Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Monday, February 25, 2013
Monday, September 24, 2012
LATE SUMMER ADVENTURES—A WRITING RETREAT IN KASLO AND MODPO IN CYBERSPACE
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Last month I was at a writing retreat in Kaslo, BC. Holley Rubinsky presides over these wonder-weeks which she describes as being "ideal for writers who have material to organize, rewrite or edit who need some getaway time". What writer do you know who can't use something like that?
Myrl Coulter and Dianne Linden were there at the same time. Myrl is working on a novel with an intriguing plot and Dianne is working on a YA novel that is set in a rural place not unlike where we were. To this end, a fact-finding boat trip across the lake to look at the rock bluffs was in order!
Reflections from sunlight hitting the waves danced off the rock face. (aka First Video upload!)
And speaking of rock faces...
Our captain, who has a new book of short stories coming out, by the way.
I hunkered down with a couple of dozen poems I wanted to revise and by the end of five days about fifteen were approaching acceptable. Of course, I haven't looked at them for over a week now, so who knows if they still are!
I haven't looked at them because some months ago I signed up for a ten week online course through Coursera and the University of Pennsylvania: Modern and Contemporary American Poetry. We're just going into Week 3 and I'm loving it. It's a lot more work than the 4-8 hours a week they suggest in the course description, even if you only try to stick with the basic requirements. You know how it is on the Internet: one link leads to another. One minute you're reading an assigned Emily Dickinson poem and the next you're pouring over her website. One minute you're listening to a recording of Cid Corman reading a poem about bedwetting and how it relates to war and the next you're marvelling that the very week you were reading about Lorine Niedecker ("i" before "e", and having just had to correct myself, I can see how the gravestone thing happened!) your poet friend, Paul Nelson, blogs about having just visited her home on Black Hawk Island, Wisconsin.
More than 30,000 people all over the world signed up for ModPo, as it is affectionately called. Not everyone is flinging themselves into the forum discussions and likely not everyone will complete the ten weeks, but there is much to be learned, at least for this participant whose working knowledge of poets other than Canadian leaves a lot to be desired (not that my knowledge of Canadian poets is complete, either). There are video discussions by Al Filreis and a group of bright, enthusiastic TA's. Al's head honcho of the course (he's an English prof at the university and Faculty Director of the Kelly Writers House where the discussions happen). Either he's cloned himself or it would appear that Al never sleeps, given the number of times (and times of day/night) he chimes in on the forums.
How much does all this cost, you're wondering? I'm still pinching myself. It's free!
§
Last month I was at a writing retreat in Kaslo, BC. Holley Rubinsky presides over these wonder-weeks which she describes as being "ideal for writers who have material to organize, rewrite or edit who need some getaway time". What writer do you know who can't use something like that?
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photo by Holley Rubinsky
Chilling after a hard day in the word mines L-R Dianne Linden, me, Myrl Coulter |
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| Looking north on Kootenay Lake at Kaslo |
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| Pictograph |
Reflections from sunlight hitting the waves danced off the rock face. (aka First Video upload!)
Our captain, who has a new book of short stories coming out, by the way.
 |
| Holley Rubinsky |
I hunkered down with a couple of dozen poems I wanted to revise and by the end of five days about fifteen were approaching acceptable. Of course, I haven't looked at them for over a week now, so who knows if they still are!
 |
| photo by Holley Rubinsky |
I haven't looked at them because some months ago I signed up for a ten week online course through Coursera and the University of Pennsylvania: Modern and Contemporary American Poetry. We're just going into Week 3 and I'm loving it. It's a lot more work than the 4-8 hours a week they suggest in the course description, even if you only try to stick with the basic requirements. You know how it is on the Internet: one link leads to another. One minute you're reading an assigned Emily Dickinson poem and the next you're pouring over her website. One minute you're listening to a recording of Cid Corman reading a poem about bedwetting and how it relates to war and the next you're marvelling that the very week you were reading about Lorine Niedecker ("i" before "e", and having just had to correct myself, I can see how the gravestone thing happened!) your poet friend, Paul Nelson, blogs about having just visited her home on Black Hawk Island, Wisconsin.
