Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Rock(as)sa(u)lt

There's an incisively critical review of the Rocksalt anthology up at The Danforth Review (which, sadly, will be closing shop indefinitely). The review's by Catherine Owen and is written from the perspective of someone arbitrarily excluded from the book because she'd moved to Alberta from her home province of BC a couple of years previously. She mentions me as a contributor who benefitted from the eligibility criteria, since I'd moved to BC shortly after she'd moved away. The argument is, and I think it's totally legitimate, that she has more business being in the book than I do. She does go on to say that my poem is one of the strongest in the anthology, and I'm one of the 33 contributors--by her count--whose poem is squarely located in a specific BC locale. Catherine thinks this is how the book should be oriented, but I'm not so sure. Tilting an anthology towards site-specific poems usually results in a) a lot of second-rate poems being included because they're thematically appropriate (tho, as she points out, insisting on new, unpublished poems is at least as likely to dilute the brew) and b) an overall picture of the culture of a place that is misleadingly provincial because it excludes poets who don't give a hoot about birds, bears, mountains or forests.

Speaking from the anthologist's side of the fence, I sympathise with the editors because some kind of arbitrary criteria simply have to imposed if you're going to make your job a manageable one. Figuring out what those criteria are--and how flexible you're going to be about them--is a crucial task, on which the aesthetic success or failure of the anthology depends. My anthology had one very obvious pre-set limit: each poem had to be a sonnet. This is trickier than it might seem at a glance, since the sonnet in the 21st century is not necessarily a 14-line poem in a set rhyme scheme (nor has it been in past centuries, but the exceptions to the rule are far more normal now than when Milton was caudating or Hopkins was curtailing). A second limit I set myself was that all the poems had to have been published in book form--essentially the opposite of the Rocksalt rule. Rhenisch and Fertig didn't want to deal with permissions, I didn't want to deal with an open call; in retrospect, sifting thru a pile of submissions would have been much easier than the countless hours I spent spelunking in the Special Collections at the Killam Library, but I highly doubt I'd have received many, if any, poems to supercede those I'd found in my digs. So the work would have been easier, but the yield much lower; I think Catherine's right to criticize the Rocksalt editors on that score.

I did exercise my judgment in making a few exceptions to the book-published rule, pace the criticism of Sarah Neville that I ignored literary journals; for example, I included Catherine Owen's collaboration with Joe Rosenblatt, which I first encountered in an issue of Prairie Fire, before they had secured a deal for the book in which it now appears. As far as nationality goes, a number of the poets in the book are ambiguously--or perhaps amphibiously--Canadian. My rule on this was to err on the side of inclusiveness, which Owen is--correctly, I think--arguing Rhenisch and Fertig should have. As readers of Jailbreaks are aware, I was frustrated by the close-minded refusal of Elizabeth Bishop's publisher to let me consider her as a Canadian poet.

It's hard to imagine editors of a PEI anthology excluding me or, say, Steve McOrmond or David Hickey on the basis of present-day non-residence; this would be no more reasonable than excluding Richard Lemm for being born in the US or John Smith, PEI's former laureate, because he's from Ontario. I think maybe British Columbians take it more for granted that if someone has defected from their most sublime of provinces, it's because they don't want to be there--instead of because it's a prohibitively expensive place to live, especially if you prefer the sort of lifestyle most writers do.

Monday, June 1, 2009

Goin' Fishing

It's so funny when publishers pull "praise" from less than praiseful reviews. For example this, which says nothing about the book in question, and which you'd never know came from this. It's one thing to quote disingenuously, but couldn't they at least do it right? "... one of the most gifted poets in the country" perhaps?

Sunday, May 31, 2009

F&D review of Jailbreaks

Jailbreaks has been reviewed by Karl Jirgens for Canadian Literature. Apparently, it contains "sonnets." Who knew?

"I mean I'd like to butter his canoli all night long."

When Oscar Wilde said the only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about, I don't think he had something like this in mind. Or maybe he did.

The most negative review of all

Thanks to Carmine at the Vehicule blog for pointing out this very thoughtful post on reviewing by Alfred Corn. Someone I reviewed a while back told me recently to "stay the [expletive deleted] out of my way." Corn suggests that wouldn't be in her best interest; I tend to agree, but am happy to oblige.

Saturday, May 30, 2009

Derek Walcott on Robert Frost

Pound's poetry does not absolve Pound, any more than a single phrase from a letter by Frost damns Frost forever. One groans or shudders, but one pushes on. Poetry is its own realm and does not pardon. There is nothing to forgive Frost's poetry for. There are, instead, many poems to be grateful for, so many poems, indeed, that the man, the biography, the symbol of Yankee resilience are all negligible, since poetry pronounces benediction not on the poet but on the reader. A great poem is a state of raceless, sexless, timeless grace, and this book, which contains more than just a life, is too full of such benedictions for this reader not to pick it up and continue. -- "The Road Taken"

Thursday, May 28, 2009

Formal Fallacies

Been reading the new issue of Arc. It's another strong, interesting issue of what has become one of the top literary rags in the country. One of the great things in this issue is a feature called "White Salt Mountain," devoted to various poets talking about John Thompson's work.

One of those poets is Allan Cooper. In an interview with Janna Graham, who organized the White Salt Mountain festival in Sackville, Cooper says something that kinda sticks in my craw:

JG: What is your experience of writing in forms (as opposed to free verse)? What are your thoughts on the resurgence of form in Canadian poetry today?

AC: I employ the ghazal form in my poems, or at least my version of the ghazal, but I stopped writing sonnets and villanelles when I was in my teens. I found that formal verse couldn't contain the extreme states I was seeing in the world. When I first started writing serious poetry, the Vietnam War was coming to an end, and an American cargo plane full of Vietnamese children crash-landed. I think all of the children were lost. So how could I write about that experience in a formal poem? I needed colloquial speech--free verse--to get that experience across.


There are so many things wrong with this statement I hardly know where to start, but here goes:

1) Cooper is basically saying that formal verse is okay for kids, but grownups facing real issues need free verse, thereby tacitly dismissing anyone who writes the former.

2) He is guilty of the logical fallacy of generalising from a particular. Instead of saying that he didn't feel that he could write about certain subjects in rhyme and metre, he says that those structures are somehow incapable of containing those subjects, no matter who tried. Never mind Wilfred Owen, Cooper knows better, 'cause, you know, he heard about some kids dying on the news. Classy. What Allan probably should have said is that he stopped writing rhyming verse because a) he was crappy at it or b) none of the cool kids were writing it (Cooper's mentor Alden Nowlan famously abandoned rhyming poems for free verse) and he just really wanted to fit in and write achingly naive liberal-minded poems about how awful war is.

