Month: April 2016

Thresholds: chatting with poet and organizer Stephen T. Berg

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The poetry community in Edmonton is warm, welcoming and teeming with talent. There are many great readings, workshops and events for poets all year round, but if you’re a poetry lover, the arrival of April, and the Edmonton Poetry Festival, is the most wonderful time of year. The fest is known for bringing in top-notch national and international talent, but part of its mandate has always been to celebrate the work of artists living and creating right here in Edmonton. The festivities begin April 17, with six events featuring local poets. I’m excited to be a part of one of those events, Thresholds, organized and hosted by Edmonton writer Stephen T. Berg. I asked Stephen to tell me a little more about Thresholds, and why poetry is a part of his life.

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KM: I believe last year (2015) was the first year the Edmonton Poetry Festival decided to hold Bring Your Own Venue (BYOV) events for local poets. You and I actually ended up reading at the same event on the first evening of the fest, and I’m so excited to hear you, and all the other artists you’ve lined up this year. Can you tell me about why you decided to organize your own event and  how you came up with the idea for Thresholds?

SB: Simply put, I thought organizing a BYOV would be interesting and fun. I’m part of a small, loosely defined, art/faith group, and so thought to float the idea there first; everyone was on board. The theme came out of our first discussion. I think Edward van Vliet first mentioned the word Thresholds.

KM: In addition to being a lovely afternoon of words, art and song, Thresholds will also be a fundraiser for Bleeding Heart Art Space. Can you tell me about that organization and why you decided to partner with them for the event?

SB:  The connection with Bleeding Heart Art Space is natural. Dave Von Bieker, musician/poet, is doing something on 118th Avenue that’s quite wonderful. With support, he’s set up this little gallery that is busy carving out something like a sacred space for art, community, hope, healing, love–I’m all for that.

KM: How long have you been writing poetry? And the follow-up question that all writers just love…why do you write poetry?

SB: I really don’t know when I started writing poetry. What I do know is that creative nonfiction, with a spiritual bent, has interested me for a very long time. I have journals going back to the 80’s full of this kind of writing–most of it woefully pedantic. But what happened is that somewhere along the way poetry showed up. At first, and I’m still careful and hesitant about this, I didn’t see this slow turn as poetry, until it was pointed out to me. The more I played with sentences, trying to make them say more than they’re capable of saying–trying, I suppose, to touch mystery, in the original sense of that word–the more I went hunting for images. The more I hunted for images, the more I listened, the more I listened, the more I was lost to presence, beauty, mercy. Today, for me, poetry seems the natural and appropriate vehicle for the spiritual quest. I write poetry because I have yet to truly hear what I’m listening to.

KM: Are there any other events in this year’s Edmonton Poetry Festival schedule that you’re excited about?

SB:  I love hearing local poets, so I always look forward to the Café Readings. The beauty of the festival is that we also get a chance to hear national and international poets. Just check out the Authors Page on the festival’s website. Three quick “spiritual” picks? “Poetry Becomes Spirit”, “Wine and Wild Women Wordsmiths”, “Poetry Among the Pines”. But of course, every event will contain stellar moments. Hats off to Rayanne Doucet and the staff, directors and volunteers of Edmonton Poetry Fest!

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Thresholds happens Sunday, April 17, 2:30 p.m. – 4:00 p.m.,  at St. Faith’s Anglican Church, 11725 – 93 Street. Seven poets, two musicians, and one visual artist will ask you to pause, consider, linger in the spaces between the seen and unseen, the telluric and transcendent – the between, between being and Being. Admission is by donation: Proceeds will go to the Bleeding Heart Art Space. For more info visit https://www.facebook.com/events/1662808630649670/

PAD Challenge – Day 10

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Apologies for the rush job today, but Sundays are one of the busiest days around our place. I tried to cut corners by combining prompts again: the Poetic Asides “emotion” title poem with the NaPoWriMo “book spine” poem. I asked my daughter to help me choose a few books and then build me a tower. I think I lucked out with her picks:

bookies

Lucky

 

to have so many towers

of perennial favorites,

a jagged skyline of books,

built across my bedroom floor.

