The ceiling dissolves into sky,
sun reflected in the frozen basement.
An unboiled kettle,
a bird’s nest,
a door handle,
a closet full of shirts.
The tree presses itself close enough to the window
for the branches to pass through the glass.
(From a writing/dance/film project I’m working on in Saskatchewan…
And more on this haunting house published in the newest edition of The Lampeter Review.)
(From a writing/dance/film project I’m working on in Saskatchewan…)
I am afraid of the coyotes
and deer I was warned about while I tied
double knots in my boot laces,
so I leave the screen door closed,
and avoid the basement steps.
Instead, I lean close to the storm windows
that have not broken,
close enough for my reflection to disappear,
a kitchen surfacing –
an emptied, open dishwasher,
and emptied, open cupboards,
a tangle of grass and mud and twigs
over the sink.
I used to be able to hear a car a quarter of a mile away, across the grid road, or a train passing through, two miles away at the highway, but I listen less now, and find myself surprised when a car pulls into the driveway.
(From a writing/dance/film project I’m working on in Saskatchewan…)
AAAAND, we made the Yorkton paper. Read the article here!
I am thrilled to be part of this incredible project — writing about home and leaving and returning and these unending prairie skies. It’s also been so exceptional to work with the Grade 10 and 11 drama students here in Yorkton.
We’re presenting the work we’ve done on “HOMEbody,” and with the students on Jan. 26 in Yorkton, Saskatchewan at the beautiful Anne Portnuff Theatre. If you’re in the neighbourhood, c’mon by!
Shannon’s written more about the project (and performance!) here.
AAAAND, we made the Yorkton paper. Read the article here!
I really and truly can’t get enough of these prairie skies. Here, I can see further than my eyes can make sense of.
It is the simplest province to look at,
its borders straight and nearly parallel,
scattered with lake blue
and the thick lines of highways.
They say there’s a road every mile in Saskatchewan.
If you travel west for long enough, Highway 10 hits the TransCanada,
and to the east it stretches into Manitoba, the flatter of the two provinces,
We take 10 in from town,
turning left onto the grid road,
a gravel stretch with deep ditches on both sides,
until the road lilts upwards,
and the barn speaks red at the end of the long driveway,
the house patient and grey
at the very end.
(From a writing/dance/film project I’m working on in Saskatchewan…)
Shannon’s written more about the project (and performance!) here.
~
I’ve also been trading poems daily with the ever-inspiring Rhya, something we spent years doing. There’s something about reading new, new words, and someone else’s words that reframes my own writing. I’ve spent so long working on a novel manuscript, I was afraid the poetry lens would have disappeared forever, but it’s returning, slowly, slowly…
The Saskatechewan skies never stop changing
I’m in Saskatchewan, writing and teaching and wandering around abandoned farm houses. It’s incredible. The light here reminds me of Nebraska…
The light is longer here,
a run-on sentence
that stretches past the gravel
shoulder,
and down into the ditch
where the snow collects.
Photo by David Tompa
The last few moments of 2011 flew by in a flurry of editing as I got Draft 6 of my novel manuscript tidied up. It was a mad dash and it’s 326 pages are in the very capable hands of Mark Freeman for the next while. It’s strange to not wake up each morning and get inside Bea’s world, and I must admit, I miss her, Bea, my main character, but it’s good to step away. And there’s that whole absence makes the heart grow fonder thing. That or more critical if it’s writing stuff…
I’m not much of a New Year’s Eve party girl, and for the last ten years have stayed in and made books, but this year, I needed do something decidedly not bookish, and ventured up north with some dear friends and new friends and we celebrated the end of 2011 and and the beginning of 2012 with apple pie and champagne and a walk along the ocean-like Lake Huron. Though that’s not our champagne cork, there was plenty of the bubbly stuff.
And just like that, it’s 2012! Glory be!
So far, so good. My soundtrack is Christa Couture’s Happy New Year ukelele tune. Man, I love that woman. I’m halfway through The Borrower, by Rebecca Makkai and I do so love the literariness of the tale. I finished up my Christmas thank you cards last night and think it’s safe to declare I have perfected a gingerbread cake recipe (that is SO delicious with lemon curd!)
And, though we’re only four days into this year, I’m nearly done knitting a scarf, which is good because I’m heading to the very chilly land of Saskatchewan for a three-week residency.
I’m writing the narrative/script/text for the incredible Shannon Litzenberger‘s new piece HOMEbody and will be poking around abandoned farm houses and teaching an integrated arts curriculum to students in Yorkton.
I’m excited to test out my parka in winter weather (not this mild, snowlessness Toronto’s been experiencing!) and start into the pile of books I’m going to lug west (including Esi Edugyan’s Half-Blood Blues, Patrick DeWitt’s The Sisters Brothers, and Dani Couture’s poetry collection, Sweet. There’re heaps more, but we’ll have to see what fits in my suitcase.
I say, bring on the huge unending skies…
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