A different sort of celebration

According to T.S. Eliot, April is the cruelest month, but that's not a sentiment I share. 

As someone who loves poetry, I'd have to counter by saying that April is the coolest month, as that's when we celebrate National Poetry Month in Canada. 

One of my plans for this month is to give away a book of poetry every day in April. For one thing, it's a good way to cull my (admittedly too large) collection of these books. After all, two bookcases full probably means more books of poems than I will be able to reread in the remainder of my life. 

I did something along similar lines back in 2011 when we travelled across the continent of North America. Considering that most of that trip was through the US, I'm sorry to say we won't be repeating that journey this year (and I guess not until 2028). Like so many other Canadians, in conscience we're just not able to cross the border for now. 

The League of Canadian Poets has selected Family as this year's theme, and that's a word that means different things to many of us: blended family, adoptive family, nuclear family, extended family. Or, to interpret it the way that makes the most sense to me: chosen family, those people we hold dear as friends, a new kind of family, chosen at that. 

The books at the top of this page each offer a very different take on contemporary poetry. For more suggestions click here to see a list compiled by the brainy folks at The Tyee. 

Time to exercise your Freedom to Read

It's been slow seeping out, but news keeps circulating that libraries--especially those in schools--are getting rid of books. 

The reason for many of these culls has been absurd-sounding blanket rules that anything published before 2008 must go. 

Some of the glib reasons offered for these moves are that books before then weren't culturally sensitive enough to qualify in today's woke world. The overall excuse has been called an "equity-based weeding process" but under that banner books such as Anne Frank's The Diary of a Young Girl have been tossed. Isn't it worth knowing what it must have been like to be a young Jew in hiding from Nazis?

I can't help but also think of Joy Kogawa's Obasan, the first book that really shone a light on facts of the internment of Japanese-Canadians during World War II.

How many other important books have been tossed in the name of this absurdity?

This week is the 40th anniversary of Canada's annual observance of Freedom to Read Week. Maybe it's a good time--quick, while you can--find a book that's been banned (or 'challenged' if you feel like using the current newspeak), and try to figure out what's so darn scary about it. 

A month of books

When I say a month of books, it's not exactly the traditional calendar month that I mean, more of a range of days when bookish events seem to be everywhere. 

Last weekend was the final celebratory day for Word Vancouver, an annual event that used be known as Word on the Street. Some cities back east still have that name, but we've gone (as we so often seem to do) our own way on this one. 

The poetry bus in the photo above had all of its ad spaces above the seats filled with poems by those whose work had been selected for this year's Poetry in Transit awards. A reading by those writers was just one of the sessions at this year's Word event. Happily, the sun was shining and most of the day was even reasonably warm, something that hasn't always been the case for this mostly-outdoor festival. 

Coming up soon, this Saturday in fact, Vancouver Public Library (Central Branch, downtown) is hosting a free event, "Literary MAGnitude: Why Lit Mags Matter." Anyone who writes would attest to the importance of these 'little' magazines. Where else does anyone get their start?

And before the month is out, Vancouver will be again playing host to writers from across the country and, in fact, all over the world with the annual Vancouver Writers Fest. I'm currently reading The Wren, The Wren by Irish author Anne Enright, and I'm looking forward to hearing her in conversation. 

But because I'm an oddball kind of reader, I'd have to say that's not the only book that's currently on the go for me. I'm in the middle of Caroline Adderson's collection of short stories, A Way to Be Happy. 

And on what I suppose is a stranger note, not very long ago, I realized that two books I'd signed out from the library (both about survival after major difficulties) had completely opposite titles. But then, their titles must say something about how my life often runs. 

Ideas and thoughts beyond our own

Last week I had the good fortune of being a 'book' of sorts in a 'human library' at a secondary school here in the Lower Mainland. I'll admit that I wondered why I should be selected for such a project, but it turned out that students had plenty of questions for me. 

