More of what we're calling the 'new normal'

This is the way authors now go about promoting their books -- with a virtual reading and conversation. 

I can't really say that I'm complaining, especially not today, when it's hot outside (at least for here, 28 degrees), so travel into Vancouver (had he been present, and not online) would have been miserable. I would likely still be caught in traffic or riding a train or bus, trying to get home.

Though really, for a chance to hear David Mitchell, a writer I quite love (having read all but one of his novels), I may well have braved the travel, especially where this latest one, Utopia Avenue, is set in the 1960s, an era I know all too well. There was talk of the "strange convergence" between much of what's happening now, and all that was happening then -- change, change, and more change.

The conversation was meaty (and fun) enough to keep me feeling I've had a small fix of literary entertainment, something I can never quite get enough of.

Part of signing up for this particular Zoom event included the option of buying the new book, but drat, it hasn't arrived yet. I can only it's going to be here soon. An in-person event would have meant I could buy one on-site, I am sure, and who knows, maybe even snag an autograph. Ah, the stuff of groupie dreams.

In among the animals

It's been a wilder than usual week. Not just because of those photos of animals on the walls,though they contributed too -- in a positive way.

The woman is Bonnie Nish, the primary force behind Pandora's Collective, a long-standing group that promotes the arts in the Lower Mainland.

One of the many ongoing events established by Pandora's is 'Word Whips in the Gallery', a gathering that this time I was lucky enough to be a part of.

The way it works: several poets (and usually a musician and/or a dancer) are invited to visit the Zack Gallery at Vancouver's Jewish Community Centre on or around the opening of a new exhibit. Following that, they go home and prepare work that serves as a response to images in the show.

This time, the exhibit, "The Intersection of Science & Art" contained photos taken in South Africa and on the Galapagos Islands. Also included were realistic sculptures of various fish and birds, mainly ones that live here on the West Coast. Both elements served to inspire some strong responses -- not only from the poets who'd officially been invited, but from participants in the Open Mic, such as the talented Sho Wiley.

Of the pieces Bonnie read, the one that resonated solidly was one containing a line, easy for me to identify with, mentioning "days we all want to /crawl into our shell". This is particularly appropriate for Nish, as she's the editor of a book about concussion and brain injury. Not only was she the compiler of (and a contributor to) the book, but she's a survivor of concussion, unafraid to talk about it.

The work presented by the other poets offered the always imaginative range one encounters at readings, although just about everyone seemed to have a poem responding to the photograph of the blue-footed booby with its always-fashionable bright blue feet.

The imagination: surely one of the best traits of our species!

Poetic feet

Iambs? Dactyls? Not that kind of poetic feet. The feet with the beautiful blue toenails belong to poet Sandy Shreve.

She's just released a new book of poems, Waiting for the Albatross. The book, which she calls a collection of found poems, is based on words her father wrote in 1936 when he was 21, working as a deckhand on a freighter.

It becomes clear that 80 years ago, when Jack Shreve kept those journals, there was time to observe life more closely. He notes clouds, sea birds, a shark swimming belly-up. But maybe that was just who he was -- a careful observer. I can't help but wonder whether some of that might be because he didn't have television or all the other screens we devote so much of our attention to -- screens that so often seem to keep us from the real world, from things that matter.

But back to the book. It's enhanced by black-and-white photos. Many of them are of her father and his fellow labourers on the freighter where he worked during those days when he was keeping that diary which Sandy used as source material.

So what have her feet got to do with anything?

While she was sharing some of the poems with a group of us, the day was hot and she'd kicked off her shoes. While she sat straight in her chair, holding the book and reading to us, her feet were gesticulating to the words -- every bit as eloquently as hands might have been.

I suppose it would have been more fun to have a video of those expressive feet in action, but somehow it would have been too intrusive on the gathering. You'll just have to buy the book and imagine those feet in action, swinging to the sounds of Sandy's (and her dad's) poetry.

Poetry, poetry, poetry!

Last week -- in my life at least -- was a week filled with poetry. Tuesday meant a little (and I mean little, only a ten-minute gig) reading at The Paper Hound, a bookstore that serves as a great reminder of what a real bookstore is. Heck, any bookstore with Tintin living there qualifies as special in my mind. But while I was there, people came in asking for everything from books on calligraphy to books en francais. Amazingly, the owner/proprietor was able to help -- a far cry from the often bored-looking, unengaged worker-slaves at the dreaded chain stores.

