Some not-so-incriminating photos

Stefan Aarino and Margaret Eve Mackinnon canoodling. Margaret Eve is another of my creative writing classmates, she is also the daughter of Margaret Shaw-Mackinnon. Stefan used to work at UMFM; he the one who suggested I apply for a radio show.



A Sears glamour shot of Tricia.



Jenny Yee and Kristel Jax, catching up. Thin Air: reuniting old friends. Jenny writes short fiction, Kristel writes online zines.



"Hey Adam Koreker, how's the novella you're writing for your M.A. thesis going?"
"Good!"



Stefan hoarding the gouda. The first time I met Stefan, he was talking about the "post-modern" paper he handed in for his Chaucer class. It was several blank pages, followed by a bibliography.



Sitting in the splash zone during JonArno.



The Thin Air crew: small, but powerful.



The infamous Loud Chair.



Adris Taskans and blogger-in-chief, Ariel.



Oh, cheese table. I think I'm going to miss you most of all.



Tricia got me back for posting those unflattering pictures of her, by taking this horrendous one of me and Mr. Mierau. No, he hasn't read my post yet.

* * *

Ashley Sy is a Winnipeg born and bred freelance writer specializing in arts, music, and culture. She has written for Stylus, The Manitoban, and MyWinnipeg.com, and has begun copywriting for the Regina-based firm Benchmark PR. Currently, Ashley is working on getting her short fiction published—she fully embraces the classification of emerging writer. You can hear Ashley every Saturday night on 101.5 UMFM, on her pop-punk nostalgia show, Parking Lot Rock.

Walking to the Poetry Bash or Confessions of a Kid from St. James

My relationship with poetry is a reluctant one, like there is something echoing through me saying, don't waste your time on this. I don't know why this is, or where it comes from. But it's there and I struggle with it.

Growing up, poetry was not a part of my life. Hockey, basketball and video games, snowboarding, drinking and girls: this was high school and a good chunk of university. It's not that I don't think poetry isn't compatible with these things, it just wasn't in the mix. It wasn't even a thought.

Last night, on my way to the Forks for the last night of the Writers' Festival, walking down McMillan and Wellington, through the Village, over the Osborne Bridge and then East on the River Walk, I decided that tonight, at the Mainstage Poetry Bash, I would try to figure out what poetry has come to mean to me.

As far as what poetry is, I'm not sure. Last night, Charlene Diehl put it well when she said there really isn't much point in trying to define what poetry is. Whether you think it's just playing around with the way words bounce off each other, or it's just writing with forms, like sonnets and villanelles, or if it's about images and metaphors, chances are that sooner or later you'll come across a writer that shatters your expectations and understandings of what a poem is or should be. Besides, I find myself more interested in how poems come about and why.

Roo Borson, as I wrote in a post below, mentioned that she collects images and thoughts and conversions wherever and whenever she can, scribbling them on whatever scrap of paper she can find, keeping them for later. I thought I might try this as I walked to the Forks, to see what came of it and to see if it helped me to understand why I have come to like poetry. Here are some things that I wrote:

• The railing that runs the length of the Osborne Street bridge is a little wider than my hand, fingers spread. Last week I watched a man walk this railing like it was a tightrope. There was a slight wind and he would wobble when it blew, throwing his arms out for balance. Cars slowed as they passed. I worried that he would fall, knowing I'd be helpless to save him.

• An old man shuffles his walker forward, leans on it, takes a couple steps, and then starts again from the beginning. A young man and a young woman walk at his side, checking their strides so as to keep the old man's pace, careful not to walk ahead. We are kind in small and important ways.

• Some fallen leaves are scratching and tumbling along the sidewalk. I'm still trying to figure out what Rilke meant when he wrote of Autumn that: Whoever has no house now, will never have one./ Whoever is alone will stay alone,/ will sit, read, write long letters through the evening,/ and wander along the boulevards, up and down,/ restlessly, while the dry leaves are blowing.

