On the Count of None - Allison Chisholm (A Feed Dog Book/Anvil Press)

Today's book of poetry:
On the Count of None.  Allison Chisholm.  A Feed Dog Book.  Anvil Press.  Vancouver, British Columbia.  2018.

There's more going on in Allison Chisholm's bag of tricks On the Count of None than Today's book of poetry could keep track of.  Just to get started there are a series of horoscope related poems, one for each sign of the zodiac.  These poems were full of laugh out loud moments.  Chisholm's humour is often right under the surface of things.  Once you hit that stride these poems take on a whole new charm.

Aries (March 21-April 19)

If you are not yet moving at top speed, you very soon

will be.

Reach out to a close ally.

Consult an expert at low volume.

The results will be pleasing: an abundance of

greenery in the shadows of Venus.

Be prepared for a strong reaction.

💫💫💫

Note of full disclosure:  Anvil Press also publishes my work.  I'd like to think that Today's book of poetry operates without influence and/or favouritism.  Our mission remains to write about books of poetry we like.

Today's book of poetry figured Chisholm's poem "Worldly or Otherwise: is a thinly veiled mission statement so we thought we should take a look.  Today's book of poetry should know more about Allison Chisholm, we've had the pleasure of breaking bread together.  Allison was the emcee for a reading Today's book of poetry did in Kingston last year with Sadiqa de Meijer and Stuart Ross.  And we've shared beer at the Carleton Tavern.

Worldly or Otherwise

On this side of the world we put things in order:

hairpins, asthma inhalers, glasses of milk.

We edit our obituaries and euthanize our old ambitions.

We underwrite our uncertainties and pause to remember a voice.

On this side of the world we believe in suicide the old-fashioned way.

On this side of the world we strike out inscriptions left in books.

We keep your rumours at the edge of our vision.

We cast out broken skeletons and infiltrate audible gasps.

It's another type of sinking—here, on this side of the world.

💫💫💫

Sadly, the truth is that Today's book of poetry knows virtually nothing about Chisholm except that we like the way she gets around a page.  Stuart Ross we know like the back of our own hand.  Mr. Ross is the Editor for A Feed Dog Book, his imprint at Anvil Press.

It is hard for Today's book of poetry to pretend that there is no bias when it comes to Ross but in truth we can't wait to get our hands on any book he's had an influence on.  Today's book of poetry knows from personal experience that Ross makes any poem he touches better.  He is a superior editor.

Allison Chisholm benefits from the care Ross puts into his poets work.  On the Count of None is precise, smoothly carved, the sharp edges are within the language, the poems themselves are otter slick.

Yours

for nelson

I

tried

out

your

big

sigh.

💫💫💫

Any poet publishing a poem for the Paris, Ontario poet Nelson Ball is going to curry favour here in our offices.  All of you regular readers will remember Nelson Ball from the several books of his we've gushed over in previous posts.  Nelson Ball is a genuine hero in the poetry/small press scene here in Ontario.  Allison Chisholm manages to capture and compliment Captain Ball in one short breath.  Lovely.

Today's book of poetry discovered a reoccurring character, she appears in at least seven poems.  Who is this "Ellen?"  What does she want with us?  What does her presence mean?  And why does she have three "Dollhouse (s)?"  It doesn't really matter, Ellen had our full attention every time she popped up with a sage flurry.

Woman Does Backflip Before Slipping

into Shadows

Dear Abby,

How do I measure

Some level of risk

A comfortable silence

And a single sailing season?

How, Abby,

Do I wrestle

This pirate stronghold

An instant foreboding

And a legendary creature?

Dear, dear Abby

Is there a fine line

Between a daylong battle

And a misty morning?

Abby—

Sun filters through leaves

Snow covers all in sight

I hear popping and crackling

As Mom drops bacon into the pan.

Life is an expenditure

And I need some capital.

Sincerely,

Ellen

💫💫💫

Our morning read was a snappy little dance.  The sun is shining and it's almost the weekend, everyone was in summer clothing and a good mood.  Kathryn, our Jr. Editor, was all over Chisholm and handed out our reading assignments with aplomb.  Allison Chisholm's perky On the Count of None got us all thinking this morning.  These poems never try to pull the wool over your eyes but that doesn't mean that Chisholm won't happily pull the rug out from beneath your feet.   Poetry wise.