More than 30,000 people all over the world signed up for ModPo, as it is affectionately called. Not everyone is flinging themselves into the forum discussions and likely not everyone will complete the ten weeks, but there is much to be learned, at least for this participant whose working knowledge of poets other than Canadian leaves a lot to be desired (not that my knowledge of Canadian poets is complete, either). There are video discussions by Al Filreis and a group of bright, enthusiastic TA's. Al's head honcho of the course (he's an English prof at the university and Faculty Director of the Kelly Writers House where the discussions happen). Either he's cloned himself or it would appear that Al never sleeps, given the number of times (and times of day/night) he chimes in on the forums.
§
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
GIDDY-UP! OF PASSAGES AND GETTING BACK ON THE HORSE
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You know, what I dislike about blogging is that ZIP! suddenly it's almost three months since I've posted and you know that thing about getting back on the horse? Well, it's hard when you haven't been riding for that length of time. I'm kind of stiff, the ground doesn't feel like it did when last I rode, and I'm not sure I even LIKE the horse.
Nevertheless, here I am. Where have I been, you may ask. At home, mostly. I've been working on a book project for my dear, long-suffering friend, Jan de Bruyn, who spearheads a memoir-writing group called Lifewriters at Castle Wood Village, the seniors' home in Castlegar. Finally delivered some 84 copies of Swan Song which is to be their last collection. We've done eight altogether, and this one was a whopping 265 pages.
My friend Martha died a couple of weeks ago, another friend's daughter died a month before that.
And in June, I was privileged to be with Aunt Nancy when she made her exit from this world. She was 102. All these passages have had me contemplating my own mortality. I remember when my mother was the age I am now. The "will you still feed me" age. I was living in Toronto then and it seemed that every time I spoke with her on the phone another one of her friends or acquaintances had died or was about to. Thankfully, Mom wasn't one of them so now I can apologize to her for the times I changed the subject or rolled my eyes without her seeing, because now, boy do I get it.
We had a wet start to summer. July broke records for rainfall, but when it finally got hot it stayed that way. It's not as brutal as it was, but it's still pretty warm, although one night last week it went down to 3C. Fingers crossed our bountiful tomato crop will get to ripen before there's a frost.
I've not been writing, apart from participating in the 6th annual August postcard poem exchange and I'm happy to say I have now sent cards to everyone on my list plus a few more. And this year I followed the guidelines and didn't sketch the poems first. Nope, this year's poems were all written on the postcard, no practice runs whatsoever, complete with scratch-outs and some eye-rolling on my part when I transcribed them later.
No, not been writing. Had a couple of rejections, what is the bloody point, that whole thing. This blog is one thing, but when I don't write poetry I get more and more crazy, more and more depressed and then it's hard to get back on that horse, too. Seems there's a whole stable of horses out there, just waiting for me to get on and go somewhere.
Ah well. The black dog makes his rounds and even though you try to remember to lock the door sometimes he manages to get in even though you do your best not to feed him or encourage him in any way.
But I have been reading poetry. Lots of good poetry. Sometimes I listen to poems read online, often by the poets who wrote them. I've signed up for a 10-week course in Modern and Contemporary American Poetry through the University of Pennsylvania. It's free and if you get serious about it it'll ask for five to eight hours a week. I figure this is the coming wave of teaching so I might as well see if my horse can navigate these waters, too! Aside from some babysitting commitments and working on Jan's next book job (not merely content to be encouraging others to write their stories, Jan has taken to producing a mystery novel or two every year and I produce those for him, too), I think I can do it. The write-up of the course interests me. If you are, there's still time to register. You can watch a introduction to the course here.
I have a review of a poetry chapbook forthcoming in the Pacific Rim Review of Books, and writing it (okay, okay, I did some writing) was a lot of fun. And if you care one whit about books in the Pacific Northwest today, you really should subscribe to PRRB. You can click your way to the information you need to do that from the link above.
More soon. Really.
§
You know, what I dislike about blogging is that ZIP! suddenly it's almost three months since I've posted and you know that thing about getting back on the horse? Well, it's hard when you haven't been riding for that length of time. I'm kind of stiff, the ground doesn't feel like it did when last I rode, and I'm not sure I even LIKE the horse.
