Showing posts with label brian brett. Show all posts
Showing posts with label brian brett. Show all posts

Saturday, June 9, 2018

Flightpaths: the lost journals of Amelia Earhart — Heidi Greco (Caitlin Press)

Today's book of poetry:
Flightpaths: the lost journals of Amelia Earhart.  Heidi Greco.  Caitlin Press.  Halfmoon Bay, British Columbia.  2018.


Reading Heidi Greco's Flightpaths: the lost journals of Amelia Earhart is like falling into a Saturday afternoon matinee at the movies of my youth.  Greco has imagined and made real all those things we've so longed to discover about the ending to the Amelia Earhart story, the beginning of the legend.

Greco's done her homework.  Today's book of poetry knew about the "friendship" between the high flying aviatrix and the President's wife.  But Greco takes them up among the stars where they make snow out of one of Eleanor's boas.  Greco reveals dark secrets and hidden gems, jewels for the inquisitive historian.

The theories Heidi Greco expands on as to the demise of Amelia Earhart have been given light of day before but Greco affectionately moves past rumour to give rich flesh and bone back to the narrative.  Just like those afternoon movies of my youth; Greco sets up the audience and then delightfully mows them down.

July 8

Made an awkward wade to the plane, for another quick series of maydays.
Dumb luck revealed a little sack of fruit floating beside my seat (how
could I have missed it?), a gift from one of the sweet women at Lae. She'd
handed it over smiling, saying repeatedly "po, po." She should have said
"poo poo" as it's not agreed with me. Shit, shat, shatted. Enormously. I
may have lost more fluids than the soggy fruit supplied. Modesty long
gone between Noonan and me. Even so, this is beyond normal, requires
a skirt. Eleanor and Katharine, my cohorts in independence, would laugh
at how ladylike I've become.

...

Heidi Greco's Flightpaths: the lost journals of Amelia Earhart offers up more than one solution to the famed pilot's true story.  We deduce that Earhart had an open relationship with her husband and a thoroughly modern and adventurous dance card that spanned both gender and expectation.

These poems fantasize more than one perilous end for Earhart, but any real fan of Earhart, or any ardent reader, will already have heard these theories.  What Greco does that amazes is to create a narrative the reader can and does believe.  We believe the movie as it is playing out in front of us.  

With a variety of conjured tricks, Heidi Greco has us eating her fictionalized account of an unknown story right out of her poetry hands.  She doesn't even bother with a poetry bowl.  Greco gets us to believe a thing is true even though we already know it is made up.  That's some good poetry cooking.

This, my new husband

The father sells shoes, shiny as the pomade
he slicks into his thinning hair.
This dull groom of mine welcomes the war,
explains to me, as if to a child,
"An army marches on its feet,"
What am I to learn from this?
Surely, the measuring of feet cannot
fill the needs of his mind.

I would stand with the women
in the factory, if I could.
But no, I am cautioned:
I might show my hand, reveal
some bold trait, one that could draw
unwanted attention. Or worse,

speak out with too strong a thought
one not befitting this pretty head I now wear,
maybe get sent to the loony bin
along with the other hysterical wives,
the ones who didn't behave.

Hair this long annoys me, tangling in the brush,
this continual dyeing of roots to keep them brown,
mouse enough to blend with this dun-colored world
the sentence I must serve, rest of my too-lifeless days.

Oh, for a pinch of danger, a taste of sudden intrigue,
anything to fire up my engines.

,,,

Today's book of poetry morning reading was just a little off track today, everyone remains a little subdued and saddened by the passing of the great Canadian poet David McFadden.  Earlier this week David finally succumbed to a lengthy illness.  

David McFadden was a big influence on Today's book of poetry.  Mr. McFadden had been to our home a couple of times and for a brief period of time we corresponded regularly.  We were never buddies but we were friends.  Today's book of poetry was very honoured to be included in 70th birthday book for David.  We weren't buddies — but I wish we had been.  David McFadden was looked to up by an entire generation of Canadian poets and Today's book of poetry is saddened by his passing. 

Stuart Ross, celebrated poet and close friend, has suggested that he is going to read a David McFadden poem at all of his readings in the future.  Today's book of poetry thinks we should all follow the same plan of action.

After a round of David McFadden poems, mostly from Poems Worth Knowing (Coach House Books, 1971), we got back in to the proper flow and gave Heidi and Amelia a proper flight test.

