poemimage

The visual & the poetic.

Pilots Nobody Believes (in homage to Gabriel Garcia Marquez)

e

Thinning my studio

d

I discover your unlined face looking into the future,

p

sketched with charcoal on lightweight paper.

partial face

My memory of you

totemic

a weak pulse

k

sealed away like a forgotten dimension.

the half the half

I drop clear, blue, plastic bags to the sidewalk

i copy

like fallen

darkly

sections of sky,

fadeout 1 copy

reported by pilots

c

nobody believes.

a

“Wherever they might be they always remember that the past was a lie, that memory has no return, that every spring gone by could never be recovered, and that the wildest and most tenacious love was an ephemeral truth in the end.”

― Gabriel Garcia Marquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

t

A (forgotten) charcoal drawing digitally contemplated.

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Like burning coals nine bullets glide…

in this lossI do not love thee

The poem you see

is not the poem

I see,

intones

a merchant

(of some privilege)

in Upper Canada.

new black whiteI do not love thee 4bb

His ruffled sleeves

stained

with grease and

gravy.

I do not love thee 2y9

Your poem

has been singed

by musket powder,

or perhaps

a mishandled lantern,

he mutters,

eating and drinking.

Pausing to smoke from a packed horn pipe.

that red nightlost boy

And more eating

and drinking and

striking the flint

again.

this stainI do not love thee 3

 My poem,

on the other 

hand,

(jabbing with the fork)

 buckles and heaves,

labouring

beneath the fruits of commerce.

Utilitarian in its task.

How opposite to your

verse:

I do not love thee 11I do not love thee 2

Stanzas fallen,

motionless

on the floor of an electric carriage.

I do not love thee ww

A volley of

projectiles silencing

the pocket-knife

you gestured with.

A strange brew

of calamity

 brought upon

yourself.

I do not love thee 2yyI do not love thee 4

My eyes are closed

upon your plight,

I do not love thee

or thy sacrifice.

black and white drama colourizedtwodno

*

One late summer night last July, 18 year old Sammy Yakim commandeered and emptied a streetcar in Toronto while waving around a small knife and holding his genitals. He was surrounded by a bevy of police officers and shot dead. One of the nine bullets might have missed. Then they tasered him.

*

I created a Sammy Yakim – Mayor Rob Ford (as merchant of Upper Canada) visual dialogue depicting ‘the chain of office’  as representative of corporate social values having little or no compassion.

*

Upper Canada (b.1791, the predecessor of modern Ontario) was considered by Reformers (see Upper Canada Rebellion) as a rigged game with ‘haves’ and ‘have nots.’  To contextualize this social dynamic: Sammy Yakim would not have been accorded the privilege afforded those with position or connections to the establishment of that time.

*

Could his life have been valued any less, anywhere, any time?

*

The idea for titling this post Like burning coals nine bullets glide came from poetic verse in  ‘The U.E.; A Tale of Upper Canada’ by William Kirby:

Like burning coals two rifle bullets glide!

Page 170

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723px-1855_Colton_Map_of_Upper_Canada_or_Ontario_-_Geographicus_-_Ontario2-colton-1855

The Colton Map of Upper Canada (1855)

*

Crown Island by Catherine Graham

crown island 1
I am surrounded by Crown Island,

a weave of rock and sand; the waves

lap against me, sizzling white strings.

crown island aa Read the rest of this entry »

Walt Whitman Bursts Into Song Concerning the Civic Debate over Jets at Toronto Island Airport

jets 42

Come said the Muse,

  Sing me a song no poet yet has chanted,

  Sing me the universal.

jet44

 In this broad earth of ours,

  Amid the measureless grossness and the slag,

  Enclosed and safe within its central heart,

  Nestles the seed perfection.

jet jet

  By every life a share or more or less,

  None born but it is born, conceal’d or unconceal’d the seed is waiting.

jets 1

  Lo! keen-eyed towering science,

  As from tall peaks the modern overlooking,

  Successive absolute fiats issuing.

jets 4

  Yet again, lo! the soul, above all science,

  For it has history gather’d like husks around the globe,

  For it the entire star-myriads roll through the sky.

