7 days - 7 poems - Day 5

First things first people. Fancy done good! The man took a poetry course last term and after some concerted rummaging was able to extract Poetic Designs (more here) from wherever it was hiding in his room.

And those cookies? Those are some cookies I baked. Peanut butter for those not allergic.

I'm sure some of you are thinking That's a mighty purdy photo you have there. I agree and if you want to print off the photo, blow it up poster size perhaps, you'll be happy to know clicking on the photo will reveal its true proportions. With a file size that large there'll be no stopping your graphic pursuits. Also, I think Fascinator (new roomy has a nickname now - it's a hat thing) was more than pleased to witness this photo shoot. It's always good to see a true professional at work.

Bah, poetry. I'm not totally convinced by yesterday's sonnet. Like I said, it might be an okay first try but I feel like a lot of it was a might choppy. I'm hoping the lent book will lay some solid meter on me. Let me know what the deal is.

Also, there's a reason people like to write sonnets about big notions like love. If you're writing a structured poem, having a topic that can draw from all sorts of places within the language can only make said poem easier. Discussing the business of essay writing on university campuses, however, leaves the vocabulary at hand a bit more limiting. Then to try explain a business scam wherein individual wealth is achieved while minimal labour is expended and all this is further tied to contemporary notions of capitalism and investment that both pervade and possibly cripple our economy and society...well, writing that sonnet can be tough.

Today was meant to be a villanelle. I did not, however write a villanelle. That might come tomorrow.

One of the reasons I wanted to do this poetry exercise was to add some structure to my life. Given my current employment situation I wanted to make sure I wasn't losing days to mindless pursuits. So far, on the structure front, it's a great big failure. Sure I'm doing a poem everyday, but I'm also lying in bed, awake until 4 in the morning. I'm not lying there writing poetry, I'm just lying there letting my brain spin down and that takes a while.

Last night I eventually decided to turn on some TV instead of waiting for sleep and watched some infomercials. That's where today's work comes from! Sometimes if you just open your ears, the world writes poems for you. Sort of, I mean it's from more than one commercial.

Waking Dreams

I can't hear you John. My obliques are screaming too loud

is a strange thing to shout in a room full of people.

I'm not pregnant folks, I'm juicing!

should clear up all that confusion.

That's the great thing about the Flavorwave Mr. T

is a closing line no matter where it falls in the conversation.

My digital emulsification system uses

centrifugal friction to heat foods naturally.

easy payments of is the new morpheme

4 and $29.95 nothing but a couple of affixes.

x ePo y = x x y ∴ ePo = x

and we all know the x stands for multiplication.

If I decimate these chunks of solid concrete

does the unprecedented 100 year warranty still apply?

Jack Lallane is threatening to divulge celebrity juicing tips

and has a lifetime motor guarantee we need to take seriously.

It sounds like a miracle, but it's science.

-----

Self commentary: I like this one.

7 days - 7 poems - Day 4

Before I even begin, how about that blue? The one on the left. Has it changed recently? I dunno. It's been so long since I've bought 2% (and I didn't buy this, just found it in the fridge) but when I saw it the blue felt darker and richer than I remember it. I need to get some 1% and homo milk. I'm pretty sure 1% is stripy and homo is a nice red. Oh! And maybe some chocolate brown too. I need to get them, not to drink or anything, just for a photo shoot.

If I have any extra "milk" money (HAHAHAHA!) lying around, that's what I'll do.

But you are here for the poetry, right?

A thought on yesterday's haiku. Here's a brief one I wrote today:

Spring in the air,

on the ground my feet

fly.

It has something to do with nature! But I am still not clear on a lot of what's going on. By dropping the more strict 5-7-5 structure are there any really big defining characteristics that separate an English haiku from a three line bit of free verse about nature? I don't know. And I guess it doesn't really matter. If I want a structured haiku about nature that I want to call a haiku, I can do that. If I have a less structured poem about a plastic hat I found on a bus and I want to call it a haiku, well I guess I can do that too. Until poetocracy emerges as a form of government I should be reasonably safe.

On the bus of dis-

contented fury

the plastic hat screams.

Haiku! See...no one has touched me.

