Thursday, June 26, 2014

True Objective Occurrences


True Objective Occurrences

my thoughtful process is tethered
an elegantly designed limited edition

a noteworthy measure of artistic intention
a significant percentage of provocative analog

I suppose it means something akin to compromise
or an over-determined allegiance to instructive joy

a sunset-flush shared only to propose civility
an obvious argument for quiet happenstance

I will try in good faith not to hold it against you
the banning of my bare bones and my daring breaths

be mad with desire
be riled by knowledge
be assimilated by art

it is a fated pursuit to become the Invisible Woman
it is a fated pursuit to become exceptionally vague

the prayers of misguided angels are rudimentary in design
the predictions of vestigial clowns pale in comparison to

enticed writers
artful painters
faithful architects

my observant progression is a generous portrait
instrumental in adding wistfulness to apprehension

a simple remedy for bewilderment and righteous despair
a humble antidote for soaring shelves of pitiful prose

I suppose it means something to rally against the bravado
to perpetuate the philosophy of heavy fists and sharp words

into something believable and deserves deft devotion
into something that leads you to the source of my words

laid neatly and organized carefully on sheets of soft paper

ubiquitous creations
voluptuous chastity

distinctive penmanship

all of it seems magical to those of us dependent on typical flaws
challenging our contemporary impression of fire and brimstone

and that is the dirty little secret of poets writing reams of poems
about true objective occurrences swathed in incendiary language

**

I had a burst of creative energy this afternoon while listening to the rain pour against our hot tin roof.  This is what transpired.

In propinquity,
Nic





Thursday, June 19, 2014

So, Sylvia ...


I came across this wonderful little image on the inter-web.  We are so accustomed to thinking about Sylvia in her darkest hour, head in the oven at the end of her life; this reminded me that she was a woman, a mother, a wife, an active member of the creative universe.  She smiled even though she cried.  But most of all, she was a writer.  Intelligent and thoughtful, relevant.  

I stopped for a moment to consider the expression on her sketched face and the bullet points around her pretty head.  Her words, her effort, her artistic spirit; they lasted long after her vessel expired.  Her presence in the physical world was meaningful.  She left footprints, deep, indelible impressions.

Believe in your story.

Work at it everyday.

Keep trying.

... this, my new writing mantra.  

Thank you, Sylvia Plath.  Not for teaching me but for reminding me.

In propinquity,
Nic

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

Preposterous, but delightful …


Preposterous, but delightful …

be eloquent, your true imaginary best
procrastinate, pen the perfect sentence late

be essential, collect a slew quantifiable accolades
adjourn, to muse on the publish or perish superlative

be cagey, reveal your sensibilities on third impression
intend, smile and perform tongue twisters in silence

do not be haunted by looming long shadows
do not be frightened of staggering contradictions

do not be repetitive, snappy or sound phony

be superstitious, about hubris and about hilarity
position, be coolly deliberate and be elegant in clarity

be contradictory, situate yourself aesthetically on the verge
sustain, selfishly replete with outstanding inventive narratives

do not be a clichéd carbon copy

be preposterous, but delightful


**

I haven’t been writing much these days but that doesn’t mean that something isn’t brewing.  I have a folder as thick as my head full of notes and snippets of conversations, thoughts and descriptions for my pending story.  Yes, I did write the first page or so that I’ve since added and subtracted to but I’m still uncertain on exactly how to proceed.  In the meantime, I’ve accumulated a stack of material that is begging to be molded into a story.  The characters are full figured (fictionally of course) and active but I’m being cautious instead of anxious.  I like these women, new female characters, creative people (yes again, I know) and I want to do them justice; funny that I ended up writing a poem about one of them today.  The title is almost how I feel about her (Tilda).  She is indeed preposterous but delightful.  This poem is a nod her and my gratitude for her presence in my imagination and whispering to me.  I can’t wait to share her story.

I know it’s only a wee update but the poem perked me up today and I wanted to share.

In propinquity,

Nic

Sunday, May 25, 2014

I'm So Glad

I had two opposing live music experiences this weekend.  Friday couldn’t have been any more different from Saturday if it tried.