July 12

To think I used to mope about the thickness of my ankles, call them my
elephant legs. Bigger than ever the ankle is blooming, like an overfed dahl-
ia in my cousin's flower bed. Now it truly holds the shape of an elephant's
leg, would make a good umbrella stand for someone's elegant foyer. Yet
despite its bulbous shape, it feels as if the bones are disintegrating. As if
the constant salt air has seeped inside and begun dissolving them. Can't
distract myself from the pain anymore. Reciting poems, making up songs,
repeating my times tables, nothing does the trick. Zero times 180 is still
zero. Since Fred no longer needs the pills, I may try using the ones that
remain. What effect they may have on me, I cannot say. Tomorrow I mean
to begin some letters to family and friends. Perhaps a batch of sweet fare-
thee-wells.

...

Heidi Greco puts belief in the hands of the reader.  We come to believe that this movie is real.  Poetry that transports is a hard currency to deny.  Flightpaths is money.

Heidi Greco

Heidi Greco

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Heidi Greco is a longtime resident of Surrey, BC. In addition to writing and editing, she often leads workshops – on topics that range from ekphrastic poetry to chapbook making. She’s been an advocate for the literary arts in her community and was instrumental in establishing two distinct reading series, but she considers her greatest success to have been convincing her city to hire an official Poet Laureate. She writes in many genres – with poems, fiction, essays and book reviews to her credit. Her books include a novella, Shrinking Violets which was co-winner of the Ken Klonsky Award in 2011. Her work has also appeared in many anthologies, most recently in Make it True: Poetry from Cascadia (Leaf Press, 2015) and The Revolving City: 51 Poems and the Stories Behind Them (Anvil, 2015). In addition to making Sunday suppers for her adult sons, she keeps a sporadic blog at outonthebiglimb.blogspot.ca.

BLURBS
“Flightpaths: The Lost Journals of Amelia Earhart slips easily from windowpane prose to lyric as Heidi Greco delivers the realities, the fantasies, the possibilities of Amelia Earhart’s last flight over the Pacific Ocean with a complex simplicity that gives us both what probably was and what might have been — building a poem/story of a life bigger than history.”
—Brian Brett, author of Tuco: The Parrot, The Others, and The Scattershot World

“In this unique and intriguing fictional tale, Heidi Greco convinces us that Amelia Earhart’s Lockheed 10 Electra went down near a remote Pacific island. This tragic event, and the disappearance of Amelia’s plane into the ocean, leaves the reader wondering what happened to this brave pilot who accepted the challenge of a world flight in 1937.”
— Ann Holtgren Pellegreno, Pellegreno was the first to fly a Lockheed 10 Electra around the world on the Earhart Trail. On July 2, 1967, she dropped a wreath on Howland Island.

“I am not one to read a lot of poetry, but when combined with contextual passages and based on a historical event, my interest was piqued and my imagination stimulated by the fascinating concept that Ms Greco has penned. Recommended.”
—The Miramichi Reader


Heidi Greco


Feature Poet @ PJ/PNW
Video: TheVideoGuys


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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

Saturday, February 6, 2016

Paper Wings - Rosemary Clewes (Guernica Editions)

Today's book of poetry:
Paper Wings.  Rosemary Clewes.  Guernica Editions.  Essential Poets Series 215.  Toronto - Buffalo - Lancaster (UK).  2014.


Rosemary Clewes got my full attention when she Tom Thompsoned into poetry her kayaking experience in Georgian Bay.  Then she turned all eloquent Billy Bishipish and flew me into World World I with her father.  These were both excellent maneuvers.

Clewes writes with a thorough clarity that has you instantly involved and invested in her narrative.   These narratives travel, visit the arctic, fall in love, age graceful and curious.

Shadows

When the cloudless sky has both eyes open
and you're wandering
in the dim keep of the old growth forest,
you might notice the absence of twitter.
The till's tinny ring after lunch
that sense and nonsense traded between the tiny tables
made you hungry for earth smell,
sun's hesitation amongst the ferns.
This is August after all.

You leave the protection of Sitka spruce and pine
for the sea, the eleven mile beach of light & light.
Sun, looking for a shadow,
falls headlong over you,
puddles a Quasimodo at your feet.

You take a photograph of this to remind you
the geometry of light is incalculable.

* * *

There's an epicene beauty peculiar to shadows.
You suspected you were lost to your real shape and name --
yet the sun's blind flourish rights itself,
assures you, you are a woman:
shade's voluptuary, flaring hips over sand.

* * *

Sundown's elongations are dying to go home.
Sit. Wait now for the faint music of your shadow's
   protraction,
your shadow's shadow filling up with moon.
This is no trick.
                        Don't leave the desert beach
until you see
                        how ocean's ebb leaves ripple-repeat in sand,
the same signature over and over,
like stories you tell about yourself.
You have told so many, you think you know who you are.

