survive. As part of the sequence “a second singing,” set in the finalsection, reads:

Some days are my inheritance
gray and November I want
to see out of them andalso
to be inside them though
the endless dissipation thebody
turning to heat to wastepass
or spend a life itsimagined
or remembered textures. Somost time
stopped to rememberhappens
in an empty room with theinternet
the flat word of thescreen
standing in for someother place
where something happens.The
news is who stays poor in
the necessary roomswaiting
for dinner. I’m in somethreshold
looking through twodoors.
The rooms are empty butfeel
like weight   like world.

Britta Badour, Wires That Sputter: Poems

 

: Hurricanes :

IF YOU START SOME SHIT INPUBLIC
better not come home

bend all the ways I howl          or be cut
out                   baby photos

            don’t dare

                        who would

 

drop this whip? heat?help?
                                                what help

I’monly just now going through Wires That Sputter: Poems (Toronto ON:McClelland and Stewart, 2023), the full-length debut by the award-winning Toronto-based artist, public speaker and poet Britta Badour (a performerotherwise known as Britta B.). I get books in the mail nearly every day, and ittook nearly a year to realize that McClelland and Stewart hadn’t actually sentalong the spring 2023 list (which is why I’m so late), so this title onlylanded quite recently. There is such a wonderful sense of performativeexpansiveness to these pieces, poems composed through a blend of pattern,rhythm, confident gesture and deep sense of the personal. She writes with asense of loss and of heart; an open-hearted intimacy, whether writing on family,politics or culture. “In May, if asked,” she writes, as part of “: IfHis Mama :,” “I would’ve said you’ll either have hurricanes / orbecome one.” These poems are performative, declarative and substantive,offering a deep sense of storytelling and rhythm, as well as a deep moralfoundation, one that holds through and despite all as an anchor against anystorm. “here we are bewildering,” she writes, as part of “: Letters toMiranda :,” “our single mothers’ make-believe, we sisters / here weare dancing to Boys II Men / here were are maybe four and six and Miranda isleaving / I repeat the alphabet for twenty years [.]”

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Patrick Grace

PatrickGraceis an author and teacher from Vancouver, BC. His poems have been publishedwidely in Canadian literary magazines, including Best Canadian Poetry, EVENT,The Fiddlehead, The Malahat Review, and Prairie Fire. Heis the author of two chapbooks: a blurred wind swirls back for you(Turret House Press, 2023), and Dastardly (Anstruther Press, 2021). Hisdebut poetry collection, Deviant (University of Alberta Press, 2024),explores intimacy and fear within gay relationships. He moonlights as themanaging editor of Plenitude Magazine. Follow him @thepoetpatrick.

1 - How didyour first book or chapbook change your life? How does your most recent workcompare to your previous? How does it feel different?

My debut poetrycollection Deviant takes pieces from my two previous chapbooks, ablurred wind swirls back for you and Dastardly. I like to think ofthem as singles released before the full album. The theme of male intimacy—inall its ups and downs—runs through all three.

2 - How didyou come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?

I didn’t. Iwrote fiction first, long before poetry. Fan fiction as a kid, short stories asan adult. I wrote some cool stories in workshops with Lee Henderson and Lorna Jackson at UVic. I still want to do something with them, someday, rewrite themand send them out. Poetry sort of took over and wouldn’t let me look back.

3 - Howlong does it take to start any particular writing project? Does your writinginitially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts appear lookingclose to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious notes?

I write poemnotes on my phone and when there’s a good number, I transfer them to mycomputer, tidy up the possibles and leave the weak ones. Then I hash out thepossibles and create longer pieces, sometimes break them up into two or threepoems. Some first drafts feel magical and so I leave them alone; poems like “TheCalling” and “soft stalker,” both in Deviant, came out near untouchablein the very first draft. I didn’t have to do much with them. Others have beensitting on my hard drive for years that I still don’t know what to do with.

4 - Wheredoes a poem usually begin for you? Are you an author of short pieces that endup combining into a larger project, or are you working on a "book"from the very beginning?

A poembegins with a memory or a feeling, translated into a single line. I pick outuncommon words that I like using in poems, or motifs that I find myselfreturning to (fire, light/dark, voices), and write a few more lines. It’s abalance of concrete images and clarity, wisdom. As a manuscript, I always knew Deviantwould focus on queer love and intimacy, the fear that often comes with it, butthere were a handful of short pieces that didn’t quite fit, so we removed them.I’m very happy with the final product in its cohesiveness.

5 - Arepublic readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sortof writer who enjoys doing readings?