I ended a long short work week at The Marquee Ballroom for The Trews Halifax episode of the CD release party.  It was a packed, sold out show and we found ourselves pressed against the front rail, inhaling large looming plumes from the smoke machine, inappropriate drunk chicks talking their valley girl speak and shoving and even pummelled by an accidental rogue drum stick.  We were situated next to the organist who played his cowbell with a fervent and strong clunk.  It slipped from his grip and flew forward, swishing through my hair and striking my bud in the head.  Ouch.


The Trews burned through a set-list of new songs off their new record and standards where the crowd often out-sang them.  Highlights include the gorgeous and emotional ‘Highway Of Heroes’, a rousing Sean Dalton drum solo and a sexually charged John Angus guitar solo that dropped a few jaws in the front row.  I was particularly amused by a young girl whose eyes looked like large surprised moon-pies and the kind of expression on her face that tells you she isn’t sure she’s supposed to be looking.  She was blushing.  Perhaps that means he did his job?

I wasn’t impressed all that much with the sound, I could barely hear the vocals and the organ was far too loud and overpowering but the performances were top shelf.  Could have had something to do with being up front except that we were in pretty much the same spot for Wintersleep and USS and the sound was excellent.

I stumbled home content, the chamber of my rock ‘n’ roll heart sated.  If anything, the show allowed me to rid my skin of all of my stress and frustrations that built up over the long short work week.  I crashed, slept like a log and woke up happy that Royal Wood was ahead of me.  Erica and I went across early from Dartmouth to find parking (George Thorogood was in town too and with multiple events taking place and the new construction downtown parking can be a challenge) and grabbed a bite to eat until the doors opened at 7:30pm.  When we reached the foot of Spring Garden Road and saw the people already lined up we were surprised.  I learned later that some folks arrived at 6pm in that cold frost warning weather just to get the best seats.  Because of the Long & McQuade contest I’d won, my tickets weren’t so much tickets so at will call I had to give my name and they just gave us our wristbands.  Erica disappeared into the bowels of the church for a pee break and I scoped out some seats.  By the time I got inside the best seats were taken but I would come to learn later that there really aren’t any bad seats to be had.  I found a decent spot on the left-hand side of the church and watched the rest of the venue slowly fill in. 

It was a completely different crowd from the night before.  The people at The Trews, even though it wasn’t a young crowd, were drunk and obnoxious and bothersome around me, ignoring the show that was happening in front of them while scrolling Facebook and such.  The people who congregated for this show were wonderful.  All friendly, kind and happy to engage in polite banter all of which I took a little something from.  That is a rare thing and I really appreciate that about a concert crowd when, especially given the venue and the occasion. 

Erica arrived to the pew I selected and Peter Katz took the stage minutes later.  A warm and thoughtful singer/songwriter and jovial in his storytelling.  He played solo but it quickly became an interactive set, inviting us to lend our voices to meld to his.  It’s one of those things for me that I find incredibly profound, how music bonds strangers in those minutes, how harmony becomes its own truest definition.  In these insightful moments I can feel my heart aching to burst inside my chest, burst with joyful noise.  It brings tears to my eyes.  Grateful tears.  The human spirit coming together with a choir of voices, nothing like it.  That’s one of the many super-powers of music, that universal language that is constantly mused about.

Peter relayed wonderful stories associated with his music, including one song he wrote about the woman he married.  It was also in his set that he brought the lovely Kim Harris up on stage to assist him.  The first little surprise of the evening.  The second was when he brought Royal Wood out to sing ‘Brothers’ with him.  I discovered a You-Tube video of it a week prior to the show and listened to it a lot and was delighted that they performed it together for us here in Halifax.  He finished his set with one last song after Royal exited the stage and was treated to a standing ovation.  That had to feel good, you could tell it did by the smile on his face.  And really, as I sat quietly waiting for Royal to take the stage, it occurred to me that Peter Katz and Royal Wood are perfectly paired on a bill together.  There is a delicate symbiosis, of spirit, intention and musical reverie.