Nevertheless, here I am. Where have I been, you may ask. At home, mostly. I've been working on a book project for my dear, long-suffering friend, Jan de Bruyn, who spearheads a memoir-writing group called Lifewriters at Castle Wood Village, the seniors' home in Castlegar. Finally delivered some 84 copies of Swan Song which is to be their last collection. We've done eight altogether, and this one was a whopping 265 pages.
My friend Martha died a couple of weeks ago, another friend's daughter died a month before that.
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| Martha and Laney, both RIP 2012, in Thornhill, about 1980 |
And in June, I was privileged to be with Aunt Nancy when she made her exit from this world. She was 102. All these passages have had me contemplating my own mortality. I remember when my mother was the age I am now. The "will you still feed me" age. I was living in Toronto then and it seemed that every time I spoke with her on the phone another one of her friends or acquaintances had died or was about to. Thankfully, Mom wasn't one of them so now I can apologize to her for the times I changed the subject or rolled my eyes without her seeing, because now, boy do I get it.
 |
| Nancy Lee on her 99th birthday, meeting little Enid Jupiter Nancy |
We had a wet start to summer. July broke records for rainfall, but when it finally got hot it stayed that way. It's not as brutal as it was, but it's still pretty warm, although one night last week it went down to 3C. Fingers crossed our bountiful tomato crop will get to ripen before there's a frost.
I've not been writing, apart from participating in the 6th annual August postcard poem exchange and I'm happy to say I have now sent cards to everyone on my list plus a few more. And this year I followed the guidelines and didn't sketch the poems first. Nope, this year's poems were all written on the postcard, no practice runs whatsoever, complete with scratch-outs and some eye-rolling on my part when I transcribed them later.
 |
| One of the cards I sent |
Ah well. The black dog makes his rounds and even though you try to remember to lock the door sometimes he manages to get in even though you do your best not to feed him or encourage him in any way.
But I have been reading poetry. Lots of good poetry. Sometimes I listen to poems read online, often by the poets who wrote them. I've signed up for a 10-week course in Modern and Contemporary American Poetry through the University of Pennsylvania. It's free and if you get serious about it it'll ask for five to eight hours a week. I figure this is the coming wave of teaching so I might as well see if my horse can navigate these waters, too! Aside from some babysitting commitments and working on Jan's next book job (not merely content to be encouraging others to write their stories, Jan has taken to producing a mystery novel or two every year and I produce those for him, too), I think I can do it. The write-up of the course interests me. If you are, there's still time to register. You can watch a introduction to the course here.
I have a review of a poetry chapbook forthcoming in the Pacific Rim Review of Books, and writing it (okay, okay, I did some writing) was a lot of fun. And if you care one whit about books in the Pacific Northwest today, you really should subscribe to PRRB. You can click your way to the information you need to do that from the link above.
More soon. Really.
§
Thursday, May 10, 2012
ELEPHANT MOUNTAIN REVIEW LAUNCHES IN NELSON
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I'd have done this update sooner, but I've been looking after my grandson while his lucky parents were soaking up the music at the New Orleans Jazz Festival.
We had a nice wrap to National Poetry Month when around fifty people came out for the launch of Nelson's newest magazine celebrating the arts, The Elephant Mountain Review. I have a couple of poems in it.
Doug Wilton, who spearheaded the event from starting Elephant Mountain Online which features new writing from people with Kootenay ties, then collected some of the strongest work for print. The Elephant Mountain Review takes over where Horsefly, a magazine born out of Kootenay School of the Arts' Writing Program back at the end of the last century (I love getting to say stuff like that!), left off.
Pippa Bowley presided over the book table.
Art Joyce read poems by and about the late Don Law. I got to know Don through the Federation of BC Writers. We miss him at these events.
Olindo Chiocca read one of his wonderful stories about growing up in Toronto.
Also reading was Sandra Hartline, a stalwart of the writing community.
And my poem, Packing the Car, written when my son went off to university and I was suffering empty nest syndrome, has found its way into another anthology!
I'm spending the weekend in New Denver at Convergence: a Writers' Retreat for Social Justice.
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Sunday, April 22, 2012
LOTS GOING ON IN THE KOOTS FOR POETRY MONTH
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It's National Poetry Month for a few more days and we in the Kootenays are still celebrating.
Here are just a few of the writers who have work in the new magazine.
Music is kinda like poetry, too, so don't miss out on this feast for the ears.
