Showing posts with label betsy warland. Show all posts
Showing posts with label betsy warland. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 31, 2019

the small way — Onjana Yawnghwe (Caitlin Press)

Today's book of poetry:
the small way.  Onjana Yawnghwe.  Caitlin Press.  Halfmoon Bay, British Columbia.  2018.


Many years ago, somewhere around 1984-1985, Today's book of poetry moved to Prince Edward Island and while there we had the honour of meeting a great Canadian artist named Erica Rutherford.  Erica was a former Eric, had been an artist with the original Goon Show with Peter Sellers and Dudley Moore, he had also been a filmmaker in South Africa. Eric had married, had children and then eventually Erica arrived.

When I met Erica she was with Gail, the same woman Eric had married when she was a man, all those many years ago.  When asked, and this is a badly remembered paraphrase, but when asked about the differences between being married to Eric and married to Erica, Gail replied "plumbing."

Onjana Yawnghwe's the small way tells a parallel love story of sorts and does it with a generous heart and a kindness of spirit.  Today's book of poetry applauds the story - but what we really care about is the poetry.  We care about whether or not these poems work.  Like clockwork.

Very intense emotional clockwork.  Yawnghwe has a tempered spirit that inhabits these poems, a tempered spirit that proves, once again, that tough comes in a million disguises.  These poems lead us to believe that Onjana Yawnghwe is that sort of tough.

The Big Bang

I thought you'd tell me you were going to die, your face was so serious.
Or you'd fallen in love with another woman, to leave me behind.
These were my greatest fears.
Your face leaked shadows, spilling little light.
When you told me, I felt relief. An ocean crossed my eyes. I thought
you were brave, knowing this dark place you had come from and the
dangerous place you would be travelling to.

I wrapped my arms around you. You wept.
You were afraid I would cut you down and reject you.
But how could I reject the only person I have ever loved?

The land you were standing on was waterlogged and sinking.
You did not know what decisions to make, how you would be in the
world, if you would be transitioning or staying tight with this secret.

I wanted you free. I was impatient for you to decide your life, and thus mine.
This ache in the background. The world on its head. We were travelling
to the edges of the known universe, where no light would return.
Somehow, our story is ancient.
We were each other's shadow, each taking turns in the moonlight.

There were things to be done.
I swallowed it all with straining mouth, the doubts, the fears, the
unknown, questions of identity, sexuality, stars, satellites, black holes,
supernovas and all the rough cosmic debris.

💫💫💫

These poems are inside of the gender politic, a woman and her husband, who is transitioning to her natural state as a woman, make for the story line.  Yawnghwe transverses all of it with a level of class this is both admirable and necessary.  Onjana Yawnghwe has deep questions about the nature of gender and desire.  Yawnghwe is a willing participant, a loving partner with her eyes on the future.  But when you start spinning out of your known universe and into the unknown uncharted territory of the future - things change.

One partner changes so much they can no longer find each other and the searing pain of that disassociation is searing.  White hot.  Yawnghwe indulges in no whining, nor much in the way of second guessing, these poems meet the events straight on, with respect and hope.  When Yawnghwe's partner moves on Onjana is left to pick up the pieces.  These are challenging and rewarding poems of crystal clear precision, haunting poignancy.

Regret

It was my choice
to end our marriage.

Something I couldn't imagine,
being attracted to women.
I saw you as a woman.

Only later did I realize
how you have fused into my heart
how by your mechanism it beats.

I thought it would always be so.
Everything was spinning, you see.
The earth was something to hold on to.

This conventional conception of self was familiar.
It had been hanging there like a dirty
dish towel, flapping in the breeze.
I took it up, raised it as flag.

It was my mistake to think I'd never lose you.
but love and time pick you up and shake
you loose into this new body.
All yours. All alone.
Reaching out.  Open arms.