Okay. Today we have a sonnet.

The model I followed was the Shakespearean one, which has a rhyming structure that is meant to go: a-b-a-b c-d-c-d e-f-e-f g-g.

So far so good.

It is also, however, meant to include an iambic pentameter. Now, for the uninitiated, as I kinda was until yesterday, this is an unemphasized syllable followed by an emphasized one, then that unit is repeated five times per line. Ten syllables with an undulating cadence, one (me) might say.

I'm still not totally clear on what that means though. I read the example Shakespearean sonnet provided and when I listen intently for those emphases as I read, everything sounds kind of batty. And when I look for them in my poem, well then stuff really starts falling off walls. But I am fairly close to ten syllables per line, so I have that (to my understanding a little variance from ten isn't the end of the world).

One last thing before the big show; there is a reason people like free verse. It is soooooo much easier. Not that it is easy, mind you, but without structure to concern you it's basically all about the words.

Working on the haiku et al. yesterday was fun. Making lines work based on the light and easy structure of 5-7-5, or whatever, is basically a word puzzle. Once you get your meaning across in the allowable pattern you feel clever. Today's work, while having similar puzzling moments, added more difficultly through the increased complexity of rhyming and structure. And now that I am wondering whether or not my pentameter succeeded, the notion of sonnet writing (or being a sonneteer!) seems a much more daunting proposition.

Free verse is great and provides some fabulous poetry, but much props are to be given to the structured poets of yore (and today).

In the meantime, I won't be too hard on myself over iambic anything until someone who really knows their poetry can tell me what it's meant to look and sound like. Maybe (MAYBE!) I got it perfect on my first try?

The essay writing business

My dear tattered sheet of paper and tape

Cling fast upon your cold, grey campus pole.

Offer essays of ease, experts who shape

Words onto paper and then honour roll.

I'm not in school and don't need 'ssistance,

Instead there's a thought of skulduggerous work:

The assignment 'rrives, a thesis on France

I don't know Gaul, therefore search out some jerk.

Play person off person, shift papers 'round,

It's all 'bout shuffling the trail out of sight,

Write not a thing, while your bosses, astound!

And remember to pay less cash than you swipe.

A nice tidy plan to make some money.

Drops in the bucket, what's one more Ponzi?

-----

Okay! I guess that's okay for a first try. The first quatrain is the best I feel. The example on Wikipedia also seems to have each quatrain as a more thorough whole without distinct sentences, so that might have helped make for a smoother read.

The need for dual rhyming in each quatrain makes the writing experience interesting. You write the first line constrained only by what overall message the poem is meant to have, then the second, third and fourth lines are a bit up in the air. You have to consider rhyming possibilities for all three lines simultaneously as well as the message arc. It's all about jotting and crossing out (at least it was for me).

Sonnet, out!

bonus poems!!!!!!!!

Here is another sedōka. Can you tell the word 'articulate' was obsessing me today? Also, I don't actually know anyone named Lori these days. And if some Lori I've forgotten or don't know is reading this, we need to hang out more.

Drop me a line!

I used to think that

it would be a real pleasure

to articulate Lori.

One day, though, the sun

whispered a reminder. She's

not articulatable.

---

And this is a poem/transcription of how I heard the dialogue between two ladies outside the beer store. One was getting into her car and the other likely did not have a car. Also, dialogue spelled like 'dialog' looks gross.

Guess which speaker owns the car

See no evil.

...

Hear no evil.

...

Speak no evil.

...

I'm just kidding, Happy New Year!

7 days - 7 poems - Day 3

So I figured why not get the haiku stuff out of the way today. I might have saved them for an emergency later in the week, but what's poetry about if not living on the edge?

Below I have some haiku and various forms of waka. Waka just means 'Japanese poetry'. I'll label the different forms and if anyone is interested the above links can give more details.

I wrote all these in the laundromat just now and by the end all my thoughts were being divided into syllable compartments. That has now stopped.

Also, although I vaguely recalled nature needs some role in a proper haiku I assumed the 5-7-5 pattern was pretty standard and mandatory. It is not. Just like so much else in poetry there has been a lot of changes in the past few decades. Syllables, structure, etc. Read about it to your heart's content here.

