Motel of the Opposable Thumbs — Stuart Ross (Anvil Press)

Today's book of poetry:
Motel of the Opposable Thumbs.  Stuart Ross.  Anvil Press.  British Columbia.  2019.

The North Star

for Laurie Siblock

The first time I meet Laurie I walk into her house and

hand her a jar of pickles. Her father's side of the family

is Ukrainian, and therefore she loves pickles, she must

love pickles, I have brought her some pickles. I hand her

two roses, each rose is orange, one for her and its echo

for her cat, who has recently died, a rose for each. In

the park near the beach, she wraps her arms around a

tree too thick for her to wrap her arms around. Her

smile is composed of her eyes, her cheeks, her lips, her

teeth, her nose, the depths of her, the air that surrounds

her. Across the lake is Rochester, you'll find Rochester

there, where Frederick Douglass launched the North Star,

his abolitionist newspaper, in eighteen hundred and

forty-seven.

💫💫💫

Today's book of poetry finds it utterly impossible to be impartial when it comes to Stuart Ross and his poetry.  Motel of the Opposable Thumbs is the seventh Stuart Ross title Today's book of poetry has had the pleasure of writing about.  That is, by far, the most Today's book of poetry has written about any other poet, go figure. 

Here is a list of those titles and the links to the blogs/reviews:

You Exist. Details Follow (Anvil Press) - posted June 23/2013

http://michaeldennispoet.blogspot.com/2013/07/you-exist-details-follow-stuart-ross.html

18 Goddamn Centos (Proper Tales Press) - posted February 10/2014

http://michaeldennispoet.blogspot.com/2014/02/18-goddamn-centos-stuart-ross.html

In In My Dream (Book Thug) - posted April 27/2015

http://michaeldennispoet.blogspot.com/2015/04/in-in-my-dream-stuart-ross-book-thug.html

Cobourg Variations (Proper Tales Press) - posted February 27/2015

http://michaeldennispoet.blogspot.com/2016/02/cobourg-variations-bunch-of-poems-and_27.html

A Sparrow Came Down Resplendent (A Buckrider Book/Wolsak & Wynn) - posted May 27/2016

http://michaeldennispoet.blogspot.com/2016/05/a-sparrow-came-down-resplendent-stuart.html

Pockets - (ECW Press) - posted January 4/2018

http://michaeldennispoet.blogspot.com/2018/01/pockets-stuart-ross-ecw-press.html

Today's book of poetry will do our best to be unbiased — but there are plenty of reasons for our enthusiasm.

Today's book of poetry is Michael Dennis and my last book, Bad Engine (Anvil Press), only exists because of the efforts of Mr. Ross.  Ross went through all of my published poems and most of my unpublished work and, picked what he liked best and put together his selection of my poems for Bad Engine.  Then he edited them.

For the many dozens of other Canadian poets who've been edited by Ross, you'll know instantly what I mean when I say that a Ross edit means you have better poems.  Stuart contacted Anvil and told them he was working on a collection of my poetry.  Anvil said yes.  Anvil said yes.  Life changing for me.  Another day at the poetry office for Stuart Ross.

My second book of poetry from Anvil Press, Low Centre of Gravity, will be appearing in 2020, this time I picked the poems, but with Stuart's help, and of course he edited it.  I agreed with virtually every edit he suggested.  

All of that to say that Today's book of poetry and Michael Dennis owe Mr. Ross.  We are old friends.  A couple of weeks ago Today's book of poetry had wooden signs laser cut by my brilliant brother-in-law, and secret poetry fan, Steven Predko.  Mr. Predko knows and admires Stuart and his poetry.  The signs were free because they were for Stuart.  What signs you ask?

These signs!  Our guest room is now proudly called the Stuart Ross Guest and Reading Room.  Sir Bill Bissett, Frank Davey, the late Richard Huttel and a small herd of other poets have stayed in our guest room.  Now it is official, Stuart Ross has a room named after him.

Which brings us back to Motel of the Opposable Thumbs.  My dear friend Stuart Ross has always been a fine poet.  But like good wine, he is improving with age.  Today's book of poetry has long believed that Mr. Ross was one the best poets in Canada, Motel of the Opposable Thumbs proves my point.