Allison Chisholm

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Allison Chisholm lives and writes in Kingston, Ontario. Her poetry has appeared in The Northern Testicle Review, the Puddles of Sky chap-poem The Dollhouse, The Week Shall Inherit The Verse, and the Proper Tales Press chapbook On the Count of One. She played glockenspiel in the Hawaiian-dream-pop band scub. Her photography has been exhibited in the Tiniest Gallery.

BLURBS

“Allison Chisholm’s poems are plain-talking spirals of wit and description. She walks the reader along a path of surprises— a straightforward line steps to another straightforward line, but getting there involves Escher-like angles. What a great first book, full of a persuasive and clear form of surrealism!”
      – Alice Burdick, author of Deportment and Book of Short Sentences

“There are lots of rewards among these lines. I like especially the poems that implicitly and pointedly criticize our culture— and I love Allison’s deadpan humour.”
     – Nelson Ball, author of Certain Details and Walking

“Allison Chisholm introduces us to a world where things are at once placed in careful order and blown delightfully apart. There are surprising pleasures tucked into these succinct poems.”
     – Jaime Forsythe, author of I Heard Something and Sympathy Loophole

anvilpress.com

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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.

Nelson — Dag T. Straumsvåg (Proper Tales Press)

Today's book of poetry:
Nelson.  Dag T. Straumsvåg.  Proper Tales Press.  Cobourg, Ontario.  2017.

Not that Today's book of poetry won't/can't take responsibility, but I do have to tell you that Milo, our head tech and digital Prince, isn't in the office this morning.  That I was able to take a photo of Dag T. Straumsvåg's Nelson is an accomplishment.  I had help.  Odin, our former head of security, returned for a visit this morning and we were so damned happy to see him that we felt drunk.  All of that before mumbling out an apology to Dag, Today's book of poetry is sorry our cover photo is sideways.  Damned Commodore 16.

As any of our regular readers knows — Today's book of poetry is a big fan of the Canadian poet Nelson Ball.  Nelson is the current champion of doing the most with the least, but his lean poetry is never sparse.  Today's book of poetry is not alone in our admiration (we have written about Nelson Ball several times over the years) of Sir Admiral Nelson Ball.

Norwegian poet Dag T. Straumsvåg wrote Nelson with his Highness Mr. Ball in mind, a tribute to be sure, but Dag wasn't intending to mimic Ball's style.  And he doesn't, Straumsvåg is a little closer in style to Stuart Ross, the irrepressible poet/publisher and all around mensch.

Dag T. Straumsvåg does capture Nelson Ball's whimsy though, a bit of his clear light.  These poems fall like a light rain but every image acts like a seed.

Winter Morning

Coldest

day

of the year.

The fly

on

the windowsill

rubs

its front

legs 

together,

trying

to make 

fire.

...

Old Dag T. had a dark hue to his sense of humour, just the way we like it.  Today's book of poetry wanted to ask him about the Death Metal scene in the Botswana of his memory.  Now there's a poem that packs a Kung-Fu poetry punch.  

For such a small press Proper Tales Press continuously ups the ante with the breadth of their titles and authors.  Regular readers of this blog will know that Proper Tales Press publisher Stuart Ross (who we have written about several times on our blog) is a close friend of Today's book of poetry.  Our guest room is named after the man.

Mr. Ross casts an awfully wide net and it shows.  Proper Tales Press has a long and consistent record of original voices and Dag T. Straumsvåg joins an excellent chorus.

Many of the poems in this collection were written in English, those that were translated from Nynorsk read like they were written in English as well.  Invisible.

At The Bar

you'd better leave now

the waitress says in a friendly voice to the man

she points toward the door and the grainy dark outside

you'd better leave now

...

Our morning read was flat out zany.  Odin was back in the fold for the day and that brought a tear to my eye that I wanted no one to see.  I pretended I was sneezing when I pulled out my big hanky.  Thomas was happy to see Odin as well, Odin taught him what he knows.  So we let Odin lead the show.  These short poems were worth reading slowly.  This little collection left a big impression on us all.

Sometimes poems just seem to fit into your head space,  Dag T. Straumsvåg seems to have whittled his work down to fine, smooth projectile that always finds its mark.

Options

We're offered amnesia

and we accept.

We can make good friends

out of blue clay.

We can count

the buttons on our shirts,

make history.

Our sleep is calm, roaming

with darkness in the hills,

learning to whistle.