It’simportant for authors to get out there and showcase their work. Writing is alonely process, even when you’re sharing ideas by email or chatting on socialmedia. It’s still just you and your phone, you and your computer. With Deviant’spublication, I’ve done a handful of readings, both online and in the realworld, and I’m learning to enjoy them more. I’m quite a shy person so having aroom full of people staring at you can be nerve wracking, but then I rememberthey’re all there for me, to hear my stories, my experiences.

6 - Do youhave any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questions areyou trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the currentquestions are?

I want todocument parts of my life before I’m too old to remember.

8 - Do youfind the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (orboth)?

I enjoy it,but I don’t think it’s always necessary. Everyone has a different opinion,style, mood. You’ll never please everyone. It’s a careful game, sharing yourpoems with another. Editors for publishing houses are a different story—if youwant your collection published, that is.

9 - What isthe best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?

Thestandard: don’t stop writing. Write every day, as much as you can. It’s simplebut easy to forget, and sometimes the weeks turn into months and you haven’twritten anything! Take it seriously and make time, even if it means passing onyour favourite Netflix series after dinner.

12 - Whatfragrance reminds you of home?

Surprisequestion! It would have to be red roses, or concord grapes, or blackberries.All of these grew around our house in Vancouver.

13 - DavidW. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other formsthat influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?

Nature doesit for me. I go jogging in a nearby park several times a week, and it’s herethat words, lines, ideas come to me as I’m covered in sweat and circling thepaths.

14 - Whatother writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your lifeoutside of your work?

My pillarsare W.S. Merwin and Anne Carson. I come back to them often. Carson inparticular does neat things with dialogue, asking questions in poetry. Itgrounds me in my own work.

15 - Whatwould you like to do that you haven't yet done?

Start achapbook publishing company. Or swim with dolphins.

16 - If youcould pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or, alternately,what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?

As a kid Idreamed of being a translator. It was a romanticized career that I didn’t knowmuch about. In my mind, I imagined Gandalf poring over old texts in spookylibraries. The real thing is much more boring, underpaid, and not wellrecognized.

My otherdream career was a marine biologist. Again, swimming with dolphins.

17 - Whatmade you write, as opposed to doing something else?

It wouldn’tleave me alone! Write write write, my mind chants at me. My full-time job is ateacher, and I also work part-time in the literary publishing world. It’s anice balance so I don’t go nuts feeling guilty for not writing all the time.

18 - Whatwas the last great book you read? What was the last great film?

As for Meand My Houseby Sinclair Ross will always be one of the greatest books. When it comes tomovies, I like them thoughtfully scary—M3GAN was a good one.

19 - Whatare you currently working on?

Poems aboutmy childhood home. The house itself was big, old, and sometimes scary. We gotbroken into one night while everyone slept. Most of my writing lately is aboutthat. Since the death of my mother a few months ago, I’ve also been writingabout her condition and the dismal state of care homes. And, here and there,queer love poems, always love poems.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

Ongoing notes: mid-July, 2024 : Sandra Simonds + Biswamit Dwibedy,

Ihaven’t done one of these in a while, despite the chapbooks piling up [my last non-ottawa small press fair one was back in February, after all]. So here are some furtherchapbook reviews! I mean, everybody loves the chapbooks.

Toronto ON/Tallahassee FL/Bennington VT: I was amusedto see an exchange a few months back on social media that directly led to American poet Sandra Simonds’ debut Canadian chapbook, Combustible Mood (TorontoON: Anstruther Press, 2024), an assemblage of eighteen short, sharp lyrics. Theauthor of eight full-length poetry collections and a handful of chapbooks—includingsteal it back (Ardmore PA: Saturnalia Books, 2015) [see my review of such here] and Atopia (Middletown CT: Wesleyan University Press, 2019)[see my review of such here]—the poems gathered in Combustible Mood givea sense of a far-wider canvas, which speak to not only her experience, but thepossibility of these pieces being part of a larger, full-length manuscript. Hernarratives provide the curious ability to extend and return, extend further andreturn, utilizing a core through which the language and purpose of each poemmoves out from, and beyond. As the poem “I Took My Place” ends: “I want tocollapse in you or find some shared / furrow that translates roughly into atrain // of thought and take it so far past the cedars / that we couldrecognize our own ghosts.”

Book of Hours

November, my God,November: a paranoia
of kernels and tombs, apanorama watered-

down, the rouge returningto a slapped
cheek then draining awayonce again as if

nothing happened. That’sthe body, isn’t it?
Ready to refill, ready toharvest, ready to paint
the walls of its owncatacombs vertigo-blue.