Toronto Poem

Toronto, the taxi cabs flow mournfully

through your hunchbacked streets. Anxious

towers reach into the white-haired clouds

that throw shadows over

your tired, sweaty people, who squeeze

between each other on self-conscious

sidewalks cracking open beneath the

weight of fearful commerce and

vanishing newspapers. Your edges ripple

and fade into devoted car-worshipers.

Your tired mechanics and surgeons

work deep into the noisy night,

Jewish poodles sniffing at

their inquisitive ankles.

💫💫💫

Stuart Ross is the most recent recipient of the prestigious Harbourfront Festival Prize for contributions to Canadian literature.  Some of the other previous recipients of the Harbourfront Festival Prize include Margaret Atwood, Michael Ondaatje, Christopher Dewdney and so on.  Titans.  The prize was totally deserved, Stuart's work in the Canadian poetry world has spanned over forty years and includes his publishing others through his own Proper Tales Press, workshopping all over the country, and encouraging other writers.  

You can read about Stuart's Harbourfront Festival Prize here:

https://www.cbc.ca/books/stuart-ross-to-receive-10k-harbourfront-festival-prize-for-contributions-to-canadian-literature-1.5286918

Stuart Ross was also the recipient of the 5th Kitty Lewis Hazel Millar Dennis Tourbin Poetry Prize which is awarded by Today's book of poetry.  Motel of the Opposable Thumbs easily explains the Today's book of poetry award.  The Harbourfront Festival Prize is for his contributions to the literary community, and as far as I can tell, my experience with Stuart Ross and Bad Engine is only one small example of the tireless work Ross has been doing for other poets for decades.

Motel of the Opposable Thumbs proves what Today's book of poetry has been saying since we first met Stuart Ross back in the late seventies, early eighties, he is one of the most wildly imaginative and innovative poets we have.  Motel of the Opposable Thumbs continues Ross's excellent oeuvre and will expand the hold he has on his many devoted readers.  In recent years Mr. Ross has allowed a new compassion to be seen in his work along with his already considerable glee.

Stuart Ross, the poet, has been on a trajectory all his own for a long time and his poems continue with a brisk and often surreal, scatological logic, his newest poems bring him closer and closer to exposing his very big heart.  Motel of the Opposable Thumbs is unpredictable, but that in itself should be expected, Ross has never been predictable.  What Ross has always been, and remains, is full on unique, original.  There isn't anyone writing poems in Canada who can do what Stuart Ross does.  Motel of the Opposable Thumbs prove it.

Motel of the Opposable Thumbs

in memory of Sydney Ross

We soar through the night. Bugs spatter our windshield.

My father, he's alive again. Steers with one hand.

Our headlights bounce the road. Air whips our hair.

He sucks on smoke. I clutch a bag of chips.

The moon sucks on clouds. A bat flits by.

My father flicks on the radio. The highway spasms.

A dark rectangle. VACANCY ruptures the horizon.

"We'll stop here." My father's deep rumble.

I'm nearing sixty. He is long dead.

He sits on the edge of his twin bed. I sit on mine.

Mould in the bathroom. A spider on the lampshade.

"And the nurse slid the ring from my still, withered

hand and handed it to you in the corridor." Light sputters.

The Coke machine rattles. I slide under the covers.

The highway goes silent. I can't warm my hands.

💫💫💫

Today's book of poetry admitted from the start of today's missive that we were utterly incapable of being unbiased when it comes to Mr. Ross.  He changed the trajectory of my life for the better when he put his hands on my poems.  How do you pay that back?  Read Motel of the Opposable Thumbs and there is every chance Stuart Ross's poems will change your poetry trajectory.