Then on Wednesday, I attended SFU's Lunch Poem series, with features Tim Bowling and Donato Mancini. I suppose two poets couldn't have been more different in their work. And that may have very well been what created such a great dynamic. I'm still playing around with ideas buried in notes I scribbled at the event -- and better than my night-time notes, these are even readable.

If three days in a row isn't too lucky for words, Thursday was an evening where ten poets performed, but in pairs. Each pairing had prepared some kind of collaborative work for the event. And each was totally different from the others.

Jude Neale sang (in full operatic soprano) part of the work she and Bonnie Nish presented. The poet who'd written a piece about the exclamation mark was 'answered' by a poem about the question mark. Another actually danced her accompaniment to a poem. And all of this in a brand-new branch of

Vancouver Public Library, tucked into a building housing a supermarket and condominiums.

Another pairing explored similarities and differences in where/when they were born and who they'd become. My partner and I experimented by writing a renga together, then riffing on it in a couple of new directions, an experiment that you might want to try for yourself.

A busy week? Yes. But if only every week could be as rich!

Looking forward

I've been staring at this autumny tree, trying to take in some of its calmness.

It's been kind of a crazy month -- not one to complain about -- nearly all of it happy-making, culminating in this weekend's Word Vancouver. Still, I'm ready for a less hectic time.

Maybe tomorrow, when the calendar turns to October, life will slow down a little. But for now, I need to get dressed, as I'm heading off to a literary event, exactly the sort of thing I love to do.

And no, I will never complain about there being too many literary events going on, or too much art in the world, or too many beautiful sights in nature to inspire me.

Censored!

Canada's Freedom to Read Week takes place annually during the last week of February. Dates of this year's official observation ran from February 23rd through today.

The strangest part of writing about this is that no matter which route or back door I try to take, I'm unable to open the Freedom to Read website, thus no link embedded in this post (for future efforts, their site is generally available at freedomtoread.ca). Every time I go there -- even just trying to check on scheduled events -- I get an 'authentication required' box telling me to fill in a user name and password. Huh??

On Wednesday, I was part of a Freedom to Read event at the Gibsons (BC) public library. (I'm relieved to see that their link at least still exists.)

Readers at the event presented portions of books that have been challenged for various elements of their content. These ranged from a children's picture book, Maxine's Tree, to Margaret Laurence's Jest of God and The Glass Castle by Jeanette Walls.

As I always do at these events, I presented news items I'd gathered over the course of the year, including one reporting on "a slump in global media freedom." This article stated that, of the 197 countries and territories rated, Canada ranked 29th, a number that didn't give me much cause to cheer.

But to me, even worse than this is the fact that our government -- while not exactly banning materials -- is limiting (to put it kindly) access to materials in DFO libraries. Seven of these libraries across the country, many of them holding records going back over a century, are having their materials "consolidated," a move that has been labeled by many as a "disaster" and a "national tragedy."

As if that isn't enough, this country's scientists -- especially those who study environmental concerns -- are being prevented from speaking out or publishing.

So, it's not too surprising that winners of this year's Freedom to Read Award (presented by The Writers' Union of Canada) went to scientist Eric Marshall, namesake of the Eric Marshall Aquatic Research Library, one of those DFO libraries that's been shut down. Co-winner of the award was Chris Turner, author of the book, The War on Science: Muzzled Scientists and Wilful Blindness in Stephen Harper's Canada.

It will be interesting to see what news next year's Freedom to Read Week will bring. It'll also be interesting to see when that website will again be open for anyone to view.

Coming to fruition

June restores my belief in renewal. If I could bottle the morning air, I'm sure it would sustain me through winter better than any vitamin concoction.

The strawberries are just about ready, but they're not the only new beginnings I've been privy to.

The past few days have been pretty hectic, as two friends have brand new books out, one of them a novel, the other her fifth book of poetry. I've been hosting one of them -- laughing and driving her here and there, being part of readings as we made our merry way through coastal B.C.

There've been readings in Vancouver, in Mill Bay on Vancouver Island, in Victoria and back again on the mainland in New Westminster.

Tiring? Yes. Worth it? Absolutely. Especially if I'll soon be able to reward myself with a feed of sweet (nothing better than) BC strawberries.

The art of the book

One of the nicest things that happened this week was the reading and chapbook launch at the public library in North Delta. More than just a reading, as you can see from the photo, it was a celebration.

The event was the culmination of a workshop I led this fall on the topic of making a chapbook. It helped, of course, that it was such a terrific group -- 6 women and 2 men -- each writer with their own distinctive voice and style.