Boston MA/Paris: I’m finally getting into the recent trioof chapbooks by Sputnik & Fizzle, including Biswamit Dwibedy’s latest, FILM OF DUST (2023). The author of five full-length collections published in theUnited States and India, I’ve only seen a small handful of Dwibedy’s work priorto this, such as the chapbook EIRIK’S OCEAN (Portable Press @ Yo-YoLabs, 2016) [see my review of such here] and full-length Hubble Gardener(New York NY: Spuyten Duyvil, 2018) [see my review of such here]. There is suchan intriguing way that Dwibedy extends his lyric from one poem to the next, asthough each cluster of poems as a kind of extended line of thinking acrossdistances. Dwibedy utilizes film as his subject for this two-sectioned clusterof poems, but in a way that allows for other threads, other conversations, tofloat in and around as well. “We were one / with everything that worked inrhythm / hence the stones that dance,” he writes, as part of the poem “14thApril, 1911,” their faces half-gone, centuries later / still striking a pose.”The poems weave through histories domestic and familial, and the patternings ofthe intimate against the universal. As the small collection opens:

The Hindi film industryis a family business. I write
about the movies because
my mother loved theadaptation of a book into a film.
She studied it, for anexam, an education she gave herself
years into her marriage.
            Or her other favorite films she let us watch. Or so
many films in which anactress plays a double role,
            Without the face changing, so it was the same
woman who gave birth toher. Repeatedly.
                  One plus oneequals a million. They say a
child can hear what themother sings or listens to even
from inside the womb.
This love for songsstarts when within.
                  In fact,babies react to music with an
invisible smile.
            How else do you teach something? You hum a
tune into his ears and itbecomes a new time.
                  Anything sungis always in the present tense.

this week is the thirty-first anniversary of above/ground press, (and we're having a big sale,

Happy birthday, above/ground press! In case you hadn’t heard, July 9th will be the THIRTY-FIRST ANNIVERSARY OF above/ground press (with more than 1,325 publications to date) and to celebrate such, I thought, why not offer a huge summer sale?

$35 (plus shipping) for any eight 2023/2024 titles! Or, if you are feeling particularly brave, $40 for any ten 2023/2024 titles! (until August 31, 2024)! braver still? $80 for any twenty-five 2023/2024 titles!

with options including plenty of 2024 titles so far: I wanted to say something, : an elegy, for Barry McKinnon (1944-2023), by rob mclennan ; Unsovereign, by Kacper Bartczak, translated from the Polish by Mark Tardi ; Broken River, by Ken Norris ; Un-Composed, Poetry by Saba Pakdel ; Family Chronicles from Muffin Land, by Hope Anderson ; Perverse Density, by Sacha Archer ; BRADE LANDS, by Peter Myers ; Process, by Julia Polyck-O’Neill ; DAWN’S FOOL, by Kyla Houbolt ; Gnomics, by Dale Tracy ; The Green Rose, in collaboration, Steven Ross Smith + Phil Hall ; The Peter F Yacht Club #33/2024 VERSeFest Special, lovingly hand-crafted, folded, stapled, edited and carried around in bags of envelopes by rob mclennan ; Touch the Donkey [a small poetry journal] #41 [TENTH ANNIVERSARY ISSUE] featuring new poems by Gil McElroy, ryan fitzpatrick, John Barlow, Amanda Earl, Renée Sarojini Saklikar, Conyer Clayton, rob mclennan, Julie Carr and Pattie McCarthy ; abject sutures, melissa eleftherion ; From Desire Without Expectation, Jacob Wren ; HYSTERICAL PREGNANCY, Katie Ebbitt ; new york ironweed, Amanda Deutch ; Alternate histories, Kyle Flemmer ; Some Failed Eternity, Pete Smith ; In The Margins. . . . . .of french translations found and remixed by russell carisse, russell carisse ; BUSY SECRET, Micah Ballard ; The Old Man: new stories, Clint Burnham ; Wars, by Angela Caporaso ; Fifty-Two Lines About Henry, by Cary Fagan ; The Pig’s Valise, by BLUNT RESEARCH GROUP ; Touch the Donkey [a small poetry journal] #40 featuring new poems by Ryan Eckes, Dennis Cooley, Michael Harman, Terri Witek and Laynie Browne ; MY STRUGGLE WITH NOUNS, by Gary Barwin ; These Steady Bulbs, by Lydia Unsworth ;