Stuart Ross

ABOUT THE POET

Stuart Ross is a writer, editor, writing teacher, and small press activist living in Cobourg, Ontario. He is the award-winning author of twenty books of poetry, fiction, and essays, most recently Pockets (ecw Press, 2017), A Sparrow Came Down Resplendent (Wolsak and Wynn, 2016), and A Hamburger in a Gallery (DC Books, 2015). Stuart has taught workshops in elementary and high schools across the country and was the 2010 Writer-in-Residence at Queen’s University. Visiting schools and working with students of all ages is his favourite part of his writing practice. Stuart is at work writing nearly a dozen different poetry, non-fiction, and fiction manuscripts.

BLURBS

“An admirably light touch: a democratic sense that all risks are created equal; an irrepressible need to play the clown, even when it results in self-sabotage; Ross’s stylistic hallmarks are on full display in Motel of the Opposable Thumbs.
     — Jesse Eckerlin, Quill & Quire

“[With Pockets,] Stuart Ross develops a fragmentary, dreamlike novel that is startling, sometimes silly and marbled with melancholy.”
     — Jonathan Ball, Winnipeg Free Press

“The wit and irreverent wisdom of Stuart Ross has been a mainstay of Canadian poetry for years, but in A Sparrow Came Down Resplendent we also see him at his most vulnerable … grappling with our mystifying world with his trademark affection and fury.”
     — Adam Sol, Canadian Jewish Literary Awards citation

Oath of Allegiance to Poetry by Stuart Ross

Video: Wally Keeler

anvilpress.com

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DISCLAIMER

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.

This Real - concetta principe (Pedlar Press)

Today's book of poetry:

This Real.  concetta principe.  Pedlar Press.  St. John's, Newfoundland and Labrador.  2017.

Today's book of poetry has been down the concetta principe poetry highway before.  Back in February of 2016 Today's book of poetry looked at principe's Walking (Punchy Poetry/DC Books, 2013) and admired it very much.  You can see that here:

http://michaeldennispoet.blogspot.ca/2016/02/walking-not-nuns-diary-concetta.html

Since then, Today's book of poetry has had the pleasure of reading principe's 2016 Hiroshima: A Love War Story (Pedlar Press) and now we have This Real in our grubby little maw.  principe flies at a higher altitude than Today's book of poetry can usually manage.  Her poems take some work, they demand a particular level of participation from the reader.  

This Real is another principe title of erudite poems that read like today's history from an informed inside source.  principe is in no way concerned with the status quo, instead This Real quotes liberally from Sefer Yetzirah's The Book of Formation or Creation (as translated by Aryeh Kaplan) and her text reads like another sort of secret manuscript.

from Storm Advancing From Paradise

assuming that the end of times was her, coinciding with the Tarot reading of

death, followed by the end of her marriage: la vie morte; assuming that her heart,

ruined by divorce, was miraculously remade with immortal substance one night;

assuming this to be a vision, not a dream, because this new organ burned inside

her with such force that she was sure it would burst into flames, 6  there on the 

bus, in front of all these strangers; she gained a new perspective on death and

the human race... it was inevitability of these end times that gripped her. 7  the

pressure for ending is tremendous, carried by the force (majeure) of the first cause.

the end of the world was--measure it--nigh.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

6 "if your heart runs, return to the place" (SY 1:8)

7 "a flame in burning coal" (SY 1:7)

...

John Lennon and Mary Magdalene debate the possibility of "fireballs from heaven" while "manic harlots" and other psychiatric patients paint in windowless rooms.  There isn't much cheer in principe's prose poems, not an abundance of optimism in this world view but the poems themselves compel the reader further and deeper.

Sefer Yetzirah's The Books of Creation inform the text of principe's poetry for most of the duration of This Real but that isn't enough drama, no, principe changes gears just long enough to crawl into a bear-cave with Werner Herzog and his mad view of optimism.  Walter Benjamin provides some geo-sensitive time clock for this human experiment.