Although most of the books contained poetry (one was fiction, four linked short stories), the range of poems was remarkable -- from rhyming poems for kids with the words based on High Frequency Sight Words, to thoughtful reflections on family, the mundanities of daily life, the mysteries of defining one's relationship with God. One was inspired by the poems of Walt Whitman, and included several multi-media experiments.

One book was laminated (since it's for kids, good idea!), most were hand-sewn, though one was bound by a tidy row of black machine-stitching. Nice intersection of technologies! I especially liked the choice of colours offered in Zero to Sixty. It was hard to decide which one to pick. I was tempted to buy one of each.

Even though this workshop won't be repeated until fall of 2013, I'm already looking forward to it and wondering what surprises will result then.  

A cultural landmark

Earlier this month, I attended a Twisted Poets salon at Vancouver's Cafe Montmartre. Although it was a terrific event, featuring Diana Hayes and Taryn Hubbard, the evening was marred by the announcement that the venue would be closing by mid-month.

For years, this has been THE place for the arts -- book launches, open mic events, jazz performances, even painters in action. Readers and musicians from across the continent have performed here.

Only now, as with so many good things, it's coming to an end.

Tomorrow's Bohemian Caress looks to be the farewell event. All we can hope is that the owner Ali (who has done sooooo much for local artists, especially practitioners of the often-forgotten literary arts) will be able to recoup one of these days and open a new place that's as welcoming as the Cafe Montmartre has been.

Raise a glass and read a poem.

Mashed Poetics 12.5

Last night 10 poets got together and presented poems they'd written in response to Stevie Ray Vaughan's music. The album we riffed off of was Texas Flood. And while it's obvious we didn't get to play along with Double Trouble, we had the next best thing, a tribute band that came together for the occasion, the Love Struck Babies. 

The band (Neil Miskin on drums, Clint "Father Goose" Wilson on bass, and Trevor -- Spillious the Ridiculous -- on lead guitar and vocals) had played in Saskatoon, the same gig only with different poets. 

Here's a YouTube presentation from the Saskatoon performance, that city's Mighty Mike McGee, offering his interpretation of "Lenny" the song I got to do in Vancouver. 

What a night!

How like a summer's day

Pandora’s Collective has done it again – pulled off an amazing day of poetry in the park. This year’s Summer Dreams Literary Arts Festival was held at Vancouver’s John Hendry Park at Trout Lake, and even the weather was perfect.

There were way too many performers (three stages, simultaneous events) to list, so I offer you a photo of the highly entertaining Al Mader. Pictured with one of his personalized, sort-of-musical musical instruments (another was a piece of driftwood that looked and ‘played’ like a saxophone), he’s entertaining us with his particular variety of spoken word.

Among his most memorable pieces was “Dead Man’s Pants” – about the treasures one can find at second-hand shops. Or, the one so many of us went away humming (it shared its tune with “Old Man River”), “Old Men’s Eyebrows” which yep, as you might have guessed, just keep on growin’…

Beautiful, but...

Just a few weeks ago, Vancouver Public Library was announced as being one of the world’s most beautiful public libraries. The photo, not the standard view of the building, is a shot I took looking up at the glassed roof.

Sadly, inside the building, it’s not all so pretty. There’s a mix of good and ugly going on.

The good part would be last night’s literary event where, inside the library over 200 of us were in the audience for another in VIWF’s Incite Series.

The readers were Vincent Lam and Linden MacIntyre. As might be expected, their readings had everyone following every word.

MacIntyre pulled off the evening's biggest laugh with his comment in response to a question from the audience he couldn't quite hear. "Like they say in Newfoundland," he said, "hearing is the second thing to go."

The only cloud on the event was the fact that as we entered we learned that the librarians at VPL are having to fight to defend their jobs.

Many staff members have had their hours cut to lower than the magic cut-off line of 20 hours. Below 20 hours, a worker no longer qualifies for sick pay.

There are a number of other ugly complications, but they’re spelled out better than I can state them at the library workers’ website.

The reason the city is having to slash $500,000 from the library’s budget? What else, last year’s ‘supposed-to-boost-Vancouver’s-economy’ slash in the pan Olympics.

Good luck, London. I hope your city fares better.

Poetry Night in Surrey, BC

This was the view of the garden outside City Hall, a place where I had to pause and take a few deep breaths. I was about to read my specially-commissioned poem to Mayor Dianne Watts and the city councillors. Although I seem to do plenty of readings, this one felt different, as if some of the future of things literary in our city were dependent on how the reading went.

As things turned out (even though I needed to rely almost completely on what I'd written), I think I did all right, though I certainly was grateful to the writers and friends who attended, adding support to what I was doing.