3) Pace Allan Cooper, there is no equation between "colloquial speech" and free verse. Lots of free verse is highly formal in terms of diction and syntax (KJ Bible anyone?) and lots of rhyming, metred verse is colloquial (see Carmine Starnino's review of David O'Meara's latest book in the same issue of Arc).

4) Allan doesn't even try to answer the second part of the question, presumably because he doesn't know anything about it, since he's still living in the 1970s, apparently. Groovy.

Cooper would do well to heed Peter Sanger's answer to the same question:

Poetry is form. Without form it is non-poetry. Anyone who turns to free verse to avoid scansion, rhyme, regular stanza pattern and other similar disciplines will write bad poetry. Good free verse cannot be written without some substantial grounding [ed.: i.e. beyond having a few juvenile pokes at it] in formal verse, although it can, of course, be faked by a parasitic extension of the style of another poet who is or was so grounded.

Jen Hadfield

While we were in Scotland, I picked up a few books by Scottish poets. I haven't managed to read anywhere near all of them yet, but a highlight so far has been Nigh-No-Place by Jen Hadfield. The book caused a bit of a sensation across the pond, as Hadfield, at the tender age of 30, became the youngest author ever to win the TS Eliot Prize. The book was also shortlisted for the Forward Prize. And justly so. I love the colloquial vigour, formal inventiveness and restless venturing of this book; I don't get that snap of connection with very many contemporary collections, but I do with this one.

Hadfield, it turns out, has Canadian roots (and citizenship), as her mother's from this side, and much of the book was written during, or about, extensive travels through Canada, going from Halifax to Vancouver by train--I wonder...--and up the Dempster Highway into the Western Arctic. Such latitudes are not unfamiliar to her--even if the landscapes would have been--as she lives in Shetland, north of the Scottish mainland (and nominally Scottish, but don't dare suggest as much to the locals). Most of the best poems in the book are rooted in the Shetlands and are peppered with Shetlandic vocabulary.


Hear me Read Jen Hadfield's "Self-portrait as a Fortune-telling Miracle Fish" (with thanks to Bloodaxe Books for permission)




Some links:

Profile at Poetry International

Interview at Abe Books

Another interview


A poem

4 poems

Hear Jen Hadfield read "Paternoster"

Review of Nigh-No-Place

Another Review


Article in The Independent

Article in The Times, including 3 poems

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Trillium Award Shortlists Announced

Gawd, if such good shortlists keep getting released, soon there'll be nothing left for me to grumble about. Just learned that both Jeramy Dodds' Crabwise to the Hounds and Adam Sol's Jeremiah, Ohio have made the shortlist for this year's Trillium Poetry Prize. For Jeramy, this represents a trifecta, since he's also up for the Gerald Lampert Award and the Griffin Prize, no less. And this after already scooping the Bronwen Wallace and CBC Literary awards. Crabwise appears to be a juggernaut of unstoppable force! I thought Adam Sol's book would be nominated for more than it has--it deserves to be--so I'm glad to see it hasn't been shut out altogether. This is his second Trillium nomination, if I'm not mistaken.

Friday, May 22, 2009

CONTEXT IS EVERYTHING


Twice have I killed

a rat in my wife's

presence—


The first time was outdoors:

She said she would

divorce me.


Second time was in our kitchen:

She fell sobbing

on my breast.


The impact of these events

on the rats has yet

to be reckoned.








Thursday, May 21, 2009

Frog Hollow Press: Book Sale

Hi everyone,

We're having a sale of some older titles to make room on our shelves for forthcoming books.
Please see our website for further details: www.froghollowpress.com



TRACERY & INTERPLAY by matt robinson
letterpressed, hand-sewn chapbook - regular price $25 on sale for $20

ALDEN NOWLAN & ILLNESS edited by Shane Neilson
letterpressed, case-bound hard cover - regular price $90 on sale for $75

A SET OF DEADLY NEGOTIATIONS by George Murray
letterpressed, hand-sewn chapbook - regular price $35 on sale for $20

NOW THAT YOU REVIVE by A.F. Moritz
Smyth-sewn paperback - regular price $35 on sale for $25

EDITING MORITZ Shane Neilson & A.F. Moritz
Smyth-sewn paperback - regular price $35 on sale for $25

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Why?

Thanks to Peter Darbyshire for pointing out this piece. Like him, I have nothing to say.

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Oh poo!


Normally, I don't enter poetry contests, but when I caught wind--pardon the pun, you'll see--of a rather, erm, special one in Florida, I couldn't resist squeezing out an entry. The contest was hosted by a colonoscopy clinic, with a top prize of $500 USD. The catch: the poem had to be about colonoscopy. The exchange rate being favourable and the contest being free to enter, I figured, shit, why not, I'm a professional, I'll give it a toot.

Well, the winners have been announced, along with a good many runners up and yours truly did not cut the cheese. It turns out I should have written a limerick. And I should have gone the cautionary tale/didactic route instead of agonized introspection (mixed with cheeky allusions to the Great Las Vegas Colonoscopy Scandal. Oh well, I could second guess till the gastroenterologists come home. Here's what I did do, for your amusement or disgust:

Colonoscopy Prayer


O Lord, let this procedure not presage my end.

Let this be painless.

Let the nurse be not too young or attractive.

Let the doctor have mercy.

Let the scope be smooth and warm as it enters.

Let my bowels be inactive.

Let the clinic be cleanly.

Let its staff be attentive.

Lord, let me not go to Las Vegas.

Let this be painless.

Let the drugs be effective.

Let the lens find no lesions or polyps.

Should it find polyps, let them be mite-sized.

Should it find lesions, don't let them be cancers.

Let them be easily excised.

Let this be painless.

Let me have answers.

Let me lead my kids into adulthood.

Let me be my wife's final companion.

Let us see the Grand Canyon.

Don't let it be because I went to Las Vegas.

Let me have patience.

Let this be over.

Let it be painless.


I may not have a job...

...but I've got rhythm! Four poems from my forthcoming collection are now online for your reading pleasure or pain at Rhythm Poetry Magazine. Editor Mary Kathryn Arnold would like me to let you know that if you're writing metrical verse, she welcomes your submissions of same.