This was my first show at St Matthew’s Church and that it was for Royal Wood was nothing short of perfection.  The acoustics are absolutely beautiful, the atmosphere spiritual and when he took the stage and started to sing and share stories the way he does, well, words fail me, to adequately describe the experience except to stay that it was exalting.  There are a handful of singers in this country I hold in high esteem.  Seeing Jim Cuddy for example, reaches down into the deepest depths of my being and culls emotions I didn’t even know I had.  I can now add Royal Wood to this list.  Soothing, effecting and soul-satisfying.  I am convinced that his voices sounds just as powerful and purposeful as it feels for him when the songs come to him when he is creating.  His genuine approach to his craft is honest and it translates live.  He believes in what he does, who he does it with and appreciates it.  In turn, his audience is grateful to feel like they are part of something important magical that is happening in the exact moment it is taking place.  I always look around at others when I am at a show to watch their reactions.  Unlike the night before, sweating to death among a throng of people whose beer was more important than what was happening in front of them, people were alert, receptive of the inspiration, the songs, the stories and most importantly, respectfully.  I didn’t see a soul in the times I glanced around, looking down at their smart phones or looking for the door.  They were looking forward, all eyes on the stage, all ears full, all hearts open.  That, pure enchantment.  He commanded the room with ease and with pride, humbly. 



One of my favorite parts was when we sang ‘Forever and Ever’ with him.  Again, that harmonious blend of hearts and voices.  Live shows, because of the unforgettable moments and the stories, change the way you listen to the records.  After live shows, when I go and fire up my iTunes and songs come on that were done in the show, I think fondly about the stories, the accompaniments, all things associated with what happened, to the song.  It adds extra character and meaning. 

Rose Cousins joined him for a few songs which drew an appreciative responsive from the crowd, she is beloved and has such a beautiful voice.  He also invited Samba Nova to join him on stage for a song.  The whole troupe.  He shared that during sound check he thought Paul Simon was in the basement of the church but it was in fact Samba Nova practicing in the basement.  What a great moment.  And, with the lights, I noticed that when he was without his guitar, just singing with a microphone in his hand, his tall lean form cast a stunning larger than life shadow on the white church walls.  It was jarring on first sight but added to the excellence and ambience of the evening.

Of course when he was finished the house rose for a standing ovation and he returned to the stage alone with a ukulele.  Her name was Betsy and he told us the story about wandering into a little shop in Ireland to buy it and of course in as one would expect, he wrote a story about buying the instrument.  He invited Peter Katz out and together they stepped away from the microphones and emoted a sweet song called ‘Irish Road’ while Royal affectionately plucked Betsy.  Easily, the premiere moment of the night for me.  He invited the band out for one last song before greeting everyone as they exited the church to say thank you.

I had the opportunity to shake his hand, thank him for a great show and gab a second.  I urge you, if you are not acquainted with his music to do so.  Canada is brimming with incredible artists, after shows like these, I am often full of Canadian pride.  To be able to participate and be a small part of the extraordinary fabric our culture is made of is a gift and it is important to our humanness.

We finished off our night with libations at The Carleton.  There's really no other way to cap off a good concert experience.

It was a busy weekend but it was good.  Inspiring.  Much needed, deeply appreciated and will never be forgotten.

In propinquity,

Nic

This is one of the songs Peter Katz did.  He shared this story in Halifax and it touched me.  I went on to listen to Oliver Schroer.  Magnificent.

(My linky thing isn't working so you may need to copy and paste)



Thursday, May 22, 2014

Burning Bright

With all of the ups and downs, hills and valleys of late, be it work, toxic friends or everyday static, something unexpected and extraordinary happened.  

Sitting on the sofa one evening scrolling endlessly through social media, I saw that heart-wrangler Royal Wood was making a stop in Halifax, playing St. Matthew's Church on Barrington Street.  There was a contest to win tickets to the show.  All I needed to do was email my full name and postal code -to Long & McQuade.  I did and promptly forgot about it, got up and went about my night.

Crazy days later, I checked my email mid-way through a hectic work day to discover I had won!  It lifted my spirits in an instant.  I read the email quickly and felt my cheeks flush with happy pink and a smile spread across my cranky face.  I noticed something else in the email so I slowed my pace and read the whole email, beginning to end, to learn that I not only one two tickets to his sold out show and two meet and greet passes but I had also won an acoustic guitar!  WHAT!?  No. WAY.

Yes way.  I picked it up today.  It's gorgeous and appropriate for a guitar neophyte who has always wanted to be a drummer.  They told me in the email that he would be pleased to sign it for me after the show but I can't run around downtown Halifax with an acoustic guitar in my hand sans case.  Plus, it's just too exquisite to mar with writing.  I vow to take exceptional care of it and in honour of this win, I will name it after the artist associated.