as well as the plethora of 2023 chapbook titles: But Then I Thought, by Kyla Houbolt ; A PANDEMIC INVENTORY, SPRING-SUMMER 2020, BROOKLYN NY, by Zane Koss ; Between the Lakes, by Ben Robinson ; with the lakes, by Colin Dardis ; The Last Horse / Prologue, by Aaron Tucker ; Misremembered Proverbs, by Adriana Oniță ; river / estuaries, by Julie Carr and rob mclennan ; Gardens in Motion, by Stephen Collis ; STORY LINE, by Rae Armantrout ; glass / language / untitled / exaltation (second printing; bpNichol Chapbook Award Winner, by Jason Christie ; Dinosaurs of Glory, by Nikki Reimer ; Send $19.99 for Supplements and Freedom, Collages and Uncreative Writing, by Noah Berlatsky ; Unconsciousness Raising, by Miranda Mellis ; ESTRO FLUNKY: FIELD NOTES, by MLA Chernoff ; ashes, by Marita Dachsel ; Report from the [ryan] fitzpatrick Society, Vol 1. No. 1, edited by rob mclennan ; AGALMA, by Kevin Stebner ; THINGS TO BUY IN NEW BRUNSWICK, by Meghan Kemp-Gee ; Cartesian Wells, by Gil McElroy ; This Folded Path, by Robert van Vliet ; Mayday, by Stephen Cain ; LIVID REMAINDERS, by Geoffrey Olsen ; How to, by Heather Cadsby ; An Extremely Well-Funded Study of Doors, by Evan Williams ; Poetic Constructions: Poems written for the Enriched Bread Artists’ 2020 Open Studio, by Grant Wilkins ; missing matrilineal, by nina jane drystek ; Girl gives long-fingered self-portrait, by Sophia Magliocca ; The Baroness and her Ex Read Orgasmic Toast: To Whom It May Concern, by Grant Wilkins ; Groundling: On Apology, by Jennifer Baker ; SONGS FROM THE DEMENTIA SUITCASE, Karen Massey ; edgeless : letters, by rob mclennan ; Bridges under the Water, by Jérôme Melançon ; Where there's smoke, by Monty Reid ; {NANCY} [an essay on Nancy Shaw], by Jamie Hilder ; LALIQUE, by George Bowering and Artie Gold ; Bits and Bobs, two stories by Ryan Stearne ; Report from the (Pearl) Pirie Society, Vol. 1 No. 1 ; errand : towards, by Brad Vogler ; Touch the Donkey [a small poetry journal] #38 ; Simple Location, by Andrew Gorin ; “Almost Alive” by Julia Drescher ; ECHOES, by Ken Norris ; Toothache, by Joseph Donato ; What started / this mess, Samuel Ace ; BIRD SNOW ON HARD TRACKS, Stuart Ross ; Apogee/Perigee, Leesa Dean ; Report from the (Nikki) Reimer Society, Vol 1. No. 1, edited by rob mclennan ; When a Folk, When a Sprawl, Jessi MacEachern ; Touch the Donkey [a small poetry journal] #37, with new poems by Micah Ballard, Robert Hogg, Ben Meyerson, Leigh Chadwick, Junie Désil, Devon Rae, kevin mcpherson eckhoff and Kimberly Dyck, Benjamin Niespodziany and Barbara Tomash ; G U E S T [a journal of guest editors] #26, guest-edited by Adam Katz, with new work by alex benedict, Marc E. Christmas, Adam Katz and Ron Silliman ; NOISE, Jordan Davis ; Report from the (Jessica) Smith Society, Vol 1. No. 1, edited by rob mclennan ; LEARNING HOW TO TALK, Nick Chhoeun ; Night Protest, Ben Jahn ; Poor Rutebeuf, Translated by William Vallières ; tattered sails (after un coup de des), second printing, Derek Beaulieu ; WAVE 1.0, Isabel Sobral Campos ; P E S T / (Zion Offramp 65-70), Mark Scroggins ; The Alta Vista Improvements, rob mclennan ; Report from the (Brenda) Iijima Society, Vol 1. No. 1, edited by rob mclennan ; genesis, Laura Walker ; In Which Archibald Lampman / Translates Arthur Rimbaud, Grant Wilkins ; Report from the (Amish) Trivedi Society, Vol 1. No. 1, edited by rob mclennan ; DEAR NOSTALGIA, Nathanael O’Reilly ; Perfumer’s Organ, by Lindsey Webb ; Something or Other, by Jason Heroux ; TAKE IT DOWN, by Barbara Henning ; G U E S T #25, edited by Laurie Anne Fuhr ; Touch the Donkey #36 ; The Peter F Yacht Club #31 "The Factory Reading Series 30th anniversary" issue / edited by rob mclennan ; ONTARIO HYDRO, by Derek Beaulieu ;

That’s more than one hundred titles! This list obviously includes issues of the quarterly Touch the Donkey [a small poetry journal] , the occasional and guest-edited G U E S T [a journal of guest editors] , the Report from the Society festschrift titles , and chapbooks in the above/ground press prose/naut series ; all titles available while supplies last (obviously), although everything listed above is (at this point of writing, at least) all still very much in print; and you know I’m also completely open to backdating a 2024 above/ground press subscription, yes? I mean, that's a pretty remarkable deal.