In truth, Today's book of poetry could barely keep up with some of the concepts concetta principe throws around like a genius frisbee lofted with counterspin and precision.  I called in some of the troops for help, Today's book of poetry does not care who teaches him new things.  We always appreciate some help getting through the gate.

from Confessions of a Barren Mother Contemplating Creation

the machines of progress that crank and whine; the whistles that sound, the

pulleys that whir, have a baby and enter the wheel 69 of generations: of Toro and

Tutonia and Peg Perego, cutting the summer drone and grind and thumping of

bureaucratic interventions on the sidewalks of the air filled with 9/11 anxiety

you are sure will wake the peace of innocent slumber.

hijackers and jihadi.

silence of the wheels of history, as if the calm messianic entrance. the wheel

of human reticence is not peace but, by judging things, the capital of procreation.

keep this piece of negligence (you gave me nothing) under wraps. here, take this

law (of love) and shove it. down the street they've birthed the axis of evil, sleep

deprivation so bad that you miss how this paranoid web spreads out into the

future to trip your child.

sleep-deprived hallucinations. in that vast, limitless reproduction of time's quiet

spinning, you barely recognize that love is the science of mitosis: love for child,

cat because she has eyes, too, and nation because we are one. hate is elsewhere.

love because there is always elsewhere. and creates terror.70

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

69 "oscillates... back and forth" (SY 2:4).

70 crowning

...

concetta principe briefly conjures a fleeting Marion Engel "Bear" vibe in the final section of This Real but this comment probably stems from Today's book of poetry's serious fear of bears more than any actual literary description.  principe is writing poems that challenge the reader and then reward their diligence.  

The end of times happens every single day and concetta principe leaves little fat and no excess for the lazy reader to hang to.  The poems in This Real are deliberate and unrelenting in their examinations.

from Theses on the Philosophy of Waiting

               after Werner Herzog's Cave of Forgotten Dreams

XIV

maybe there was only ever waiting; the waiting of the bear who dreams through

winter; the waiting of a modern woman who lights another cigarette waiting for

the messiah's foot-

fall, sitting in cold damp clothes waiting for the hot coffee to spread through the

body, waiting for the morning light; waiting for the wind outside to stop howling

against the glass, or the rain to stop beating at the dirt; waiting for the smell of

the wet grass to enter, after the rain has stopped; for the smell of burning wood;

for the foot-

fall, waiting for the cigarette to end; waiting for the wood to turn charcoal or the

marshmellow to ignite; for the chapter in the book to get interesting; waiting for

feet to be warmed by the fire; waiting for the fish to be cooked; for hair to dry;

for the foot-

fall, waiting for the wind to change, waiting for dreams to become real; waiting for

tomorrow; waiting for what will never come; waiting for the rain to stop; waiting for

him to arrive, as he had promised, waiting for the sun to rise; waiting for the night

to end; for the foot-

fall. waiting for the dream to end; waiting to be found; waiting for the wait to stop.

in all that waiting, there was someone arriving, a miracle that would repeat deep

into the future, full of light, cascading through solid rock as if matter were immaterial;

as if human life were a cave; as if everything beyond these walls were waiting for

someone to find it; as if waiting, in its passive way, were willing someone to come.

...

The long-john and thermostat battles continue here at Today's book of poetry as the windchill was a brisk -21 C yesterday morning. And for our morning read This Real being read by those just coming in from the cold was freakishly apt.  Still cold enough to be angry, our staff gave This Real a fierce reading and it warmed them up something proper.  concetta principe is marking her place in Canadian poetry with another necessary volume.

concetta principe

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

concetta principe writes prose poems, creative non-fiction and academic articles. This Real is her fourth book of poetry, and, in being a project on love, is a sequel to Hiroshima: A Love War Story. She is Assistant Professor of English at Trent University.

BLURBS

This Real is concetta principe's take on the end-times in which we live. Here the poem is prophecy, meditation, urge, and inquiry; a space of thinking on fecundity and the mother, on the tree of life and on catastrophe, on the war on terror, wary of honte's erreur. The splendid pacing of principe's prose-poems lets their reader probe and wander. The tone is not one of bright hope but of persistent dwelling, moored in the dark aura of messianic thought and the radiance of things, in which child and wo/man, mothered and unmothered, walk shadowed by history's perilous and precarious wing.

      - Erin Moure

Packed with pain and psychoanalysis, mothers, messiahs, and milk, starvation, sacrifice, shock, and son, concetta principe's This Real presents a maelstrom of dense poetic lines and dark prophetic love. It will haunt you till the end of days.