Because I used to work in a library, the place felt familiar in many ways. Lots of books, yes. A bank of computer stations, yes. Tables and chairs arranged around the room. Best of all, young faces asking me (often shyly) about my own books, about writing in general, and of course, what had attracted me to write a book about Amelia Earhart. The question that made me stumble, I think, was from a Grade 11 boy who asked for my definitive idea of what had really become of her. As if I might be able to provide a reasonable answer!

I'll admit that during breaks, I wandered the stacks, looking at the collection. While I was especially impressed by the many books there by Indigenous authors, I was surprised to spot a couple of books that have been pulled by many libraries. Why? Because those authors aren't exactly what they've claimed to be, their heritage isn't really Indigenous. 

When I spoke with the librarian about this, she explained that it was an issue they were still dealing with. Clearly, it presented a conflict that staff there were trying to draw some lines around. When (if ever) should a book be removed from a library? When should readers be denied the opportunity to decide for themselves?

Such questions are exactly why we observe Freedom to Read Week. There was a terrific piece by the head of the Calgary Library System offering some strong thoughts in 'Why our fight for intellectual freedom matters for all Canadians.'

I especially loved her closing line: "I don't always agree with everything on library shelves, but I will always fight for your right to read it." Exactly. 

Nearing the speed of light

All right. I admit to an exaggeration, but...I can't believe how this month has flown past. 

Sure, there's been plenty going on to keep me busy--from Word Vancouver to last weekend's BC and Yukon Book Awards Ceremony. 

Quite a few of the Word events are still available online, and many are worth tracking down. 

As for the book awards, the ceremony isn't online, but at least the results are posted. 

And yes, quite a bit of the month was spent looking after that kitty I wrote about last time. 

Technically, the season changed officially last weekend. And technically, this morning was the official time of the full moon. Still, I'm sure it will be just as big and beautiful tonight as it was yesterday evening. 

Today was another of the cleaning-up-the-yard-for-autumn days, with a substantial amount of debris from the blackberry hedge making it into the green bin for next week's collection. Both hibiscus trees are now indoors, and the outdoor cushions have been stored away, but there's plenty more to do to get things set for the winter. Still, it'll happen. It always does. All in good time, and definitely slower than the speed of light. 

Art, art, art!

It's been a weekend (and month-end too) filled with art. Yesterday was an afternoon of experience at the Surrey Art Gallery -- from the current exhibit through a writing workshop to an opportunity to do some editing -- and yes, all at the same venue. 

The current show, the work of Victoria's Charles Campbell, is called "An Ocean to Livity." The exhibit is based in breath -- yep, the in-and-out of air that we spend our lives doing. It's complicated to explain, but the visuals were based on (I think) sonograms of breath. Wildly, they 'translated' into a variety of colours and patterns it would have been hard to just make up. 

And then, to the writing workshop which saw us responding to prompts from two wonderful poets, Kevin Spenst and Tolu Oloruntoba. Using their suggestions, we considered each of the lighted art works in the exhibit, and managed to find words spilling out of our brains. And then on to assembling a poem on the spot!

They also provided a series of 'editing' prompts, useful to anyone who thinks about trying to write. 

But the crowning touch was presentation of a how-to on making a mini-chapbook, a skill that Kevin has down to a fine art. Because I first learned how to make these little books from Kevin, I've always referred to them as Kev-bukis. 

But wait, there was yet another opportunity for editing -- this time a session on editing in Wikipedia. This was of special interest to me, not only because 'feminism' was in the workshop's title, but also because when I entered the room where the workshop was taking place, the first screen I saw contained an article about Torrie Groening. Not only did this pique my interest, as she's a Vancouver artist who's shown work in the Surrey Gallery, but I knew I'd be seeing her work on Sunday!

She and her partner Stephen run the Churchland Studio, a featured stop in this year's Capture Photography Festival -- and I'd already made plans to attend the exhibit there. 

Well worth the trek into the city, even with a few dribs of rain on the windscreen, as the photography collection there was simply amazing. And wouldn't you know, in amongst the many art treasures, what would I come across but an accordion book based on small cyanotypes. Wow. A little treasure. And a fitting close to comments on an art-filled weekend as well as the end of this year's National Poetry Month.  