...

Today's book of poetry hopes that every time someone reads Dag T. Straumsvåg's Nelson the poetry Gods nod a little more gently in Nelson Ball's way.  Nelson won't barge in uninvited, remains polite and well behaved.  That sly Nelson.  That sly Dag T. Straumsvåg.

Photo: Kapitonova

 Dag T. Straumsvåg 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Dag T. Straumsvåg was born in 1964 and grew up on the west coast of Norway. He is the author and translator of four books of poetry, most recently The Lure-Maker from Posio (Red Dragonfly Press, 2011), translated by Robert Hedin and Louis Jenkins. A selection of his poems is included in Robert Hedin: At the Great Door of Morning—Selected Poems and Translations (Copper Canyon Press, 2017). His poems have appeared in numerous journals in Norway and North America. He lives in Trondheim.

"June"

A poem by  Dag T. Straumsvåg 

Video: Motionpoems

propertalespress@gmail.com

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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

Tusk-a-Loose'a - Mark Laba (Puddles of Sky Press)

Today's book of poetry:
Tusk-a-loose'a.  Mark Laba.  Puddles of Sky Press.  Kingston, Ontario.  2017.

4

I'd bury the hatchet with anyone

Whether it be in spruce maple pine

Or crime scene tape

On a TV show

Where a guy in a lakeside motel dies

While watching static on a TV screen

Thinking it was messages from

His dead wife

And the hatchet that I'm holding

Is the one that did

The trick.

...

It has finally happened.  

The first perfect poetry book.

Now, it's a short book, a chapbook in fact, but here is why I think Mark Laba's Tusk-a-Loose'a is perfect.

The front cover, perfect.  Simple, visually arresting, pure and twisted.

Inside.  Every single poem worked, pulled their weight.  Got the job done.  It was marvelous.  When I'm reading poetry for Today's book of poetry I usually write down page numbers of poems I particularly like and want to use for the blog but with Tusk-a-Loose'a I enjoyed the first poem, and then the second and then the third and then the fourth, and so on.  It was sweep, a perfect game, the opposite of a no-hitter but more rare.  

Today's book of poetry didn't have to write down a thing because every poem blasted past with the same high-tone velocity, we wanted to share every damned one.

Mark Laba has been around since we first discovered snow, but I've never met the man.  More's the pity.  Laba has endless wit, he knows exactly how close to the edge to take his reader - before pushing them over.

1

Asphalt opens

To the arteries of trees beneath

Scrabbing across shadow-strewn and rain-sodden streets

Where raccoons occasionally cross

To wash

The severed heads of their little squirrel victims

And encase them in plexiglass displays

They stole from the hobby shop.

...

It is hard to imagine doing more with any less.  Laba throws the reader around like a rag doll, not so much misdirection as vibrant lead step in a dance duo.  Mark Laba reads like Stephen Wright and Saint Nelson of Ball had a child with a young Raymond Souster, before the banks got him.  Laba is like that wisecracking kid at the back of the classrooms of our youth, the one that always had the right thing to say and was willing to say it at the wrong time.

Today's book of poetry had Milo, our head tech, check out the stacks to see what he could find from Mark Laba.  Our pickings were unfortunately slim with only Movies in the Insect Temple (Proper Tales Press, 1981) and The Thing In Exile which was co-authored with Steven Feldman and Stuart Ross (Books By Kids, 1975).  After reading Tusk-a-Loose'a Today's book of poetry will be on the hunt more of anything by Mark Laba.  It turns out he may be the best poet in Canada you've never heard of.

8

Lately I've thought about the narwhal tusk

As a navigation device for my mini-van

A way to breeze along through the bi-ways and highways

Of a nation I just invented that I call well I forget

What I called it

But you can bet your bottom dollar

It was one hell'uva nation

Before it sank into the ocean

Which wasn't my fault

As I was at the orthodontist

And my second-in-command

Was crushed under an avalanche

Of packing peanuts.

...

Mark Laba writes like a wise hipster Yoda.  "Good poems, you must."  This little chapbook punches way above its weight.

Our morning read was hillll-lair-eeeeeeeeee-ous.  These poems snapped around the room like the flick of a wet towel in a happy locker room.  The energy went around the room as though we had all had our fingers in the same poetry socket.