Dim Prospects

I went into work the other day for the first time since early November. It wasn't for a trip, just an information "refresher" session. The information I received was none too refreshing. Looks like the recession has hit tourism pretty damn hard, and since most of Via's increased summer ridership is directly tied to tourism, the numbers are way down. What this means for me and many of my colleagues is more weeks without work. Looks like I might not be recalled till mid-June, whereas last year it was early May. I normally wouldn't mind this, but the last couple of months have been rather expensive for this normally frugal household. So: if you're thinking of travelling somewhere within Canada, and can spare a little extra time in transit, please take the train!

Friday, May 15, 2009

Kill a Critic

As long as it's not me. Well, if it's only imaginary, that's okay.

Pretty cool contest being held at Biblioasis. Details:


Everybody Hates a Critic,

Some people hate them more than others.

Terry Griggs’s new comic-noir biblio-mystery Thought You Were Dead kicks, err, off with a literary critic found under a hedge with a knife in his head, and literary revenge plays an increasingly important role as the novel unfolds. The literary world, and especially the Canadian literary world, can be a small, spiteful – and occasionally murderous – place. Character assassinations abound, books are regularly murdered in the (shrinking) book pages across our fair land, while others are smothered with damningly faint praise. More than a few knives, even if thankfully metaphorical, have been buried hilt deep in authorial backs.

Do you bear the scars of CanLit’s internecine wars? Have you spent a small fortune on postage and only have a drawerful of rejection slips to show for it? Has the world been slow to recognize your evident talent? Then, dear reader, this contest is for you.

To celebrate the launch of Terry Griggs’s Thought You Were Dead, Biblioasis and Seen Reading are teaming up to help you unleash the murder we know is in your heart with our Revenge-Lit contest. Pen a flash fiction of 250 words or so (though, in truth, no one is likely to count them) on the (fictional) literary critic whose body once filled the chalk outline and what he did to get there and send it by June 12th to revengelit@gmail.com. The best of the entries will be published as they are received at http://www.facebook.com/l/;RevengeLit.blogspot.com. The winning entry will:

1) Receive a one hundred dollar cash prize

2) Be published in a forthcoming issue of CNQ: Canadian Notes & Queries

3) A Biblioasis press catalogue of in-print trade titles (approx. 40 books, retail value approx. $1000.00)

Entries to be judged by Dan Wells, Julie Wilson and Terry Griggs.

Thursday, May 14, 2009


Speaking of beautiful books, I got my contributor's copy of A Verse Map of Vancouver today and what a stunning production it is. I thought the Halifax antho I was in a few years ago was nice--it is--but this beats it hands down. A full-sized, full colour hardback coffee table book, Derek Von Essen's photos not only gorgeous but carefully chosen to accompany the selected poems. Wowzas. Kudos to George McWhirter for conceiving of the project and executing it so finely, to Von Essen for his hard work and beautiful results, and to the city and Anvil Press for not stinting in the production values. You can tell a lot of labour went into this--time well spent. And money well spent if you get yourself a copy.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Another reason to pre-order Track & Trace

As if you needed one! I'm told that the book will be designed by my fellow Prince Edward Island expat and graphic novelist extraordinaire, Seth. (Okay, so he's not technically an Islander, but his dad is.) Not that I had any doubt it would be a beautiful book, but it should be extra lovely in his hands. It's quite appropriate that someone with ties to the Island should be designing the book, since several of the poems are rooted there and others, broadly, are about not being there.

CNQ 2.0

Dan Wells has posted a sneak peak of the newlook CNQ website over at Thirsty. Looking sharp. Many thanks to my good friends at Sobule Design.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

A lovely little note

...from a reader in Ontario, with an unauthorized, but not unwelcome, reproduction of a poem from Unsettled. Thanks!

Pre-order Track & Trace NOW!

Looks like my new book is available for pre-order on Amazon. Not all at once, now.

Jailbreaks Review

Just came across this review of Jailbreaks in Maple Tree Literary Supplement. While the review is mostly praiseful, Michèle Rackham poses the most pointed questions of any reviewer about specific exclusions. I'm glad she asked. I left Carman out because Carman was a terrible poet; had he been anything but a popular versifier who had the historical good fortune to be one of the earliest poets in the country, he'd be completely forgotten by now. His work is kept alive by academic life support. Dudek I left out because he was a dully pedantic poet; again, I don't know that anyone outside of academic specialists reads Dudek anymore. Livesay and Kroetsch very nearly made the cut, but I ultimately couldn't generate enough enthusiasm about the poems to include them. And the book, as her observations about the notes suggests, was intended to present poems I'm enthusiastic about, not to present a picture of the canon-as-is. Poems, not reputations.

Oh, and as for why Neff is next to Bailey:

Neff: "Consider an owl tracking thru the vulnerable / Night of a billion sleeping mice: you can be like that and kill!"

Bailey: "Look well upon the elm whose wittol root / roams like a hungry rat"

'Nuf said?

Wednesday, May 6, 2009

Reviews online

Still getting our house in order (a task made difficult by the fact that we have approximately half the furniture we need), so not much time for idle pursuits like blogging, but thought I'd alert you to the online presence of my brief reviews of Karen Solie's new collection, Pigeon, and Lisa Robertson's Magenta Soul Whip, by, wait for it, Lisa Robertson. The latter should be required reading for those who think I review with some kind of hidden agenda or that I'm incapable of appreciating work radically unlike my own.

Still no call-back to work, which is a mixed blessing. I'm not especially looking forward to my return to wage slavery, but I've been spending way too much of the old savings lately. So, back to writing my next review...

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Back at 'er

Contrary to what my last post might seem to suggest, I'm no longer in Scotland. I'm now back in New Scotland, staying with my flu-plagued family at a hotel prior to moving back into our old house in the North End of Halifax. Once I have time and energy to compose some thoughts and words, I'll do a big post--with photos!--on our trip, which was splendid.

ORKNEY REPORT


Everything here's impossibly old

and once you've seen one ruinous cottage


or roofless church, you're better off

breaking the spine of a book at the noust


than carrying on with the tour. It should

be said, though, that a crumbling broch


is far finer than abandoned brick-

n-mortar batteries, Brodgar boggles


the brain, and it must be something

else to see the solstice sun flicker


and ripple on the rear wall of Maeshowe—

but sure as this landmass drifted


from Orcadie, it'll all wind up

in the sea. Five millenia back,


the waves that buss the buttressed seawall

at Skara Brae were half a mile of dunes


away. The Old Man of Hoy's a peedie boy

compared with what’s crumpled about him.