jet montage 1

 In spiral routes by long detours,

  (As a much-tacking ship upon the sea,)

  For it the partial to the permanent flowing,

  For it the real to the ideal tends.

jet montage 2

  For it the mystic evolution,

  Not the right only justified, what we call evil also justified.

new three

 Forth from their masks, no matter what,

  From the huge festering trunk, from craft and guile and tears,

  Health to emerge and joy, joy universal.

jet montage 4

 Out of the bulk, the morbid and the shallow,

  Out of the bad majority, the varied countless frauds of men and states,

  Electric, antiseptic yet, cleaving, suffusing all,

  Only the good is universal.

jet montage 5

 Over the mountain-growths disease and sorrow,

  An uncaught bird is ever hovering, hovering,

  High in the purer, happier air.

jet montage 9

  From imperfection’s murkiest cloud,

  Darts always forth one ray of perfect light,

  One flash of heaven’s glory.

jet a new montage seven

  To fashion’s, custom’s discord,

  To the mad Babel-din, the deafening orgies,

  Soothing each lull a strain is heard, just heard,

  From some far shore the final chorus sounding.

jets 2

  O the blest eyes, the happy hearts,

  That see, that know the guiding thread so fine,

  Along the mighty labyrinth.

jets 11

Song of the Universal

Walt Whitman, from Book XVII: Birds of Passage, Leaves of Grass, Project Gutenberg

jets 7

Imagining Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892) addressing this issue,

I considered his thoughts pertaining to all matters,

expressed in his poetry.

jet 6

Archival, public domain photographs of Toronto Island found on Wikimedia Commons.

Images include:

Painting by Arthur Cox (1840 – 1917) Toronto from the Island, 1875 (Public Domain), Toronto Public Library

*

A 1907 postcard of a Toronto Ferry Company ferry crossing the bay from the city of Toronto to the Toronto Islands, (Public Domain) Halton Hill Public Library

*

Hanlan’s Point Hotel and Regatta, 1907, (Public Domain) photo: William James, City of Toronto Archives

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Milkman, Toronto Islands, 1944, Public Domain

*

Photo of Main Street (below), Centre Island, Toronto, 1944, Souvenir Folder of Toronto Islands, Photogelatine Engraving, Ottawa, Ontario (Public Domain)

Main_Street_Centre_Island_Toronto_1944

 The majority of Toronto residents living on Toronto Island were evacuated in the 1950s to make room for parkland. 

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The source for the pterodactyl jet was a generic, uncredited image.

*

detailed

Lullaby…

lullaby glullaby izlullaby jlullaby izsoftly so so

*

and

Soon a sun

Shall rise

*

and now

Leonard Cohen is singing

His shadow

*

and now

White winds

Cascade in waves

Against the windowpane

*

and now

It’s four

in the morning,

at the end

of December…

*

and now

Amazed and amused

We fall

Into a mirror,

Draining remaining

Precious drops

Of dark port rum

*

Clay vessels in the song

of a

shadow

*

Clay vessels in the shadow

of a

song

*

softly so solullaby lzlullaby izlullaby zlullaby-glullaby iz

lullaby pk

Lullaby on his most recent album Old Ideas

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z5bEfsSSwKc

lullaby 2lullaby 3lullaby 4

Brume by Cristina Castello (translation Pierre L’Abbe)

and alwaysthe calling twoo

 The planet is a little outraged girl

With its days without dolls and its eyes without pupils

Her bundle awaits on a strange train platform

Next to millions of sadnesses without reply

A train that will carry to the tomb her gloveless heart

depth organnand seafaceand and french tunnel

A plucked nib on my chest, this is the world

Stone hole, empty gap

All the chalices converge on my blood

I am a fountain positioned to offer

But the wound passes through the mouth of the poem

Abandonment resists the sky

And rattles the soul of the earth.

Or perhaps, is God dead?

All abandoned

Abandoned

and textured doubleand old gold

Why do they, my eyes, look at them inside?

And why do they inside these beings look at my eyes?

No one but the Absolute answers.

Crystal and steel I am, but everyone sees the sword

And no one could imagine my crystals in shards

and cool depthsand alabasterand another sphere

I will resist in an armour of poetry

I will resist swinging from the murmur of the stars

I will resist perched on the peek of a blade of grass

Attached to this moon of snow sailing through the mists

Who stare at me from the branch of the tree, that they cradle.