Today's book of poetry is here to tell you that Mark Laba is a poetry time bomb, and Tusk-a-Loose'a is one of those marvels that makes you happy to have it in your hands.

6

You can only Doppler your way

Out of so many situations like

Judging dog shows or liquefying things for future museums

But as the echo recedes

So does your memory

Until soon you're that old guy in the wheelchair at the beach

With a blanket over his legs

Yelling at the seagulls to stop crapping on his toupee.

...

Only flaw in Mark Laba's perfect Tusk-a-Loose'a is that we wanted more of it.

Mark Laba

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Mark Laba lives in Vancouver where he once talked his way into being a restaurant reviewer for a  Vancouver newspaper, but it ruined his appetite. He's been writing for a long time, although he takes breaks occasionally to indulge in his twin-passions for ventriloquism and cephalopod massage therapy. If you need to speak with him he's usually behind the cardboard baling machine in the Safeway shipping dock at 41st and Cambie on Monday, Wednesday and Friday from 10am until 1pm. Otherwise he devotes his time to a discarded sofa-bed rescue centre.

puddlesofskypress.com

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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

Shape of Faith - John Phillips (Shearsman Books)

Today's book of poetry:
Shape of Faith.  John Phillips.  Shearsman Books.  Bristol, U.K.  2017.

Paradise

Because words reveal

the separation

of what is

from what is said to be:

in Paradise

language would be a sin

...

British poet John Phillips employs many of the same tactics as our own beloved Nelson Ball.  Phillips never overstates anything.  Shape of Faith is spartan, just as David Miller says.  There is no fat.  Phillips gets to it.

And what he gets to are the basic questions that end in faith.

You could write most of these astute and pristine poems on a post-it note and carry it in your pocket for later use.

Letter

for Theodore Enslin

The daffodils are

just

      coming into

bloom

              Still

a number of

                   croci

& a kind of blue

scilla

          I found

          years ago

in an

          abandoned garden

       a swallow just

                  fluttered in

...

John Phillips captures the everyday and is willing to show the whimsy of it.  Again and again when reading Shape of Faith Today's book of poetry had to pause and let these short bursts of concentrated sage and savvy wisdom sink in.

Phillips is willing to go long when necessary and his poem "Lateword" marches over several pages before ending in the matrimonial bliss of a child sleeping under the parents touching embrace.  It seems Phillips is aware of the bad but deeply concerned with finding the best of us, the good.

Reading

Reading Jean Daive on his friend Paul Celan:  struck by this

sentence:  a stranger to nothing in this world.  Looking back

through the book, I can't find those words anywhere.  Yet

swear I read it this afternoon, sitting on the bench in the

garden, while my daughter Lana slept upstairs and the house

was otherwise empty.  It was a line that pierced me.  Perhaps

because my first reaction to it, however brief, was positive.

Then the shock, the revulsion:  that someone could say that

about another person;  that it could be true.

...

John Phillips' Shape of Faith is the first British poet/book Today's book of poetry has had the pleasure of posting.  His terse and ticklish voice one we haven't heard before but we recognize it as a kindred immediately.

Our morning read was a little submarined today.  The read followed a feed.  The day started with a feast of French Toast smothered in butter and Maple Syrup, and BACON, along with a glass of Mickey D.  We wanted proper orange juice but all Chez Charlot had this morning was Mickey.

The morning itself was a happy square-dance of readers in various prone positions littered around the office like tired octopuses out of the water all bacon and French Toast lethargic.  Our crowed enjoyed the poems and their breakfast then sauntered slowly and sloth-like back to their individual poetry burrows and I haven't heard a peep from any of them since.

I looked in on Milo, our head tech, he was dead to the world but I could still hear The Cure beautifully moaning through his headphones.

Lost

Still looking

for the piece

of the word

that fell off

the last time

I used it --

thinking it

might explain

what happened

next or say

what didn't

...

John Phillips' Shape of Faith is a clean machine.  These poems have no extraneous cargo, they are tight as a duck's butt.  And smart.

Any of you regular Today's book of poetry minions will know how much we admire smart.

John Phillips

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

John Phillips was born in St. Ives, Cornwall — where he still lives — and is the author of Heretic (Longhouse, 2016), What Shape Sound (Skysill Press, 2011) and Language Is (Sardines Press, 2005), as well as a number of chapbooks.