I didn't realize that though, so I've followed the 5-7-5 form and whatever other structures seemed standard. Also, I've said whatever the heck I want below. Nature be damned!

Although...I might take advantage of that loophole, research haiku more closely and come back later in the week with some gang-buster, nature stuff.

Haiku

I wanted to use

'articulated lorry'

in a haiku. Done!

---

Tanka ('short poem')

I could have gotten

away with one of these poems

for today, but that

seems to go against, if not

the letter, then the spirit.

---

Chōka ('long poem')

The danger with these

forms of poetry is that

the syllable game

takes precedence and I miss

opportunities

for creative bull-kaka.

(Note the lack of swears here mum.)

---

Sedōka ('whirling head poem')

In space, no one can

hear you scream. In Hawaii,

the word aloha means both

hello and goodbye.

The former from a poster.

The latter from Inessa.

---

Katauta ('poem fragment')

You think this is half

a sedōka? Speak to the

Japanese man with the sword.

---

Bussokusekika (something to do with the silhouette of the Buddha's feet)

I want to find the

best five syllable first line,

secret it away,

then reveal its existence

once I am Prime Minister.

That'll surprise everyone.

---

And more haiku...

Hey you! Sean Chambers.

This is me declaring a

haiku war. Go time!

If a t-shirt makes

friends with jeans in the dryer

it stays wet longer.

(p.s. - I'm going to post two more poems in a bonus post, but I'm saying this here in case people only visit this page and don't go to the main blog)

7 days - 7 poems - Day 2

Do I need to preface these? This poem rhymes!

Preface complete.

------

Flying by Train

It's just another train ride

From point A to point B

People sit. Look straight ahead

'Til a child's glee

Breaks the staid and silent glide

And reworks space as she

Finds the conversation

'Tween mom and dad too dull

What with a pole of shiny silver

To draw attention from the crawl

It holds her nose and bright brown eyes

In its smooth, curved face

But as the train bursts from the tunnel

She senses another place

Light pouring through the sudden window

says, Struggle from your chair!

To see the girding black steel and rivets

That hold us in the air

Deep into the valley

She stares with amused intent

Considering the gap

Don River and train have rent

The squealing silver worm we ride

A dual-environment creature

Not just below but high above

The Flying Subway Show's main feature

Upon travelling Viaduct

From one end to another

Re-entering a dark soil hole

Ends the mood of hover

And with the ink the window stops

A mirror now instead

But from the cherub, now seen as two

Nary a sense of dread

Ignoring for the moment

The world's changed disguise

She chooses instead to smile

Into her own all-knowing eyes

-----

Tell me your thoughts (I like all kinds). Also, feel free to throw out requests or suggestions. This can be a subject (tomorrow's ideas include a game of streetcar tag and...a three line cop out) or a style of poetry. Challenge me, but also make sure you explain the style's structure or point me towards something that can. Keen!

7 days - 7 poems - Day 1

This was a stupid idea. I'm tired and just want to go to bed. Blah.

Anyway.

I had this great idea the other day, or last night while lying in bed and contemplating my inability to wake up pre 10am (see, I miss work for some things). My great idea is to write a poem every day this week. I guess I'm starting right now.

I could push it back to tomorrow but that defeats the purpose of doing one every day. And although this will emerge after midnight on Sunday (ie it is now Monday) it still counts as Sunday's poem. And for those who like rules...I can't use something I started writing before today but any ideas or lines I have from today on are good for the week.

I hope and WANT any and all who read this to comment on it. This exercise is tripartite (it has three parts)

1 - get me writing

2 - get me publishing (to whatever degree) so I'm not so wishy washy about getting things perfect and precious before they appear

3 - improve my writing.

For the third part I need constructive criticism. So tell me what you think, in any venue you feel comfortable (comments email, phone, face etc.). And for those who feel they know nothing about poetry, me neither! Except I know I like some things and I think some other things are dumb. Focus on that and you can't go wrong.

This first poem is about what we see in this blurry, cell-phone taken, picture.

Looks like blood to me!

------

Dear Pigeon

Dear pigeon,

It's been cold the last few days

and left to your own devices

you flew indoors and underground

and down

and down

to tunnel town.

