Thursday, September 18, 2014

Scattered Ecstasies 2014

The Sho Gallery in Windsor is putting on an exhibit of ekphrastic paintings (art that interprets poetry). The poets and artists are all local, as well as the actors who will be performing the poems. My poem "Tarot Cards" from my collection Muse was chosen by Lupita Amaya to paint, and will be performed by Bob Steele. I am very excited to see and hear the results.

Friday Sept 20 and Sat Sept 21
Performances at 8pm. Tickets $20



Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Think Local Logo


I am proud of the thinkLOCAL logo I created for Leamington Stands Strong. You can find a comprehensive list of local products at www.leamingtonstandsstrong.ca

The mission of this organization is:

—Encouraging the community to buy local products and support local businesses;
—Building an online hub where everyone can discover locally made Windsor-Essex and Chatham-Kent products;
—Expanding a network for local enterprising ideas and initiatives;
—Promoting the Leamington Stands Strong message.

The group wanted a logo that reflected the original Leamington Stands Strong logo, so I reused the shield and a strong red colour.



Saturday, September 6, 2014

Jean Foster Memorial Award

For those writers under the age of 25—write and essay about what books mean to you and you could win $500 and be recognized at Bookfest Windsor. Submit entries by September 9th. See attached for more information.


Tuesday, September 2, 2014

Patricia Young's poem "Elephant Love"


ELEPHANT LOVE  

    In memory of the moeritherium, ancestor for the mammal
    order probosscidea, which includes all elephants.   



Love. Ancient elephant love. Summertime swamp-love
when cool is cool and mud is mud. Semi-aquatic, straddling

the Eocene era. What sort of love? Love that feeds on
sea grasses, river-wading, freshwater, dreaming tusks. 

Water-lumbering love when Egypt was a leafy canopy
to fan the blood. Intelligent love. Thick-skinned. Pig-

sized love unearthed in a desert oasis. Love that bridged
the gap but didn’t last. The future had a mind for

something bigger, weightier, love with a prehensile
upper lip that would stretch over centuries into a much

longer love. What brought us here if not the half-submerged,
amphibian love that stomped when it walked and slept

where it stood. Brought us where? Here. To the graveyard
of modern elephant love where all love comes to die.


Summertime Swamp-Love
(Palimpsest Press 2014)
Patricia Young
http://www.palimpsestpress.ca/summertime-swamp-love-p-347.html

Sunday, August 31, 2014

Jeffery Donaldson's Echo Soundings

An excerpt from Jeffery Donaldson's Echo Soundings: essays on poetry and poetics appeared in The Puritan (issue 26).

Read the entire excerpt here: http://puritan-magazine.com/echo-soundings-notes-for-an-introduction-to-essays-on-poetry-poetics/

"I have no idea what poems are. I feel an odd double-take when I see one on the page. The way it simply assumes itself. How absurd, how extravagant. What is it doing there? Like a frog on a lily pad, blinking. Like a child it stands before you—ready, curious, expectant—without the least worry of what it means that it should be. Of course I am, say the eyes of the child. What else would I be? The innocent audacity of simply existing.

Pick up a stick from the imagined beach you are now standing on, and draw a circle with it in the sand. Now lay the stick down inside the circle. What the heck is that? I can’t figure it out. I want to protest. I want to laugh. The stick is just a stick; it existed before now, and now there it is inside a circle. Before there was nothing, and now there is a circle with a stick inside it, a shape and a content. Or take a further step; pick up another stick and lay it down somewhere else on the sand: all on its own, a shape and a content. You took a thing that was over there and you put it over here in this new place, a place that is new because a stick was put there. Poets spend their lifetime trying to get it right just once, laying the stick down in the sand, just so."

The book can be pre-ordered here: http://www.palimpsestpress.ca/echo-soundings-essays-poetry-poetics-p-349.html

Friday, August 29, 2014

September Palimpsest Readings

This September:

Ariel Gordon
September 9-12, 2014. Under Western Skies Conference. Calgary, AB.

Blair Trewartha
September 20, 2014. Village Bookshop. Bayfield, ON. 

Kate Braid
September 25, 2014. Wood and Words Book Tour. Hornby Island, BC.
September 26, 2014. Wood and Words Book Tour at Planet Earth Poetry. Victoria, BC.
September 29, 2014. Wood and Words Book Tour. Pender Island, BC.
September 30, 2014. Wood and Words Book Tour at Wordstorm. Nanaimo, BC.

Yvonne Blomer
September 18, 2014. Hornby Island, BC
September 28, 2014. Word Vancouver. Vancouver, BC. 

Monday, August 25, 2014

Boblo poem in anthology

My poem "Boblo" appeared in Whisky Sour City (Black Moss Press, 2013). Just getting around to posting it now. The link to buy the anthology is http://blackmosspress.com/dd-product/whiskey-sour-city/ Of course, it can be bought through Amazon or Indigo, if one so desires.

Publisher's description:
"Sex, love, alcohol and pollution are on tap within these pages. Whisky Sour City is a collection of poetry written by people who have experienced both the sour and the sweet of Windsor, Ontario."



Boblo

 
Rumor has it the island is cursed,
the owners gone bankrupt and then swiftly struck dead.

Of that, I cannot say, but what I do know
is the French fries are small pellets that swell when immersed in oil,

the woman supposed to be running the carousel swings
is down at the docks fucking a rich American,

and my boozy boss keeps offering me shots of vodka. 
He wants me drunk for all the usual reasons, but I never do.

After many slurred lures, I unlock my ten-speed and pedal home.
Desire—that cagey, crazy-making thing

I never understood—eventually takes hold.
Like Bacchus or Baudelaire or the carousel swings girl,

I soon became aware of appetites that were longingly hard
to fulfil. I slip into the borders, the paradoxes

of casual intimacy, of melancholic passion.
Rumour has it I am cursed. The kind of woman

you treat well for a short time, the kind you want
your buddy to hook-up with after his girlfriend dumps him.

Of that, I cannot say, but what I do know
is I get a lot of free drinks when I never ask for them,

that certain men expect they will take me home
when we flirt all night. I never do when they are sure of it.

I wear silk lingerie at night, my chest and neck bloom
with heat. It is summer, I sweat the sugar of lemons,

once again walk the silvery sun-drenched platform of the Corkscrew,
drinking lemonade, dumb with heat. Hornets grow furious.

Lilacs wilt. Across the river, fields of corn are scorched.
They will be harvested late this year.