A bazaar of dreams, natural and wild,

to discover like a bird, flitting from spine

to spine, or float through slowly, a ride

down a languid river of words.

The undercurrents pushing,

pushing me to find my truth in all that art.

 

Colour is the word of the day at the This Is Not A Literary Journal site. It reminded me of this excellent Tony Hoagland poem, “A Color of the Sky” which manages to be funny, sexy and serene all at once.

PAD Challenge – Day 9

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I’m a little pressed for time today, so I’m posting my first thoughts without a lot of polish. But in the case of today’s prompts, maybe the raw attempt works well. I combined the Poetic Asides prompt to write a hide-out poem with the NaPoWriMo prompt to write a line you’re afraid to write.

 

Honestly,

 

I ask a lot of questions

so you won’t ask them of me.

 

I cover worry with practiced smiles

and have gone pro in play pretend.

 

I write make-believe women

and hide out in their cracks.

 

The prompt over at This Is Not A Literary Journal is right up my alley: look at three photographs and write a poem combining your ideas from the images. Poems about or after photographs make up a big chunk of my book-in-progress, and I love reading other people’s photo poems for inspiration. Rattle magazine runs a monthly Ekphrastic challenge online, and I was quite taken with both the photo and the winning poem last month. You can see it, and read it, here.

PAD Challenge – Day 8

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It’s a triple prompt attempt! Today the prompt at Poetic Asides called for a doodle poem, This is Not A Literary Journal said toss in some words — themed or un-themed — to make a poem salad, and NaPoWriMo central calls for a flower poem.  So, here I tried to mash them all together. Not sure it worked all that well, but it was fun!

Names for Girls

 

At month four, when it got real,

when we stopped thinking about it

as a maybe and more of a must be;

when those who knew me, but not

well enough to know, thought I’d

just gained a few over Christmas;

when we felt safe enough to

say it out loud, to doodle on scrap

paper  — side silhouettes of me

like a pear, two big hearts and a small,

or pretty names in loopy letters;

when we started to make lists,

compare and overrule, roll

the sounds around our tongues,

that’s when the flowers started.

I was pinned to Daisy for weeks,

the pertness of it, the simplicity,

and had you nearly convinced

until we both thought: Daisy Duck,

Daisy Duke, lazy, crazy, rhymes with

Daisy, and it withered. Rose was too

old-fashioned, Jasmine too Disney,

Dahlia too lah-dee-dah and lately

Lillies were popping up everywhere.

I offered Calla instead, but you wrinkled

your nose, tossed Poppy back at me,

but I saw kind toothless grandpas.

Lotus seemed perfect, for one moment of

Zen, and we both pondered Iris for awhile.

Blossoming names and inked flowers

marking the margins while I sat in meetings,

trying to freewrite the one that would fit.

At month five,  the anatomy check,

two arms, two legs, good heart and big

brain, but  a nudge in my belly still

wouldn’t get it to flip — a modest one

in there. Shrinking violet or a shy little guy.

It was too hard to tell, and I turned to ask,

How about boys named after cities?

 

Writing a list of flower names made me think of “For the Roses” by Joni Mitchell, which, lyrically, isn’t about flowers at all. What it is, in both melody and verse, is remarkable. Not every songwriter is a poet, but Joni is. Her deftness with the pen as well as the guitar was introduced to me by my high school creative writing teacher, who I might describe as Joni’s number one fan. He worshiped her, and spread the gospel to his students. True fact: Joni actually attended my former high school in Saskatoon, several decades before me of course. But her photo was in our trophy case as tribute, and the art, music and writing teachers all held her up as an example of what we could become…if only.  Read and listen to the 1972 song “For the Roses” here.