Good plan.

Poor execution.

Now you're just a smear.

or

You were a criminal,

from society less genteel than mine.

Convicted by a jury of his peers

he will fly west

into the east-

bound

to Kennedy and deserved damnation.

Good execution, or

at least a success.

Now you're just a smear.

but

Dear pigeons,

How do you decide

which crimes

deserve a train's reward?

Which blurs of grey

are wiped away?

We pigeons convene here today

tasked with a sacred duty.

Capital punishment is tough.

or

Do you just let the cold decide

who lives and who died?

mercy

There's not much going on, so there's not much to write about.

The new roomy has arrived for the month of January whilst D-Hammer and Annie are in Hawaii. She (Katie) seems to be settling in, or at least hasn't complained yet.

Last night I made my first giant batch of curry (red lentil coconut variety from Simply in Season) of the season and had a some peeps over for noshing. I hadn't had the most productive day, trapped reading too many too long articles from Vanity Fair and Harper's...oh shit. I just opened a bunch more articles. Heh. Unemployment!

Err, where was I. Oh yes. Because I had spent too much time reading interesting articles I hadn't gone to the grocery store for the ingredients to what I had intended to be some personal curry, which in turn meant I wasn't going to be able to make The Hurt Locker showing at 4:15. You can see what kinds of dilemmas I find myself in. Anyway, in a bit of a grump I decided to skip the film and on my way to groceries I realized I like people, so I sent out a casual word to a few (sorry if you weren't one of them) inviting them to dinner. After scurrying to the store and back, and cook-cook-cooking up a storm everything was ready for people to arrive. Which they did, a few minutes later than anticipated.

Perfect? They yeahs have it.

Long story short, lots of curry (enjoyed by all and sundry) with lots left over for later dates and times.

So I did have a few things to say.

What else? (I like to pretend this is a blog blog blog, where there are strangers reading it. People who I don't talk to on a regular basis who actually need all the minutiae of my life lest they feel lost.)

I'm working on some stuff. A short story has been submitted to Broken Pencil's Indie Writers' Deathmatch. Unfortunately, after frantically typing and editing New Year's Eve to get it in before the deadline the sons of guns extended said deadline for more than a week. Maybe that means there aren't many entrants and I'll win for sure! It's happened before.

Hopefully more to follow on that front.

And I'm writing some other stuff. The poem I'm working on now partly inspired by all the L. Cohen I'm reading.

Here's another bit of his genius. Believe it or not this post was only going to be this poem but then it grew and grew.

Believe it!

The Flood

The flood it is gathering

Soon it will move

Across every valley

Against every roof

The body will drown

And the soul will break loose

I write all this down

But I don't have the proof

As true now as when it was written, apparently in the Sinai in 1973. I really wish I'd spent more time writing poetry when I was travelling. Oh well, next time!

road trip (an interpretation of Toon)

Ugh, so nice to get out of the city once in a while. Rolling north with JL.

I sometimes forget how lovely it is to go country driving. Pretty!

WINTER SIGH!!!

Christmas in Owen Sound. Everyone likes that stuff and I was just grateful I didn't have to take the bus. Door to door delivery and witty banter the whole way. What a treat!

This guy was following us. Not pleased.

Do you get it?

In this picture I'm looking to the left. And in the other one, the right. I call it acting.

Look how far we've come, and yet there is so far still to go. Still, hills are pretty great. You can see farther than normal when you're at the top. FYI.

Oh man, what a great life. This guy really loves Grey County.

As he should. And why not? What with wind farms!!!!!!!!

So windy up in those parts. Highest elevation in Southern Ontario don't cha know? Oh, you didn't? Well it is. Somewhere around there, I'm not sure of the exact spot. The exact spot, wherever it is, apparently has an elevation of 541 meters. Boy howdee! And that's why there's so much wind.

Here's a car we followed for a while.

Good times.

I don't normally write this kind of blog post. It's really hard. I guess I should have taken more pictures of my face? Maybe not.

Driving home was nice too.

It's always a pleasure when the light is playing tricks. We had some great weather, driving through some nice little flurries, then having the sun peak out from beneath the cloud's edge.