The Joys of Celebrating National Poetry Month

The theme for this year's National Poetry Month is Joy, so it's fun to think of the many ways poetry brings joy to people. 

Last week, I was part of a group who spoke as a delegation to Surrey's City Council in celebration of National Poetry Month. The presentation is about twelve minutes long, but in case you'd like to see some or all of it, here's the link to our presentation. 

That stack of poetry books beside my springtime tulips represents some of my favourite recent reads. I'm especially joyous over the fact that Susan Musgrave's latest collection, Exculpatory Lilies is a finalist, on the longlist for this year's Griffin Prize. The shortlist won't be announced until next week, on the 19th, but I certainly have my fingers crossed, as I think it's an amazing book (and apparently, I'm not the only one -- here's a review from CBC Books).

Musgrave's husband Stephen Reid died in 2018. And then, in 2020, their daughter Sophie was gone. 

The poems are some of the bravest I've ever read, as many of them deal directly with the problems both Stephen and Sophie shared. Yet despite the sadness that prevails, Musgrave's wonderful sense of humour shines through like sunlight poking through the branches of a forest. So even in the midst of a book that in many ways is an extended elegy, joy comes our way. 

Find a book of poetry to poke your nose into, and while you're there, seek its joy -- and then, maybe think about finding a way to share it. 

Every Child Matters

Today is the second year we in Canada have observed Truth and Reconciliation Day. It was around this time last year that I was in Victoria and saw those many pairs of children's shoes lined up on the steps of the Legislature Buildings. It was a powerful statement reminding us that Every Child Matters -- a lesson that's now included in most school curricula. 

My observance this year is quieter, staying home, but with the suggestion of a new book to read (along with a glimpse of my little 'orange shirt' pin given to me as a gift by a longtime dear friend). 

If you'd like a nudge to read this novel, here's a link to a review of it. 

At the very least, we must all remember the past, or we are doomed to let it play out again. 

Indie Bookstore Day on the Sunshine Coast

It was a great day to be able to visit BC's Sunshine Coast.

First on the agenda was a reading at Gibsons Public Library. It was one of the first times I'd been able to read to a live audience -- but not only a live group, but some Zoom participants as well. 

Afterward I zipped up the 101 to Sechelt and Talewind Books, a store about which I'd heard many a tale (all good). My reason for any urgency? Saturday was Independent Bookstore Day. 

With some guidance from the very helpful employee, I bought a few books, including the most remarkable treasure, The Lost Words. Its subtitle: a book of spells, suggests its purpose is to conjure back words that were removed from a widely-used dictionary whose editors had decided the words were no longer all that relevant to childre. Dandelion, Raven, Fern. Really?

All in all, a wonderful find -- and truly, all because I encountered a human being/worker in an independent bookstore who led me to a book I am sure I will value always. 

And beyond Vancouver

This week involved a trip to Powell River, BC. Even though a plane ride there takes only about 25 minutes, it's a road trip that means at least six hours of driving and ferry rides. But aside from the trek from where we live to the Horseshoe Bay ferry, and the many curves in the road on the Sunshine Coast, it's a memorable tour. There's one leg of it in particular -- the ferry ride from Earls Cove to Saltery Bay where the scenery is as close as I will ever get to Norway, as it's mountainous fjords, complete with cascading waterfalls. 

The reason for going there? The historic Patricia Theatre was showing Harold and Maude for

Valentine's Day, and I was lucky enough to be invited to participate, and to read from my book, Glorious Birds. I not only got to introduce the film, audience members hung around for a Q&A session. Naturally, my brain didn't work as well as I might have liked, and I wasn't able to answer all of the questions very clearly. Nonetheless, it mostly felt like engaged conversation -- I actually felt I'd make a couple of connections with folks there. 

Even the weather cooperated, with blue skies and mild temps. Especially after all these months of isolation, what more could one ask of a getaway?!

Travels missed, travels found

Today is just about the midpoint of what was supposed to be a holiday on the beach in Cuba. But no, that had to be cancelled, owing to the O-word.  

To console myself, I tried to pretend -- even went so far as to turn on a sunlamp to 'tan' my winter-white, dry-skin legs. 