• There are some people standing along the banks of the Assiniboine River, fishing. There is something about this that immediately disgusts me. But I don't know why it is that they're standing there, what it is that brought them there, and I shouldn't assume.

• Some graffiti on a wall reads: The wind dies.

• Using the kids urinal, which is lower to the floor, is oddly emasculating.

These thoughts are pretty random, yet so are the things that can happen to you and occur to you through the course of a day, let alone a thirty minute walk. The above is not supposed to be some sort of poem as a list, but I am starting to think that what I like about poetry is that it helps me make sense of this randomness.

Roo Borson, to refer to her again, writes about a friend whose cabin had recently burnt down. When the friend went to see what was left of the cabin, Roo went with her. She writes that, while there, looking through the charred remains, a neighbour approached them:

"'We'll always have our memories," said a kindly widowed neighbour, 'nothing can take those away.' But I wondered. There is the random, roving willfulness that plays through the senses - and a willful randomness which tampers, in our very cells, with what we hold beloved." (Personal History, page 61)

I still don't know what poetry means to me. In a way, I hope I never come to a firm answer. Yet, I think I will let the idea of "random, roving willfulness" guide how I approach poetry for the next while: willfully roving and logging all this randomness.

Until, of course, something comes along and changes everything.

* * *

Brad Hartle likes books. One day he may try to write one, though nothing is certain. For now, he spends his days in the basement of a big stone building in Downtown Winnipeg and his evenings in a big brick apartment in Crescentwood, where he lives with his wife, two cats, and a scattering of toothpicks, needed because he refuses to see a dentist. He is almost always happy.

Thanks + also poetry

I was supposed to publish a piece on the Juice launch, but it seems I can’t find it. It was the big finish. Funny thing is...I can’t really remember what it was about. I hope that doesn’t mean it will fall flat.

It had something to do with how the room the launch was in was the same room I saw George Elliot Clarke and that the festival was suckering more kids into this life of misery. Giving them false hope or whatever. But I don’t really remember so we’ll both have to wait until I find it to see how it all ends. It shouldn’t be hard to find. I think I might have saved it in my wife’s files. She was using the computer before me and I forgot to check if she changed the “save to” destination when I saved Friday’s blog. I should find it tonight and get it up by Monday.

Anyway, this week has been great. I actually got to go to the Winnipeg International Writer’s Festival for free because that was my payment for having to write for their official blog. How cool is that. This has honestly been one of the best experiences of my life. It was like vocational school for writers. I had my theory in the reading and book chats, and the practice in writing for the blog. What more could a guy who just quit his job to give being a writer one more chance ask for. I got a crash course in what I need to do. It’s been great.

I’ll get on to telling you about Saturday’s Poetry Bash in a minute, but first I want to say some thank yous.

The first one is to my family. Thank you for understanding Dad had to work. You boys were awesome. I love you.

Thank you Annette, for letting me try this craziness one more time. And for not being mad about me missing this Saturday night. I love you.

I’d like to thank Chandra for telling Ariel about me. You’ve always helped me, right from the beginning. From helping me get published the first time, to taking me to readings I needed to hear, you’ve kept me connected when I couldn’t write. Thanks.

I’d also really like to thank Ariel for letting me do this and always giving me enough rope to hang myself. It’s nice having a boss who will let you try new things and not get mad at you for being silly (though I’m pretty sure she’s the kind of lady who would have thrown me under the bus if it had become necessary). But really, thanks Ariel. And good luck with your launch on Wednesday at Aqua Books. Everybody go. It’s Ariel and Kerry Ryan. Yea, Manitoba writers.

I’d also like to thank everybody I made fun of at the festival. Everyone was a great sport and didn’t give me a hard time about anything I wrote. They all have great senses of humor. You guys are great.

I’d also like to give a big shout out to the rest of the blogging team. I loved reading all of your posts. It was awesome to have such a talented group of writers to share this stage with. And let me tell you, I looked into what the bloggers from last year went on to do and think the trend of “great things to come” will continue with this group.

