I WISH I'D WRITTEN THIS

THE POET KEEPS A JAR OF COMMAS ON HIS DESK. THEY
look like the sheared ears of voles and are as soft as apricots. 

Late at night, blindfolded, he loves to take them out and play 

pin-the-tail on the donkey while his wife and children are fast
asleep. He plays his sentences like fish in a stream, tickling for
trout with curled fingers. Commas are hearing buds he places
deep inside his ears. After sprinkling them liberally, he waits
for the first sprouts to unfurl. In summer, on hot, dry days, he
strings them on the washing line between the tree in the ear
and the shelter built out of longing. Get close enough and you
can see the little hairs quivering.

- Eve Joseph

   

source

Wow. I love this whimsical prose poem by Victoria poet Eve Joseph so much! I have featured this poet before in this column, but I wanted to showcase her again, as Eve was recently awarded the Griffin Prize of $65,000, for her 84-page book of prose poems, Quarrels. The Griffin is considered the world’s largest prize for a first-edition single collection of poetry. Congratulations, Eve!

Available here

510 poetry collections from 32 countries, including 37 translations competed for the prize. Our Vancouver Island poet did well; she topped the field. We are very proud of her!

source

I love the whimsy of a poet keeping commas in a jar on his or her desk. I admire the way her imagery makes us almost feel those soft vole-like ears, and the playing of the sentences, "like fish darting in a stream". Lovely. This entire small book offers page after page of such delightful poems.

Eve won the 2015 Hubert Evans Non-Fiction Prize for her book titled In the Slender Margin, about her years spent working in hospice, a deeply satisfying read, which I have enjoyed more than once.  

Eve has two other books of poetry, The Startled Heart and The Secret Signature of Things.  Both were nominated for the Dorothy Livesay award.

You can find Eve at her website : http://evejoseph.com/   

Material shared in 'I Wish I'd Written This' is presented for study and review. Poems, photos and other writings remain the property of the copyright owners, usually their authors.

I Wish I'd Written This

The Language of Birds
After Galway Kinnell

If one were to interpret the language of birds

one might begin by confessing a fear

of heights, remembering days atop

the hemlock and the uneasy alliance of

thin branch beneath feet; and one would

have to study landings, carefully, for many,

many years before attempting to fall

with arms wide open from some great height.

If one were to interpret the language of birds.

If one were to interpret the language of birds

one would have to throw open the doors

and let them all in: warbler, wren, the swift river swallow,

and it would be necessary to make a bed

in the girders beneath the silver train bridge

and in the rafters of the abandoned barn

where the farmer hanged himself

and the swallows sang him all night from flesh.

If one were to interpret the language of birds.

In order to interpret the language of birds

one must ask what the crow knows of death,

what the red-winged blackbird knows of the reed

in the marsh where the world begins, again,

each morning, and one must rise out of bed

although the desire to do so is gone and the grey light

falling through the window touches, briefly,

a sadness that lives inside all that one is,

in order to interpret the language of birds.

If one were to interpret the language of birds

it would be necessary to steal from other songs

the one true song – the few notes sung

to please the jailor – and in singing feel

bones begin to thin and throat lengthen

and like the Baal Shem Tov  one would hear

their entreaties and know their songs

as the first griefs ever sung.

If one were to interpret the language of birds.

Eve Joseph

A fervent bird-lover myself, this poem really speaks to me, especially the lines about birds’ warblings perhaps being the first grief songs ever sung. By my age, one accumulates a significant weight of the “sadness that lives inside all one is.”

Eve Joseph is a Canadian poet who grew up in North Vancouver, B.C., and who worked on freight trains and travelled widely in her youth. She and her family now reside in Victoria, on Vancouver Island. 

Her first book, The Startled Heart (2004), was shortlisted for the Dorothy Livesay Poetry Prize. The book from which the above poem was taken, The Secret Signature of Things (2010), was shortlisted for the Victoria Butler Prize and the Dorothy Livesay Award. She received the 2010 P. K. Page Founder’s Award for poetry and the 2010 Malahat Creative Nonfiction Prize.

Ms. Joseph is a hospice worker, drawing from her experiences to write her non-fiction book on death and dying: In the Slender Margin: The Intimate Strangeness of Dying (2014), which won the Hubert Evans nonfiction award.  Her nonfiction has been short-listed for CBC Literary Awards, and was named the Globe Books 100: Best Canadian non-fiction 2014.

Her new book of poems, Quarrels, is coming out in May of this year. I can’t wait! Information on all Ms. Joseph's books can be found here.

