Bywords: Poetry and Ottawa Literary Events

Local Scene: Bywords Fall Reading

You can read a poem to yourself, you can read a poem out loud or you can hear some talented poets present their works aloud. And, on October 16, 2005, Ottawa poetry lovers were treated to some fine readings at the afternoon of music and verse to launch the Bywords Quarterly Journal (Fall Issue). Chapters on Rideau Street provided a warm room on a blustery autumn afternoon, complemented by a table festooned with gourds and leaves and graced with the creative and colourful photos that adorn the covers of the latest editions of Bywords.

Bywords always upbeat and hard-working host, Amanda Earl, welcomed the poets and fans to the Fall reading. In keeping with the usual format of combining music and poetry, Jesse Ferguson of the “formerly commanding hair” began the afternoon with music by covering the Beatles’ classic, Norwegian Wood. And, with his rich voice, impeccable articulation and excellent guitar work, Ferguson is an engaging performer. He followed up the Beatles’ tune with a lyrical interpretation of Cold Play’s Green Eyes: “Green eyes on you are the sea / upon which I float . . . Green eyes, you’re the one I was trying to find.” Then, adding some musical Cancon, Ferguson sang Rufus Wainwright’s poignant version of a reflective song written by Canadian icon Leonard Cohen. I’m not sure of the song’s title, but it was suitable enough for our host to accept it as a belated birthday present. [Hallelujah]

After confiding “This is my first reading of anything really,” Jamie Bradley, doctoral candidate at the University of Ottawa, gave several superb readings. Bradley’s muse is eclectic, and his poems contain unsettling, yet subtle, images. For example, “The Fourth of July” (Bywords Quarterly Journal, Fall 2005) does not evoke picnics, parades and fireworks, but, rather, transmits a sense of horror and decay – “a river rat slaps through muck and petrol,” while nearby is “an old cancerous fish gasping” and “the moon is on the dock / impotent and sacred.” The next piece, untitled, continued the apocalyptic theme wherein a world on the brink -- “crack and heave of earth and water” -- is governed by an ancient deity who is “more terrible than holy.” Then, switching to an entirely different mode, Bradley read “Simply” in which the speaker recognizes and appreciates that art is not always the most appropriate vehicle for conveying strong emotion: “I like that there aren’t any poems to describe her – simply.”

Former West coast resident L.R. Fidler promised some “autumn themed” offerings, but I think that love was on the poet’s mind, albeit a rather unconventional experience of love. In “Home” the speaker relinquishes the ego to “that desire to live for you, infecting me,” while “Promises” is permeated with a sense of helplessness: “please don’t say never to me / because I will believe it.” In “Playground” (Bywords.ca, October 2005), however, an innocent lightheartedness reigns: “I am in love with / our soft skin, hair tangling / laughter / caught between our bodies.” But, the desolation of impotence is evident once again in “Where I am From” – “I ache with frustration / as if I were trying to hold water in my hands.” And, “Driving Silence” teases out the feral aspect of relationship: “your teeth, your claws, always too close, too obvious . . . the air today is stained with smells.”

Published poet Anne Le Dressay followed with several clever pieces that transmute the mundane into art. In “About That Cobweb” (Bywords.ca, September 2005) the speaker recognizes that “clutter is poetic, mess is full of surprises.” But, in Le Dressay’s capable hands, even distasteful items like “dust, cobwebs, dead skin” result in new life forms. When “Bending” (to pick up coins on the sidewalk), the speaker wisely recognizes that “It’s the fact of finding,” rather than the item’s value that is important, and (thankfully) “Inflation has not touched the child in my psyche.” Le Dressay’s final reading, “My Book House” evokes happy memories for the speaker wherein “I met Cinderella, Snow White, Baba Yaga, Daniel Boone” and acknowledges the joy and excitement of reading fairy tales and adventure stories.

The next featured poet was Daniel Boland, author of the recently published poetry collection, Toward the Chrysalis. Although Boland’s poetry finds inspiration in the everyday, his poems encapsulate a sense of the mysterious and the magical. For example, “The Black Cat,” which describes a neighbour’s pet, “watches you with its green eyes cold as numerology” and “These vigilant lenses knew . . . witnessed many spirited acts of love play.” Boland then gave several compelling examples why “You Still Need a Poem Because” (Bywords Quarterly Journal, Fall 2005), including that genre’s ability to turn dross into gold: “It is a pleasantly pyrrhic victory / an essential anachronism / accomplishing nothing / but deep transformation.” But, I particularly enjoyed the mischievous “The Cremation of Snoopy” wherein Snoopy’s dog house has become his funeral pyre in epic Viking tradition. And, the other beloved Peanuts characters have also aged: earnest Linus is now an old man, fastidious Lucy has crow’s feet and is grey at the temples, erudite Schroeder “hums the death of Siegfried” and perennial everyman Charlie Brown speculates “Can this grief be good / Can this grief be good?”

Melissa Upfold, winner of this year’s John Newlove Poetry Award, provided the last readings of the afternoon. She began her presentation with “Come Back,” a cynical recognition that in a postmodern world “Anything can be fixed with enough time and chemicals” and where once organized religion provided consolation, now “even the churches in the city have no bells to ring.” And, I wondered if the next piece, “Untitled,” was written to protest the superficiality of modern culture: “For me these are just fashionable gestures / But everything gets garbled here.” Finally, “Coy” (Bywords Quarterly Journal, Fall 2005) plays with and subverts the concept of submission when the speaker, ostensibly crawling in subservience to the beloved, promises “I’ll light you on fire / I’ll gather you into me under the night sky.”

As the afternoon began to wind down, through the window I could see the wind whipping around people’s hair and tumbling the leaves. Around the same time, Jesse Ferguson took to the stage to sing “Trick Rider” Gord Downey’s homage to loyalty and friendship with a bit of a bite: “make your friends while you’re still young / before you can see through anyone.” Ferguson’s next offering, “Back in the USSR,” proved that you can’t beat the Beatles. His energetic rendition of the classic song certainly got the crowd warmed up sufficiently to venture back out into the windy autumn afternoon.