To order, send cheques (as well as your list of preferred titles; add $3 for postage; in US, add $5; outside North America, add $11) to: rob mclennan, 2423 Alta Vista Drive, Ottawa ON K1H 7M9. E-transfer or PayPal at rob_mclennan (at) hotmail.com or the PayPal button at www.robmclennan.blogspot.com

and don't forget to order copies of groundwork: The best of the third decade of above/ground press: 2013–2023 (Invisible Publishing, 2023)! and tickets are already available for the 31st anniversary reading/launch/party at RedBird on August 10, 2024! a full list of readers will be announced soon!

with further forthcoming 2024 titles by Carter Mckenzie, Maxwell Gontarek, Carlos A. Pittella, Conal Smiley, Ian FitzGerald, Nate Logan, Peter Jaeger, Noah Berlatsky, ryan fitzpatrick, russell carisse, JoAnna Novak, Chris Banks, Julia Cohen, Carlos A. Pittella, Mahaila Smith, Andrew Brenza, Mckenzie Strath, John Levy, alex benedict, Helen Hajnoczky, Ryan Skrabalak, MAC Farrant, Terri Witek and David Phillips! Oh, and Touch the Donkey [a small poetry journal] #42 lands soon as well! Gadzooks! that is very exciting, yes?

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Lisa B

Lisa B (Lisa Bernstein)'s new volume of poems God in Her Ruffled Dress (What Books Press) appears 34 years after her debut full-length poetry book The Transparent Body (Wesleyan University Press). Her poems have appeared in 60+ anthologies and journals, including City Lights Review, Kenyon Review, Lilith, Ploughshares, Poetry International, Tikkun, and Zyzzyva. She has won creative writing fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts and others. She is also a jazz and groove singer and spoken-word artist; her seven albums received critical acclaim and extensive radio play and are available on all music platforms. She has a complementary career as a psychic reader and healer. See lisabmusic.com and lisabintuitive.com.

1 - How did your first book change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?
My first book, The Transparent Body, came out in the Wesleyan New Poets series in 1989, while my second, God in Her Ruffled Dress, came out from the L.A.-based publishing collective What Books Press in late 2023. That 34-year gap made the two books feel significantly different. I went from young poet to way older, indie singer-poet-songwriter who still wrote poetry for the page. My first gave me joy, jitters, and relief at a stamp of legitimacy as poet. And satisfaction that what I envisioned, after what felt like a long slog of submitting the manuscript, came to pass. As it turns out, I had no idea what a long slog really was. Though I kept writing poems and seeing them published in journals and anthologies, and submitting my evolving poetry manuscripts, by the time my second book came out, my focus had shifted a great deal to the music world, as I had released seven full-length albums since 1999 while the music scene itself kept shifting (indies pouring into the music marketplace, CDs, mp3s, streaming, pandemic) and I had practically given up hope of publishing a second poetry book. With the new book, I feel as if I've parachuted back into a poetry scene that sure looks different in 2024 – essentially, much more academic, more award-focused, and with many more poets. But I appreciate the relative collegiality of poetry publishing and its focus on art versus commerce. It's easier than the music scene to navigate, at least for me. As for my work, it's wider-ranging, newly including inspiration from music and vocalizing and newly reflecting the interests and revelations from studying clairvoyant reading and healing and then launching a career in 1993 as a professional psychic reader.   

2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?
My mother was a poet, though not published, and our family bookshelves included the best poetry of the era and before, the Beats and Black Mountain and the most interesting work of the 60s and 70s. All of which I devoured.  And being an incipient singer and a music lover, my soul craved lyricism.
 
3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project? Does your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts appear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious notes?
I don't take notes. At this point, I write to investigate what feels most pressing to me in my life and perceptions and self. I've learned to write and then put it aside. Usually when I take the poem out again to revise, whether two months or years later, the revision is minimal. But I do often like book-length projects and series, so the shaping of those is often painstaking and full of changes small and large. I'm relieved not to have the academic pressure to publish or perish.

4 - Where does a poem usually begin for you? Are you an author of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a "book" from the very beginning?
As for where I begin, I listen when something tugs at me urgently internally, an image or word or line, and sit down and make myself follow where it leads – usually at night and usually when everyone else is asleep and out of my air space, so to speak. . At this point, I do generally have a book in the back of my mind, because my obsessions and deep dives over a certain period tend to explore a certain territory.