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It's National Poetry Month for a few more days and we in the Kootenays are still celebrating.
Elephant Mountain Review Launch
Friday, April 27 7:00 PM
Self-Design High, 402 Victoria Street, Nelson B.C.
(upstairs at the Legion which is across from the Library and the Cop Shop)
Here are just a few of the writers who have work in the new magazine.
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| Kathy Hartley |
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| L-R in front, Robert Banks Foster, Margaret Hornby, Mark Mealing |
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| Margaret Hornby |
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| Linda Crosfield |
Music is kinda like poetry, too, so don't miss out on this feast for the ears.
Bessie and the Back Eddies
Saturday, April 28 at the Vallican Whole 7:30 PM
Bessie and The Back Eddies is a seven piece old school R 'n B show band that brings style and class mixed in with a bit of mischief to the stage. The elegantly powerful vocal stylings of Bessie Wapp are backed by a dynamic three piece horn section and an all acoustic rhythm section. With a repertoire that dips into the songbooks of Ruth Brown, Etta James, Bessie Smith, Dinah Washington, and Nina Simone, Bessie and The Back Eddies deliver up a performance that goes from the swing of the big band sound and the grooviness of soulful R 'n B to the sass of burlesque classics and the raunch of down home blues. Their eclectic arrangements showcase all aspects of the band and the music making every Bessie and The Back Eddies performance unique and entertaining.
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| The members of Bessie and the Back Eddies are: Bessie Wapp(lead vocals), Tim Bullen(trumpet) |
Monday, March 26, 2012
POETRY: RETREATS AND REWARDS
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Ted and I got home from Mexico and the West Coast a week ago today. We're still missing the warmth, of the sun and of the people. We'll go again.
"... a fine six-course meal of poems..."
There was a huge stack of mail waiting for us, and mine included my contributor copies of The Wild Weathers, Leaf Press' beautiful anthology of love poems, and the latest issue of The New Orphic Review, in which I have six poems and an essay about my poetics. Art Joyce blogs about The New Orphic and other West Kootenay publications, and my poems here. The quotation above is from it.
Ted and I got home from Mexico and the West Coast a week ago today. We're still missing the warmth, of the sun and of the people. We'll go again.
"... a fine six-course meal of poems..."
There was a huge stack of mail waiting for us, and mine included my contributor copies of The Wild Weathers, Leaf Press' beautiful anthology of love poems, and the latest issue of The New Orphic Review, in which I have six poems and an essay about my poetics. Art Joyce blogs about The New Orphic and other West Kootenay publications, and my poems here. The quotation above is from it.
Found in the mail pile were three issues of Gareth Gaudin's Magic Teeth Dailies, including the much sought-after 50th one! Gareth has been drawing a cartoon a day since 2004. Every single day, including the ones that saw the arrivals of his two daughters. Perogy Cat, who some of you will have met in these pages, is his creation. In the photo he's pointing to the necklace with Perogy Cat both written and illustrated on a grain of rice that we brought him from Mexico. (We got so many of these Adrian, the beach vendor who sells them, bought us a beer!)
And then there was the chapbook from Leaf Press with writing done at one of last year's poetry retreats. Nice timing, because I was just back from this year's Ocean Wilderness adventures in poetry making. The pictures that follow are from that.
I can't stress enough how good it is to get to a poetry retreat. To be able to focus on writing, my own and other peoples', is such an affirmation of what I do. Was good to be in the company of the next, next generation of poets, too.
Today I got an email from someone who has translated one of my poems into Spanish and wants to use it in a magazine. Details on this to follow, but I was pretty pleased as this is the first time I've been translated!
I'm working on a publishing project for the Lifewriters at Castle Wood Village here in Castlegar. It's their seventh and last collection of memoir writing, as spearheaded by Jan de Bruyn. I'll put up some
pictures when it's done.