Last, but certainly not least, I’d like to thank Charlene Diehl. She is a great lady. It was either the first or second time I met her, but she said to me that I should give it to her “with both barrels”. Charlene, I did my best. I think this city is lucky to have someone like Charlene running this festival. She seems to be everywhere. It’s amazing this woman gets through the week constantly moving at the speed of light. Charlene, thank you for all you do for this festival.

Oh wait, I almost forgot Perry. Perry is also the guy you see everywhere, but with him you never really get to see what he does. He’s the guy behind the scenes. He’s the guy who makes the festival go. And on top of everything else he does, he’s always there to sell you a raffle ticket if you are not a contracted employee of the writer’s festival. Thanks Perry.

Well that does it for the thank yous, on to the Poetry Bash.

Since I am poet by trade, the Poetry Bash is always my favorite event. Every year I have gone something amazing happens. Every year I am reminded of what poetry can do. This year was no different.

As soon as I walked in I headed straight for the McNally table. I knew my friend Ryan was working and I was excited he was there. I’ve known Ryan since I was a kid. He’s one of my best friends even though he doesn’t really like poetry. He reads a lot and is really smart, but he’s just never connected with poetry. Who can blame him, sometimes poetry is odd. I was just glad he was there; things happen here.

When I got to the table I saw that my friend Erin was also helping out. She works at McNally too. Actually, if it hadn’t been for Erin, I probably wouldn’t be doing this. I don’t remember what she said exactly, but a few months ago Erin reminded me why I write and why it is still important. She’s also a terrific poet herself. Having both Erin and Ryan here led me to believe that tonight was going to be special.

The reading opened, as always, with Charlene. She was wearing a flashy red top...that looked great. Her intro was brief and before long the poets were on.

Now for me, poetry has always been a hit or miss thing. Some poets blow my mind. Some poets don’t. That’s just the way it is. It doesn’t mean other poets aren’t good, it just means I couldn’t find a thread to grab onto. Poetry is like that.

On this night, I found two threads.

The first to lasso me was Douglas Burnet Smith. His book Sister Prometheus is awesome. Smith’s delicate descriptions of a soldier’s war wounds reminded me of the power of poetry. The language was as sticky as the soldier’s wounds. I could see, hear and smell every detail of Currie’s visit with the dying man. It was incredible.

The second strand came from JonArno Lawson. I can’t really explain to you how amazing this guy is. The only way I can describe it is to say this; what he does is the best use of the English language in a long time. That’s it. That’s all I can say. Read his books and you’ll know what I mean.

So that was it. I had once again found some amazing poets to read thanks to the Poetry Bash. Overall it was a great night, but not really as life altering as I had hoped. But I figured given the radical changes in my writing life in the last few months, maybe it was time for a little peaceful joy instead.

With the set over, I went to see what Erin and Ryan thought of things. As I got behind the table something amazing did happen. I leaned down and asked,

“What’d ya think”?

“I think I’m starting to get it.”

“Jay, he’s coming over to our side, yea.”

“I’m buying this one and this one.”

And with that Ryan pointed to one book by Douglas Burnet Smith and one by JonArno Lawson.

I was right; things do happen here.

I guess that’s why I keep coming back.

Anyway, that’s it. I hope you all had a good time, I know I did. I promise I’ll get that Friday Juice piece over to Ariel as soon as I find it. In the meantime, why don’t you guys throw up some comments on the blog? We’ve been giving our thoughts on the festival all week, let’s hear yours. I think we only have like three comments.

Come on, you can do better than that.

Take care all.

J

* * *

Jason Diaz is a Winnipeg-based writer and bookstore employee. His poems and prose have been previously published in dark leisure magazine. He was interviewed for the Uniter once and is probably the only blogger here licensed to drive forklift. He doesn’t have any books coming out, but would most likely write one if asked.

Flicker-ing: locusts

Flicker-ing: locusts, originally uploaded by hotair.2008.

