Category — Writing

In honour of our sweet Madeleine’s first birthday, the Regional Assembly of Text is hosting their monthly letter writing party.

While the letter-writers are tip-tapping away, us and our sweet bean will be enjoying a family picnic in Queen’s Park, where Madeleine will bite her eight pearly whites into her first bit of cake.

I can’t believe she has been with us an entire year. She is our joy and delight — and this feeling, this enormous swell of abandonment, just grows and grows.

I made her a crown.

Thank you, Jesus, for the best year of our life. For her, our greatest gift.

….

Home is asking to be wrapped. Rooms wait ready to spill out door, into arms of strangers, onto trucks, into cardboard, buried in storage, carted on boat. Too many bins and boxes for my little head: what to keep, what to store, what to sell, what to bring to Bowen, what to ship out east, what to give to family, what, where, how, when…

But I know life sits out of hand. In arms a billion star courses wide. And I take her hand, now one-year-old, and walk our path to smiling eyes. Sit in her chair at our coffee house. Visit our park, swing our swings, dip in our wading pool, visit our friends, roll all over green carpet thick, laid out under our trees, eat sushi where they remember our alaska rolls and our names.

Soon, together three, we will light new paths, grieve old ones, sit huddled in front of burning hearth, welcome friends at ferry dock and feed hungry mouths, rest weary heads in our island home. We hear the Voice who’s laid out our mornings, years, seeking Face that tells our story. These six months will set a course, I can feel it.

There is much ahead. Family to forge. Words to write. Poetry to spill. Schooling to ingest. Home to make.

I met a friend while visiting in-laws last week who told me her story. Of her travels to Romania, working with Gypsies, igniting a call to international law. She’s running toward it. This relit my heart to study more: media’s impact on democracy — how our incessant ingesting of information shapes our understanding of citizenship. Perhaps a Masters in Toronto, time and prayer will tell.

Much is afoot in my little writerly life. The book, the one about women who seek Jesus but don’t all look like suburban mammas, edgy, world-changing gals who rock tats, paint up storms, influence politics here and overseas, is out as a proposal… seeking an agent / publisher. I’ll post some pages so you can see. Poetry is being submitted, I’ll share as it makes its way onto pages. I hope to start having others share their poetry here. I’ve been inspired by my friend Emily’s imperfect prose Thursdays.

My sister-in-law, Brittany, and I have a crazy idea of starting a little onesie company, using my husband’s adorable old Scouting badges: Badge of Honour onesies on Etsy. We’re setting up shop as I type.

For now we take the days as they come, living them full, here in our home in Burnaby… Thank you for sharing this adventure with us.

He climbed the mountain. Donning green cap over trademark slick-smooth scalp. Tromped army boot past Squamish hill. Deeper. Deeper still. Over one week ago.

Called on by an invisible voice? Led by confident trailhead? Egged on by joyous sun? Another voice? Tyler, why have you walked so long? Ty, where have you gone? Ty, come home to us.

Let sleep come now. May berry bushes feed hungry frame. Let lake sips sustain six-feet bones. Mouth of Maker, whisper the way.

Dear God, please open up the hills and draw your son out. Please.

:::::

My friend Tyler Wright, who I previously blogged about here, is lost in the mountains. You can read the news reports here. Please, please pray.

THE MAIN STREET MAGAZINE TOUR
Thursday, August 19, 2010, 6:00–10:00 p.m.
mainstreetmagazinetour.ca

Celebrate our local arts, cultural and literary magazines, with poets Jennica Harper and Elizabeth Bachinsky as your guides.

VANCOUVER – The Main Street Magazine Tour is a free event that invites participants to explore the local literary landscape, set against Vancouver’s eclectic Main Street neighbourhood. Known previously as the Main Street Literary Tour, the event now shines a spotlight on the arts and culture “magascene,” with presentations by FRONT, OCW Magazine, Ricepaper, Room, Sad Mag and subTerrain—all Vancouver-based publications. The tour starts at the Rhizome Café (317 E. Broadway) on Thursday, August 19 at 6:00 p.m.

From there, poets Elizabeth Bachinsky (EVENT magazine poetry editor and author of God of Missed Connections, 2009) and Jennica Harper (winner of the 2009 National Magazine Silver Award in Poetry and author of What It Feels Like for a Girl, 2008) will lead two tours that traverse the area at Main Street and Broadway, stopping in at local haunts for 30-minute encounters with city’s arts, cultural and literary publications.

“What’s fun about this event is its spontaneous, grassroots nature,” says Heidi Waechtler of the Magazine Association of British Columbia, the organization that coordinates the event. “We’re showcasing literary arts magazines out in the community, in spaces you wouldn’t necessarily expect to see poetry readings or improv, such as a vintage clothing store and a hair salon. The tour makes visible the intersection of magazines with our communities and our everyday lives—how they both reflect and shape our culture.”

The Magazine Association of British Columbia (formerly known as the British Columbia Association of Magazine Publishers) was established in 1993 to represent, connect and promote the diverse British Columbia magazine industry by uniting and fostering the immense talent, knowledge and skills of its more than 80 member publishers. For more information about the association, visit bcmags.com.

TOUR ITINERARY

Thursday, August 19, 2010
6:00–10:00 p.m.