Meet Royal Wood II:


Needless to say I am just tickled over this and can't wait to acquire a proper stand for it to display in my writing room.  The next thing will be to find someone to teach me how to play.  I also want a swanky strap. I like to accessorize after all.  I won't get to display it for a little while yet though.  We had a flood in our basement so a ton of things are boxed up and housed in my creative space until the insurance people and contractors get their work done.  Damn washer drum went and caused a right bloody mess.  The silver lining is, the basement will brand spanking new so the headache of the construction will be worth it in the end.

I am embarrassed that it's been so long since I've touched my blog.  I haven't been writing much, scribbling notes for a new story.  I did write the first 1000 words and see it the whole picture but the next tiny section is important so I have been mulling over how to proceed.  This will be my summer project.  I am shooting for the same length as the last, maybe longer.  I will take my time and enjoy the process.  It feels nice to have new imaginary friends again to work with, talk to and listen to.

In honour of my my date with Royal Wood on Saturday (and The Trews CD release tomorrow night which will be a sweaty shit show) I am posting this poem I just finished pecking at in my groovy guitar delight.  It is not about anything guitar related, perhaps drums though.  I'll never tell.


Hunting a Heartbeat

a full moon illuminates
a light that is a new grace

a hopeful pursuit
and winter is in him

sometimes emissary
sometimes taciturn
sometimes mawkish

always striking

his face pressed firm in my mind
lying back in a field of dandelions

daydreams swindle

bamboozled by his profound rhythm
hunting his wild pulsing sustenance

nighttime hunger

the morning sun radiates
a desire that warms my bones

a vernacular subsumed
and cadence is in him

a provocative tension
an unintended faithfulness
a stunning gift to blaze

hunting his heartbeat
a wonder(lust)ful assignment

for a woebegone versifier

**

I will not dissect the meaning for you.  The Muse, I'll never tell. Hee.

Green tea and catching up on Penny Dreadful now and a bit of light reading before sleep and Friday arrives.

In propinquity,
Nic

Royal Wood.  Know him.  Love him.




Friday, April 18, 2014

Let Yourself Be: Forging On



I survived a long arduous week of work.  Even though it was only a four day week since today is Good Friday, it felt more like six or maybe even eternity for it to come to a close.  I was grateful because there were rewards at the end of the stressful run of 9 to 5, there was a delicious glass of red waiting for me and my friends from the Open Heart Forgery gang.

April is national poetry month so for the launch of OHF’s April issue, we gathered at City Hall for a reading and celebration of words.  I zero time throughout the day to practice reading aloud which I often like to do so when I stand up to speak I don’t stammer or sound like an idiot.  Public speaking has never come easily for me when I am before a crowd of people about orate my art, the stuff that comes from deeply personal corners of my person.  However, the more I stand and read, the easier it gets and the more confident I become.  Listening to others and soaking up their words, the ones they take great care to string together, that helps too.  It’s a sense of unity that you can only experience by participating.  It has been an important creative building block for me and I wouldn’t have that without ever becoming part of the OHF family. 

I submitted a poem for the April issue and was pleased that it was included.  Donal Power, the brains and heart behind Open Heart Forgery has had to move on to the big city of Toronto for employment with his family to soon follow.  I missed the last Left Bank reading he attended so I wanted to say something publicly to acknowledge the impact his vision and founding of OHF has had on me.  Had it not been for seeing the little blurb in The Coast about submitting, I wouldn’t have this blog, be able to read in public nor would I have been so prolific in the volume of writing I’ve done and finished.  I owe him a debt of gratitude that I’m not entirely sure he’ll ever understand and I am certain many others feel the same way.  To thank him properly, and Rowena, because she was instrumental in helping me overcome my fears to stand in front of others to read, I wrote this poem and it was published in the April issue.

Let Yourself Be
(for Donal and Rowena)

let yourself be surprised by
whispering angels pining
under a gigantic full moon
while the Heavens shimmer

in poems and novels
in stories and essays

let yourself be amazed by
the choir of honeyed voices
peacefully lamenting affection
while every star in the sky shines

for paintings and drawings
for sculptures and architecture

let yourself be elevated by
the kindness of poet hearts
be heard by magical ears and
stand in the rays of contentment

let yourself be honoured
let yourself go and be free

just let yourself be

**

This is precisely how I feel, about Open Heart Forgery, about the those who congregate, and about the influence Donal and Rowena have had on my creative life and my person as a whole.  They are kind-hearted and passionate, they are creative and caring, and they are co-conspirators.  They have made a difference for so many voices who longed to be heard, who are talented and just as passionate about writing and poetry and words.  Together, in me, they fostered a confidence that I hadn’t otherwise figured out how to tap into.  So, if two people are deserving of a public display of poetry, it is them.

