Congratulations to the 2018 Winners of the Jessamy Stursberg Poetry Prize!

The Jessamy Stursberg Poetry Prize for Canadian Youth was established to foster a lifelong relationship between Canadian youth and the literary arts, specifically poetry. The prize is supported through a generous donation from the Stursberg family and other donors in honour of Jessamy Stursberg. The prize accepts submissions from young poets all across Canada, with three prizes awarded in both the Junior (grades 7 to 9) and Senior (grades 10 to 12) categories: 

Winner: $400
Second Place: $350
Third Place: $300 

Thank you to our jurors for the junior category — Heidi Greco, Robin Richardson, and Carol Casey — and the senior category — Richard Osler, Bren Simmers, Cheryl Antao-Xavier, and Greg Santos — for their hard work in selecting this year’s winners and honorable mentions.

Without further ado, we present your 2018 Jessamy Stursberg Poetry Prize winners:

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Senior winners

Jury: Richard Osler, Bren Simmers, Cheryl Antao-Xavier, and Greg Santos

First place, senior: “Marcus” by Melanie Thompson, grade 12

“There is lipstick smeared across my mirror. I have crushed so many tubes that I am left with a palette of shades of pink, orange, and red; a myriad of feminine torment. There are still strands of hair woven in my carpet from two fortnights ago, when I took Mother’s pruning shears to the blonde lying across my shoulders and hacked myself a straw nest. I thought the hatred would fall off in the golden clumps, but I can easily find it in each glass reflection. Last week I cracked a rib from wearing shirts three sizes too small and my brother laughed and called me crazy, said he could take the knife to my chest whenever I was ready. But I’ve already tried. They won’t come off.”

– My name is Isabelle Marcus and I am a boy

Judges’ comments: With vivid, surprising, and often violent imagery, “hacked myself a nest” and “take the knife to my chest”, Marcus effectively captures the dissonance between the speaker’s body and his gender identity. This poem is urgent in its address and its emotional impact lingers long after the final declarative statement. – Juror Bren Simmers

Second place, senior: “Illusive” by Aminah Attar, grade 12

An eloquent sari drapes my grandmother’s back; her navel

Glazen golden brown

Like the sun

behind her curtain lay scars tinged red and pink and;

Golden brown

she smiles

He hits

Her.

How can I embrace where I come from?

Where she is.

Her scars hurt me too

The violet dupatta that sets upon my shoulders

presses upon my

neck, suffo-

cating

I’m hurting, I’m hurting

I smile just like her

Mirage upon mirage.

Judges’ Comments: For the poet, pride in cultural heritage is ‘illusive.’ With a few well-chosen words, ‘sari,’ ‘dupatta,’ the poet sets the cultural context. With ‘He hits her,’ she introduces the disturbing issue of abuse and bullying, touching on a universal reality, but one that is deeply personal for her. She questions whether she can keep up the smile, the ‘mirage’ in her own life and allow it in her future. The sari draped ‘eloquently’ across scars, old and new, cause her to question her pride in a cultural heritage that condones spousal abuse. – Juror Cheryl Xavier

Third place, senior: “Burial” by Stephanie Chang, grade 10

The morning sickness loved me in this way:
diaphanous heart shuddering in the grocery store,
in the reservoir at 6AM. I leave you in the rain

where you told me to. I leave a pistol pressed
to the corner of a New England sky or any place
you will find and decay in for centuries:

luminous until nothing is. I am staring at the
last streetlamp in the city from the window
of a moving train, peeling off skin like sacrifice

as if that makes for higher meaning. I want
to open this ribcage for revolution. I watch
the gilded finch sing inside the smoke. Migration

is happening at the bottom of my chamomile
tea. The days were kinder then, when my mother
taught me how to read the leaves. The days

were all but accidental, when wildflowers spun
’round in the laundromat wash. Perpetual motion as
act of springtime. The daughter tongue turns yellow,

reminder of an existence without war. But springtime

is just that. Springtime is the starving season
and there is no way around it; spring is my mother
forgetting her maiden name. I am still praying

for your song to end in earshot. So softly
did it pluck the youth from my hands; I
cannot remember ever firing the bullet

straight into you wet mouth.