Although this reading wasn't the first time there'd been poetry in City Hall, it was (as far as I know) the first time the city had made an official proclamation of National Poetry Month. The mayor presented me with a copy of the proclamation, signed and beautifully framed. If you'd like to see the text of the proclamation, click here.

And if you'd like to read the poem I read, it's posted at the Mayor's Poetry Challenge -- you need to scroll down to April 23rd, and then click on my name.

Balance

The theme of this year's National Poetry Month is balance. And last night's event in the Readings by the Salish Sea series was accomplished in living up to the theme -- in more ways than the obvious juxtapositions apparent in the photo.

Daniela Elza read from her brand-new book, the weight of dew, taking us on a word-tour through the world. Points of interest included the peaks of philosophy, the wonders of parenting, and also such down-to-earth places as an overflow campsite, the spot where everyone comes to fight. She also offered insights into some of her writing process and demonstrated the interplay of words in her triptych poems.

The other side of the event was work by distinguished poet, E.D. Blodgett. He read from Praha, a collection of poems that serve as an homage to the city of Prague. He also read from Sleep, You, a Tree, the seventh installment in his ongoing series, Apostrophes. His work provided the perfect balance to Daniela's work -- in subject matter, delivery and often echoing image:

"So close we are to being dust again, no stronger than the leaf..." (from the poem, "Dust").

It was also a night when the audience got to play with words, fooling around with pieces of mag-po or writing haiku for the City of Surrey's Mayor's Poetry Challenge (these will be presented to the mayor and councillors on Monday). And there's still time to Tweet your own haiku to Surrey (click on the link to Mayor's Poetry Challenge, scroll down to bottom of page).

In all things, balance

It might have been just the up-and-down weather, or maybe the approaching end-of-month (already?). Whatever the cause, it’s felt like a very mixed week.

Despite almost utter failure at making fortune cookies the other day (they turned out soggy and limp, hardly an inspiration for good fortune) and miserable news from nearly every part of the world, last night’s literary event in White Rock made up for a bunch of disappointments.

Cynthia Woodman Kerkham was the guest poet, reading from her wonderful new book, Good Holding Ground. For a few of those poems she was joined by local musician, Ron Bull.

I took this picture during their performance of a poem called “Ritual for the Winter Solstice.” The piece held special resonance for me as it focuses on a labyrinth that was built by men from William Head Institute on Vancouver Island.

The labyrinth is an image that works well to describe the way “We spiral into winter…”. And then consider then the fact that labyrinth walkers also turn around and retrace their steps round and round to make their exit. There it is, the hope of escape and movement again to the light. And yes, I love the fact that it was a group of prisoners who built the particular labyrinth she wrote about, the one at Victoria's First Unitarian Church.

Kerkham’s poems took us sailing off to thoughts of hope, of springtime and light. And Ron’s flute playing contributed so much, dancing around the words in a sparkling kind of counterpoint.

This morning, I didn’t attempt any complex recipes, but was delighted to find a poem pouring itself out onto the page. If only all readings could bring so much inspiration.

Dead Poets Come to Life

While that header looks a lot like the plotline for a zombie show -- think: The Walking Dead -- the event in question couldn't be further afield.

Every other month, a dedicated group of Vancouver poets host readings in which they celebrate the work of -- yes, dead poets. They call themselves the Dead Poets Reading Society, and should not be mistaken for the similarly-titled film with Robin Williams.

Yesterday's event had series founder David Zieroth reading from the poems of Thomas Hardy. I'd known Hardy as a novelist (Tess of the d'Urbervilles, Jude the Obscure, etc.), not a poet, and Zieroth offered just enough in the way of introduction and backnotes to really make the poems (if not the poet himself) come to life.

Diane Tucker then presented poems by Christina Rossetti. Again, I was surprised, especially by the underlying sexuality in the poems. As I said to Diane afterwards, 'I'd always pretty much dismissed Christina Rossetti as being kind of an old fart.' Hardly poetic, but that's what I'd thought.

Miranda Pearson then read poems by Stevie Smith. Pearson's lovely English accent made it almost seem as though Smith might be in the room. And yes, she read the most famous of her poems, "Not Waving but Drowning" -- the phrase Janet Frame picked up in her great(est?) novel, Faces in the Water.

Garry Thomas Morse (pictured above) did a similarly eerie reading of work by Jack Spicer. This wasn't too surprising a choice for Morse, as his 2010 collection, After Jack, is a kind of transformational homage to Spicer.