Across Scapa Flow, the Flotta flare

burns all roofless day without blinking.

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Dodds Does it Again!

I've spent all day getting ready for our trip to Scotland, so I'm late with this, but as you probably already know is that the Griffin Prize shortlist was announced today. I don't know if the world is changing or I'm just getting soft, but this is one of the best Canadian shortlists I've seen. Which doesn't necessarily mean that it has THE BEST books of the last year, not necessarily the same three books I'd've picked, but that it contains three strong books and no head-scratchingly weird choices (unlike the most recent GG award, about which readers of this blog have already heard far too much, sans doute). Kudos to Michael Redhill, this year's Canadian judge.

It should be noted that Redhill has been published by both Coach House and Anansi and was on the Coach House editorial board for several years in the 90s. So I wouldn't go so far as to say this was an unbiased judgment on his part, given that the list is comprised of two Anansi books and one Coach House publication. Given that the prize is funded by Anansi's owner, it would have looked a lot better if Redhill had managed to shortlist but one of their books. But as conflicts go, it's fairly tenuous. Not to say that there aren't conflicts, but none that I know of.

Anyway, enough of such speculations. I'm very glad for all three shortlistees, especially my pal Jeramy Dodds, who is having a damn good April to-date and is about to hit the road on a cross-country train tour. (Wonder where he got that idea?) This might just be the closest that yours truly ever gets to Griffin gold, as my name appears in Crabwise to the Hounds. Also, it should be noted that Kevin Connolly, also shortlisted, edited Jeramy's book. Gotta be a good day for him.

We're off to Edinburgh tomorrow evening, which seems scarcely possible. The flight with a 9 month old should be... interesting. How he manages jet lag even more so. I'll be popping in from time to time, but mostly enjoying my holiday before getting back to the grindstone in Halifax, working on the train and getting my house and grounds up to snuff. Ciao for now.

Sunday, April 5, 2009

Heard Reading


I'm poet o' the day at Seen Reading today. You can also hear me reading Edwin Muir's post-apocalyptic masterpiece "The Horses" in the archive.

Saturday, April 4, 2009

Mansfield Revue

Mansfield Press has started up a new feature on their website, "The Mansfield Revue." It includes my recent review essay of Pino Coluccio and Suzanne Buffam's books from CNQ 76.

Friday, April 3, 2009

ZW in the Post

My "NaPoMo" questionnaire is now up at The National Post's blog, The Afterword. Check it out.

Elise Partridge

Carmine Starnino, at the Vehicule blog, has pointed out this very good interview with Elise Partridge, conducted by Dani Couture for Northern Poetry Review. It doesn't seem to have been announced publicly yet, but I'm told that Elise has also been named inaugural poet-in-virtual-residence at Arc magazine. Her second book is also up for the Dorothy Livesay Award at the BC Book Prizes. Good to see so many good things happening for such a deserving writer. She's one of the folks I'll miss when we leave this coast.

More efficient and less time-consuming distribution of the communion elements

In case there was any doubt about the link between Christianity and the culture of conspicuous consumption capitalism...

You have a choice in life


Tho, admittedly, the distinction is often hard to make. Perhaps this is more differential diagnosis than ultimatum...

Thursday, April 2, 2009

Gerald Lampert

The League of Canadian Poets, with its usual fanfare on such occasions, recently released the shortlist for this year's Gerald Lampert Award for best first poetry collection. It's an uncommonly good list this year--due in part, no doubt, to the presence of Barbara Nickel on the jury--with two of last year's best books, never mind debut collections, making the cut, and no egregious exclusions that I can think of. The two books of which I speak are Jeramy Dodds' Crabwise to the Hounds and Sachiko Murakami's The Invisibility Exhibit. Two very different books; I'd have a hard time choosing between 'em, were I a judge. Sachiko writes with skill and sangfroid about horrific subject matter. Jeramy assaults the page with a baroque barrage of sonorous imagery and metaphor. Neither one could conceivably write anything resembling the other's poems.

In another year, Katia Grubisic's What if Red Ran Out might be a serious contender, but tough comp in '09. A few months back I flipped through Johanna Skibsrud's book and took a pass; haven't looked at it closely enough to make a judgment, but what I saw didn't grab me. Chiles and Eichorn I know very little of. I hadn't even heard of Chiles' publisher, Cinnamon Press. Anyway, I've very curious to find out who wins this one.

"I'm working on a collection of poems that will be defined by the poems that end up being in it."

One of the only honest "project descriptions" I've ever heard. Likelihood of it getting Stu a Canada Council grant? Almost nil.

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Julie Wilson interviewed...

...by Mark Medley at The Afterword, on the subject of 30 in 30.

The Cruellest Month

Hello, April. Blogger tells me this is the 801st post on CLM. Not including, of course, those that have been deleted. Pace the bean-counter, numbers lie as much as anyone else.

April is, of course, for better or for wourse, National Poetry Month. 30 days hath NaPoMo and as we know, Julie Wilson will be presenting 30 poets (or so) over at Seen Reading. She's already posted the archive, which is bound to grow. There you can hear all kinds of great stuff--I've only made a small dent myself--including yours truly reading a poem of his own and a poem of Edwin Muir's.

A bunch of other folks have undertaken similar serializations. The National Post's blog, The Afterword, will be publishing 30 poet profiles/Q&A's over the course of the month, including one of yours truly, on a date TBA. Angel House Press promises to also expose us to one verser a day. As does the League of Canadian Poets--members only, natch.