Nothing like big sky country (or Ontario's attempt at said country).

The Skyview Motel sure did pick the right name. And they have wakeup calls!!!

Honeymoon suite? If not, room 14 will do just fine and I'll fart in the bath. Nothing's too good for my lady!

But seriously folks. Aren't wind farms great? I haven't lived beside one, so I can't speak to noise pollution or bird deaths, but look at them.

Walking across the fields like mythical giants. Spinning, green-energy producing, mythical giants.So tasty.

I'm just happy they were all looking the other way.

Yeah. So Happy New Year! Or in the words of Daydream. "Happy New Year. [period]"

I hope you all had a blast. I know I did. I hope everyone felt good today. I know I did. I hope everyone watched Wall-E (finally). I know I did. I should stop. I know I did.

On an unrelated note I was handling a bag of frozen crab from my freezer and now my fingers smell funny.

ART!!!!

But where's the bird Leonard? Where is the bird?

things a doin' where I do most of my stewin'

I hope you weren't getting used to somewhat relevant, thought-out blog posts.

Because my computer's acting silly again I'm trying to rid it of anything unnecessary so when I reformat there will be less to put back. With this in mind, here are some random photos with various words attached.

Let's start in my room.

As all of you must know by now, my bed is CONSTANTLY full of sexy babes.

This is just Toon and niXon snuggling. Sometimes they even let me in on the fun!

And by fun I of course mean moments of absolute terror.

What a dream puff!

With that in mind, sometimes I'm better off spending time alone, with a candle. Candles are great. This one was a gift I received at work. I gave a tour to the class and they appreciated it so much they candled me. Or they give one every year and I just won the candle lottery, either way, candle!

But candles can be dangerous. If you have one lit and say the wrong thing your room can EXPLODE! In my case the explosion resulted in most of my possessions being destroyed and a world of white descending on my being.

If this misfortune makes you sad dear reader, fear not! As luck would have it a small creature of indeterminate origins arrived to lead me on a magical journey.

He led me down a magical ladder.

Then along a magical tunnel.

So much magic going on.

And then POOF! I was in my room...woah.

POOF!

Amazing. In homage to the journey, the poofs, the magic and the world more generally, I made a nice little display dealy. It was originally going to be for Battle Beasts, but I figured the pebbles looked nice instead.

I'm actually in the midst of a few new things for my room. Beyond the floor there's a bit of a reorganization and decorating spree going on. Even considering a real bed, but that might have to wait for financial stars to align. Anyone in the mood to buy or donate a bed to my cause, I'm looking for comfort and a complete lack of bed bugs.

Also, everyone should watch this space (and others) for a possible room warming party in the relatively near future.

A Serious Man

I was going to write a review for A Serious Man. It's a movie I just watched at the Bloor Cinema. It's on Bloor.

Here's a trailer.

Pretty good, huh? And it gives you a good feel for what went on in the moooovie.

I was going to write a review, but I don't know what that means so I'm going to say some things about whatever instead. SPOILER WARNING (just in case), and away we go.

For those that don't know the Bloor Cinema is a big ol' place with one screen and tonnes of seats, both a main level and balcony. They tend to show movies that have been out for a while, art house sort of things or sometimes they play the world's best commercials. You get the idea. This type of venue leads to a certain type of audience. In the case of A Serious Man an audience that laughs.

They laugh in a self-aggrandizing way. Does that make sense? They laugh to show the world their recognition of the cleverness they see before them, and in turn the cleverness that oozes through their own souls.

I know I said there was going to be less judging in my life and this seems a bad start. Oh well. I know this laugh because I've caught myself doing it in the past. These days I try to nod sagely rather than laugh, especially when watching a movie by the Coen brothers who layer so many clever, laughable moments into their work that someone laughing at every one might get...hmmm. Irritating?

Part of the reason I've decided to throw a little judgement on the bar-bee (q) is that I was eavesdropping post show and heard other people make similar comments. Therefore it's okay if I do it. They were confused that there was so much laughter during moments that while humorous did not deserve such belligerent joy.