💫💫💫

How tender, tender, tender our fragile hearts are.  It's remarkable we've survived as a species at all.  the small way is an emotional roller-coaster, the most stereotypical and trite descriptive for an utterly unique, or at least decidedly rare in Canadian letters, glimpse into a relationship where gender and identity actually change in front of your eyes.  What was loved has vanished in plain sight of our eyes and no amount of love can change that.

Return to Sender

You refuse to take our wedding picture,
the one with you smiling, embracing me
from behind, cherry blossoms in the distance.
Your mother had given it to us, framed.

Today you return the letters I wrote you,
the whole box of them, saying "It will help me move on."
Move from where to where, I wonder?

The day we were married
the sun lit the Japanese pond
and the trees were nearly
exhausted of pink blossoms.
It was April.

💫💫💫 

As much as the small way was a book of poetry that Today's book of poetry "poetry enjoyed", we weren't alone in being a little saddened by it all, the loss.  After our morning read our newest intern, Maggie, went and sat in the corner in one of our large reading chairs.  She surrounded herself with books from the stacks and sent out a cosmic "do not disturb" sign.  She also put Puddles Pity Party on the box.

Today's book of poetry admired Onjana Yawnghwe's honesty but it wouldn't count for scat without these precise poems and her excellent poetry chops.  And of course it wouldn't have happened without the consent of Yawnghwe's ex Hazel.  Today's book of poetry takes our hat off to both women, both brave women.

These poems burn.

Onjana Yawnghwe

Onjana Yawnghwe

ABOUT THE POET
Onjana Yawnghwe was born in Thailand but is from the Shan people in Burma (Myanmar). She grew up in Vancouver and received an MA in English from UBC. Her poems have been featured in numerous anthologies and journals, including The Best Canadian Poetry in English 2011, 4 Poets, CV2, Room, and The New Quarterly. Her first poetry book, Fragments, Desire, was published by Oolichan Books in 2017.

BLUBS
“Onjana Yawnghwe’s The Small Way is a book that has never before been written: poems of love & grief for a spouse’s transitions to becoming a woman within the continued cradle of support that art and empathy creates. From acknowledging the gentleness that was at the heart of the bond to dealing with the weariness that learning how to cope with another’s transformations brings, Yawnghwe’s poetry is searingly honest, steeped in lyrical resonances that attempt to effect and honour her own transition to a different kind of relationship with the person she once married, and with her own fragile, fierce self: still singing, ‘still, it shines.’”
     —Catherine Owen, author of The Day of the Dead

“Yawnghwe rigorously examines how falling out of a lovers’ narrative is more shattering than falling out of love itself. Gender is dissected and disassembled as her spouse transitions, as is the very notion of intimacy itself. Eloquent. Startling original.”
     —Betsy Warland, author of Oscar of Between

Deftly aphoristic, startlingly vivid and affecting, The Small Way breaks open the love poem and presents us with a vital story of change, loss and persistence. Each line resonates with the fundamental mystery of other lives, other bodies, other desires, yet the book is also suffused with indelible traces of connection. This is some of the finest writing on love in recent years.
     —Warren Cariou, director of the Centre for Creative Writing and Oral Culture, University of                    Manitoba


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Thursday, November 2, 2017

God Is a Laughing Bedouin - Cullene Bryant (Inanna Publications)

Today's book of poetry:
God Is a Laughing Bedouin.  Cullene Bryant.  Inanna Publications & Education Inc.  Toronto. Ontario. 2017.


Good Lord.  Today's book of poetry was born Catholic and raised in the United Church of Canada, taught Sunday School as a teenager and was President of the teen social organization at our church, it was called Hi-C at the time.  But I am not a Christian and do not believe in God.

All of that preamble before letting you in on a secret I am sure you don't know about - God Is a Laughing Bedouin, Cullene Bryant's first book of poetry, is stunning.

