Wolf River Harbor

I have been absent from blogging but for good reason. Back in late December, a friend asked me to join her for a writing challenge, to write a page a day in January. I immediately accepted because my creativity had been suffering and my production was sporadic at the time. A challenge was welcome. When it came time to begin. I woke up to an idea. I would write a journal-style story for the month. I started it and it felt foreign, that here I was, writing a fictional journal of some girl I didn't even know. That soon changed. As the writing progressed, more was revealed and I felt myself feeling excited to arrive at the page each day. I hasn't let up. Here it is the end of February and it's still going strong. After a good conversation with my big sister, I turned the writing challenge up to eleven and decided to do a page a day for the whole of 2017. I mean, a page a day for a whole year is book-length, right? 

I am having so much fun with it. I bought myself a 2017 daily planner to keep track of details, new characters and such. I have committed to this, one hundred percent. I have one friendly reader whose opinion matters to me, she is my springboard, and I am grateful that she is sharing in it with me, especially to talk out story points with. I trust her and it's been an incredible help for staying on track. I've missed a few days due to illness and because some days life just gets in the way but it's okay because I'm ahead of myself in the story. There are times when I have to tell myself to show the heck down and not get too carried away. 

I am grateful my fellow creative posed this challenge because look how it has already transformed my year! This writing is a blessing, it was much needed, it is saving me from despair. It's keeping me sane.

One of the last entries I wrote was about Jeff Buckley. She wrote a poem about him so I wanted to share it here:

Wolf River Harbor

swimming at night

a Prophet’s lantern pulled him under

in search of his sweetheart the drunk

water-worn wild & fragile  

his high falsetto swelled in the waves

            the sweetest song

was never written with us in mind

            a voice to die for

his whole life a performance poem

             says his last goodbye

with an apologetic laugh buoyed

beneath starry midnight

the placid waters humming around

his arms

his legs

his hair

and his eyes

descending to the bottom

in slow motion

the Prophet extinguishes his lamp light

            as the song slows       

                                    and the poet knows

his body is on its own

            in Wolf River Harbor

but his soul     

            gathers the shape of things

both broken and holy

***

Time to finish the entry I started, prepare for another work week and settle in for a bit of Oscar fun before hitting the pillow. It's safe to say I'll be falling asleep spinning Jeff's 'Grace' record. 

However you spent your weekend, I hope it was peaceful.

In propinquity,

Nic

Gifted

I spent a rainy Saturday afternoon in October creating these gifts for my dear-hearts in the West. My Halloween party was that evening but the rain kept me close to home so I took advantage of the down-time to make something, collage art, for my pals. I decided it might be fun to create something for them this year, a little something specific to each of them that has a little part of me included.

For Ruthie, I created a collage of Sting's lyrics. She has long been a fan of him as a writer and a rocker and I thought it appropriate for her. I had a lot of fun making it, listening to a collection of Police/Sting. It was a killer playlist. Her collage has clean lines and when I started making it I realized Sting often repeated lines so they made for perfect chunks to create the collage. Thanks, Sting.

For Terri, I looked to Thich Nhat Hanh. I made her's a 5x7 size, something she could easily set on her work desk, as a reminder that she is loved and that life is for the lovely, should she ever have those days she just isn't sure. This one was fun to make because as I was snipping and gluing and piecing things together a small poem formulated from some of the things I was amassing. It is hard to see so you can read it below; a poem written by me and Thich Nhat Hanh, just for my sweet friend.

You Are Here

do not 

turn yourself 

into a battlefield

each human being

is a multiplicity

life bursts forth 

with miracles - a glass

miracles everywhere

if you live in awareness

it is easy to see

a speck of dust

a heart that beats in rhythm

ears that hear a bee fly

a ray of sunshine

a flower

a leaf

a caterpillar

laughter

raindrops

or a thunderclap

become your best - 

calm, fresh, solid, clear and free

you just enjoy it

**

In propinquity,
Nic

Exit Poll, 2016

2016 has left me speechless. That's all I can really say today. I plan to ring in a new year with my chosen family, Chinese food, jammies, merriment, belly laughs, champagne, with the same wish in my heart as always: that goodness will prevail.

But, even when the chips are down and the cards are stacked against you, there is music. These, the three songs that got me deep in the heart muscle and shaped my insides:

The Sound by Matt Epp featuring Faouzia - Everything Matt does is a revelation, I discovered this wonderful human being in my Myspace days and it has been so much fun watching him share Amoria and incredibly moving music with the world. He is, hands down, one of my favorite people on the planet. I listen to CBC Radio 2 Morning faithfully and this song is swinging into some heavy rotation and rightfully so. Matt is an artist worth your time. And this song, so deeply resonates with every soft heart that has known love.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HYWVePW6Ovo

The Stranger by Gord Downie - The inclusion of Gord Downie goes without saying. I will keep this to a minimum to not go so deep in to poetics and emotion of all things he means to me because his Secret Path project, his passion project, changing a whole layer of the Canadian landscape. It may be his greatest legacy and I think he'd be okay with that. I still believe, after losing Leonard Cohen this year, Bowie, that Gord will live forever. 