     - Jonathan Ball

pedlarpress.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

Weathervane - Mark Sampson (Palimpsest Press)

Today's book of poetry:
Weathervane.  Mark Sampson.  Palimpsest Press.  Windsor, Ontario.  2016.

  

Weathervane is a dipping of the proverbial toes into the cosmos.  Mark Sampson writes from a contemplative and amused perch.  These poems are trump cards from a honest poker player with a dead-pan draw.

Choosing A Mattress

is about more than just the selfishness of sleep,

that blessed oblivion

resting between today's

half-failure and tomorrow's vague promise

Consider your future lovers

Choose a mattress wide enough

to accommodate their desire for you

and one soft enough

for the afterplay of all your gentle words

You must also make your pick

with lovelessness in mind--

a mattress broad enough to give room to wars,

to withstand fifty years

of loneliness

When choosing a mattress

pick one worthy of the children

you will conceive on it

This will be their launching pad

This will be where they judge you

Pick one equal to your anxieties,

the unnamed worries

that loop around endlessly,

like a ceiling fan

A mattress must be able to hold

the regrets that keep you from sleep

the wrongs you have done to others

and yourself

These are your true weight

A mattress must be forgiving

but firm enough to bear it

...

Today's book of poetry's morning read was full of charm and humour ala Mark Sampson.  Milo, our head tech, has taken on my proclivity for list poems and turned Mr. Sampson's "We Took The City"

into a considerable poetry monster.  That poem took over our reckless insides as Milo marched it around the room and out into the universe.

We Took The City

We took the city

We took it like barbarians

We took its high-rise hammocked balconies

and Swing Slow Sleep Aid colonies

We took its slamming doors,

Its elevators' metronomic forages

We took its whores

We took its rules to heart

             No gambling

             No littering

             No loud sex after 10. (Quiet sex is fine)

We took its pain clinics

and its chartered accountants

We took its dentists' chairs and its cynics

We took its citadel

We took its harbour islands

We took it dancing

We took it seriously

We took it straight

We took it on the rocks

We took a cheap shot

We took a glance over the cubicle wall

at the summer's badgering sun through the window

We took a life we didn't want

We took a cold, hard look at ourselves

We took a bus downtown

We took a mortgage uptown

We took a breath

We took another breath

We took a chance

We took a phone call

We took a date

We took a second date

We took a walk

We took a hike

We took a swim

We took a dinner on the quay

We took your mother to palliative care

We took what the city had to offer

and what it didn't

We took ourselves too lightly

We took a hit

We took a loss

We took a punch

We took it all in stride

We took each other where we needed to go.

...

Today's book of poetry apologizes to Mark Sampson for our truncated coverage of Weathervane.  We wanted to get Weathervane out there because as much as we enjoyed reading it - and we did - we have a higher offering of praise.  K, Today's book of poetry's almost perfect and long suffering better-half, made a point of telling us how much she liked Weathervane.  K is a tough nut to crack and does not give poetry praise easily or often.  She made a point of telling me in no uncertain terms how smart she thought Sampson's poems were.

There is no doubt about who is the sharpest tack in the Today's book of poetry household and when K likes poems we listen.

Blue Fog

The rain makes generous donations

in the scooter women's hats.

This neighbourhood has had sirens

every night for forty nights

and the gulls bob and weave above

the crimson fire trucks pooling

like blood in the grim cavities

of St. James Town. This April's

fog is thick, a lavender tongue lolling

in a strangled throat.

Last year, a prostitute offered

to sell me a shopping bag full of batteries.

This year, she threw herself off her Bleeker St. balcony

while her daughter practiced the cello.

...

Not sure if P.E.I. native Mark Sampson will want to know this curious detail about Today's book of poetry.  We apprenticed at Wizard Business Products in Charlottetown.  At the time our mailing address was ______ _______, Guarding the Stanhope/Grand Tracadie Border, P.E.I.

But everyone always thought of us as come from away.

Today's book of poetry loved living close to the ocean and loved the poetry.  We felt right at home with this marvelous first collection of poetry.  Like we feel at home listening to Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds sing "Mermaids."  