BLURBS

"Phillips would have us look no further than the poem itself for the primary matter of its own accordant recognition as fact. So that to write is to read ourselves into being alive in forms we have no further proof of than the act of the poem's own declaration."

     —Patrick James Dunagan 

 

"Many speak to me in that place that is beyond speech; that transcends the tyranny of words, which is the taste of true poetry.  Some carry that resonance that results from the retrieval, retrospectively, of a moment of precognitive awareness of an object or event which perceives it revealed unadorned, prior to the arising of the conditioning, serial moments of conceptual, dualistic thought.  Poems where the ego-self of the poet is absent.  Those moments of true ‘poetry’ before what we call poetry."

      — Malcolm Ritchie 

 

"At its best this is highly unusual, Spartan, thought-provoking, intelligent and subtly, quietly moving work."  

     —David Miller 

 

"I love the book… And you lead me to places I recognise but have never been able to name – as you do! "

      —John Berger 

JOHN PHILLIPS | 29 May 2012

Video: damnthecaesars

shearsman.com

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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

Dust Blown Side of the Journey - Eleonore Schönmaier (McGill-Queen's University Press)

Today's book of poetry:
Dust Blown Side of the Journey.  Eleonore Schönmaier.  Hugh MacLennan Poetry Series.  McGill-Queen's University Press.  Montreal & Kingston, London, Chicago.  2017.

Today's book of poetry comes to you from the waiting room of a CMA Clinic where Today's book of poetry is having x-rays of everything but our memory.  Bless those kind and wise men and women who established a medical care system in Canada that will allow me to leave this building without paying a cent.

I've been here less than ten minutes and already I am in a hospital gown and awaiting my first x-ray.  All of this to explain my recent absences.  That and Today's book of poetry purchased a new computer yesterday, it was needed.  Our steampunk wonder system was an RCA Victor - Westclox hybrid machine that was still running, technically, but it was getting difficult to find a watchmaker-video technician with the right set of brass tipped tools.

Eleonore Schönmaier is such a needed tonic.  Today's book of poetry has been down the remarkable   Eleonore Schönmaier  poetry road before.  You might remember that Today's book of poetry took a look at her back in July of last year.  Wavelengths of Your Song was a pleasure to read and you can see our post here:

http://michaeldennispoet.blogspot.ca/2016/07/wavelengths-of-your-song-eleonore.html

Dust Blown Side of the Journey is more of the same wonder.  Schönmaier is a perfect mix of Nelson Ball's wonder and brevity along with the breadth and wisdom, experience and vision of a Lorna Crozier or a Sharon Olds.  That is some fine company and Schönmaier is right at home.

Today's book of poetry has been stuck in a poetry whirlwind, tunnel vortex lately and the only person I can blame is the genius Albert Goldbarth.  I've been reading Goldbarth's The Kitchen Sink as though it were a bible and I had discovered religion.  Our Southern Correspondent, the Twangster, has infected me with Goldbarthism and I'm not sure any other poetry will ever work quite the same way again.  But no.  Eleonore Schönmaier is the perfect antidote/bookend.  Both of these monstrously good poets write poems that stop us with wonder.

But while Goldbarth, bless his cottons socks, is writing long brocaded tapestries that have gold and silver thread and may possibly contain the secrets of the world, Schönmaier, although never terse, is writing with an economy that sustains and winnows to the very heart of things.

Risk

The doorbell has been cut

and the only way to gain entrance is

to stand in the middle of

the bridge jumping up

and down, but this futile

until you begin to sing

and from the upper-floor

window our friends looks

down and lets us in. We sit

at the window and touch

the seashells in their bowl

and our friend picks up

the conch, leans out

the window and lets it sound

so the canal boat captains

travelling below search

for the unseen and

in their confusion they

risk colliding with

the visible. Another

friend arrives and we

wine and dine and play

the Steinway as the storm

quavers against the roof

and the wind and jets flying

low overhead sound

alike as we journey closer

into our true selves

and you talk about

the wind quintet

you're composing

where the clarinet

will sound off stage

and you say all of us

are in your music

along with our missing

friend and walking home

I say, "I've had other

devoted friends before

but this evening's circle

are my soulmates"

and you say, "It's the

soulmates and not

the others who will

break our hearts."

...