Rehtaeh by Adam Baldwin - It has been a good year for Adam Baldwin musically, off on tour with his exceptional band in support of his new record with July Talk and open here at home for Sam Roberts Band. I stood in the Forum during his set, in awe of the crowd; eyes forward on our Dartmouth brother, singing his words back to him. That has to be a good feeling. And still, in all of the rock splendor, when he pulls out his ode to Rehtaeh Parsons, the gooseflesh pops and the tears form. It's a powerful song and it's beautifully written and executed. Should have one all the awards, and at my gala it did.

**

However you choose to bring in a new year, I wish you well. Hug your people. Be present. Be kind.

In propinquity,

Nic

He'd Be A Pretender

He’d Been A Pretender

strange months

of old town blues

the awful romance

of it all worn clean

on the curl of his lip

he’d been a pretender

pretentious

                contentious

fabricated

strange months

in the wilderness

the firm resistance

of it all worn blunt

in his empty gaze

he’d been a pretender

**

So many pretenders.

That is all.

Happy Saturday!

In propinquity,
Nic

This Pause

This Pause

this pause

is for a poem

creative

redemptive

sanctifying
a horde of

raw material

                manipulated

to purge

the ugliness

                to forge

a path to beauty

**

My thoughts are full of strife at the moment and in looking for ways to ease them, a poem. I’ve been feeling quite left of center lately, so when inspiration strikes you grab it. You get your hands on it and you hold on tight. You don’t let it go: and so, a poem.

I will be seeking refuge shortly after I leave my work desk today; a jaunt in the cold, under a grey sky where daylight will slip away quickly. Errands. Well, one, acquiring a vessel to transport precious Christmas cargo west. It is an important task and one that will lift the spirits knowing that when I get home I can place all the pretty things inside with a little of my love and gratitude.

However you spend your evening, I hope it is delightful.

In propinquity,

Nic

Apt Metaphors

Apt Metaphors

somewhere unplumbed

somewhere concealed

                hidden deep

inside the wilderness of

                the human spirit

euphoniousness

                benevolence

                                clemency

all will upend

the insipid visage

of the crestfallen

somewhere secreted

                a susurrous echoing

will call verity to the peripheral

                the potent will temper

& the Amorians will once again

                inhabit

the richness of their imminent                  

                impressive front

**

It is palpable: the odium that has risen up to the surface and has flooded our information highways, our neighborhoods, our daily lives, our worst nightmares. The US election has held the entire world in a tight fist of anxiety right up until the stunning realization that a fascist will now be in charge of the free world. A spray-tanned elitist with his spoiled family are soon to replace a formidable leader, one of which the world may not see for some years to come, if ever. I read all of these stories about racial unrest, redneck gun-toting rhetoric, sexist slurs: all of this abhorrence has boiled up and splayed an abhorrent shadow across all of the things that are good in this world. I have to believe goodness will prevail; I have to believe it out-weighs the ugliness, I have to believe that intelligence and beauty has reining power over the foul. I have to. I take comfort in the motto that love trumps hate. I have to believe it does, I just HAVE to.

And so, this poem.

In propinquity,

Nic

Efficient Little Stanza

Forgive me. I know it is Remembrance Day but I woke up with swollen eyes and a heavy heart, going to bed with the knowledge poetry’s Holy Grail had died. It has been a tough year, 2016, for fallen artists, important ones, but this socked me so hard I could hardly sleep. It likens to the emotions felt when I heard Gord Downie was afflicted. I knew Leonard wasn’t well but I hung on his promise that he’d live forever, the same way I always believed of my father.

I was up early. Brewed myself a cup of coffee in my ‘cup of longing’ (a souvenir I covet from his show in Halifax a few years back that changed my whole entire insides), and started writing. I apologize, as I am not as articulate today as I can and should be. I am just heartsick and saddened. All of the tributes flooding the internet helps, recalling Adam Cohen’s uplifting show at The Carleton where he performed ‘So Long, Marianne’ and I wept profusely out of my left eye the whole time refusing to breathe or else I’d blubber, shaking his hand and talking briefly about his father and his own talents: all helps.

Leonard Cohen, at 82, left the table but left behind a body of work and a resonating influence that will last even long after I’m gone. It has been such a wondrous journey, following him, learning from him, listening to him, celebrating him.

Au revoir, fallen star. I love you.   

**

Efficient Little Stanza

you left the table

I remain

under fedora brim

topping up

two fingers of rot gut

whiskey

with brackish tear-jewels

last we met

I was in a state

you reminded

me to remain

reflective

& unburdened

to make art

to take my good time

you smoked cigarettes

I glugged robust coffee

I wept  

                & you laughed

I was disheveled

& you of course

                always

dressed for ecstasy

our last meeting

                is tied up in an

efficient little stanza

                handwritten

in a moleskine journal

                for safe keeping

now

                you’ve left the table

I remain

                your old pin-striped

grey flannel jacket

                draped over my shoulders

your poetry on my tongue

               

birds on the wire

                did not warn me

you would be gone

                when I arrived

                so long, love

it’s been nice knowin’ ya

**

Remembering my literary hero today as well as all of those who have fought for our freedoms. So many emotions today. So many.

In propinquity and in Flanders Field,

Nic