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
I love giving poetry readings. Giving them made me realize I really was a performer – reading poetry and holding an audience felt like a calling that opened up into singing. I had studied music and piano-playing as a child but really wanted to sing, but I was too chicken. Poetry readings gave me the confidence to seriously study singing and start learning how to perform as one and lead a band. Now, returning again to many poetry readings as part of this latest book tour, and even adding some a cappella singing, I revel in the simplicity of the process – the logistics are minimal, the realm is more high art than commerce, amplification is straightforward, I don't have to pay or hire anyone else or rehearse with them, I don't have to worry about how much alcohol the crowd will buy or deal with bookers concerned about that, I have no musical charts to carefully notate for the band. I wouldn't say that the readings are part of the process of my producing a poem – rather that since my poems are very musical, they call out to be performed, and reading them publicly completes the creative process.

6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the current questions are?
I dislike poetry that wears on its sleeve a concern with theory of any kind. I've been a socialist feminist lefty since I was a young teen, and that was many decades ago, so I find myself rather bored by the repetition of political theoretical concerns that I've been reading and thinking about for so long. By all means be faithful to your journey in all its dimensions, but make it new, concrete, and musical, and not self-indulgently intellectual even when you're thinking through it.  My current questions seem to be remarkably of a piece with my initial questions, having to do with how to be both a body and a spirit and how to keep growing as myself. But that sounds so reductive and simple. I guess I still follow William Carlos Williams' "no idea but in things," meaning honor the concrete image, to which I would add, "Does it sing?"    

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Do they even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?
Many different roles are available to a writer today but they don't feel as central to the larger culture as they once were. I wouldn't prescribe which path any writer should take. But every path is challenging since our culture has shifted from the book to the computer/phone screen. As for myself, I honor the ancient tribal role of being at once poet/singer/shaman/healer. I want to create positive change in the physical and energetic body of the reader or listener, from the base of the spine to the top of the head, that results in more personal and community freedom. Does the larger culture support or welcome this? To some extent: the larger culture now means the online culture, and that does attract millions of "eyeballs" (as they say) and ears to vocalists and musicians and some poets, who have aims similar to mine in some ways. In a smaller slice of the culture, academia, students also discover poetry, which is good, but it feels parenthetical to where the rest of the culture is pointing them. The writer serves the screen in our culture. But we can still seize interest.    

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?
Both. I prefer a light touch from a really smart and open-minded and -eared editor. I show all my work to a few trusted readers and ask for feedback.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?
Find some amusement.

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to songwriting/recording/performing)? What do you see as the appeal?
It's refreshing to switch genres – different technical demands, different frames for production and consumption, different opportunities as an artist seeking an audience. Poetry is the entire orchestra, while song lyrics whether sung or spoken must leave room for many other instruments. Poetry is private, music collaborative. I desperately need both.

11 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?
I do lots of different things throughout the days. Lately, again, I try to include reading some poetry. That often leads to writing some. I don't follow a writing routine; see answer to question 4.

12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
The work of another poet or musician. Or to physical movement from housecleaning, walking, dancing.

13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
Chocolate.

14 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?
All of that. Also the "movies" I see and the dialogue I hear as a clairvoyant/clairaudient reader and healing practitioner working with others.

15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?
So many, but some of my favorites are Emily Dickinson, metaphysical 17th century poet George Herbert, Federico Garcia Lorca, Shakespeare, William Carlos Williams, Adrienne Rich, Langston Hughes. I was also inspired by many lyricists, including Gil Scott-Heron, Stephen Sondheim, and Cole Porter, and by the blues genre.

16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
A well-paid international tour as a performing poet-singer with my band.

17 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?
I have two other overlapping careers (singer and psychic reader-healer). I'm glad I'm not solely a poet. This is a family trait or model of possibility – my father was a professional engineer, attorney, and jazz photographer. I also worked for many years as a technical editor and then a marketing writer for environmental scientists and engineers, and sometimes for educational nonprofits. I liked that. Some art, lots of craft, a way to focus on the external world and how it's put together, and to be helpful to people in ways that they needed. And of course, a way to earn money. My coworkers usually liked my art and supported it, so I felt more "in the world" while being at my core a poet.

18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
An overflow of sensitivity, the support of my parents, and a lot of stubbornness.  

19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?
I just finished a deeply satisfying novel, Manhattan Beach by Jennifer Egan. The last great film eludes me, but I will say I thought the television series The Wire was a masterpiece.

20 - What are you currently working on?
A poetry manuscript called "The Corridor" – basically, about mortality and the way its looming larger to me.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

Spotlight series #99 : Kemeny Babineau

The ninety-ninth in my monthly "spotlight" series, each featuring a different poet with a short statement and a new poem or two, is now online, featuring Canadian poet Kemeny Babineau .