Ok.  Today's book of poetry is at home, it is twenty-four hours later.  The clinic visit was just fine, at least they don't pincushion you.  Got home and started to look at the elegant work of Eleonore Schönmaier again and then there was a knock at the 11:30 a.m. door.  Today's book of poetry was expecting guests from out of town but was not expecting them to arrive six hours early.  Now these are world class guests, always arrive with wine and a variety of gifts.  They also always demand to take K and I out to dinner, last night it was Pizzarro's (We've been regulars there for over twenty-five years, I remember writing a poem for the head waiter when his first son was born.  A couple of months ago his first born was our waiter.  We've never had a meal there we didn't enjoy.)  Before our guests left this morning I was the owner of a brand new pair of winter gumboots.  Like I said, world-class guests.  But six hours early and in need of our complete attention.

Eleonore Schönmaier is a worker.  You only have to look at one of her poems to recognize the craft.  These poems are worked on, shaved here, strengthened there, and then a perfect coat of clear varnish has been applied.  These poems are weather-proof epistles aimed right at your reasonable heart and your emotional head.  

Take a hard look at this tidy effort, "Vertebrae of Humans and Art Animals."  It's all in there, Schönmaier shows us how it's done.

Vertebrae of Humans

and Art Animals

the breeze against my back

            as I cycle through narrow

                        streets were tattooed

men stroll and when

            I make a wrong

                        turn I'm face to

face with a sculpture

            of Mandela and the real

                        Desmond Tutu stepping

down from the podium

            photographers swarm

                        but I'm unable to stop

since I'm racing

            against time to a stretch

                        of beach where I film

the strandbeest

            small sails as wings

                        and multiple legs

the skeletal animal

            all plastic bone

                        races forward

frangible

            how easily

                        it topples

on my route home I watch

            an old man place a metal

                                   ladder against

the barbed wire fence

          he hangs a bird feeder

                     up as high as he can reach

in the center a young friend

            (attacked by a mob) undergoes

                                                         surgery

vertebrae, scapulae,

                          phalanges

                                       osteo-sculpture

which bones

              fit where

                           ossicles of

ear

    tympani

                  a wave a wind lifted leaf

under a tree a woman shows

                       her children how to read

                                               the tally marks

and tells them this is

            how many thousands of 

                                     days Mandela

had to wait to hear

                       bird song

                                   when his

captors knew

     exactly how

                 fragile bone is

...

Schönmaier isn't yelling about anything, this poet has far too much class for that.  But you read her and you see the strength, you see that she is a strong voice for women against the systemic in justices they endure.  You'll see that she is political but never proselytizing.  Reading Dust Blown Side of the Journey is like that first long cool and quenching gulp of fresh spring water after a long hike.

Considerable upheaval here at the Today's book of poetry offices these days.  Our morning reading was interrupted several times to continue negotiations.  It didn't matter much, Eleonore Schönmaier's crisp poems settled the room as we each took our turn and read them like prayers.  Of course we threw Wavelengths of Your Song into the mix.

We Are Alone

and lost along

the shore

the gentle slope

of the hill upwards

and we are found

again only when we

recognize the war

memorial where

resistance fighters

were shot and buried

in the sand of the dunes

you were imprisoned

in your youth for being

at the wrong place at the

wrong time, for trying

to make a better world

darkness falls upon

us and there is no

better world, only

the calls of the

nameless birds

in these brief

moments when

the birds still

exist for us: the bell

in the dunes tolls

once a year to

remind us of what

we still have

to lose

...

It doesn't get any tidier.  As long as poetry as fine as Eleonore Schönmaier's keeps arriving at the door Today's book of poetry will continue to want to tell you about it.

Today's book of poetry is hoping to return to regular programming as soon as possible.  Please stay tuned.

Eleonore Schönmaier

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Eleonore Schönmaier is the award-winning author of Wavelengths of Your Song. She divides her time between Canada and coastal Europe.

"Knot"

by 

Eleonore Schönmaier

Video:  Eleonore Schönmaier

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ETP8zSxYvA

mqup.ca

618

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.

Certain Details, The Poetry of Nelson Ball - Nelson Ball (Wilfrid Laurier University Press)

Today's book of poetry:
Certain Details, The Poetry of Nelson Ball.  
Nelson Ball.  selected with an introduction by Stuart Ross.  Laurier Poetry Series.  Wilfrid Laurier University Press.  Waterloo, Ontario.  2017.

As the delightful Dame Edna might say, "Welcome back puppets."  Today's book of poetry has been on an extended leave and would like to thank each and every one of you for sticking around.

