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Showing 1841–1856 of 9492 results
Christopher Patton’s translations from the Exeter Booka volume of Old English poetry used, over centuries, to store gold foil for illumination of texts thought more meaningfuldraw the poems into a modern idiom without quieting their unearthly strangeness. His sense of their passage through time also yields “Hearth,” a take on “The Earthwalker” that uses type and white space, speech and silence, to embody the “play of duration and flux” consuming both the physical manuscript, and the worried, reflective speakers of its poems.
No two curries are the same. This Curry asks why the dish is supposed to represent everything brown people eat, read, and do.
Curry is a dish that doesn’t quite exist, but, as this wildly funny and sharp essay points out, a dish that doesn’t properly exist can have infinite, equally authentic variations. By grappling with novels, recipes, travelogues, pop culture, and his own upbringing, Naben Ruthnum depicts how the distinctive taste of curry has often become maladroit shorthand for brown identity. With the sardonic wit of Gita Mehta’s Karma Cola and the refined, obsessive palette of Bill Buford’s Heat, Ruthnum sinks his teeth into the story of how the beloved flavor calcified into an aesthetic genre that limits the imaginations of writers, readers, and eaters. Following in the footsteps of Salman Rushdie’s Imaginary Homelands, Curry cracks open anew the staid narrative of an authentically Indian diasporic experience.
What happens to identity when we’re obsessed with self-surveillance and devalued words? Now that we’ve sold ourselves to ourselves, shuffling letters and sounds around to hide the pain, how do we represent the uncanny valley in which we’ve set up shop? In Cursed Objects, Jason Christie recoils in horror at the thoroughness of his self, then begins to write toward a new understanding brokered between all the things that define him and who he thinks he should be and interrogates how we reduce people to words, especially online, turning them into objects.
Bal Sethi pens his reflections on all that is happening around him with wisdom and a (sometimes) heavy heart. An example is the poem “Home for the Holidays” where the narrator discovers that his wife has been unfaithful. Yet Bal never seems to lose hope for the world. This is a truly beautiful compilation of poetry concerning all that matters most to mankind.
Alex is a playwright suffering from writer’s block and harsh reviews. His best friend, Roy, is a theatre director with lung cancer and six months left to live. In pursuit of fresh air and great wine, they go on a road trip to the Okanagan Valley, where Roy rediscovers his passion for theatre. But when he decides to stage a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream at a winery, disaster ensues: the woman cast in the lead is the winery owner’s wife and has no talent; wildfires encroach upon the surrounding forest; and Roy slips closer to death, one cigarette at a time.
Curtains for Roy is a hilarious peek into the world of theatre, where the greatest drama is offstage and the best performances take place behind the curtain.
Rooted in the back alleys, squats and psychiatric wards of contemporary Vancouver and Montreal, these unyielding poems enter the intersecting tensions and intensities in characters such as Mike, a panhandler on Vancouver’s Commercial Drive, Matthew, a runaway punk, and Dara, a single mother. ‘Cusp”s central sequence, however, concerns the tragic life and death of Frank Bonneville, a schizophrenic and drug-addicted artist who became Ms. Owen’s muse between their 2001 meeting and his 2003 suicide. Complemented by Karen Moe’s haunting photographs of Vancouver’s neglected spaces and rejected objects, ‘Cusp/detritus’ is a testimony to an obsession with the lost.
“It is intentionally unsettling, disturbing, sad, and you cannot deny it, a celebration of a life.” – Prairie Fire
The idea of being a customer or observing customers forms the basis of these poems which range from a child’s perspective to descriptions of daily life.
Cut Side Down is a textual collage, or a book feasting on books. The title is a metaphor for the sensuous paper cut received when diving face first into the bookcase, and it means to call up the pleasure and pain of contact with so many literary personalities. The poems are collapsing under the weight of influence and the result is a sumptuous, body-and-mind bending landscape. The book is written in three parts, but those parts refuse to remain discrete. In poems that blur the line behind autobiographical lyric and conceptual experiment, Virginia Woolf, Orlando, and their many husbands and wives attend the experimental salons hosted by Clark Coolidge and Renee Gladman. Lorine Niedecker is in the interactive classroom, scolding Charles Olson. The poet is sometimes perceptible too, as a lost boy in rural Prince Edward Island, as a young woman in Montréal la retentissante, as an inventor of worlds and words. Ultimately, through being immersed in the reading life of the poet and spying through the keyholes of fantasy, Cut Side Down is a false autobiographical engagement with desire and memory.