Meetup point: Rhizome Café (317 E. Broadway), 6:00 p.m. Select Tour A or Tour B—or mix and match!

TOUR A
· Room magazine presents poetry by Casey Wolf and Elena Johnson. (Kafka’s Coffee & Tea, 2525 Main St.)
· subTerrain magazine, source of Strong Words for a Polite Nation, presents readings from issue #56. (Pulpfiction Books, 2422 Main St.)
· Slam poetry by Fernando Raguero collides with improv by members of The Exploding Sandwich, Hip Bang! and Pump Trolley, presented by the recently relaunched OCW Magazine. (F As In Frank Vintage Clothing, 2425 Main St.)

TOUR B
· Ricepaper magazine celebrates the launch of 15.3, the Food Issue, with a reading of a tasty new play by Linda Mei, featuring Adrienne Wong and Fiona Tinwei Lam, followed by delectable poetry by Ray Hsu. (Rhizome Café, 317 E. Broadway)
· Visit the FRONT magazine reading room and meet artist Heidi Nagtegaal, who’s combed through 20 years of the magazine’s archives to produce a limited number of one-of-a-kind presents for tour-goers. (The Western Front, 303 E. 8th Ave.)
· Sad Mag presents a conversation with salon owner Jim Dreichel and Burcu Ozdemir (of Burcu’s Angels) on drag culture, gay and lesbian culture, and the history of Main Street. Hosted by drag sensation Isolde N. Barron. (Mine:Stylesource, 177 E. Broadway)

Afterparty: Rhizome Café, 8:20 p.m. onwards. Readings by Elizabeth Bachinsky and Jennica Harper, prize giveaways, magazine sales and music.

My second piece, a profile on my hometown neighbourhood, appears on the Sweetmama site today. You can find it here. Yum, yum.

Have a wonderful weekend, Everyone! I’ll be spending it celebrating the arrival of my new nephew (Judah, born yesterday) and enjoying one of our last weekends in Vancouver.

Last week I had the privilege of sitting down with three other poets to write over pints (theirs) and chamomile tea (mine.) Diane Tucker, fresh off the plane from NYC, brought with her a number of writing exercises from renowned educator, Kenneth Koch’s Rose, Where did you get that red? 

The challenge: Write a poem addressed to your poem asking it to do something for you.

Here’s my unedited attempt:

 
dear poem

please fling your consonants
your double-meanings

please leap-frog your seed truth
over the form
out the pages
off the screen

please drop-kick my philandering lead strokes
clear over closest range

then

brush yourself off
scale the rock
descend the mountain

climb into waiting lap

and speak
 

::::

Part of Imperfect Prose Thursdays

My most recent article appeared in the New York-based Curator last Friday. You can give it a read here.

An excerpt:

“There’s no question that technology has overrun our lives. Over the past century, the world has welcomed technological ‘progress’ with arms wide open and we’re living with the clicking, dinging, anxiety-inducing deluge of it.

But a creative backlash is underway, helping human beings cope with the avalanche of data that passes in front of most of us every day through the use of computers and cell phones.

Slow food, the back-to-the-land movement, and groups like letter writing clubs are being formed by a new subculture: the 21st century luddite, wielding fountain pen and notebook, and some checking e-mail from the public library a mere hour per week. Dolen and Fedoruk think this movement is more than a blip on the technological continuum…”

This may be my favourite article to date. I hope you enjoy it!

God’s not dead
because I thought him/her so
like the holocaust nay-sayers
the animated moon walkers stabbing two inch toothpicks into three mile styrofoam craters unlikely green

God’s not dead
because we’ve lost some children
now witness to blinking nail bed growing in woman womb
delivering half-way placentas nine pound eleven ounce spirits through openings that for thirty years were smaller than bar soap bent to its circumference
making all labia-living believers

God’s not dead
because city does not become her/him
forgetting book promises cambodian valleys cave to hazel life
seven year pupils erasing invisibility lip-spoken not theirs
up climbing through arm of unlikely stranger
otherworldly kindness our universal language

:::

Part of Imperfect Prose Thursdays

Photo by me

We’ve been here ten days. Seen a dozen neighbourhoods. Walked a hundred brick streets. Sipped a dozen morning Second Cups. Ate some of the best this city has to offer. Bought street neighbours morning meals. Swung our daughter on seven different swing sets. Picnicked in Christie Park. Ambled along the lake. Rode the ferry to Toronto Island. Caught up with old friends. Befriended a mother and daughter in Union Station. Caught a show at Free Times Cafe. Enjoyed the honest help of many a transit employee. Carried strollers up and down too many flights of stairs. Lazed over morning meal at Cora’s. Endured record humidity and torrential downpours and survived (mostly) with humourous disposition. Fell in love with South Annex, Roncesvalles Village, and Trinity-Bellwoods. Indulged in the lovely weekend bustle of our ‘old’ neighbourhood - St. Lawrence Market.

Toronto, I see you could become home.

We stand at intersection. Black suit universal pause, here at Bay and King. She’s staring up at you. Boulder eyes, size of the moon. Seeking face. Your upwards morning mouth, silent words: ‘Yes child, I see you. The world is good.’

Ignore me, I don’t care, but turn your gaze on these innocent eyes because they won’t remain forever so.