Mark Sampson

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Mark Sampson is the author of the novels Off Book and Sad Peninsula, as well as the short story collection The Secrets Men Keep. His fiction, poetry and reviews have appeared in many journals across Canada, including The New Quarterly, The Antigonish Review, PRISM international, This magazine, QWERTY and FreeFall. Palimpsest Press released Weathervane in 2016. Originally from Prince Edward Island, he now lives and writes in Toronto.

BLURBS

“A taut, confident debut from an already accomplished author.” 

     — Jonathan Ball, Winnipeg Free Press

“Sampson has the ability…to wax profanely about things we would all take for granted or overlook. He notes thoughts we all consider yet we never speak aloud. And he points out what we consider mundane and makes us ask why we think that.” 

     — Steven Buechler, The Library of Pacific Tranquility

palimpsestpress.ca

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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.

Hard Work Cheering Up Sad Machines - Jason Heroux (A Stuart Ross Book/Mansfield Press)

Today's book of poetry:
Hard Work Cheering Up Sad Machines.  Jason Heroux.  A Stuart Ross Book.  Mansfield Press.  Toronto, Ontario.  2016.

Today's book of poetry might just as well say it and get it out of the way.  Jason Heroux has become one of our favourite poets.  It's not like we didn't warn you.  

Back in September of 2013 Today's book of poetry took a look at Jason Heroux's chapbook In Defense of the Attacked Center Pawn (Puddles of Sky Press, 2013) and thought it was brilliant stuff and ripe with promise.  You can see that blog here:

http://michaeldennispoet.blogspot.ca/2013/09/in-defense-of-attacked-center-pawn.html 

Since then we've read Emergency Hallelujah (Mansfield Press, 2008) and had it scheduled for a blog, the only reason you're not reading about that now is that Hard Work Cheering Up Sad Machines came through the door and we simply couldn't resist.

Heroux's latest volume of poetry is a seriously strong statement of intent.  Heroux has discovered a shady planet of surreal shadows where he writes from some dark corner to illuminate everything we know. And boy, oh boy!, does he hammer out some choice humour along the way.

Hard Work Cheering Up Sad Machines

It's easy to breathe if you're breathing

breathe all you want the air is too cold

             and weak to run away

your life is a gift with your name on it

a word there's no word for

breathe all you want it's easy to breathe

             if you're breathing

the air is an all-you-can-breathe buffet

it's hard work cheering up sad machines

hard work cleaning a number's cage

our heartbeats are staggered staples

             holding us together

birds sing like kettles boiling song-water

your life is a gift with your name on it

and your life is a word there's no word for

breath all you want breathe all you want

...

Today's book of poetry could be easily convinced that the poet Jason Heroux is channelling the spirit and voice of the great American novelist, short story writer and cultural guru Kurt Vonnegut Jr. Heroux has a similarly morbid comic stranglehold on reality.

The dilemma for Today's book of poetry is that when it came to picking actual poems for today's blog I was stumped.  Hard Work Cheering Up Sad Machines is so ripe with lovely fruit that picking which little piece of wonder to share was beyond me so we resorted to the Odin resolution.  Whenever we are blocked we write down the page numbers of every poem we wish to consider, post them on a wall and then have Odin throw darts.  The poems we are using today were the first three he hit out of the dozens on offer.

Heroux's epigraph at the beginning of Hard Work Cheering Up Sad Machines is from the French author and anarchist Pierre Antin-Grenier (1947-2014).  Antin-Grenier was experimental and a loosely connected member of the "extrême contemporain" - a notion in continuous movement.

          It's in the hollow of the
          ordinary that the marvelous
          most often makes its nest
                                       -- Pierre Autin-Grenier

Today's book of poetry is convinced Heroux has lived up to the challenge; Hard Work Cheering Up Sad Machines rolls over the mundane and ordinary to punch out marvelous poetry from every unknowable landscape he encounters.