What am I doing for NaPoMo? Running. I handed the keys to my erstwhile apartment over to the landlord yesterday, our goods--what's left of them--were loaded on a truck on the 28th. We're now at no fixed address for 30 days. Right now, we're crashing at my sister-in-law's while she and her family are in Mexico. Tomorrow, my family and I head to Sechelt for a getaway weekend given to us by said sister-in-law as a marriage present last April and untaken advantage of till now due to Kaleb's birth and general busyness. On our return, we'll be spending a few days at my mother-in-law's in False Creek before leaving on April 8 (which happens to be my pa's 73rd birthday; so many of my relatives, including my darling wife, were born in April) for Scotland (another wedding gift, this one from Rachel's dad). We fly into Edinburgh, via Amsterdam, spend a night, then we rent a car and drive up to Stromness in the Orkneys (Rachel's mother's maiden name, coincidentally, is Strom), where we'll be spending what promises to be a glorious week in a stone cottage on a pier, hard by the erstwhile home of the wonderful Orcadian poet George MacKay Brown. I'm reading Brown's novel, Beside the Ocean of Time, in preparation for the trip. I've also recently finished reading the autobiography of Edwin Muir, former teacher of Brown and outstanding poet, translator (most notably of Kafka, along with his wife, Willa) and critic. The two make for an interesting contrast: Muir the cosmopolitan nomad and Brown the stay-at-home islander. A contrast familiar to anyone who grew up on an island. Or in any remote/rural community, for that matter. There are an awful lot of landlocked islands in the world today. From Orkney, we make our way back to Edinburgh, stopping in Glencoe before finishing the trip with 5 days in the capital city, where we've rented a flat.

We'll be back in Canada late April, flying into Montreal, then taking the train to Halifax, where we'll hole up in a hotel a couple of days before retaking possession of our North End house, resuming some version of the life we led between 2004-06. We're making this epic move--again--for a number of reasons, personal and financial. What it boils down to is that we're far better equipped to lead the sort of life we want to lead in Halifax than we are in Vancouver, a city far too expensive for anyone not wealthy or overfond of working hard.

So, CLM will be unwontedly quiet over April as we go, as Chaucer said, on pilgrimage. But I'll try to post the odd photo from our travels.

Monday, March 30, 2009

Jailbreaks Review

There's a review of Jailbreaks by Sarah Neville in the new issue of the journal Qwerty, out of UNB in Fredericton. It's the best-written and most in-depth take thus far, I think.



A labour of meticulous, scrupulous love

Jailbreaks: 99 Canadian Sonnets
Edited by Zachariah Wells
Biblioasis, 160 pages, $20

When her Break, Burn, Blow first appeared in bookstores in 2005 to explain 43 short canonical poems to masses unacquainted with the stalwart best of English verse, Camille Paglia made it known that she sought to turn close-reading into a practice attractive to the dysfunctional attentions of popular culture in order to save poetry from the tiresome homogeneity of poststructuralist identity politics. “Poetry does not simply reconfirm gender or group identity,” Paglia wrote. “It develops the imagination and feeds the soul.” Though the more insular among us can at last breathe easy now that we have something else assuredly Canadian to hold up against the encroaching succubi south of the 49th parallel, Zach Wells’s latest editorial enterprise, Jailbreaks: 99 Canadian Sonnets, is a work in much the same vein — one which endeavours not to sell Canada back to Canadians so much as to awe, arouse and edify them. As Paglia’s book took its title from one of John Donne’s sonnets, Wells’s finds its source in a sonnet of Margaret Avison’s which opines “Nobody stuffs the world in at your eyes. / The optic heart must venture: a jail-break / And re-creation.”

Through Wells’s deft collection of sundry sonnets written by Canadians, Jailbreaks manages to foist responsibility for such “re-creation” upon the individual members of its readership, as Wells stubbornly refuses to stuff the works into an artificial overarching metaphor or unifying theme. Instead, Wells revels in the possibilities of the anthology form, letting the contents of individual poems bleed outward to resonate in broader, linear readings. Here, George Elliott Clarke’s “Negation” (“Le nègre negated, meagre, c’est moi”) comes close on the heels of David O’Meara’s “Postcard from Camus” (“I only love the brown bodies—young, alert, / and full of joy”), both unwittingly calling into question the black/brown imagery of Charles G.D. Roberts’s otherwise-innocuous “The Potato Harvest” a page earlier. Here, six sonnets about boats float directly into two about rope, which in turn lead into the opening lines of John Barton’s “Saint Joseph’s Hospital, 1937”: “My heart, a knot undone with pain, forgot / a beat, the message cut.”

In his introduction, Wells claimed to have assembled his roster with an eye to demonstrating the “portmanteau portability and cosmopolitaneity of the sonnet”, and that indeed he does. But in reading Jailbreaks, Wells’s more successful editorial gambit was not only in locating Canadian works that demonstrate proficiency and virtuosity in form, but in juxtaposing poems with content that rewards repeated interlinear reading.

Indeed, the inclusion of Leonard Cohen’s “You have no form”, alone serves mostly to remind readers that Cohen’s lyric skill lies primarily in free verse, but when its concluding couplet (“and I get up to love and eat and kill / not by my own, but by our married will”) is read against that of Sharon McCartney’s “Impending death of the cat” (“And yet, remark her purr, her carriage, / how capably she embodies the state of our marriage”), readers are left breathless recognizing the spreading darkness permeating the Canadian connubial tundra. Flip backwards a few pages, and Elizabeth Bachinsky’s “How to bag your small town girl” seems less regionally bittersweet than informed, responsive; the volta of Molly Peacock’s “The Lull” (“only its head was smashed. In the lull / that it took you to look, you took the time to insult / the corpse…”) returns, echoes—have we always been this jaded? And why does it sound so good in fourteen often-decasyllabic lines?

But Jailbreaks’ best comes last, with Wells’s “Notes on the Poems” demonstrating the interpretive possibilities of a careful reader’s “optic heart.” For once, a critic declines to over-analyze his texts, enabling rather than infantilizing his audience. To read Wells’s commentary you need to be well-versed in Frost, Avison, Sanger. He is a skilled prosodist, and he is at his best when he is beard-deep in scansion. In other hands, such grey matter could seem pedantic, petulant, or dry, but through Wells’s froward refusal to anatomize the sonnet form and its prosody, his readers have no choice but to inform themselves of the relevant poetic lingo if they want to keep up. While terms such as “anadiplotic volta”, “ekphrastic”, “consubstantiality”, and “caudated” flow unapologetically from Wells’s “Notes”, his direct address to the reader throughout keeps the tone casual, immediate. Wells is right here, he’s having a beer with you, wrangling over what Richard Sanger isn’t saying, telling you not to be fooled by Don Coles’s “Sampling from a Dialogue”, or offering an irrelevant anecdote about a hungover John Newlove. Did you know that “girdles for women were once made from the baleen of right whales?” Doesn’t that somehow draw you back to page 65, where Eric Cole’s “Right Whale” gasps, “the nostrils on the head / from each black fathom”?

