The Artsy Honker

I spent a good bit of yesterday, and almost all my working time today, reading poetry.

I am looking for something for a Canadian composing competition. There are a few this year, because of the 150th birthday celebrations, and they tend to be open to Canadian citizens/permanent residents: this is a rather smaller pool of entrants than some competitions have, so it feels more important to enter.

But, well. What's an appropriate text? These aren't sacred choirs or competitions for the most part, so something secular would be good; yet, I'd still like it to feel transcendent enough that I relate to it as I might relate to a sacred text. I'm not much of a patriot and I'm uncomfortable with nationalism, but something Canadian-themed seems like a good idea. But I also don't feel I can do justice to anything touching on the genocidal colonialism that is part of Canada's history and still results in serious oppression for First Nations people today; nor do I want to pretend that didn't happen by only focusing on aspects of Canadian history that are seen more positively.

So, then, a text on a nice safe topic by a Canadian author seems in order. Great! But most of the good stuff isn't in the public domain; and what is in the public domain has failed to grab me, so far. I can't tell whether that's because it's doggerel, or whether it's simply that I've read so much that everything seems like mush now.

I could use some of my grandmother's poetry. I've not previously found it easy to get an official-sounding signed permission form from my father regarding the copyright; the closest is an e-mail along the lines of "Of course you can use any of Gramma's poetry, dear" which... won't really cut it. I can probably ask him to just sign something if I can come up with some wording, but the likelihood of managing that before this particular deadline is low. I also don't speak enough legalese to know where to start with this; and if I then want to release the music itself under a Creative Commons license, which is my preferred practice, it gets even more complicated.

So, I'm probably going to have a bash at setting one of my own poems. I'll need to make some changes to the language: nobody in Canada talks about a terraced house, really. And it feels very, very vulnerable, setting this poem, which is about a real person in my life. Also, it's a bit of a sod to set: a lot of sudden contrasts between the fantasy and reality sections, and wordy in places, and with no real resolution. But I have been meaning to set it for quite some time.

A thousand small kindnesses you offer.
Each builds on the last,
row on row, until
I learn to wrap myself,
safe and warm,
in the blanket of your care.

I've decided to take part in NaPoWriMo 2016. I last did this in 2013, and didn't finish, partly because at the time I was planning my wedding and various other things. This year I have less on my plate and I am hoping to complete thirty poems in thirty days.

I would traverse mountains for you,
     cross countries and continents
     to start a new life at your side;
But you're nearby.

I could keep watch outside a castle,
     raise armies to defend you,
     vanquish every earthly foe.
But you live in an ordinary terraced house. It doesn't even have a moat. And you don't make enemies easily.

I long to capture the tears of the unicorn's cousin
     and mix them, according to ancient recipes, into an elixir
     tasting of lilacs and gin
     that cures all ills, heals all pains
     and present it to you.
But you'd only blush at the fuss and find someone who needed it more.

So I try to be sensible, and follow the world's rules in showing my clumsy affection.

I hope you understand.

The train.

Dazzling strobe sunlight flashes
syncopate against
trundling on uneven rails.

February, and how to survive it.

First, the socks. An extra pair
before leaving the house.
Don't forget!

Put your skates over one shoulder,
hanging by laces.
Walk to the rink.

Boots off. Skates on. Squeeze feet in.
Pull the laces tight -- no, tighter.
Take the guards off the blades, stash them in your boots. Wobble to the ice.

Then glide. Slide over fissures and bumps.
Push away from the edges, sail out to the centre of the rink
(mind you don't catch your toepicks in the rough patches).

All is freedom, motion, laughter, until the cold toes and cheeks are too much.

Then the unlacing; relief balanced by stiffness as circulation returns.

Fumble the blade guards back on with cold-slowed hands, skates over shoulder again, boots on.

Trudge home with your blisters and your memories.

If you're lucky, there'll be enough milk for hot chocolate.

She's safe now.
Life is going well:
Good job
Great friends
Generous, loving husband.
But remembering the shouting
The long hungry nights trying not to cry
She still hides food in her bedroom:
Just in case.

You'd failed, abandoned us; you'd left.
Why should I think you could come back?
We struggled, lonely and bereft.
Your easy absence was our lack.

How to continue, left behind?
What good news could we truly tell?
And then, this weakness of the mind:
They said that you'd come back from Hell!

I can't accept it, won't conspire
To lie to people in their grief.
I need to see your wounds; require
A tactile witness for belief.

And yet, I thought I saw you wince
In love and care. And even though
It's been some twenty centuries since,
I've seen you bleeding here below.

You've picked me up, I've touched a welt;
Those scars are real, I will allow.
Mayhap I know how Thomas felt.
"My Lord, my God" -- I know you now.

The sun is swiftly setting;
Soon the night will fall.
There's no way of forgetting
The sun is swiftly setting.
My trembling hands are letting
Notes drop while winds squall.
The sun is swiftly setting;
Soon the night will fall.

There was a time
So long ago
When I could rhyme.

It wasn't mime:
I used to know --
there was a time.

The bells would chime
and stars would glow
When I could rhyme.

I could knead dough
Or say hello.
There was a time

I wasn't slow.
The words would grow
When I could rhyme.

Back in my prime
The seeds I'd sow.
There was a time
When I could rhyme.