When I contacted Eve to tell her we were featuring her work, she offered us a sneak peek at a prose poem from Quarrels, and I jumped at the chance to share it. Let's take a look:

*****

MY GRANDFATHER LAY MOTIONLESS BENEATH A CHENILLE BEDSPREAD.

His upturned hands drifting like little boats. He was coming and going through the open window, a little further each time. Chestnuts, spiked like medieval maces, lay on the ground in what looked to be the aftermath of a long and arduous battle. Death is inside the bones, wrote Neruda, like a barking where there are no dogs. I kept my distance. Behind me, my father was on his knees by the hospital bed. I couldn’t tell if he was praying. On the wall, his shadow leaned slightly forward. As if wanting to comfort but hesitating to intrude. 

*****

Eve says her stroke in 2013 “changed my view of myself.” She wrote a wonderful essay about it in the Globe and Mail, which you may find of interest. Her website is here.

Let’s look at one more poem from The Startled Heart:

A starling with no feet

eats at my table: a few crumbs, dried cranberries.

Where does it get me,

my foolish pity?

Intentional or not, you stepped

in death's way.

A bone-white edge, the near perfect

fit of broken things.

Too late for lessons now. A blackbird spoke

because you asked.

It's hope that does me in: the place

the voice breaks.

What's left? A kind of grace:

a perilous landing.

As we can see, this poet knows much about death and dying, which is also to know a great deal about life and living. We hope you enjoyed these offerings.

Material shared in 'I Wish I'd Written This' is presented for study and review. Poems, photos and other writings remain the property of the copyright owners, usually their authors.

Poetry Pantry #485

Today, I'm going to take you along with me 

on a little adventure I had last week, 

when some of us seniors were taken by boat 

to a floating paradise called Freedom Cove,

a slow lovely boat ride from Tofino. 

Artists Catherine and Wayne Adams 

have lived here for 25 years. 

Their home is solar-powered and off-grid,

built completely from recycled 

and salvaged materials.

It is truly impressive.

Catherine and Wayne and their three dogs

welcoming us ashore

The Welcome portal is made of whale ribs

The Burrowbird atop the pole

is inspired by the bird

of Wayne's homeland, Norway

The couple built their floathome first,

and then added a salad garden. 

The garden has expanded over the years,
and now covers several floating barges. 

Wayne says the place requires constant

maintenance. Their son helps him with that.

The garden is so lush

They even have an apple tree!

Wayne has a Man Cave

This is the art studio

The art is stunning

One year 40 eagles came to feed on the herring.

They dropped their feathers, which the artists

collected to make this gorgeous mask

There is even a floating "beach."

The Browning Passage vessel 

is in the background.

Farewell till next time!

Many visitors from all over the world come to visit Wayne and Catherine every year. Wayne told us their message to all who stop by is:

LIVE YOUR DREAM!

He said their way of life was a dream they made come true, and that others can do it, too, whatever your dreams may be. A wonderful message, which I have lived myself, a time or two.

We hope you enjoyed this little journey, which shows us there are many possibilities for living our lives. I love theirs! 

On Friday, we featured a Vancouver Island poet, Eve Joseph, who recently won the $65,000 Griffin prize for a first edition book of poetry. Wow! On Monday, our featured poet is Susie Clevenger. You won't want to miss what she is sharing with us! 

On Wednesday, our guest host will be Sanaa, and the prompt will be: Poems to Weather Uncertain Times. That sounds intriguing! Susan will be away during July, and will be back with us in August. Thank you for all you do, Susan. 

Next weekend, Magaly's prompt for her Pantry of Prose will be Away from Home. It looks like an inspiring week for writing! A big thank you to our wonderful team, for all you do!

And now, let's link our poems and dive right in! 

Life of a Poet ~ Leslie Moon

Kids, we have a highly productive young writer and artist to visit with today. Leslie Moon, of  Moondustwriter's Blog, does it all - art, music, writing, photography, and all superlatively, from what I can see. She tells us “The moon is part of me.......I create with moondust," and I think she is right. Hop in, we're zipping down Highway One, along the migratory route of the Monarch butterfly, to Northern California. I am eager to plunge in, so pull your chairs in close, and we'll begin. 

[*All photos in this interview are copyrighted to Leslie Moon]

Poets United: Wow, kiddo, your “About” page is amazing, and you are still just a puppy! Let’s go back to the beginning. Did you grow up in California? Did your pursuit of your many gifts begin in childhood? What came first? Art? Music? Writing?