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Thursday, December 01, 2011
A POST FOR ALL THE DANIELS
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My old laptop fell ill last week and is currently on life support. Just waiting to see if it's brain dead or if modern medicine in the form of the very able guys over at Digerati Computing in Nelson can revive it enough to at least scoop what's on the hard drive. I'm backed up to about 3 months ago, but as I knew I was getting a new computer around now I decided not to confuse myself by connecting the old one to the new back-up disk. Figured I'd just move everything from the old to the new and then hook up the new one. I really ought to know better by now! Anyway, all I stand to lose is the most recent photos, many of which are already loaded to sites here and there, and about 10K words from when I started NaNoWriMo at the beginning of November, but then fizzled as I was away for ten days and writing just wasn't in the cards. I really liked about 500 of those 10K words, and happily I have them on paper!
Today is World AIDS Day. Time to reflect on all that has happened in the world of medicine since this mean disease raised its ugly head in the late 70s/early 80s.
I was in Toronto last month. Stayed with my friend Alan in what's known as the Gay Village. What a fabulous part of town! The night I arrived we went out for dinner at a lovely little Thai restaurant and then walked around. It was unseasonably warm. I saw the plaques with all the names of those who have died at the AIDS Memorial in Cawthra Park. Found my late friend Daniel's name there.
This post is for all the Daniels.
Here's a poem I wrote that was published in 1999 in Room of One's Own (now known as Room Magazine).
§
My old laptop fell ill last week and is currently on life support. Just waiting to see if it's brain dead or if modern medicine in the form of the very able guys over at Digerati Computing in Nelson can revive it enough to at least scoop what's on the hard drive. I'm backed up to about 3 months ago, but as I knew I was getting a new computer around now I decided not to confuse myself by connecting the old one to the new back-up disk. Figured I'd just move everything from the old to the new and then hook up the new one. I really ought to know better by now! Anyway, all I stand to lose is the most recent photos, many of which are already loaded to sites here and there, and about 10K words from when I started NaNoWriMo at the beginning of November, but then fizzled as I was away for ten days and writing just wasn't in the cards. I really liked about 500 of those 10K words, and happily I have them on paper!
Today is World AIDS Day. Time to reflect on all that has happened in the world of medicine since this mean disease raised its ugly head in the late 70s/early 80s.
I was in Toronto last month. Stayed with my friend Alan in what's known as the Gay Village. What a fabulous part of town! The night I arrived we went out for dinner at a lovely little Thai restaurant and then walked around. It was unseasonably warm. I saw the plaques with all the names of those who have died at the AIDS Memorial in Cawthra Park. Found my late friend Daniel's name there.
This post is for all the Daniels.
Here's a poem I wrote that was published in 1999 in Room of One's Own (now known as Room Magazine).
THE QUILT
Daniel arrives at the airport
wearing a floor length gown
it’s Halloween
first time we’ve met
I’ve heard so much about him
a Christmas card arrives from Don
scared, might have AIDS
waiting for results
I remember his orange Mustang
how we rode, top down
through the Gatineau Hills
radio blasting
wind in our hair
another letter comes
he’s all right
Christmas is safe
each year, from now on
when cards begin
to drift in with the snow
I look for his
and Daniel, sweet Daniel
delights in my infant son
laughs with him
loves him
hugs him and holds him
until he falls asleep
in Daniel’s arms
I come across a red and white ceramic ashtray
a gift from Mark the night
he and his lover threw a party
we danced and sang
I saw forever in their eyes
but that was years and years ago
my ashtray has a chip on one side
Mark went home to Newfoundland
weighed ninety pounds when he died
Daniel looks at me
over my baby’s head
says he’s an old soul
he will teach you
Blayne lies, tubes everywhere
in a Shaughnessy Hospital bed
wearing her latex armor
a nurse comes in to change the bag
that collects his urine
she does not pull the curtain
as if his privacy no longer matters
it does to me so I look away
busy myself with his plants
the only signs of life left in the room
after she leaves I talk about mutual friends
take his hand, say goodbye
know I really mean it
Daniel sits beside my son
they’re deep in concentration
Daniel is drawing on command
Make a horse! Make it run!
says my son
and Daniel draws
these latter day lepers
fill bed after bed after bed
in this place where I wait
to see Daniel
when I’m told he’s asleep
I write him a note
say I’m sorry to miss you
a strange thing to say
when the person I’ve missed
is dying by inches
and I’m going home
on the plane the next day
Daniel arrives at the end of his life
wearing a hospice gown
I think of him now as part of a quilt
that stretches as far as I want to see
shimmering with starlight
glistening with tears
it is pieced together with love
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