November 3: Join us for our metaphysical podcast

Let me tell you a story of poetry and loss.

I was crossing the pedway in Spadina Station when I heard a busker play Fur Elise on the guitar. I couldn’t resist recording a few moments of the music echoing through the tunnel. Then I hastily stuffed the recording machine in my jacket pocket and proceeded to the northbound platform.

The subway doors chimed just as I came down the stairs. Obeying a longtime urban instinct I rushed to aboard the car. There was a clattering noise as the doors whooshed shut.

Only as the car pulled away did I process the fact that my gadget had jumped from my pocket, along with two interviews for the Nov. 3 reading.

Unless I can track down the undeserving soul who has all that poetry and music you likely will never hear my interviews with Carla Drysdale and Maleea Acker.

Unless, perhaps, if you listen very deeply. Find a quiet place. Breath quietly. More quietly, please. Good. Can you hear? It begins with strange echoing music.

Stephen Humphrey

Carla Drysdale

(Photo by Stephen Humphrey)

The poems in journalist and poet Carla Drysdale‘s collection Little Venus marries confessional rage with a concern with poetic forms such as the crown of sonnets. Carla says the tendency of the book Little Venus and its poems to involve the number of four was unintentional, but, nonetheless she recognizes symbolic implications of four in her book, such as completeness and resolution. The emotionally harrowing journey of the book’s speaker ultimately leads to resolution, and perhaps even redemption.

Maleea Acker

Maleea Acker is a thoughtful poet from Victoria, BC who’s not afraid to invoke nature imagery in her poems. Her latest work, The Reflecting Pool, was released this October by Pedlar Press.

from “Stillness”

I wish I could promise a concern
that would remain. That I might promise an attention
which gave its word not to wander, not to lull. There,
the rustle of the wing, the molted feathers dislodging,
the flight across the terrace; there,
the song stitching the portal through which all of it comes;
there, the entry, watery, dark, flowing,
and we are in and it has flown.

Susan McMaster was at Clinton’s to introduce her 9th poetry book, Crossing Arcs: Alzheimer’s, My Mother, and Me. As the title suggest, Susan’s latest poems focus on the her experience with the progression of her mother’s Alzheimer’s. Her mother, who was lucid throughout much of the writing process, gave her blessing to the collection and has attended launches.

Listen

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