Yield

Our yield is now, this moment
is what will eventually
become of us, our only harvest
is the one we're gathering.
Water is drawn by the one
with the well. Whoever has lungs
will breathe in and out. The one
with the horse will ride into town.
Everything is nothing but horns
honking at death, and numbers
attacking numbers, apricot
jam stuck on the table knife.
Everything is nothing but almonds
divided by almonds, and grass blades
savouring our shadow's champagne,
a car without wheels crawling through mud.
Why does everyone seek refuge elsewhere?
Whoever has the orange will peel the skin.
Whoever has a thread will feed the needle.
The one with enough footsteps will walk to the store.
Our only harvest is the one we're gathering, this moment
is what will eventually become of us, our yield is now.

...

The first part of Hard Work Cheering Up Sad Machines is made up of shorter, one or two page poems.  Later on in the collection Heroux spreads out a little and writes some longer poems and poem sequences.  This all works.

Our morning read was a Heroux buffet.  We read from Hard Work Cheering Up Sad Machines of course, but we also opened up Emergency Hallelujah and In Defense of the Attacked Center Pawn. Milo, our head tech, led the charge this morning which should leave him in a good mood.  His new task is to now track down and procure the other thirteen titles Heroux has listed.

Today's book of poetry is certain that in the years ahead having Jason Heroux on your shelf will help to prove your smarts.

Blue Yodel of the Broken

What more do I want how many
more feathers would make me happy
on a bird how much extra egg yolk
do I need in an eggshell.
Our death chirps like a cricket
in the quietest corner of the dollar.
Bees are kept where two bones meet
a body develops in the body
where fruit trees are grown
the cows are kept
in the same name as the place
where the hay is kept.
Our death jumps into us the way
the moon leaps into a lake to cool off
swimming in the water that isn't there.
What more of a handshake
can you hold in your hand
how much of this fork
do you need to eat dinner.
The blown-out candle
is kept where the wish is kept.
How much more walnut meat
in the walnut shell would it take
to make us feel safe in the world.
I believe in the barbecue cover
that covers the barbecue I believe
in the same name as the place
where the bird is kept
the cage is kept.
How much more
piggy bank can
the piggy bank hold.
Wherever you are
you are a little rain
that never rained you are
a little hurt that never hurt anything.
Sometimes in the bank I touch
someone else's money and wake up

...

If you read Today's book of poetry more than once you'll realize I am praising a new book of poetry almost every other day.  I fear it could all just begin to sound like rain.  But the truth is that for every book of poetry Today's book of poetry posts there are three or four that don't make it.  I DO like every book that makes it onto the blog.  If the blog sometimes lacks a completely fresh veneer or the vocabulary to do these books justice it is entirely on Today's book of poetry.

Books like Jason Heroux's Hard Work Cheering Up Sad Machines are the reason this blog exists, I try to serve up gems every time out but this one is a highly polished jewel.

Jason Heroux

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jason Heroux is the author of three previous books of poetry—Memoirs of an Alias, Emergency Hallelujah, and Natural Capital, which was shortlisted for the 2013 ReLit award—and two novels. His work has been published widely in chapbook form and in journals, and has been translated into several languages. Jason lives in Kingston, Ontario.

BLURBS

“Jason Heroux continues to develop his bold style through the delightful fusion of otherwise jarring images.”
     —Jonathan Ball, Winnipeg Free Press

“Natural Capital is a helluva good read. I inhaled its 47 poems in one long breath—they left me excited and wondering exactly what it is that makes them so captivating.… Great book. I’d give it several major prizes all at once.”
     —Rod Pederson,  Arc

“Jason Heroux’s skill as an image-maker recalls Tomas Tranströmer.… In an ideal world, Heroux’s poems would be doled out monthly, one at a time. They would be slotted into the mailbox, or handed to us by some peculiar stranger on the sidewalk.”
     —Nick Thran,  Event

“At its heart, Heroux’s gift—however existential or surreally humanistic—lies in the transformation of ways of seeing the world, of analyzing it and of language. The poems themselves, in their unique ways of seeing, are humbling at the same time they are refreshing.”
     —Cynthia Reeser, Prick of the Spindle

Jason Heroux

Video:  Jason Heroux

mansfieldpress.net 

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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.

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