Thin air volunteers at the volunteer party at Aqua.
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device

The last ABC

To commemorate the last Afternoon Book Chat.



I guess everyone was at The Gap?



JonArno Lawson and Charlene do a sound check.



Charlene introduces JonArno and Douglas Burnet Smith. Douglas asked me if I was the one he saw sneaking out of the Hospitality Suite this morning.



People have trickled in.



"Bueller? Bueller?"



Douglas talks about completing a book: "After you've given birth, you're just changing diapers."



I'm no photographer.

* * *

Ashley Sy is a Winnipeg born and bred freelance writer specializing in arts, music, and culture. She has written for Stylus, The Manitoban, and MyWinnipeg.com, and has begun copywriting for the Regina-based firm Benchmark PR. Currently, Ashley is working on getting her short fiction published—she fully embraces the classification of emerging writer. You can hear Ashley every Saturday night on 101.5 UMFM, on her pop-punk nostalgia show, Parking Lot Rock.

Oh dear...

...I got to the Afternoon Book Chat at McNally Polo Park a little late this afternoon. Curses, Winnipeg Transit! Is there anything more wretched than a bus into, or out of, downtown on a Saturday afternoon? Well, yes I suppose there is, but I’m grumpy today and I want to indulge myself for a moment.

My surliness was not helped by the fact that I missed JohnArno Lawson reading from A Voweller’s Bestiary, full of poems I really wanted to hear. All that word play and vowel juggling is right up my alley.

Crankiness was lifted when I got to hear Douglas Burnet Smith read a couple of selections from Sister Prometheus, Discovering Marie Curie. The poem about the death of Pierre Curie kind of sucked the breath right out of us all in attendance; it was so intense and heartbreaking.

I wish I’d been able to see all the Afternoon Book Chats, because if they were all as interesting as Saturday’s I would have enough inspiration and motivation to keep my creative fires stoked well into the winter. As it is now, it looks like I’ll be hacking up my furniture by February, for firewood and a fresh idea.

But I did get something of an inspiration boost by seeing these two fine poets, who couldn’t be more different in their approaches to their latest projects. Obviously, the material, word play for children and the inner life of Marie Curie, dictates a different approach for each, but the process of poetry for these two authors was fascinatingly dissimilar. JohnArno Lawson talked of keeping lists of vocabulary and dictionary definitions and “workshopping” his work with his children, while Douglas Burnet Smith explained that he did a lot of research in Paris and Warsaw and that generally he writes by himself, and tends not to seek or receive comment from fellow writers or editors.

This reinforces the idea, which has been told to me many times, that there is no right way or wrong way to go about the business of poetry. It’s heartening to see such different approaches both resulting in success. Now, though, I can’t attribute any lack of success in my future to: Poetry. Yer doin’ it wrong.

* * *

Emma Hill Kepron is a librarian at the University of Manitoba.

She is also an aspiring poet.

Her writing takes place in a small blue house near the river, which she shares with her husband and her dog.

Overheard

A few sound bites from Andre Alexis, author of Asylum.

On stock characters: "What they [the characters in Asylum] represent are people at different moments trying to do the right thing. They are recognizable within what it is to be Canadian, but their responses are unique. Although they come from places you know, they act in unpredictable ways."

On growing up as an immigrant: "It's difficult to write about it directly. When characters have to come to terms with coming from an outside place...that's how I talk about it. To me, that's the essential immigrant experience."

On providing answers: "Literature is not the ideal place for political answers. I would write an essay, where morally, simplicity is necessary. Literature isn't a place for simplicity."

* * *

Ashley Sy is a Winnipeg born and bred freelance writer specializing in arts, music, and culture. She has written for Stylus, The Manitoban, and MyWinnipeg.com, and has begun copywriting for the Regina-based firm Benchmark PR. Currently, Ashley is working on getting her short fiction published—she fully embraces the classification of emerging writer. You can hear Ashley every Saturday night on 101.5 UMFM, on her pop-punk nostalgia show, Parking Lot Rock.