Bryant, a retired minister from the United Church of Canada, among many other things, has done something unique with God Is a Laughing Bedouin.  Unique isn't a word we get to use all that often here at Today's book of poetry, we don't throw it around.  What makes God Is a Laughing Bedouin unique is that Bryant has found a way to bridge her considerable and unassailable faith and belief to modern feminism, but more to the point for Today's book of poetry, Bryant's bridge goes all the way stone cold fine poems.

Cullene Bryant's poetry is a gas.  Bryant is candid, sublime, compassionate and hilariously funny.  These poems cover sex, marriage, divorce, illness, dying, mourning and so on but they always include Bryant's faith.  But what faith.  Her rock solid beliefs are always most challenged by her own questions.  As much as Bryant embraces her belief's she challenges them.  This makes for some very surprising poetry.

Embarking I

All the way to Jerusalem I travelled
alone photographed David's mosque
rode an Arab's horse
to Petra city of red rocks
women scarved in black prayed
in the church of Our Father
walked the road to the cross

All the way unseen, God followed
jingled coins in my blue jeans' pocket
while I bartered in the market place
for an Aramaic cross to wear
around my neck sat across
from me at a marble table
tasted goat's cheese sipped a glass
of Galilean wine in Bethlehem
just beyond the souvenir shops
a Bedouin appeared swathed
in white down to his sandals proffered
coffee camel reds Arabian sweets
pointed to blue window frames
everywhere For good luck
We have a saying here there's the blue of the sky
blue of the sea blue of a women's eyes
He looked straight into my black pupils
But all your women's eyes are brown
Mine too He winked
offered me his arm but I hung back
not knowing all the while
God is a laughing Bedouin

...

And if Today's book of poetry looks at the poems without the Cullene Bryant religious context - they are still and always will be - excellent.  Bryant's years on the pulpit have left her knowing what to say to an audience and when.

God Is a Laughing Bedouin is a great title for a book of poetry and this is a great book of poems.  Today's book of poetry was poetry smitten.  In some distant dream world these are the poems I would insist my long dead mother read.  My mother, Effie Margaret wasn't much of a reader but I'm convinced that if she had read God Is a Laughing Bedouin she would have become a big poetry reader.  Bryant's take on faith would have given my mother a great deal of comfort and relief, it would have made her laugh till she peed.  I'm certain of it.

Immaculate Conception

I wonder how it happened when the Holy Spirit
came upon her a soldier
on the corner side street  in Nazareth
sweating in his uniform too big for
him belonged to his uncle who died
in the last war spots a young Jewess
carrying a jug of water on her head
He steps up demands a drink pours
all of it over his face licks
his lips salty
I want more than a drink, girl

Squinting in the sun she cannot
see his smirk  fingers claw
just above her elbow sleeve torn
vessel smashed  she is overshadowed

A great white dove
soars down from heaven blinded
by the sun she cannot
see what knocks her down
her head hits the rocks skin
of upper thigh scratched raw
smothered by wings moth stuffed
with feathers  she is overshadowed

An ecstatic vision as when Moses hidden
in a cleft of rock saw God's back
glide by in clouds
or as when Jacob wrestled
with the angel and limped
away at dawn this time
when God passed by he let her see is thigh
his mortal penis he wounded
in the groin fell
softly on the grass
he was overshadowed

When the Holy Spirit came
upon her Mary wept
washed blood from her legs
hid behind locked doors
afraid to tell her mother
ashamed  kept silent
until the inevitable

...

Our morning read was held indoors, after a splendid Halloween Ottawa is now cold and wet and rainy.  Bryant's poems made for a humorous and reflective hour.  The women on our staff all agreed that God Is a Laughing Bedouin is the sleeping beauty/bandit of the poetry world.  Today's book of poetry hopes Bryant gets all the notice the poetry would has.

Today's book of poetry knows it is harder for women to get published than men, and come to think of it, the entire sweep, it is all harder for women, period.  Strong and compassionate poetry like this is a reason for celebration.

We still live in a misogynist society and we do need to hear the voices of strong women, and we need to listen to them and attentively.  These voices are necessary and reading Bryant's God Is a Laughing Bedouin will help show you why.