I can still open my hands to Those about me

village woman xx

I will not die without seeing that in the bundle Christ sings

I will not die before the compass foretells an epiphany.

and loyoroand overlap

Cristina Castello is an Argentinian poet and journalist now living in France. Her work is committed to peace and beauty against all social injustices. Her poems are always a commitment to the dignity of life, beauty and freedom. They have been translated into several languages. Her books include, Soif, (L’Harmattan 2004); Orage, (Bod 2009),Ombre (Trames 2010) and “Le chant des sirènes” / “El canto de las sirenas” (Chemins de plume, 2012).

and where you are

Pierre L’Abbe is a Toronto translator, publisher, ebook designer and author of both poetry and short story collections.

and full scaleand thumbprint

Lao Tzu (again)

amoeba 5xxxxshadowy two

Music in the soul

amoeba 2x

can be heard

paper amoeba

by the universe.

amoeba 12amoeba 2x

 

 

Toast with Honey

street look

You walk home from the dance

Thinking of the girl you met

Wearing an orange dress

street 1

You wonder

If she would love you

If you tied yourself

With rope

To the wing

Of a small plane

Photographing

A tree

street 2

Cars drive slowly crunching snow

You think of human pyramids

orangeishola

You see the tree on the horizon

& plan a filmic strategy

street 3

She spoke with an accent

Pronouncing the titles

Of paintings

By her favourite artist

Influenced by somebody

round

Following breakfast

A

Wooden spoon dripping honey

You foray out into the world:

Emergency investigation

At the library

Downtown.

fame

Summoning the gods

of the Dewey Decimal System.

street 5

Last night the street was quiet with softly falling snow, not too cold, and it took me back to something that may or may not have happened.

I remembered being young & swirling ribbons of sticky, amber honey & trips to the library.

And walking home late at night considering both the terrible and the hopeful & being puzzled by the odd flash of invisible magic charging the air.

The NASA space photo used under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic License.

The goldfish found online, no photographer credited.

The street scene I snapped with my phone.

double oval

The Loves of Sochi (2)

oval 16oval 9cityscape 2

Cubist spires

Assembled in the clouds

The new Soviet man

Aligning his spine

oval 8new walking

Tumbling quickly

Into descent

A boneyard deliriousness

oval 12

Bring me a glass of water

n spoon noval 19

I fought during the siege

It’s true!

I was young

Stumbling

Into the rubble

Running for ammunition

My bones ached

We had no bread

oval 25wall drop

Your heels resound

One foot is heavy

Are you with child

oval 18

Your son glancing

Over his shoulder

Acutely

Internalizing

Shostakovich

softly turning

I myself

Investigated

During the allegretto

circus time

Do you have a glass of water

oval 9final

Reciting

Accusations

Admitting

Actions

Quarrying impossibly

Stony stone

I was broken

helmetic

It was late when I stepped off the train

Children bouncing candy-coloured balloons

round

Fathers and mothers soft as dough

allegretto

The new Soviet man

a file

Inside crusted bread

new social science

Cubism condensed

To a slate grey

Now you pass this way again

oval 19bus stop

What is that look you are wearing?

oval 12deeply soodeeply soodeeply soo

 

The Loves of Sochi

spectre2

Lovers 

newfoundland

Swept up by a spark

new lamp a

A kiss after dark

new lamp brussian woodcut

Beneath a bridge

taste flower

Shadows

Whispering

Soon 

soonothe ice princess

The future cascading

town without pity

Tarkovsky studies music and Arabic

gDream Lovesoono

Soon

Ivan

He will create

Ivan’s Childhood

oval 16a

Winning top prize at the Venice Film Festival

bright detail 1

“Tarkovsky… 

captures life as a reflection,

life as a dream.” 

– Ingmar Bergman

pOur Window

On the bridges of Sochi

oval 18

Beneath starlight

soono

Hand in hand

under stand

Lovers

Cascading

bright detail 2

A scene from Tarkovsky’s film Stalker:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dNiVFCWMrqI

lantern