That Wells is well-read in the history of Canadian poetry is clear, but his choices veer towards the recent and the living. Most poems in the collection were written in the previous decade. Such a focus is unsurprising from one determined to illustrate how “many younger poets…are hungry for change. It’s getting hard to open a journal or a new collection without stumbling over some sort of sonnet, or even a book-length sequence of them.” More troubling perhaps is Wells’s almost exclusive use of poems from single-author chapbooks and collections — if a reader as determined as Wells can’t be bothered to invest in the poetical works published in Canada’s literary journals, what message does that send about their relevance?

What other criticisms there are are few, and personal ones at that. Wells, a poet himself, is perhaps too fond of meta-sonneteering — a reader with a less cheek-enjambed tongue than his might grow weary by the fifth or sixth time she encounters a poem about writing poems — but the enthusiasm Wells displays in his notes begs forgiveness for such indulgences. That Jailbreaks is a labour of love is clear, but it is a love as meticulous and scrupulous as that of a strict parent, one who applauds “inventive innovation” in poetry only so long as it is accompanied by a concomitant “rigorous vigour”.

Because it is requisite in Canadian journals to point out that Wells is a “PEI-born writer who now lives in Vancouver”, this reviewer shall do so, thereby espousing the yawning tedium of geo-biographical detail even though Wells himself declines to offer such banal trivia in his own volume. Jailbreaks mercifully contains no bios, no cringing boilerplate included to supposedly illuminate the socio-cultural impressions possible within each poem’s 14 lines of verse. “Who knows not Colin Clout?” Edmund Spenser asked sometime towards the end of his Faerie Queene of 1596, ushering in a swell of ego that the debacle over the Penguin Book of Canadian Short Stories and resultant sour grape mash of the so-called Salon de Refusés demonstrates is still widespread amongst writers of our little Dominion. In such a climate, Wells’s avoidance of traditional Canuck self-congratulation is invigorating, even audacious. “Most anthologies are about poets, or generations of poets, with photos and bios and all the trappings of quasi-celebrity,” Wells told Literary Photographer in a July 2008 interview. “This one’s about single, small poems.” Because Wells organizes the poems in his anthology according to his own private thematic and poetic logic, Jailbreaks is not a typical act of ennuish Canadian canon-building, commemorating regionalism or post-Charter multiculturalism or whatever it is that “makes us Canadian” (really, is there any nation but ours so committed to talking unremittingly about itself?) but instead celebrates a small poetic form whose “deceptively ample cargo space can accommodate…pithy wit and irony, intellectual investigations and expressions of sincere feeling.”

Hefting the quarto-sized Biblioasis codex, with its luxe red cardstock cover, clean lines, and the wry learned humour of its assiduous editor, one feels most astutely that Jailbreaks’ form does indeed echo its content. Such deceptively ample cargo space is still enough to break, blow, burn — and make the sonnet new.

Sarah Neville
Fredericton, New Brunswick

30 in 30 preview


Julie Wilson has posted a trailer for her 30 in 30 poetry podcast series, featuring Karen Solie, Jeramy Dodds, Dani Couture and Michael Lista.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Palmu reads Wells

My phone and internet are cut off preparatory to moving out of our flat on Saturday. I'm at the library taking care of last minute mad deals for our worldly possessions on Craigslist. But my ever sharp-eared Google alerts let me know that the equally sharp-eared Brian Palmu had posted a very nice reading of my poem, "Heron, False Creek."

Gotta run!

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Review online

My review of James Langer's Gun Dogs is now up at Quill & Quire. This is a book I'd been looking forward to for a while, as I've heard Langer read from the manuscript a few times on my travels thru Fredericton, NB, where he attends university. It doesn't disappoint.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

I fancy the longer a poet writes the better he knows what he is doing: it is an advantage and a danger. An advantage, for the task of a poet is to make his imaginative world clear to himself. A danger, for that world in becoming clear may grow hard and shallow and obscure the mystery which it once embodied. We do not know enough about such things. --Edwin Muir, An Autobiography

Monday, March 23, 2009

"It's not like they're going to learn anything anyway."

Just read this fascinating article about essay mills (thanks to Goodreports for the link).

There was a time I seriously thought about selling old essays. When I floated the idea to a couple of friends, they were aghast. I never did sell any papers, but I still think there's nothing really wrong with it. This relates, in no small way, to the big fuss over the U of Ottawa prof handing out free A's. I think if you got rid of letter grades and emphasised learning over performance, a lot of the demand for these churned out essays would dry up. If the essay mills are flourishing, it's because the universities are sausage mills themselves.

Funnily, one of the people who told me I shouldn't sell my essays later asked me for an old Paradise Lost essay of mine because she needed to write one and was feeling too harried or something. I gave her my essay; she wound up not using it because she disagreed with my thesis. See, she was a smart person who cared about such things. She belonged in a post-secondary English class. So many students enrolled really have no business being there, but being there is good business for the school.

When I was in the Foundation Year Programme at the University of King's College in Halifax, cheating was rampant. Students were divided into different tutorial groups, with different tutors. As long as two students had different tutors and the papers they submitted were sub-A (A- and higher papers had to go to the Director for approval), both students could submit identical papers with very little risk of detection. I don't recall hearing about anyone getting busted in my year.

When I posted my 4th year paper on Wallace Stevens here on CLM, I had the feeling that some particularly lazy--and stupid--cheaters would be using it. Sure enough, a few months ago I got a hit on the blog from an American university server searching for the precise wording of my essay's opening sentence. After that, I put a caveat emptor up before the essay--which is a bigger favour than those idiots who would copy it verbatim deserve.

When Rachel was a TA at Concordia, she had a student who plagiarized her paper from four different online sources. All just a quick Google search away. I think this might be the way to sell papers and still sleep well at night: cache an archive of paper titles and key sentences, so that suspicious profs can track them down. By and large, if profs don't catch cheaters, they're just as dumb and lazy as the cheaters themselves.

Sunday, March 22, 2009

30-aught-30

Engrish

Noticed this little gem as I was packing today:

Friday, March 20, 2009

Wordle

Rob Taylor pointed out this nifty site called Wordle, which takes a piece of text and generates a graphic out of it. I plugged in the ms. of my forthcoming poetry collection and got this.

Nigel Beale on CNQ 75

With a couple of nice words for yours truly.

Thursday, March 19, 2009

Why I Love Site Meter

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One-Stop Shopping

Julie Wilson of Seen Reading fame is curating a pretty cool thing for National Poetry Month (or NaPoMo, for those in the know): 30 poets (including yrs truly), reading two poems each (one of their own and one cover) in 30 days. And more:



30 in 30 from Seen Reading on Vimeo.