Best consolation though was where I usually find it: in one of the books I'd planned to take along. 

The title, The Body on the Beach, sounds as though it might be a bit grisly as holiday reading, but no, that wasn't the case. For one thing, the beach in question was about as far from Varadero as one could get while still being on the Atlantic Ocean: Harbour Grace, Newfoundland. 

As it happens, that's a town I've visited more than once, as it played into the research I did for Flightpaths, my book about Amelia Earhart. But this 'visit' is during the 1920s, the era when Model T cars were still relatively new. 

It's hard to pigeon-hole this novel as any single genre, as it qualifies not only as detective story with questions that range at first from who was it that died, to a series of increasing challenges regarding the details of that death (how and why being foremost, though there's definitely a whodunnit aspect as well). 

But that isn't all it is, as it's also a love story -- about the love a man has for a woman from his past as well as a growing romance in his here-and-now. 

All of this is complicated (in a good way) by the many historical details author Patrick J. Collins has layered into the book. The biggest of these, and the one that causes the most tension is Prohibition. Being a port town, one that engages in shipping both to and from the US (remember, at this time, Newfoundland was not yet part of Canada, but its own independent dominion), Harbour Grace's location makes it convenient for would-be smugglers. 

Even though now and then I'd get a little lost in the crowd of so many characters, the book kept me engaged enough to not fret too much about a missed opportunity for travel. In fact, it allowed me some of the best travels of all, those travels we take via the mind. 

A golden anniversary

Fifty years. Yikes. How does a charming little movie get to be 50 and still have any kind of presence. 

Endurance, I guess.

According to most sources, Harold and Maude was released on December 20, 1971, although apparently there was a kerfuffle on the 7th of this month when a number of sources claimed that as its anniversary. 

Rude of me, I suppose, but I'm stickin' with today as the date for the observance. After all, I wrote the book on it. Okay, not the only book (so I can't really call it 'the book'), but I did a lot of research in my attempts to be accurate. And my book, Glorious Birds came out earlier this year, closer to the Spring Equinox than to the Winter Solstice. 

I can't help but think the beginning of winter is an appropriate time for the film to have been released, as the plot of it certainly moves from darkness to light. But because I don't want to reveal any spoilers, I'll keep the rest of my comments to myself, at least for now. 

The power of words

The poppy has likely become the most recognizable symbol of Remembrance Day. And it's all because of a poem written by John McCrae, one so many of us can recite (at least partially) by heart, "In Flanders Fields". 

We don't always realize the power of our words, and I'm sure McCrae had no idea that I (and a lot of other people) would be wearing a red poppy on my lapel all these years after World War I, over a century on. 

McCrae is certainly not the only poet who's written about what was called the Great War. The most famous of these is probably Wilfred Owen, though there are others, including a woman, Vera Brittain, whose poetic contribution was a volume called Verses of V.A.D. She was better known for her prose writings, one of which, Testament of Youth, sounds as though it will be coming out as a film. 

Many others have written novels set during World War I. Two that come to mind are June Hutton's Underground, another is Deafening by Frances Itani. 

But Remembrance Day isn't only about remembering the First World War. It's a day for being grateful for all of those before us who fought for a way of life we too often take for granted. 

And one special remembrance I always keep on this day is the fact that it's the birthdate of Kurt Vonnegut, a writer who certainly solidified his reputation as being anti-war with his memoir-based novel, Slaughterhouse Five. 

Shake, rattle, and roll

If you recognize that phrase, you must be nearly the age that I am. In this case, I'm not thinking about classic rock music, but about the annual earthquake exercise called the Great Shake-Out, a practice that's apparently held the world over on the third Thursday of October. 

This year that translates to October 21st, tomorrow. The drill here in BC will take place at 10:21 a.m., an easy enough time to remember, as it matches the date 10/21. 

I've participated in this before (if you have the tv or radio on, it's hard not to -- as they blast a terrible 'warning' sound), but this year I'm more serious than previously, as I've just finished reading a book about earthquakes, On Borrowed Time. Its descriptions of quakes and the often-accompanying tsunamis that have occurred all over the globe might be enough to give anyone shakes of their own, but that's not the author's main intent. His message is really that we all need to prepare so that we're ready when (not if) the inevitable occurs. For more about the book, you might want to read a review I wrote about it.