The movie is one of nuance. Characters' sly mannerisms and tics move the film forward as much if not more than what was a fairly straightforward story, basically everything going wrong for the hero. Although, even as I type, a great deal of subtlety is springing to mind. Still, I feel those plot drivers were intentionally subtle (still important) to allow the performers' performances to carry the piece.

It was the kind of actoring that would likely benefit from repeated viewings. And also the sort of actoring that if given a loud guffaw at each perceived moment of greatness you end up missing a lot.

Right? Good so far.

I'll stop complaining now. If I don't want the movie experience I will stay home!

Because people like movie reviews to have structure I will now discuss the ending. The ending is one of those wha-oh and it's done deals, and a brief perusal of the interweb leads to me to realize there is a lot of possible meaning I might have missed. People are talking theology and Judaism alongside what it all might mean for the characters. I thought it was a pretty all right place to stop things. Sure 100% resolution might be nice, but then post film conversation would be relegated to more like-dislike realms.

As is, the ending has the ability to cause discussion and wikipedia research! What happens to the characters for starters? And from there we go on to all sorts of fun times about theology (did God send the tornado?) and whether the pathetic fallacy of the storm was a message to specific characters who had lost faith or just a general message that life can be shit so enjoy the good you got now, because tomorrow the good you got might be the good you had. Boy howdee!

Hell, there are even all sorts of aspects of the Jewish experience in America that I'm sure flew right over my head. Through the wonders of lobby eavesdropping, facilitated by a toque that just wouldn't sit evenly (cold out, don'tcha know?), I heard some guy talking about difficulties for certain American Jewish communities when it comes to dealing with varied levels of orthodoxy in the clergy. I wasn't listening closely enough to tell you anything beyond that, just saying there are interesting things a vague ending can hint at.

And in conclusion a two things. One - based on a brief skim of forums where movies are discussed I need to develop better analytic skills. It might just be a matter of sitting and thinking about things longer and harder before puking these words onto the internet, or maybe I need to go to movies with people so afterwards I can talk it out and other people can listen to me and my friends opining loudly on what we witnessed. Whatever the solution might be, right now I really feel like my reading of a lot of things (books, movies and on and on) takes place on a very surface level. Buried ideas and discussions elude me, and those are the deals I need to find and understand so I can more convincingly discuss and incorporate them in my own work (eventually).

And two - for me a movie is good or bad if I was immersed, didn't feel the need to check my watch or roll my eyes at obvious idiocy. In this case I enjoyed the film, didn't wonder how long things had been running, enjoyed the characters, watching them closely in an attempt to get more and at the end yelled, "Hey! You guys are alright, want to hang out some more?" They did not.

And that's saying a lot given the cringe inducing problems certain characters were presented with and a personal tendency to shy away from such things.

A Serious Man is a seriously good time. Take the missus!

If you are interested in some commentary and background far more deeply considered than anything I can give look at this interview from Salon, Here!

oh yeah, and my own stuff

my bedroom floor just after 8 on a Wednesday evening (Sweat as Communication)

I have seen
a bear bark white honey
and lost
in a fit of giggles
sage advice granted.

I've been told
I flop. Too
submerged to know, me
carrying on without me.

I remember
dowelling fanning out the fabric of existence
rotating from my fulcrum
ceaselessly, holding
colours of toys,
retro and for a wall
in my head.
Yellow? brown? orange? Blue?
Ceaseless
I roll and chase the real I want.
Just pushing it away
just panicking.

Then
a friend, down, now up,
or at least at the stairs' other end,
watching from the fan.
And I know everyone will be
slowly
all right.

Pillow
Bed
Sweat as communication
returns to my brain
first, and mouth
slowly.

I am searching
for sight in everything
even as revelation drifts away
and fades out.
Lost, but for a poem,
so something.

musings from the slightly north

Here I sit in Owen Sound, the land of milk and honey and cold freaking basements where the computer lives.

Sheesh. I'd better type fast.

Away from Toronto for a day and my brain starts to function on a different level, as the quiet of my house and its slower pace of life leaves me with time to contemplate the world in a different way. Thoughts that bubble just below the surface in Toronto, shunted aside by the distractions that accompany big city livin', here are allowed time to surface and percolate. Owen Sound, at least for me, gives time and space.