What's That Word Again?

Just read this article that Dan Wells posted over at Thirsty. It made Dan think of short fiction. It made me think of something else. It's on the tip of my tongue. Oh, what could it be?

Tom, Dick 'n' Harry

Sometimes, they just pop in randomly to drop an off-topic list of proper nouns.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

More Goodyear

Gary Goodyear is proving to be a font of bungled English. Turns out he does believe in evolution after all, but he doesn't understand what it is. I think the word you're looking for is adaptation, Mr. Minister. Either that, or he subscribes to Lamarckian theory...

"it increases the problem."

More religious idiocy.

"we have to do discovery"

Looks like we need to add Gary Goodyear to James Moore on the list of Ministers with the Wrong Portfolios.

Review online

My review of Margaret Avison's posthumous collection Listening is now up at the Quill & Quire site.

Sunday, March 15, 2009

There are three poets from Canada

A facebook status update by Edward Nixon this morning alluded to there being three poets from Canada, according to the illustrious Poetry Foundation. I looked it up and sure enough. You'll never guess who they are.

Saturday, March 14, 2009

A Magazine that James Moore Can't Kill


Just got word that Rhythm Poetry Magazine, an online outfit affiliated with the Dalhousie University English Department (from which I graduated, migawd, 10 years ago), will be publishing four of my poems in May. Editor Mary Kathryn Arnold asked me to pass on the word to anyone writing metrical verse that Rhythm welcomes your submissions. You can also join the Facebook group.

The four poems they're taking are all from my forthcoming collection, Track & Trace, due out with Biblioasis in the fall. I handed in the ms. a few weeks ago and am told I should be getting an edit back before too long. I'm very glad not only to be publishing with Biblioasis, but to be working with Carmine Starnino as editor, moonlighting from his regular gig at Signal Editions. If anyone can catch the gaffes in the thing and tighten its strings, 'tis he. Colleagues and friends in this racket don't come much better than Dan Wells and Carmine. Cheers, gentlemen.

Open Letter to James Moore, Minister of Canadian Heritage

Dear Mr. Moore,

I'm writing to you as a concerned Conservative. I am troubled by the recent news that your department plans to change the funding paradigm for Canadian magazines. In particular, I think the idea of restricting funding to magazines with a subscription base of 5000 or more is a serious mistake. Why so? Because of what it will do to the artists, Mr. Moore.

Now, I imagine your office has already been inundated with letters decrying this potential deathblow to small arts and literary magazines. Personally, I could care less about the fate of these rags, filled as they are with the noodlings and doodlings of pretentious fifth-rate phonies. But the continued existence of these magazines serves a very important pragmatic purpose, which I think your party has lost sight of in its zeal to return money to people and corporations that already have it--and why not, they've earned it after all!--and take it away from wobbly, weak-kneed calves suckling at the public teat.

What purpose, you wonder? It's very simple, Mr. Moore: they keep the artists busy, complacent and quiet. You see, the "average Canadian" so prized by Mr. Harper isn't even aware of the existence of these magazines, much less is he reading them. In third world countries and totalitarian regimes, however, the artists, marginalized by the state, have the public's ears and eyes. They have real influence. And they are generally not in favour of the status quo. They cause trouble. They spark opposition. They foment unrest. They are dangerous people, Mr. Moore--and in Canada they do not like your party and its aims.

As long as the government throws artists--dogs that they are--the odd scrap and bone, they heel nicely, without being asked. They argue amongst themselves about matters of no public consequence. They circulate in their ghettoes in near-perfect isolation from the average Canadian. They compete fiercely with each other for the meagre funds available. They publish their little magazines that aren't even read by other artists. They whine occasionally about not being appreciated, but aren't sufficiently motivated to do anything real about it.

If you start taking this appeasement away, Mr. Moore, all you will be doing is kicking a sleeping dog in the ribs. Poets and playwrights will turn to satire, sculptors and painters will produce grotesque nude effigies of your leader (they will not be kind to his manly bits), folk singers will start writing protest songs instead of celebrating the faded glories of their piece of rural heaven. They will acquire an edge. They will gain relevance. Their ideas and images will begin to infect the public, as they will have to take public presentation of their work into their own hands with no more subsidized outlets available. And your party's government, barely scraping by as it is, will be defeated.

Nobody wants that, Mr. Moore. As Mr. Harper is always saying, Canadians--40% of them!--voted for a Conservative government. Conservatives, as the name implies, do best to leave things the way they are. Please, sir, believe me, depriving the little magazines of their piddly pittance is a very bad idea. For the love of all that's holy, hands off and laissez-faire, don't piss off the poets.

Sincerely yours,


Zachariah Wells,
Vancouver



PS: When I clicked on the link to your email address, the subject line "Hi James!" came up automatically. Please, sir, have some dignity. You're a cabinet minister.

Friday, March 13, 2009

Along with some good I had borrowed from Heine a quality which did not become me at that stage of life: a habit of speaking about everything ironically. This complicated my relations with my friends, who did not appreciate irony, especially bad irony. I became ruthless towards sentimentality, like so many people in their early twenties. The reasons for this phase is comprehensible enough. It is that a young man is keenly aware of his feelings and at the same time unsure of them. His awareness of them makes him despise conventional emotion, which seems a caricature, and his unsureness makes him distrust deep emotion in case it should be false. He needs a standard of criticism, and, not having it, falls back on sarcasm. Heine had initiated me into the art of feeling and laughing at my feelings; but if one laughs long enough the feeling dwindles, and the laughter usurps its place, until there is very little left to laugh at, unless one manufactures it.
--Edwin Muir, An Autobiography

James Moore's Little Blue Choo-choo

Rob Taylor has written a delightfully funny letter to Heritage Minister James Moore about the planned revisions to magazine funding. Alas, this will probably just reinforce the neocons impression of artists as delinquent reprobates, but I think this sort of humorous defiance is way better than, say, the hand-wringing earnestness of Yann Martel. It's got a few ideas brewing in my ol' noggin now...

BC Book Prizes

A little late on this, but the BC Book Prizes shortlists were announced t'other day. Great to see Elise Partridge on the poetry shortlist--but where the hell is Matt Rader's Living Things? Instead, we have the supremely boring oldguard avant-garde stalwarts Marlatt and Stanley and a book published by Frontenac House, whom I've never seen publish a book that wouldn't justly be rejected by a first-tier press. Are these crappy things in her book? Boo.