As part of the Great Shake-Out there's even more than usual it seems available online, including this comprehensive compilation of 'seven steps' from a place one might expect to find such information, the state of California.  

Scary? Yes, it is -- more than a little bit. But sensible to try to be prepared? I sure think so. 

Nostalgia on a summer breeze

At last, the season for reading outdoors has truly arrived. Oh sure, I used to read in the snow fort I’d built in the backyard, but that was a long time ago, a time I’m not all that nostalgic for. Still, such thoughts are somewhat apt, as the book I read yesterday afternoon, Diane Tucker’s Nostalgia for Moving Parts, opens with memories of childhood.

Whether she’s recalling the feel of bare feet on cool floors or sliding on them “in sock feet” or lying down, staring into the heat vents which she describes perfectly as looking like “little venetian blinds” she’s certainly succeeded in transporting me there. Even in her stories of being a very young girl, we see her developing what she understands being a woman to mean, whether that’s disliking a dress your mother wants you to wear, flirting with a cute boy in grade two, or coming to the realization that there’d come a day when “You threw the dice of yourself and hoped you’d win.”

Her poems and the experiences they recount—including the deaths of both of her parents—have taken me to some of the places I realize I still need to pay more attention to. Even my massage therapist tells me that my pains are from holding back grief. As the poet Edward Hirsch reminds us in 100 Poems to Break Your Heart, “The poet is one who…is determined to leave a trace in words, to transform oceanic depths of feeling into the faithful nuances of art.”

And that seems to be exactly what Tucker has done with her poems, which deal with everything from the joys of backyard games:

we smashed the badminton birdie

over the fading net arc after arc

until evening ate the small white thing

 to observations about the qualities of evening wine: 

White wine is not white but golden,

bright lantern to light your aging limbs,

slow lover bathing your solitary throat.

 And from those words I read on yesterday’s summery afternoon (“This afternoon could scour the cool / out of anything…”), I have to say that I am grateful that she has given me words I can use to write about her book, a book that helps me understand why she is nostalgic for certain lost things—and how it is that she has come to write about them. For lack of a better way to express this, I offer a stanza from her poem, ‘The woods are full of poets’: 

As cedar boughs grow down and then

grow up (a double wish, a desire for both

at once), blank paper does two things:

it blocks the light and it lets light through. 

It’s a stanza that in itself evokes a small reminder of (and nostalgia for) Leonard Cohen, and his lessons about light.

For the birds?

July is supposed to be the happiest of months. Or maybe somehow I just have that stuck in my mind. Maybe because it's the first month of no school. Or maybe because I often go to Kansas for the Amelia Earhart Festival (cancelled again this year) and its exciting display of fireworks. 

It's traditionally been the month when I get back down to plenty of leisure reading. Something about warm weather that makes me want to sit outside with a book -- a great excuse for not doing anything more energetic. 

When I used to work in schools, July felt like the time when I was finally free of responsibilities of classroom teaching (marking, ugh) or library work (inventory, double-ugh). So the idea of free reading is one I still associate with this month. 

Again going back to work days, my brain never seemed ready to tackle 'big' books. I'd start off by reading a few of Tintin's adventures, and then gradually go forward to books like David and the Phoenix or The Secret Garden. Before the month would be out, my brain would be back in gear and ready to tackle some grown-up books. 

Even though I no longer have those mega-duties anymore, I still find myself doing 'warm-up' reading with what might these days be called YA materials. This year, it was GG-winner, The King of Jam Sandwiches, followed by the old-fashioned pleasures of a Green Knowe book from Lucy M. Boston. 

Already I've managed to roar through Thomas King's latest, the very timely, Sufferance, much of it actually set on the site of a residential school. Among the residents of this very fine book is a passel of crows, one of whom stopped by on one of our skylights. Not sure if he thought he could get inside or what. Must have been a nice buffet of dead bugs up there. Or maybe he was just looking down onto my current stack of library books, hoping to find something good to read. 