...

Clewes tells us "the geometry of light is incalculable" but that doesn't stop her from showering her considerable light in calculated measures sure as a metronome.  Today's book of poetry was touched to my fragile heart by how Rosemary Clewes understood water from a kayak's point of view. Kayaking is a relatively new experience for me but Clewes gives words to the most eloquent of my own imaginings in such a way that I am both jealous and grateful.

Milo read the flying poems this morning and imagined himself all Snoopy and Red Baron, he imagined himself airborne. Kathryn read the kayaking poems and is now doing a google-search for everything else Rosemary Clewes.  After this morning's read Kathryn quickly nixed Milo's flying lesson plans and told him that they were going on a kayaking trip this summer.  Neither of them asked me about holidays.  Milo has never been away from electricity but he has also yet to say no to Kathryn.  

I read the other poems and it was my pleasure.  Paper Wings is from Guernica Editions "Essential Poets" series and Today's book of poetry couldn't agree more, every poetry collection should have some Clewes in in.

Dawn Paddle on Lake Huron

Before the wind so much as shivers the bay
I'm out in my quick yellow kayak
cutting trails through the reflected sky
                                        bent on everything;
silence, light and big water,
                 the seeable clearness of under,
                         the slip-shod tongues of rubbled stone,
the green reach into shadowed boulders.

Some undercurrent of the lake's body always alive
quivers on the crooked field of stones beneath my bow.

                                               I drift, seabird idle,
summoned beyond myself, restless for the never end,
the spine and flex in the mind,
                                                 the inside-out of water,
the sedges, the silt and swimming things.
                                                         Put me inside that too.
The gills, the cyclopic eye and the still mouth.

...

Today's book of poetry is now a Rosemary Clewes admirer.  We're pretty sure that anyone else who picks up a copy of Paper Wings is going to be an admirer as well.  This is smart poetry by a witty and wise woman who sees the universe with optimism.  There's no sentimentalism in the Clewes canon but there sure is a lot of grace.

Bill

You died, and then I dreamed we were young again.
You fed me sweet cake, spreading it over my lips
so I could taste it. I wake to the scent of gardenia,
creamy petals, deckled brown
crushing against your blue serge suit.
I'll See You In My Dreams, always the final cut
the disc jockey played to wind up another holiday ball.

When I learned you were sick I wrote, reminded you
of the 'snowball dance' we won at Judy Blackey's party;
how you doubled me back over your arm, kissed me
under the mistletoe.
I wore pale yellow net, boned bodice with a frill
to hide my budless chest, and after supper
you 'dosey-doed' my strapless dress from front to rear
and when I thought you weren't looking
I swung it back.

Earlier still, your sweet trebles at our piano --
my brother, you,
rehearsing Gilbert & Sullivan's Mikado:
the light rain of your voice falling fifty years
like a continuing sentence.
How you noted my name.

...

Today's book of poetry was thrilled to be introduced to Rosemary Clewes and Paper Wings.  Clewes struck me as someone I've been reading my entire life, or should have been, that's how natural her voice feels.  TBOP felt like Clewes had been giving the low-down all along.  

We're sure glad she's come along.  This sort of charm and experience doesn't come along nearly often enough.

Rosemary Clewes
Rosemary Clewes

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Toronto poet Rosemary Clewes is the author of two books: Thule Explorer: Kayaking North of 77 Degrees(2008) and Once Houses Could Fly: Kayaking North of 79 Degrees (2012). In 2005, she was nominated by The Malahat Review for The National Magazine Awards and, in 2006, a finalist in the CBC Literary Awards. She has made seven trips to the Arctic, travelling by kayak, raft and icebreaker.

BLURBS
Paper Wings is born in the ground of the Bruce Peninsula and then hovers above its landscape like a hawk, surveying rock/shore/tree magic, moving into the imagination, the spirit, other landscapes, all the way to the Yukon and the High Arctic … Using her intense language and the white page in original patterns, Rosemary Clewes goes beyond what is real or what isn’t into the poetry of the spirit, the great journey. It’s a book of power and energy and image and rhythm and prayer – and marks her immediately as a poet to watch.
     - Brian Brett

Here is a poet utterly taken by the universe, by the created world, natural and human, in all its glory and with all its artifacts, its deep and delicate mysteries. Her lines cut a clean kayak-path through the waves and currents of experience. Her words, with disarming ease and grace, pilot through the skies of the Great War with a father long dead, and perform surprise tangos on the gravel bar of a northern river. These poems are talismans for keeping the ordinary, extraordinary.
    - John Terpstra

guernicaeditions.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.