We ventured to Gaspe to the see Jardins de Metis http://www.refordgardens.com/english/ and once again we were amazed and delighted.  Spent a few nights sitting on the porch of our motel watching a seal frolic while we sipped beer and watched the sun set over the water.

Today's book of poetry started getting packages from our Southern Correspondent, the Twangster, a few months ago.  Since then there has been a beautiful barrage of David Lee, Dave Etter, Rodney Jones and others.  Today's book of poetry has been on leave but we've been reading.  Mr. Clewell has enriched the archives here and we just wanted to tip our hat in his crazy direction.

***

Today's book of poetry doubts that he is alone when he wishes he wrote like Nelson Ball.  Ball is some kind of Canadian Zen Nature poet -- who doesn't stop at nature.  Everything under the sun may be considered but what we get is some crazy (in the very best way) condensed vision that whispers instead of shouts.

When Nelson Ball whispers every poet in Canada leans in to listen because no one does it better.

Dead Flies

I

Three small piles

             of grey dust

flies expired

             on white paper--

a sheet of notes

             easily brushed off

II (with boots on)

Resting on hind legs and rearmost tips

of 

wings

             tilted

             like a rocket launcher

it died

just like that

...

Certain Details, The Poetry of Nelson Ball was selected and is introduced by Stuart Ross.  Any regular reader of this blog will be familiar with his name.  Stuart selected, edited and introduced my most recent book, Bad Engine (Anvil Press, 2017) http://michaeldennispoet.blogspot.ca/2017/06/bad-engine-michael-dennis-anvil-press.html 

Mr. Ross has an excellent skill set when it comes to showing poets in their best light.  Certain Details looks at work from eight previous Nelson Ball collections as well as a generous sampling of previously uncollected poems.

Nelson Ball isn't what I would call a minimalist but he's awfully careful with his word dispersal, selective to say the least.  It compels the reader to lean in closer and listen harder.

The Real Story

I've often wondered why Jesus Christ

who historically was one of many Jewish prophets

became famous, really famous.  Yes, he was

a good man.  There have been

many good men, some recorded in history,

most, probably not.  The real story

is that Jesus Christ had friends

who were writers.

...

Certain Details closes with a rare look inside Nelson Ball's world with a candid and humble essay Afterword: Me and My Poetry: An Autobiographical Essay.  And it is worth the price of admission alone.

Today's book of poetry has taken you readers into Nelson Ball territory more than any other poet and it is not hard for me to see why.  Others see it too.  At this morning's office read the entire staff were back from their various adventures and it made for a festive atmosphere.  Then Milo and Kathryn really got the party started when they said it best.  Milo stepped up in front of the room, rolled up his left sleeve and there, just above his wrist, in tiny lower case letters, "ball".  Before any of us could think or comment Kathryn stood up beside him, rolled up her right sleeve and there, in the appropriate spot was "nelson."

Writing A Poem

Writing a poem is like felling a tree.

The poem's point of attention, like

the tree's centre of gravity

is held back in rhetoric--

thick bush--if the

path isn't clear.

...

The Laurier Poetry Series has enhanced their legacy with the inclusion of Certain Details, The Poetry of Nelson Ball to their canon.

Today's book of poetry applauds these excellent poems as well as the future poetry of Nelson Ball, a quiet but true national treasure.

Nelson Ball

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Nelson Ball, poet and bookseller, lives in Paris, Ontario. He has worked as a labourer, chauffeur, office clerk, forest ranger, record store clerk, and janitor. From 1965 to 1973 he ran Weed/Flower Press. The author of over thirty books and chapbooks, he is featured in Catherine Stevenson’s video “Nelson Ball & Barbara Caruso | Home Project | A Photo Documentary.”

ABOUT STUART ROSS

Stuart Ross is a writer, editor, and writing instructor. His recent books include A Sparrow Came Down Resplendent (2016), A Hamburger in a Gallery (2015), and Further Confessions of a Small Press Racketeer (2015). He has maintained a micropress, Proper Tales, since 1979, and has his own imprint at Anvil Press. He lives in Cobourg, Ontario.

wlupress.wlu.ca 

589 

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.

Some Mornings - Nelson Ball (Mansfield Press)

Today's book of poetry:
Some Mornings.  Nelson Ball.  Mansfield Press.  Toronto, Ontario.  2014.