When poets as smart, experienced and heartstrong as Cullene Bryant offer themselves up - we listen.

Make My Coffin Wide

when I die make my coffin
wide so I can spread my legs
that's how I spent most of my life

spread your legs tuck in your butt
point your toes flex and point
bend your knees that's it ladies one, two three

spread your legs stretch and bend
clean the toilet hang up the clothes
sew and mend unwind the hose
that Harry forgot to put away last summer

when you're tired spread your legs
in a hot tub filled with bubbles
that is    after  you've scrubbed it
'cause nobody else will

spread your legs c'mon Honey open wide
sorry about last night what's the matter forget the fight

spread your legs I can see his head
breathe deeply just like I said
don't push    that's it    relax
good girl

spread your legs a little bit more
this may hurt a tiny sore
just like a bee sting
don't move your legs relax

spread your legs first one then the other
it's easier that way we don't want you to fall between
the bed and the stretcher
we'll support your shoulder
just slide over that's it good girl

when I die make my coffin wide
so I can stretch out on either side
point my toes tuck in my pelvis
breathe deeply count to four
relax and spread my legs

...

Today's book of poetry wants to send copies of God Is a Laughing Bedouin to almost everyone I know.  Cullen Bryant - please write more poetry, you are very good at it and we want to hear what you have to say.

Cullene Bryant



ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Cullene Bryant (June 4,1941-April 23, 2017) was a retired minister in the United Church of Canada, and mother of two and grandmother to 5 grandchildren. She authored two collections of short fiction, Llamas In The Snow (1993) and In the Dry Woods (2005). The title story of the latter collection, "In The Dry Woods," was awarded the 2006 national Canadian Christian Writing Award. Her stories have aired on CBC radio and appeared in various literary journals, among them Room of One’s Own; Fiddlehead; Descant and The Iowa Review. God is a Laughing Bedouin is her first poetry collection.

BLURBS
"By turns reverent and irreverent, God is a Laughing Bedouin puts a human face on the Biblical story and confronts the stages of a woman's life with wit and fearlessness. Bryant's collection reminds me of Colm Toibin's celebrated The Testament of Mary in its candour and compassion. Playful yet immensely moving, these poems show us what it means to be mortal."
     —Evelyn Lau

"It's rare to encounter poems that break free of conventions. Bryant recognizes this is where poetry's power is as she turns the questions of aging, spiritual life, intimacy and death inside out. The result is exhilarating."
     —Betsy Warland

"Cullene Bryant's God Is a Laughing Bedouin is at turns funny, heartbreaking, and sublime. We are in an age in which the territory of the spiritual is disputed, sometimes productively and sometimes destructively, but Bryant's voice cuts through the noise with a reminder that the highest thoughts are rooted in direct experience. Her poems are wrought from the quotidian suffused with the elevated, and the sublime brought into deep, familiar focus. With these poems, Bryant will shepherd you through to the self you see in others—the self you’ll recognize in these flashes of the eternal."
     —Wayde Compton

"Whether through unflinching and compassionate poems about her work as a hospital chaplain assisting patients during the final days of their lives, or through vivid and often wryly humorous poems about marriage, childbirth, divorce, widowhood, and aging, Cullene Bryant co-mingles the personal and the Biblical to reveal the arc of a rich and varied life. From delight to despair to celebration, these poems explore the presence (or absence) of the Holy with open eyes and an open spirit."
     —Fiona Tinwei Lam


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DISCLAIMERS


Poems cited here are assumed to be under copyright by the poet and/or publisher.  They are shown here for publicity and review purposes.  For any other kind of re-use of these poems, please contact the listed publishers for permission.


We here at TBOP are technically deficient and rely on our bashful Milo to fix everything.  We received notice from Google that we were using "cookies"
and that for our readers in Europe there had to be notification of the use of those "cookies.  Please be aware that TBOP may employ the use of some "cookies" (whatever they are) and you should take that into consideration