The first eleven in the series were attached to the Drunken Boat blog, and the series has so far featured poets including Seattle, Washington poet Sarah Mangold, Colborne, Ontario poet Gil McElroy, Vancouver poet Renée Sarojini Saklikar, Ottawa poet Jason Christie, Montreal poet and performer Kaie Kellough, Ottawa poet Amanda Earl, American poet Elizabeth Robinson, American poet Jennifer Kronovet, Ottawa poet Michael Dennis, Vancouver poet Sonnet L’Abbé, Montreal writer Sarah Burgoyne, Fredericton poet Joe Blades, American poet Genève Chao, Northampton MA poet Brittany Billmeyer-Finn, Oji-Cree, Two-Spirit/Indigiqueer from Peguis First Nation (Treaty 1 territory) poet, critic and editor Joshua Whitehead, American expat/Barcelona poet, editor and publisher Edward Smallfield, Kentucky poet Amelia Martens, Ottawa poet Pearl Pirie, Burlington, Ontario poet Sacha Archer, Washington DC poet Buck Downs, Toronto poet Shannon Bramer, Vancouver poet and editor Shazia Hafiz Ramji, Vancouver poet Geoffrey Nilson, Oakland, California poets and editors Rusty Morrison and Jamie Townsend, Ottawa poet and editor Manahil Bandukwala, Toronto poet and editor Dani Spinosa, Kingston writer and editor Trish Salah, Calgary poet, editor and publisher Kyle Flemmer, Vancouver poet Adrienne Gruber, California poet and editor Susanne Dyckman, Brooklyn poet-filmmaker Stephanie Gray, Vernon, BC poet Kerry Gilbert, South Carolina poet and translator Lindsay Turner, Vancouver poet and editor Adèle Barclay, Thorold, Ontario poet Franco Cortese, Ottawa poet Conyer Clayton, Lawrence, Kansas poet Megan Kaminski, Ottawa poet and fiction writer Frances Boyle, Ithica, NY poet, editor and publisher Marty Cain, New York City poet Amanda Deutch, Iranian-born and Toronto-based writer/translator Khashayar Mohammadi, Mendocino County writer, librarian, and a visual artist Melissa Eleftherion, Ottawa poet and editor Sarah MacDonell, Montreal poet Simina Banu, Canadian-born UK-based artist, writer, and practice-led researcher J. R. Carpenter, Toronto poet MLA Chernoff, Boise, Idaho poet and critic Martin Corless-Smith, Canadian poet and fiction writer Erin Emily Ann Vance, Toronto poet, editor and publisher Kate Siklosi, Fredericton poet Matthew Gwathmey, Canadian poet Peter Jaeger, Birmingham, Alabama poet and editor Alina Stefanescu, Waterloo, Ontario poet Chris Banks, Chicago poet and editor Carrie Olivia Adams, Vancouver poet and editor Danielle Lafrance, Toronto-based poet and literary critic Dale Martin Smith, American poet, scholar and book-maker Genevieve Kaplan, Toronto-based poet, editor and critic ryan fitzpatrick, American poet and editor Carleen Tibbetts, British Columbia poet nathan dueck, Tiohtiá:ke-based sick slick, poet/critic em/ilie kneifel, writer, translator and lecturer Mark Tardi, New Mexico poet Kōan Anne Brink, Winnipeg poet, editor and critic Melanie Dennis Unrau, Vancouver poet, editor and critic Stephen Collis, poet and social justice coach Aja Couchois Duncan, Colorado poet Sara Renee Marshall, Toronto writer Bahar Orang, Ottawa writer Matthew Firth, Victoria poet Saba Pakdel, Winnipeg poet Julian Day, Ottawa poet, writer and performer nina jane drystek, Comox BC poet Jamie Sharpe, Canadian visual artist and poet Laura Kerr, Quebec City-area poet and translator Simon Brown, Ottawa poet Jennifer Baker, Rwandese Canadian Brooklyn-based writer Victoria Mbabazi, Nova Scotia-based poet and facilitator Nanci Lee, Irish-American poet Nathanael O'Reilly, Canadian poet Tom Prime, Regina-based poet and translator Jérôme Melançon, New York-based poet Emmalea Russo, Toronto-based poet, editor and critic Eric Schmaltz, San Francisco poet Maw Shein Win, Toronto-based writer, playwright and editor Daniel Sarah Karasik, Ottawa poet and editor Dessa Bayrock, Mahone Bay, Nova Scotia poet Alice Burdick, poet, writer and editor Jade Wallace, San Francisco-based poet Jennifer Hasegawa, California poet Kyla Houbolt, Toronto poet and editor Emma Rhodes, Canadian-in-Iowa writer Jon Cone, Edmonton/Sicily-based poet, educator, translator, researcher, editor and publisher Adriana Oniță, California-based poet, scholar and teacher Monica Mody, Ottawa poet and editor AJ Dolman and Sudbury poet, critic and fiction writer Kim Fahner.
 