Up-and-coming poet Jamie Sharpe presents a finely tuned second collection
Cut-up Apologetic, Sharpe’s second collection, explores aging in a world where youth is terrible and something we desperately want back. These are poems about failing to leave our mark while marks are left on us — about the collective insatiability of emptying surroundings in an attempt to fill ourselves.
At the same time, Cut-up Apologetic is naïve and playful even when examining fear expressed as discrimination or the ways restlessness transitions into an inertia spelling cultural death. Sharpe finds strange new horizons “extend(ing)/only backward, into memory.”
Beautiful and eternal. The cutthroat rises to the fly from the depths of the river for only an instant, teasing, tantalizing, as the long line reaches out. The game continuesâ⒬â€the hook is set, the quarry played and the players ready to assume their roles.
\nTed Dyckâ⒬┢s Cutthroats & Other Poems pulses with the energy, the anticipation, and the elation that every fisherman knows. Each line and verse binds life and death, man and nature together, reminding us of a terrible beauty that includes us.
Cutting Room both describes and pushes against the anxious hum of the technologically saturated present. Sarah Pinder’s poems navigate domestic and ‘natural’ spaces as landscapes charged with possible violence and desire. Using hyper-focus and the long gaze, they draw the eye to the corners and seams of these spaces, slowing us down, shifting our focus to worn detail, asking us to seek pattern and possibility in a hyper-paced present tense. Theseare little ominous films, documenting the minutiae around us that can be our undoing.
To play “cutting the devil’s throat,” hold a round stone as if you were going to skip it across the water, but throw it straight up into the air. If you do it right, the stone drops into the water without a splash, making only a sound like a gulp. The poems in Cutting the Devil’s Throat create the persona of a young man cutting through darkness to light, finding a way to live a sane, useful life through modest yet deliberate daily action. In ghazal suites, short lyrics, and longer narrative poems, Steeves uses clean, precise language to open loopholes of vision in what is, for a young husband and father, a confusing, even threatening world.
What does it mean to be happy, to be sated, to live a meaningful life? Is wanderlust curable? Is depression? Echoing the sensation of riding a bicycle, Cyclettes is a multidisciplinary contemplation on the borderlands of adulthood.
Part travelogue, part philosophical musing, Tree Abraham’s work probes the millennial experience, asking what a young life can be when unshackled from traditional role expectations yet still living in consistent economic and environmental uncertainty.
Text is interspersed between drawings, scientific charts, ephemera, maps, arcane designs, and diagrams of cycles—of vehicles and of life, from the Buddhist Eightfold path to patterns of depression, desire, and motion. The result is a disarming, welcoming work that asks us to consider what the interflux of exploration and ennui mean to our locality within the universe.
Cyclettes is an original, insightful artifact of modern life.
A poetic vision quest and pilgrimage into the numinous presence of the Cypress Hills.
Cypress is a series of linked meditative poems focusing on the Cypress Hills of southwestern Saskatchewan, a remarkable landform that Barbara Klar has come to know intimately. Moving with grace between the perceptual moment and its visionary dimension, Klar opens numinous avenues of reconnection to place.
Wind is Pine for listen.
Snap means wait.
And the shadow word
dangles from the witch’s hair
and fights the old war of deadfall and pours
from the one-toothed gargoyles in the eaves of the forest,
in the gardens of the giants, their woody flowers creaking,
the word leaning west, west, growing vertical
against the wind’s disorder, the raven trees planted
by one wingtip and flying.
— from “Not Speaking for One Week”
Intensely moving, courageous in their utter dedication, eager for the roots of being, the poems in Cypress carry us to a unique landscape that is also a place of transformation.