QUERN: beerzen appreciation of a new anthology

 

I found this mini-anthology stuffed in my mailbox last nite 
courtesy of Stan White (thanks, Stan!).

Today I took it to my ZenRiver Gardens retreat, & gave it the shaman
shack deck test - would the poetry be powerful enough to hold my focus, or
would the dakinis singing in the river and the songbirds flustering about
hold sway? A couple of cans of Stella Artois added to the challenge -
the truth test of beerzen.

This isn't a review in any formal sense, just an appreciation of sorts. Perhaps
more an I Ching throwdown of casualness and causality.  My lefthandedness
dictates that I start poetry collections at the back & work forward. I dog-eared
those poems which spoke to me, sipped the Stellas, & took a few breaks to
water the transplanted pines.

The poems which spoke to me were all surprises. I didn't pay attention to the
poets, I just read & re-read those poems which appealed on first go-through.
Here are excerpts from the poems which spoke more passionately than the luring
river nymphs whispering in ZenRiver.



from Yellow Bird
(Stan White)

It struck the windshield,
fluttered, then was gone;
I watched it dwindle
in the rear-view glass
to fall a yellow asterisk
upon the road.


from Fish Fry
(Wendy Visser)

I think of my father
during shock treatments
and how he flip-flopped
like fish before gutting. 


from Early Winter Rain
(Katherine L. Gordon)

The rains have melted the sun
wrapped all the trees and grasses
in a mist of mystery.


from The Magic Show
(Lenny Everson)

The magic show is over
The circus, deep in rust
And questions asked when I was born
Are answered now, with dust


from The Corn People
(Becky Alexander)

And at the sail of harvest moon,
a full awakening,
amber eyes reflect the stars,
and the Corn People march
in midnight maze -
row, by row, by row. 


There is an easy sense of community reflected in the work of
the eight poets presenting here. The beautifully casual introduction
to Wendy Visser's section conveys this feeling of friendship
well.

If you were to drop by Wendy's place for a cup of tea and a
chat, she'd tell you about growing up in what was then a small
town with a big history for it was the home of both a famous
inventor and a Six-Nations' Mohawk poetess. Her eyes would
take on that far away look and her voice the timbre of
reminiscence as she recalls family picnics at the Bell Homestead.

This afternoon I felt a part of this poetic community.

Quern, 2013, 68 pages, np given
ISBN 978-0-9810318-7-3
Serengeti Press
Box 146, RR #3
Puslinch, Ontario
N0B 2J0


 note: The poets live in south-west Ontario. I couldn't help but
think of Sheila Martindale & her many poetic activities in this
area years ago with South West Ontario Poetry: SWOP  

Chris Faiers
June 27, 2013
(on the eve of my 65th birfday - who'd a thunk!)

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Conrad DiDiodato has left a new comment on your post "QUERN: beerzen appreciation of a new anthology":

Thanks, bro
It was a privilege to be published in"Quern" by Serengeti, one of Ontario's very best 'people's poetry' presses.

And, oh, Happy B-Day, Chris!

Discarded beer bottle in the rain--
my 65th!

Posted by Conrad DiDiodato to Riffs & Ripples from ZenRiver Gardens at 28 June 2013 05:09

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Many thanks for the kudos, Chris. I have directed the submitters to your blog.

Good luck with Purdyfest. Would like to go but getting too old not to sleep in my own bed.

Much appreciated,

Stan.

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It's a tight & unified little anthology. Guess I already said most things in my posting ...
Thanks again for sending it to me, Stan  :  )
 
Blogging is a great way to give an immediate response, unlike the bad old
days of pondering over writing a review, making sure it's 'academically' sound,
with just enough criticism to pass muster, & theeennnnnnnn ... waiting months or
years for your opinion to reach other lit lovers so they can share.

peace & poetry power!
Chris & Chase Wrffffffffffffff!

p.s. I'm the same way re my own bed - people assume I camp at ZRG, but I like
to spend the aft there, & then return home for a shower & freshly chilled beer  :  )
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Andreas Gripp has left a new comment on your post "QUERN: beerzen appreciation of a new anthology":

glad you liked the anthology, Chris. thanks for the plug. cheers.