The event ended with John Donlan presenting examples of the lifework of Edward Thomas, a poet I'd never heard of. Like, duh. I'm supposed to know these things, aren't I? Thomas was killed in World War I, only three years after he'd turned to poetry. It's interesting to imagine what he might have written had he lived.

Several of the afternoon's presentations seemed almost like channeling -- but maybe I was just getting into the spirit of things.

The next reading in the series will celebrate the poetry of Irving Layton. The event will take place on March 11th, the day before what would have been Layton's 100th birthday. Maybe see you there.

Chasing the snow away

Transit is usually my mode for getting to Vancouver. Only, sometimes it just doesn’t work -- the bus or train doesn’t go where I need it to go, or the timing means the car’s the only way.

Last night was one of those times – only wouldn’t ya know, it turned out to be the day for Vancouver’s first dusting of snow.

It’s always a treat when that first icing of white decides to decorate the North Shore mountains or Mt Baker. But when it comes down onto the plain that is the city and environs, the thrill quickly fades.

The day's trip was for a cause – a downright writerly one. An afternoon meeting with my ever-helpful writers’ group, supper together, then a dash across town to the delightful Prophouse Café for an event in the Twisted Poets Series.

It felt like a heck of an honour to be reading with Michael Turner who is, after all, the only writer I can think of who’s had a book of poems made into a feature film. And of course, he didn’t bite. In fact, he bought me a drink. He was a perfect gentleman and read from a range of work that encompassed the whole of the city and then some.

The poets who read at the open mic were amazing as well. From Dennis Bolen’s explosive work to the night’s closing reader, Miguel Burr (a finalist in the 3-Day Novel Contest, a poet who even provided back-up tunes), it was not your average open mic event. Many were very skilled poets, poets I know we’ll be hearing more from – Eva Waldauf, Shannon Rayne, Timothy Shay and of course, the evening’s organizer, Bonnie Nish.

I’m grateful for venues like the Prophouse and White Rock’s Pelican Rouge. Especially in these arts-endangered times, they provide a lot more than coffee. Food for the mind, food for warming the soul. Warm enough that when I came outside to leave, although there was a dusting of the white stuff on my car, the roads were clear and fine.

Night train

Tonight was the official launch of Shrinking Violets. Along with three other readers -- a poet and two other novella-ists (is that a word?), I read to a most supportive audience at Toronto's 'Supermarket'. I loved that venue as the site for the launch, as Reggie, the book's main character, works as a cashier in a supermarket. And even though the evening was drizzly and cold, it was fun to wander around Kensington Market before the reading began.

The photo above is from when we made our way 'home' -- to where we're staying with relatives, near Hamilton. For a while, we were the only ones riding the streetcar, and even through the mist, seeing the lake near Harbourfront was magical.

A pokey ride home on the GO train, and we were back in the country, fog-bound but content after an evening of seeing good friends (and making new ones).

Over the river but not through the woods

This was the view out the window of the SkyTrain as we passed over the Fraser River on Sunday afternoon. If you look, you can see a bit of reflection. The fresh snow on the North Shore Mountains is one of the reasons this part of the world is so beautiful. Thanks to Franci Louann and Poetic Justice, I was heading into New Westminster for a reading at Renaissance Books. What a busy place -- three readings in a single afternoon!

Because I can't so much as enter a bookstore without buying a little something, I came away with a couple of new-to-me titles. Still, there are worse habits. I am sure.

As for the not-quite quote on this header, it's from an old poem associated with American Thanksgiving. Best wishes for this holiday to our neighbours to the South. All of us have plenty to be thankful for. I for one, am grateful to not have to be trying to use an airport this week!

Still more remembering

This series of Remembrance Day postings has become even longer than Canada's observance of Remembrance Week. Still, I think my reasons for continuing are good ones.

Tuesday saw writer June Hutton visit White Rock. She participated in two events -- one at the local library and one at our favourite coffeehouse, Pelican Rouge. She not only read from her novel of remembrance, Underground, but also answered the many questions posed to her. Whether talking about history, her process of writing, or the poppies she'd found in a box of family treasures (in the photo), she was gracious and clear and lots of fun.

In fact, June was just the sort of person my mother would have enjoyed. And this is a special day of remembering her, as it was this date two years that her life ended. The little angel in the photo is one that came from her, and it's one of the many small objects in my life that remind me of her.

The candle's burning in remembrance of her -- and oddly, for another friend, one whose passing was almost exactly 100 days ago. How quickly time passes, but how long we remember.

And I promise, from here on in, I'm back to looking forward -- with any luck, just as the angel above is doing -- with wonder.