PAD Challenge – Day 7

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A week into the challenge, and I’m still hanging on. Some days the right  words (or at least the right ones for the moment…) have come easier than others.  Whether they enter the world racing like a hare or plodding like a tortoise, at least there’s something new for me to play with and polish.

Today’s prompt from Poetic Asides was to write an Urban _____ poem. I wouldn’t normally choose a title like this, but I’m sticking to the rules for this one.

Urban Night

 

2 a.m. —

the last bus

shrieks at the drunk girls.

 

On 93rd

a woman’s staccato steps

stutter over broken glass.

 

Quiet alley

two rats make peace

for the pizza crust

 

Something is always

awake and tossing,

insomniac city.

 

Over at This Is Not A Literary Journal, the prompt asks poets to go outside, observe and write. I think this is always a great way to get ideas stirring, and I hope I can find a few minutes to do it today.

The NaPoWriMo site suggested trying a Tritina. I wasn’t familiar with this form, which reads like a sestina, only in threes. But after reading a few samples online, including the beautiful example piece by David Yezzi, I am now a fan. I find following a form to be extra challenging, but also rewarding when it works. Bookmarking this to try later. Maybe I can use all those lovely outdoor observations for inspiration.

 

PAD Challenge – Day 6

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I heart ekphrastic prompts, so I was pleased to see the Poetic Asides prompt today was to write  a poem inspired by one of three images, or one of your own choosing. I picked Michelangelo’s First Painting (The Torment of Saint Anthony). Apparently he painted this when he was 12, which is pretty darn cool. It was also his own interpretation of a similar engraving by artist Martin Schongauer, so kind of ekphrastic in its own right. Lots of amazing imagery in here, but it was something about a boy painting a “good guy” battling all those fierce “bad guys” that got me thinking this way:

Superhero Sketch

 

Picture Michelangelo at 12, on the cusp of manhood,

bored with school and daydreaming in doodles.

Sketching superheroes in beards and robes,

not steel-jawed or muscle bound,

but mighty all the same.

Ordinary men doing extraordinary things.

And he, learning the world like we all do.

Drawing the lines between right and wrong.

Struggling to stand tall,

even with all those demons on his back.

 

michelangelo_first_painting-221x300

The NaPoWriMo prompt is also one of my favourites…poetry about food! I’ve written a few of my own in the past, but none as wonderful as “Peas & Barbies” by Catherine Graham, presented here by poet Lisa de Nikolits.

PAD Challenge – Day 5

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I was able to weave two prompts together today: the Poetic Asides two-for-Tuesday assignment to write about experience/inexperience, and the NaPoWriMo prompt to find inspiration in the names of heirloom vegetables. I had tomatoes on the brain, as well as memories of my Mom.

Tomato Aspirations

 

I dream of a garden of nightshade delights, edible wonders, plump and luscious

painting a triptych of wooden garden boxes every hue of red, orange and yellow.

I dream of my Mom’s tomato plants, wending through the white boards

of our backyard fence, or pressed into their metal cages, like buxom women

chastened by corsets.  In August, they’d lean and bow, ready for the curtain to fall,

ready for rebirth in her crock pot and jars, in salsa and sauce, relish and paste.

 

I turn to the catalogue for advice. The names alone sow seeds of imagination:

the stately Principe Borghese, at its best basking and baking in the sun.

The mighty Neptune and Martian Giant —tomatoes bold enough to grow

where no tomato’s grown before. There’s the extravagant Marglobe VF,

with a moniker like a sports car and  priced six times higher than every other plant.

Picture it staked  on a plot all its own, Esq. etched at the end of its custom gold nameplate.

 

But who am I kidding? I’m a greenhorn, not a green thumb. I live on the Prairies.

I need hardy, pragmatic plants, not opulent show-offs. I need the Glacier tomato, cold

weather ready with its thick skin and ruddy face. I need the no-nonsense  Large Red Tomato,

frank but fruitful. Straight shooter of the soil . Give me produce, not pretense, baby.