Posted by Andreas Gripp to Riffs & Ripples from ZenRiver Gardens at 28 June 2013 14:47
     
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Ellen S.Jaffe has left a new comment on your post "QUERN: beerzen appreciation of a new anthology":

Lovely blog/review/meditation,Chris.

I wrote the back-cover blurb and share your feelings about entering this community of poets and poetry.

Ellen S.Jaffe

Posted by Ellen S.Jaffe to Riffs & Ripples from ZenRiver Gardens at 28 June 2013 15:04
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Thanks Ellen  :  ) As I enjoyed the antho back to front, your backcover blurb set the
tone for my appreciation.
- Chris
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When alcohol ...

When alcohol  (for Milt & Al)

 
When alcohol rewires the brain
jumbles all ramshackle the way
windstorms pile gray pick-up sticks
together on a snowy beaver swamp

Is this just cheap Zen?
or pickled knowledge
of hotwired truth
all mystics perceive

When anger rewires the brain
thinking of Milt, now, not you Big Al
is this Stalingrad barrage
the same truth? or something
more ... or lesser

when alcohol rewires the brains
of two best friends
in a deserted A-frame
on a lonely lake
years later we all benefit

Standing with my small dog
admiring pick-up sticks piles
brain fueled by alcohol -
one lone beer -
I think of you both
as synapses barrage fire
and I stumble into the swamp's cold creek ...

Chris Faiers ... and Chase Wrfffffffffffffffffffffffff!







~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
email from Katherine L. Gordon
Feb. 11/13

Chris
 
You have caught that grey clutch of deadwood,  the swamp we struggle in.
We suspect that beyond the debris of this plane there are rainbows. Just a glimpse can light
the soul.   Long ago the wine of Bacchus blew the brain into other dimensions,   old cultures
found the plants that changed vision.  It is not satisfying to see only this dull sphere that muffles
all the senses.   Zen is a magical tool when we learn to use it, but many a great poet
has found some way to deaden the pain and futility that often chains our spirit on this dimension.
You have written this in true People’s Poet style,  brought us close to the anguished moments of these great men.
Their poetry is a sacred wine that feeds our hope, gives us flashes of the many dimensions around us,
even an access to them.     No wonder they live always with us.    Your empathy speaks to the union
of all longing humanity.    
Katherine L. Gordon

Thanks for the kind words, Katherine  :  )
I felt very close to Milt & Al yesterday when their vision & these words came to me.
Chris ... and Chase Wrfffffffffffffff!

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Hi Peter,
Thanks! Great write-up on the A-frame. I visited there with TO poets Kent Bowman & Mick Burrs last Saturday afternoon, Jan. 26th. We wandered around the A-frame grounds,
& Chase (my shih-tzu-on-steroids) & I relieved our chilled kidneys in the brush. Kent & Mick took loads of photos, some with the frozen surface of Roblin Lake for a background.
Chase risked the ice (after all, he has 4-wheel drive!), while we humans watched, leaning against a huge old 'totem' hardwood. One hut of brave ice-fishers was silhouetted against the cold sky. 

The teensy A-burg library was open for once (it was Sat.), & we got to admire the display case with Big Al's Order of Canada, Order of Ontario, & some other honours & memorabilia. Kent & I donated books to their meagre (non-existent) poetry section.

Then we drove the block to the entrance to the small conservation area where Al is buried in the pioneer cemetery. I poured half a beer over the grave, & we each took an
honourary  swig to toast Al. I clicked my dragon tsing-shas together 3 times for a goofy invocation, & lit a stick of incense propped on top of Al's bookish grave. We took turns reading Al's poetry, & while Mick read a flock of tiny birds (nuthatches?) flipped branch to bare branch in the bushes by the millpond. They disappeared as Mick finished his poem - he didn't believe me when I told him about his feathered & appreciative but fickle audience  :  )

three freezing poets
read Big Al's poems
to fickle feathered ones