Time and space for doubt to re-emerge, in this instance.

Said doubt, however, is not a bad thing. Let me explain, won't you? It's the holidays, you have lots of time.

As mentioned previously I tend to get ahead of myself and a wee bit self-congratulatory for producing the tiniest something. On a mission to buy moustaches the other day Annie even noted my tendency to play fast and loose with the word genius...when describing my own work.

Uh-huh.

She's great for "calling it as she sees it" and forcing me to think about what I'm saying or doing.

Is the poem I wrote this week the best thing ever? No.
Do I have the right to be pleased by a clever turn of phrase and take joy from it? Yes.

Even if I think I'm using genius ironically, on some level there's a whole lot of ego rumbling, telling me I don't need to work hard. That no matter how long it takes me to make one thing, when that one thing is done my inborn brilliance will be revealed and lauded by one and all.

That's dumb. And a dangerous trap to fall into.

So! A harder working me, rife with humility is what is needed from here on out (until the end of time). Confidence is fine, but thinking everything I do is a paragon of awesome risks stopping me before I start. Why work more, try harder, and push onto bigger and better if I'm already sainted? Reminding myself, even if it's forcibly, that there is always much to be done can only help me in the long run.
(This isn't a new year's resolution, just a resolution that happens to have come at this time of year. Sometimes having a fixed date in mind for a change can help, but I figure why wait if you already know what needs to happen?)

Hurray for self doubt!

Good doubt can also emerge when you're reading an entire book of poems by someone who's quite good. There's this guy, Leonard Cohen, maybe you've heard of him. Anyway, I've been reading Book of Longing, his latest, and it's reinforcing how important consistent work truly is. I mean, you don't get 200 plus pages of poetry with an hour's writing, every once in a while when you're in the mood.

Beyond that, the poems are pretty neat too.

With so many poems in a book there's bound to be a lot of variety (not all of them are equally fun or golden), but the ones I'm enjoying the most are what I would call spare. Simple, clear writing, without need for overt cleverness, provides more than enough for an enjoyable poem. You could end the interaction there and walk away happy, but the truly great thing is that such simple writing can leave you thinking that there's something more. I feel a hidden depth of meaning that such simple words shouldn't be able to hold, but they do.

Super!

Here's one, the last poem I read before shutting off the lights last night.

The Moon

The moon is outside.
I saw the great uncomplicated thing
when I went to take a leak just now.
I should have looked at it longer.
I am a poor lover of the moon.
I see it all at once and that's it
for me and the moon.

Pretty good, huh? Can you tell where his writing ended and mine began? Probably.

Oh Leonard. He really is interested in the mundane and essential acts of humanity. Eating, sex, poo and pee. He sees a lot of beauty there and those themes emerge again and again throughout his work. Also, he apparently really likes to go down on ladies. Good for him!

what's the deal with publishing poetry?

I know I tend to get ahead of myself sometimes, cart before horse and all that jazz.

This is definitely one of those times.

BUT.

What are the rules around publishing poetry and prose on a blog? Sometimes, when you enter a contest or submit a piece to a magazine the regulations state it must be unpublished material. Does my blog count as a something?

According to the CBC Literary Awards it does.

Uggh. So that means that I can't post my poems on here if I want to submit them to something like the CBC LAs. Of course that's just one contest, but such regulations are of concern to me.

Why? Let's introspect, shall we.

Reason 1 - Up until now my creative output has been an inconsequential, unenviable mess, so when I actually do finish something it takes on far more significance than it should. Each finished piece is a symbol, something to signify ALL the potential I'm convinced rattles around in my brain.

Reason 2 - Stemming from 1, if I consider each finished piece a master-work I'm instantly convinced of its dearness and value. Something of great worth of course needs to be cherished and only launched into the world at an appropriate moment, an instant where all eyes are watching and all mouths are ready to shout its praises.

Those moments don't come around too often. In fact, if one thought for about three seconds they would realize that such convoluted logic sound more like excuse making. A way to avoid ever finding out if what I'm doing is actually good, and so...