Also, no love for Anything But Hank!, alas. We had high hopes for this book in terms of nominations, mainly because of Eric Orchard's awesome artwork. Of course, we didn't make the Atlantic shortlist in part because Eric's other book was nominated. Oh well.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Best leave this to the professionals, son.

Russell Smith inveighs against the bitter, twisted Amazon critic. A bunch of unwashed nobodies respond.

Steven Beattie deals with the same subject, only much better.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Just in case you thought the government was wasting your money on my writing grants...

The Teddies. $40,000 for a flying banana. 'Nuf said.

"It's not just the lowbrow, it's the quiet"

Bookninja has posted a terrific interview with Adam Sol about his recent book Jeremiah, Ohio, one of my favourite books of the last few years.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Cruisin' the Hershey Highway

Germaine Greer on sodomy.

Une Pensée

God in the 21st C: all that and a bag of chips.

Monday, March 9, 2009

No Way, Man

Brian Palmu goes to town on Tom Wayman's most recent book.

I couldn't agree more, but didn't have the space to get into it with any gusto. Wayman might just be the worst poet in Canada with a substantial reputation. But there's a lot of competition, so I won't say that definitively.

My new favourite photo of the boy

More on Mag Funding

Speaking of CNQ and how good it is, herewith an impassioned--and informative--post from Dan Wells on the threatened kneecapping of small magazines and how it will affect our mag in particular. If you haven't yet written to your MP, the Heritage minister, Heritage critics et al, please do so. Even self-proclaimed conservative Dr. Ursus has written to the PM.

CNQ Best of the Rack

Thanks to Lyle Neff for pointing out that James Adams of the Globe & Mail has highlighted the new issue of CNQ--and particularly Steven W. Beattie's take on last year's Giller shortlist--as being one of the best reads on the Rack. Nice.

Saturday, March 7, 2009

The City of Vancouver Wants You

My nomination would be Elizabeth Bachinsky. Can't think of anyone in town better suited for the job. But apply away, you crazy Vancouver poets, you.

Only 1 week remains until the deadline, please submit your applications postmarked before March 11, 2009.

City of Vancouver Poet Laureate - Call for Expressions of Interest

The City of Vancouver is requesting submissions for the position of Poet Laureate. The Poet Laureate position was created in December 2006 and the successful applicant will be the City's second Poet Laureate. The Poet Laureate must be a Vancouver resident.

Please see the Vancouver Verse website for details: http://www.vancouververse.ca/2ndPoetCall.html

Deadline for expressions of interest - March 11, 2009

Hard copy expressions of interest should be sent to:

City of Vancouver Poet Laureate Selection Committee Library Administration
7th Floor
Vancouver Public Library
350 West Georgia St.
Vancouver, British Columbia
Canada, V6B 6B1

Friday, March 6, 2009

Canada Continues to Read

I've not bothered posting anything about the Canada Reads proceedings to-date for a few reasons. 1)I've read none of the books. 2)Steven Beattie and Alex Good have been doing a bang-up job over at TSR. 3)It's all about fiction and I have little interest in contemporary fiction, per se. Not that I don't ever read it and haven't enjoyed some works of it, I just don't have the time or energy to sift thru it looking for the best of it.

But I still tuned in to all episodes this week. I think it was a particularly weak year. I don't think Jian Ghomeshi did a very good job hosting it. As Steven and Alex have pointed out, he wasn't exactly an impartial mediator. He also asked a lot of questions that led to inevitably trite and repetitive answers. I also found the repeated insistence on the commercial impact of the show needlessly crass. But all the blame can't rest on him. The champions, on the whole, didn't seem all that well chosen and were content for the most part to wallow in generalizations and feelgood vagaries. There was caginess, particularly on the part of Avi Lewis and Jen Sookfong Lee, but very little by way of eloquent--or even accurate--testimony on the books' behalf. Hardly any quotes from the books were provided over the course of the week. We heard that Adamson had the best prose, but we heard none of the prose itself. This seems a significant shortcoming when you're talking about supposedly literary books.

And tho I haven't read any of the books, as I said, The Book of Negroes was hanging out in my apartment for a couple of weeks while Rachel read it, and I was subjected to numerous "listen to this" recitations of incredibly bad, cliche-drenched expository prose from it. Rachel did finish the book because the subject matter's of interest to her--she said that she could see the seams where Hill was integrating material from non-fiction books she'd read on the topic--but hated every minute of it. I don't see how the other books could have been worse than this one. Style isn't everything in a novel, but a total dearth of it has to be damning at a certain point. (Then again, MG Vassanji keeps winning awards...) The book's style never came up once, at least not in any substantive way, during the debates. And it won. And it's a bestseller. And it won the Commonwealth Prize. It's got an awful lot of miles out of its gripping subject matter.

I like the idea of this kind of round-robin discussion of different books, but it doesn't seem that the "Survival" format's any more conducive to picking a good book than any other prize jury. The only book from Canada Reads '09 I'm likely to check out is Tremblay's. But better to read it in French. I've read and/or seen performed two of his plays, Bonjour là, bonjour and Les belles soeurs, and the language he uses is so much the point of his writing--unlike Hill, who seems deaf and indifferent to linguistic felicity--that it's exceptionally difficult to translate without losing a great deal of the original's elan. One could imagine a typical paragraph of Hill's, on the other hand, actually being improved in translation. Say, into a film. Or, better yet, a mini-series! Cha-ching!

I think they should really do one of these Canada Reads with a panel of experts. Bring in Philip Marchand, Zsuzsi Gartner (a past participant), Steven Beattie, Alex Good and Stephen Henighan. Now that would be an interesting discussion.

Site back online

On the off chance that someone out there's been jonesing for my website, it's back online now that the domain's renewed. Took longer than it should have. I know I was sick of that antiseptically pretty blonde girl that came up instead of my ugly mug.

Thursday, March 5, 2009

Poem Online

My poem "Rhythm" is now online at Riddle Fence. Check it out. The RF site has an automatically generated "possibly related link" feature. For mine, it's a blog post about the movie Apollo 13. I was mystified by this until I realized that both the post and my poem contain the word "shuttle." Ah, polysemy.

This poem, along with another, "To the Superb Lyrebird, That Cover Band of the Australian Bush," will both be appearing in the print issue of Riddle Fence. Can't wait to see it.