The City Hall gathering was wonderful.  In a stately room, with our Mayor, we came together for poetry and for our passion.  David Pretty, one of the several good humans I have had the fine pleasure of meeting, started the evening off with an incredibly moving diatribe about OHF and Donal and what it all means for he and the rest of us alike.  The piece of writing he shared aloud, knocked my little prepared speech out of my head because he said all the things I couldn’t have so eloquently.  When my name was called to read, I intended to be poised and own the room but instead, when I got up there and looked out to see David and then Rowena looking back at me, I choked up and succumbed to emotion.  All of the beautiful things David talked about hit home and it struck me, just how heavily Heaven was.  That I had come so far in my creative pursuits, advanced as an artist and was so lucky to look out and see that I wasn’t alone.  Choking through tears of pride and perhaps a few for sadness knowing that last night would likely be the last time to see Rowena before she is to go to Toronto to live with Donal, I prefaced the reading of the poem from the April issue by saying that in short, because of them, I learned how to trust my artist and come and stand among them, instead of straying off to the sidelines as a lonely and scared observer.  That, more than anything, is what they gave me when I walked into Open Heart Forgery.  A little kindness and faith can go a long way.  That, to me, is a powerful thing.

Open Heart Forgery at City Hall, a special night.

The best thing that ever happened to me was having my heart broken by a stupid boy.  I suppose I owe him a bit of thanks too because so much of that poetry is what propelled me to submit the first time.  And so much of that poetry has been read aloud and exorcised and was the catalyst for a great many conversations about the writing process and what drives us emotionally as writers.  His brief appearance in my story was for one reason only, for me to grow, so that I could become a better writer, a better person, a confident woman and a happier one.  My first love is and always will be writing.  Open Heart Forgery taught me that.  And, when the real fortunate son comes along and is willing to drop anchor and stay to compliment my full and crazy life and I his, I will have more words to write, to read and I’ll do so with self-reliance, gratitude and passion.

I am proud to be part of Open Heart Forgery and am pleased to know that there are like-minded people, goodhearted people who want to carry on Donal’s work.  I will do my part, what I can to see that it happens.  We will write on, we will succeed.

Happy long Easter weekend.

In propinquity,
Nic



Sunday, April 6, 2014

Trip The Light Fantastic


Trip The Light Fantastic

The sole metaphor is enveloped in childish delights.  A reversal of fortunes configured this reverie where I could not deny loyalty to amend my stumbles, straighten out my aloof posture under lingering clouds; I was reminded of refrains, twirling, and merriment.  My counterfeit heart accepted a half suggestive smile from a stranger, a warm hand and an invitation to trip the light fantastic.  Together we danced, nimbly and light through the emissions of alchemy’s one hundred brilliant colours, just to enjoy a moment simply for what it is.  We did this, coupled, just long enough for it to be enchanting to tell a tale of how glorious it is to shed sadness, breathe without thought, and revel in the ease of being.
Trip the light fantastic. 

 **

A writing exercise.  I had to choose from a small list of phrases, this one stuck out.  It also firmly planted 'A Whiter Shade of Pale' the classic earworm by Procol Harum in my noodle. Not the worst thing in the world by any means.

I am not highly motivated today.  I am tired and lethargic and can't decide whether I want to nap, walk or wrestle with my decisions.  It's one of those days where I just don't know what I want nor do I even know what to do with myself.  I am happy I managed to write a few words but I am empty above the neck in terms of inspiration, or maybe that's my heart?  Either way, I am feeling hollow in the creative regions of my being.  I dislike the feeling.  I long for that overwhelming burst of fever that comes with the flood of feel good-ness from being consumed by the Muse.  I'm wide open and waiting.

Happy Sunday.  ECMA broadcast tonight then it's back to the daily grind tomorrow.  Blech.  Could my lotto win be close?  *crosses fingers*

In propinquity,
Nic