Stop! Look! Listen!

Ian Stephens’s lone book-length publication, Diary of a Trademark, feels like something of a lost classic, a rough (in all senses of the word) snapshot of early-nineties Montreal through the eyes of a gay man who died soon after the book was published. In Diary, Stephens knows he is succumbing to HIV/AIDS and, in the essay that opens the collection, “Weary State of Grace,” discusses a recent hospital stay in visceral detail.

I loved Jennifer Bowering Delisle's latest book, Micrographia, in which Delisle juxtaposes her experiences of infertility and motherhood with her own mother's declining health and medically-assisted death. These lyric essays are luminous and questioning, searching for meaning in everyday moments as well as times of intense emotion. Woven with history, etymology, mythology, medicine, and law, the ambitious structure of these essays elevates the artistry and compassion that shine through on every page. 

For more than a year now, I have not read a book of my choosing for myself.  

Reading remains, in its many facets and prisms of accessibility, a privilege – and the freedom to read what one wishes continues to be a luxury.  

Is a poet’s life the support for poetry, or is poetry a support for the poet’s life? As much as Santoka Tenada, a mendicant Zen priest and haiku poet of the twentieth century, tried to live a good life according to the Tao, his inveterate love of sake and general need to carouse left him with poetry as the only means of perfecting what he was unable to perfect in life: mainly, the thing in us that wants to be better, the thing which, for a host of competing reasons, we are usually unable to achieve in life.