Give me enough sun, rain and patience to see me through the season.

Give me just one juicy globe, that I can hold up high, as I brag to the sky,

Mom! Look what I made!

 

I did like the prompt suggested by the folks at This Is Not A Literary Journal to harvest words from the signs you see, and will certainly try that another day. The mention of the word “signs” reminded me of the superb There Were No Signs by Irving Layton, which you can listen to here.

PAD Challenge – Day 4

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I love odes. I suppose most poets or poetry lovers do, but I confess I have never been very good at writing them. An ode to something indulgent is the prompt over at This Is Not A Poetry Journal today, and though I wish I could indulge, the ode-thoughts just aren’t coming at the moment. I was reminded of poet Elizabeth Zetlin’s ode to that loved and hated mark of punctuation: the apostrophe.

The NaPoWriMo prompt gives a nod to the famous Eliot line about April being the cruelest month, but I already covered my thoughts on that a few days ago. However, I do have a month that I view as the cruelest: February. Last year, at the start of March I wrote a rally against February, and a praise of March (almost an ode?), which you can read here, if you’re so inclined.

Finally, the Poetic Asides prompt to write about “distance” had me thinking micro-sized again, so here are my small words for a large space:

 

wishing on stars

distant train whistle

brings us down  to earth

 

 

PAD Challenge – Day 3

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poplar hoar frost

I’ve got a prompt meld going on today between the Poetic Asides suggestion to write a Three _____ poem, and the This Is Not A Literary Journal challenge to “write what the trees know,”  Here’s what grew:

Three Things Our Poplar Tree Knows

 

That when hoar frost swaddles

its bald branches, the day will be

defined by silence. Words we’ve used

so often to sting, turn soft and

crystalline on our tongues.

 

That the damp cloak of decayed leaves

still draped on the grass at the start of

spring, will smell both fetid and fresh.

The contrast and symmetry that used

to define us.

 

That its softening middle, the spongy

bend of boughs once strong and rigid,

are not reasons to mourn. Heart rot,

a harsh name for the feeling inside:

change. Touch the caramel-coloured

conks embellishing its trunk.

Listen when it tells us

the great  beauty of loss

is clarity.

 

The tree prompt made me think of Trees by Bliss Carman. I, too, am in praise of “goodly trees in the springing sod.”

Lastly, the NaPoWriMo site suggests a fan letter poem to a celebrity. I’ve composed many gushing letters in my brain to Trent Reznor, but never attempted to put them to paper. Perhaps a project for this afternoon….whilst listening to NIN, of course.

 

Poem-a-day (PAD) Challenge – Day 2

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I’ve got three prompts going for the second day of NaPoWriMo, and all it’s amounted to so far is one micro-poem, but there are other ideas whirring around.

The prompt over at the Poetic Asides blog was to write a “he or she said” poem. There’s a an active community of talented and encouraging poets who frequent this blog, so it always a good destination — especially mid-April when the energy and inspiration reserves maybe getting low.  For this I did complete a micro-something that may grow into something more:

Clear

He said there was

a storm in his head

as long as he

could remember, but

the first time

he kissed her

the sky cleared

and stayed that way

as long as she

was his.

 

I’m hoping something interesting will come of the This Is Not A Literary Journal Prompt to “write the lie you used to believe.” Perhaps something fun, or witty.

Today, April 2, also would’ve been my Mom’s 73rd birthday, so the NaPoWriMo.net prompt to write a “family portrait” poem is quite fitting. Before my Mom’s death, and certainly since, I’ve written much about family and her specifically. I don’t know if this is a well that will ever run dry, and for that I’m grateful.

Lastly, I’d like to invite any willing readers to check out this link to one of my favourite poems by one of my favourite poets: Lorna Crozier’s Fear of Snakes. I love everything about this poem, but each time I read it, it’s the opening line that gets me. The imagery and rhythm are just stunning.