The whole series can be found online here .

Ongoing notes: the ottawa small press book fair (part three : Jenny Wong, Michael e. Casteels + Barbara Caruso,

[see the first part of these notes here; see the second part of these notes here]

BC/ON: One of the most recent chapbook titles throughPinhole Poetry Chapbook Press is SHIFTINGS & other coordinates ofdisorder (2024), the chapbook debut by Jenny Wong, a poet who “resides inCanada near the Rocky Mountains.” There are some curious moments and silencesacross Wong’s lines—halts, and hesitations across first-person observational/meditationallyrics. “I come early / before sunscreen and sand / precipitate over miles ofskin,” she writes, to open the poem “At Kitsilano Beach,” “before portable nets/ catch spikes and volleys / of sunlit sound.” These poems hold such curious slownesses,and some intriguing lines amid striking images. “The lawns have begun todisintegrate / into brittle lessons about primary colors.” she writes, as partof “August Storms,” “Observe what happens to green / when there is nolonger blue. Feel the prick / of parched dry yellow.” Certain of thesepoems could have used a bit of an edit, but I am interested to see what Wongpublishes next; it does feel as though Wong is working to get at something thatshe hasn’t quite reached yet, but is certainly possible (and not that far off).As she writes to close the poem “Lactic Acid”:

Perhaps as we get older,our skeletons begin to show.

There is something insideme that eats away any desire for stillness. And so perhaps this is why I wander.Something in my bones.

Looking for home.

Michael e. Casteels + jwcurry, post-fair

Kingston/Cobourg ON: I’m always pleased tosee a new title by Kingston writer Michael e. Casteels, and his latest is theprose collection A SUDDEN CHANGE OF SEASON (Proper Tales Press, 2024), acollection of thirteen pieces that sit in the realm of “postcard fiction.” I’vebeen intrigued for some time with Casteels’ ongoing work, watching each projectshift focus and framing between more narrative prose, prose poems and shorterpoem-structures to collaborative and even visual works. With each newpublication, I’m enjoying the fact that one doesn’t quite know what structures hemight be working with until one opens to the first page. Are these shortstories? Are these postcard fictions? Are these moments?

Monte and Me

My horse retrieved mymoccasins from the saddle bags. I took off my boots and slung them onto thesaddle horn. Then I donned the moccasins.

“What are you thinkin’?”he asked.

“Only one of us can makeit. I’ll pin them down, you open that gate.”

For a moment he stood inthe lemon light, inhaling deeply. Then he started down the hill, putting eachfoot down with equal care. Precious few moments were left.

Proper Tales Press (with Stuart Ross' works on the left + Anvil Press on the right,

Ottawa/Paris ON: A while back, Cameron Anstee produced atitle by the late painter, publisher, collaborator and writer Barbara Caruso(1937-2009), her WORD HAPPENS POEM (Apt. 9 Press, 2023), a small titlethat opens with a “STATEMENT” by Caruso’s late husband (dated March 2018), thepoet Nelson Ball (1942-2019) [see my obituary for him here]. As he wrote:“Barbara occasionally employed letter forms, numbers and sometimes words in herearliest paintings and drawings. Her paintings became exclusively non-objectivearound 1970, while in her drawings she continued to incorporate the forms ofletters and numbers.” There is something lovely about Anstee working hissequence of archival projects, focusing his attention on the minutae of Caruso,as well as William Hawkins, whether through repeated issues, reissues or the collectedpoems that landed not long before Old Bill passed. There is such a delicateintelligence, out of complex, straightforward play in Caruso’s work, one thatdeserves a far larger attention (might a collected around pieces such as these,be worth considering?). Ball’s introduction continues, a bit further on:

Sometimes during such aperiod of respite she would make things, frequently working with small sizes.She was usually playful in what she produced. Word Happens Poem is anexample. She made it around 1970 as a private gift to me. It was drawn withgraphite pencil, employing stencils. Other examples of her “play” are the verysmall rubber hand-stamped presspresspress (1988-1998) booklets that shedistributed selectively to friends, and a series of miniature ink drawings madein the manner of her larger non-objective drawings.

It was not Barbara’sintention to publish Word Happens Poem. She grew up in the town ofKincardine during the 1950s, a conservative era in Ontario. Even today, she maynot have approved publication of several of the pieces. Nevertheless, theseries is here complete.