Nelson Ball is becoming an institution here at Today's book of poetry.  Some Mornings is the fourth title from the Paris, Ontario poet to grace our pages.  Previously we have admired Minutiae (Apt . 9 Press), A Gathering (Book Thug), and In This Thin Rain (Mansfield Press) and you can find a link to those blogs below.

Nelson Ball continues to astound with his particular type of minimalism.  These poems hit the reader's ear as complete conversations, quicksilver and well-honed observations.

A Form of Grief

     In memory of Barbara

     and our friend bpNichol

Barbara and I

when we learned

of the death

of our friend

engaged in passionate

prolonged lovemaking

desperately

clinging to each other

asserting life

clinging to it

...

Even though Some Mornings is tinged with its share of grief, reading Nelson Ball is like fresh snow falling on Christmas Eve, it is always welcomed.  These poems are so clean and crisp on the palate that they make your mouth water.

Some Mornings reminds us of how beautiful the world can be when we slow down and consider what is before us, sometimes it reminds us of how beautifully sad the world can be.  There is all the beauty and sadness of the world in here.  

Much like the Nobel Prize winning Master of Japanese literature Yasunari Kawabata, author of Beauty and Sadness, In The House of the Sleeping Beauties, The Master of Go, Ball, a Master himself as far as we here at Today's book of poetry are concerned, uses a very deft brush in order to say more with less.  Kawabata wrote: "Put your soul in the palm of my hand for me to look at, like a crystal jewel, I'll sketch into words..." and Nelson Ball sketches with the best of them.

You Must Look Hard To See What's There

     In memory of David UU (David W. Harris)

He read

a poetry manuscript

several

times

at different

times of day

in different 

locations

David UU

told me

that's

what he did

now

that's what I do

...

You all know about our morning read here at the offices of Today's book of poetry.  Since Nelson Ball is the poet who has appeared most often on our pages we decided to do something a little different for today's reading.  For the very first time we dedicated a reading, this morning it was dedicated to Barbara Caruso.  Caruso, who has passed away, was Nelson Ball's other half and continues to be both his muse and the frequent subject of his poetry.

These poems are filled with hope and kindness and that is a good rare thing.

East of Plattsville

On the regional highway east of Plattsville

is a metal fabricating plant

it used to be

a pickle factory

every time I drive past now

coming from either direction

my eyes well up

as I think of Barbara

this happens

every time

always 

unexpected

until

now

...

Elegant grief and beautiful hopeful joy both abound in this tidy and robust little emotion machine. Today's book of poetry doff our collective hats once again to Nelson Ball and his ever so sublime Some Mornings.  You really don't have to look any further for anything.

Nelson Ball

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Nelson Ball is a poet and bookseller living in Paris, Ontario. He has worked as a labourer, chauffeur, clerk, seasonal forest ranger, record store clerk and janitor. From 1965 to 1973 he ran the legendary Weed/Flower Press, publishing mimeo editions of early books by Victor Coleman, Carol Bergé, David McFadden, bill bissett, bpNichol and many others. He is the author of 25 poetry books and chapbooks.

BLURBS

“He understands not only how to leave space for poems to breathe but also how to leave space for our brains to breathe. The rhythm of these poems are tailored to the way the contemplative mind works…”
     — Mark Sampson, Free Range Reading

“He sees what we all see, the small transitory moments that make up our lives—but there is nothing ‘small’ about his conclusions or observations.”
     — Michael Dennis, Today’s Book of Poetry

“From his seat at the pond’s edge, the poet learns to hear the language of its elements, and then teaches the reader to do the same.”
     — Nita Pronovost, Matrix

“At his best, Ball proves that short can be eloquent, and small beautiful.”
     — W. J. Keith, Canadian Book Review Annual

LINKS TO OTHER NELSON BALL BOOKS AT TODAY'S BOOK OF POETRY:

Minutiae, Apt. 9 Press:  http://michaeldennispoet.blogspot.ca/2014/09/minutiae-nelson-ball-apt-9-press.html

A Gathering, Book Thug:  http://michaeldennispoet.blogspot.ca/2014/11/a-gathering-nelson-ball-book-thug.html

In This Thin Rain, Mansfield Press:  http://michaeldennispoet.blogspot.ca/2013/04/in-this-thin-rain-nelson-ball.html

mansfieldpress.net

460

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.