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I have to be careful as a reader of poetry to allow enough room for the diversity of voices and approaches. For instance, very early on I was struck, convinced, intoxicated with Jack Gilbert's work.
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During the second summer of the pandemic, I made my way from my apartment in Vancouver to my parents’ home in Saint John for an extended visit. I was thirty-six and burnt out: a high-intensity job, months of social isolation, the loss of a grandmother, and a year and a half on the other side of the country from family had taken their toll.
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Ripples in air, soft and immense. Bells curl round a hillside to be cradled in an ear. Small animals worry their paws. A dazzle of piano, a glittery sheet of salt water. A cart lopes along a country road. Ghosts play ping-pong. Cascades from outer space. Some strange vessel encircles us in a scalded wood.
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Like most high school students in British Columbia, I had read Katherine Mansfield’s short story “Miss Brill” in English class. I found the story so compelling that I looked up The Collected Short Stories.
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I feel seen when listening to the gift that is American punk/alt band Mannequin Pussy. Their entire discography is a progression of artistic and musical truth, with each release becoming more unflinchingly personal and exquisitely composed than the last—but their 2024 album I Got Heaven is my personal favorite.
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It’s a privilege to journey with David Lynch in Catching The Big Fish—Meditation, Consciousness, and Creativity. He hooked me on his first line: “Ideas are like fish.” Intrigued, I agreed to dive deeper with him. Some of his observations are deeply personal, yet his writing makes room for the reader.
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I've been listening a lot to Sally Shapiro's recent album Ready to Live a Lie.
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I took Cormac McCarthy camping with me: five nights together on Lake Superior’s rugged north shore. That is, I took McCarthy’s The Road with me.
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Sure enough, contemporary philosophies of posthumanism and ecophenomenology, challenging human-centered frameworks and exploring the embodied reciprocity between humans and the more-than-human world, circulate—if at all— in the back eddies of popular consciousness.
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There should be a word for books that show up in your life when you need them. Books which obliterate fears or seemingly by magic connect some of the disparate dots of a lifetime. Dots that you maybe didn’t even realize existed, let alone had an awareness that they could use an alignment, call for a needle and thread.