A good day to buy some books

There's a little basket on my desk where I keep an assortment of bookmarks. Many of these are souvenirs from independent bookstores where I've shopped over the years. Sadly, too many of them no longer exist, not even in the world of virtual shopping. No more Duthie's, and saddest for me, the loss not only of a bookstore but of a friend when Copper Beech closed. 

But today, the last Saturday in April, is a day for finding ways to support our local indie bookstores. As an incentive they've even organized a contest to encourage us to shop (though weirdly, my remaining local indie is not on the list of shops participating). 

I'd write more, but I think it's probably time for me to grab my wallet and head out to the bookstore -- not just for books, but maybe even a couple more bookmarks. 

They're heeere!

It's always a glorious day when a box of new books arrives. Especially when they're my very own latest, Glorious Birds. 

Looking back over this less-than-glorious year, with its various stages of lockdown, I feel lucky that I found myself engaged in a project where I'd not only learn so much, but where I'd have such a great time. 

And now, on to the launch event, happening later this very day. 

Read -- it's still free

Usually, I observe Freedom to Read Week by participating in an event specifically geared to celebrate it. Often, that means doing a reading from books that have been banned or challenged. For fun, this link will take you to a quiz about literacy and the freedom to read. 

This year, like just about everything else in our lives, that observance is different. 

Yes, I'm in an event where I get to mention Freedom to Read Week, but the only challenged piece I'll be presenting is one of my own poems. It's one that a local environmental group posted on its website a few years ago, when a whole lot of poets banded together in efforts to save a forest from becoming yet another faceless development. Fortunately, this effort, the Han Shan Project succeeded, and that chunk of forest is now protected and available as a public park. 

My poem, which was based on the Beatitudes found in the Bible, stirred the wrath of certain folks. They not only complained that my poem was blasphemous, they threatened the environmental group, demanding that they remove my poem (and even, for a while, wanted the environmental group's entire website taken down). I was fortunate in that the group who'd posted it held its ground and honoured my poem, and also that the complainers gradually went away. 

This year, when it comes to censorship, freedom of expression, and access to information, my biggest concern is the repercussive wave that's swept the internet over Australia's decision to protect journalism in that country. The big guys, who seem to think they rule the world, don't want to have to pay for content.

It's going to take a while to sort out this mess, but it's a situation that deserves the attention of all of us who value responsible journalism and news that's true.  

Oh, and if you're curious about the photo with its message to Read, it's a piece of origami book art I came across at my local indie bookstore -- a business I'm doing my best to support by shopping there. I hope you can find ways to shop local too. 

O Canada...

Today is "I Read Canadian Day" -- a day that for me is probably not much different from most other days. Not that I read exclusively homegrown books, though looking at various piles around the house, it's pretty clear that those are what I mostly read. 

The ones in the photo at the top are non-fiction, poetry, and even a magazine. Looking at them, I see an odd kind of interplay among their titles. Unintentional, I promise, but kind of a fun treat providing a bit of comic relief, as the two hardcover books are about disasters that occurred in Newfoundland. 

The books in the photo below are novels I've read recently, and both come, as Vancouver reviewer Tom Sandborn might say, "highly recommended."

Speechless concerns the plight of a young woman accused of adultery. Punishment for 'her crime' (actually a rape) is to be a public stoning. There's a review of it (one I wrote) in the most recent edition

of sub-Terrain Magazine, though I guess you'll have to buy the magazine to read it, as it isn't (at least, not yet) posted online.  

The latest novel from Helen Humphreys, Rabbit Foot Bill, came out last fall (and I bought it right away), but I saved it, as I admit to being a fan of hers. I knew I'd want to savour it, like a treat you save for some special occasion. Wherever she sets her books (this one, in Saskatchewan), her writing transports me there. And even though I didn't write a review of it, I'll admit there are quite a few orange stickies marking passages I want to go back to. 

I hope you'll remember that today isn't the only day to Read Canadian. It's a pleasure -- at least for me -- any day of the year.