Reason 3 - This reason is a bit of a mess, bear with me, but we can generally say the third reason I am writing this inane post is confidence.

a - As mentioned above, if I talk about publishing something or submitting something it takes attention away from the act of publishing or submitting (or the lack of action) and my untalented deceit is never revealed!

b - Stemming from 2 is another facet of confidence; FEAR! On some level I'm afraid that I won't be able to rally my creative forces ever again. This one can be overcome, simply by doing something. Then doing something new. Then following that second something with another, and a fourth, and a thirty-second (after a 29th) and so on.

To be a creative individual you need to create all the time. Do, do, do, do and do. Not think, suggest and maybe next week. Take artistry seriously. As Canadian poet David W. McFadden ( a fella I've mentioned before) said, "From Grade 11 till now I've been writing poems every day, or thinking about it a lot on the occasional day I'd miss. To me an artist had to work every day, it had to be his entire life, or he was a fake."

A fake eh? Sounds familiar. So all I need to do is write a poem a day for the next 40 years? Well, maybe I should just take the meaning of his words and apply them personally.

And reason number...I don't even know. Am I onto italicized sub-sub-headings by this stage? My next point doesn't necessarily follow from the others, I just want to include it somehow, so...

Reason 3bi - I've mentioned this before, but thinking in terms of a best sellers and smash hits is wrong-headed. Chasing the latest trend and not being true to personal creative instincts results in shallow, unformed pieces. Mere shadows of what other original people were doing weeks, months and years before.

Stick with what you love and find hilarious, however, and at the end of the day you get something that you at least find enjoyable. If it finds fans in other like-minded souls that's great, but if it doesn't, who cares?

And so I struggle. Wanting to create something that receives recognition, worrying that personal notions of grandeur might be pin-pricked and deflated (not necessarily a bad thing), and simply wanting to create and push things out there regardless of the venue. Maybe even get to a point where I'm comfortable enough with myself that I know there will be other poems after this one and that I'll have another short story idea.

And I think I'm getting there, becoming more willing to release things into the world. Able to set aside all the above mentioned concerns. And if it does turn out I have created the greatest thing ever I'm sure it will take care of itself.

What set all this off?

I'm working on a poem entitled my bedroom floor on a Wednesday just after 8 in the evening (or sweat as communication). With a name like that how can it NOT be the greatest thing ever?

I was actually thinking about not posting it on here, but after writing everything I've just written I don't think that's possible.

Now you all have something to look forward to!

The Last Goodbye at Summerhill

I'm busy so you get this bit of lovely. Found with a description via Torontoist.

Jane and Shoreham - catching the eye and understanding why

There's a building I pass whenever I take transit to work.

I get off the Jane bus and walk to BCPV along Shoreham, passing the building as the morning sun reveals its form. The view from Shoreham is the one that caught my eye.

The view is messy. A mix of geometry, the building's squares and rectangles stacked and also popped out, providing angles and a home for shadows.

The Shoreham side with its blocked appearance and open balconies is messy.

Bikes and boxes are visible from the road. People's lives in outdoor closets.

Over Shoreham, a pedestrian overpass provides an elevated, mid-road perspective on things. And a peak at the back of the Jane Street section.

To walk across a daily bridge to school feels magical to me. Even if it is reinforced concrete above four lanes of traffic, being up high brings a sense of vision, perspective and power. Or it does to the 5 year old I imagine myself to have been.

Sharp edges and jagged turns lose sway as Shoreham turns into Jane. One of the building's curved outdoor stairwells signals a corner.

On Jane the towers break up the building's neatly balconied sections, and allow experiments in perspective to occur.

Moving north, each tower signals a section and each section loses a floor.

The building recedes. It stretches into the distance, presenting length where there is none. One end to the other becomes a distance to the eyes that the feet disagree with. The northerly sections stagger back as building and road do not parallel one another. The recession to a point must be maintained.

View Larger Map

I haven't looked at that cluster of structures at the north end. I have never been inside. An interesting building just the same. Something more than the same old rectangle. It might be part of the Edgeley Village Shoreham complex, but I can't say for sure.

The perspective games were only revealed to me as I wrote the post and looked at the pictures. To that point I just knew the building had caught my attention, but after this little analysis I feel I have somewhat of a better grasp on why.