Judges’ Comments: The poetic risk-taking in Burial set it apart. The mystery at the poem’s heart suggested but never quite revealed. But the loss that generates the passion and power inside the poem bleeds there larger than life. Not the death nor the burial but the impact of the death, slams the reader in this poem. And it is its images – raw, jarring and unexpected – that create its overwhelming sense of loss and dislocation. I leave a pistol pressed/ to the corner of a New England Sky; I am staring at the/ last streetlamp in the city from a moving train, peeling off skin like sacrifice…. And as readers our skin, too, tears off and we feel the isness of the narrator’s loss and grief. – Juror Richard Osler

Honorable Mentions

“A is for Asian” by Ami Li, grade 12

“spidersilk” by Quinn Lui, grade 12

“Daddy” by Samantha Chen, grade 10

“How I Know Him” by Aquayla Anderson, grade 11

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Junior Winners

Jury: Heidi Greco, Robin Richardson, and Carol Casey

First place, junior: “Dawn” by Stephanie Cui, grade 8

Out in the moonlight
The trees are glowing white.
They are fully dressed and await the wind’s call.

But the wind is a shy girl at four in the morning,
And she does not come out to play.
Dawn slowly tip-toes, blueing the sky.
I am lost on a path so familiar.

Does darkness lock up my eyelids
With a key that only belongs to dawn?
I sneak by buildings,
They seem unrealistic against the early light.
Windows lit here and there, like the fading stars.

My footsteps are shaky,
My voice –the only echo remaining in the world.
The sun rows the moon across the sky, claiming its throne.
and I step into the day drunk with awe.

Judges’ Comments: Even though poets have long been praising the glories of the rising sun, this writer brings an original spin to the subject. The poet demonstrates an understanding of stanzas as an organizational element. Further, the writer employs a number of poetic devices and includes effective metaphors: “The wind is a shy girl…” or “The sun rows the moon across the sky…” Language used is clear and precise, and almost achingly fresh, as in the final line, stepping “into the day drunk with awe.

Second place, junior: “When I was Young in a Car at Night in Calgary” by Leeloo Lengagne, grade 8

When I was young in a car at night in Calgary, I sat on the smooth leather seat, my head resting on the cold window.
From the long night out at my Grandparent’s house.
I’d watch the sunset sky turn to a dark blue, the streetlights following our car on the
highway.
Slowly, but surely I could see the bright lights in the sky, stars.

When I was young in a car at night in Calgary, the house was far from the city so the
stars were much brighter.
I believed that each star was a person’s soul and the brighter the star, the kinder the soul.
I still believe that.
My parent spoke quietly and soft. I can barely hear what they’re saying but I don’t care
because the stars were the better of the journey home.
With my headphones on and low music playing, I fell asleep.

Judges’ comments: Its subtle cadence and nuanced handling of the subject matter indicate a poet with a keen and confident approach to craft. Here repetition works as a sort of quiet rocking, mimicking the sway of the car, the calm of the evening, and the overall music of the spaces between action in life as well as in thought. This poem creates in the reader the very sensation it describes, a skill which is hailed in mature writers, and which indicates here, a voice which is rich beyond its years. This poem is seamless and sincere. A clear triumph.

Third place, junior: “A Tree’s Life” by Connie Xie, grade 9

We were once fishermen, and lived in this bay,
The Strong winds remind us of the days we went out to sea.
Sailing day and night. Down here by the bay,
each season comes with its own gift,
and each gift comes with its own surprises.

In winter my branches are bare. The nets are empty.
The winds are fierce, the forest is calm.
The docks are quiet, and the smell of sea foam,
sweeps through the streets. The people are asleep,
but the sea’s wide awake.

Springtime is when the birds come back,
soaring through the trees singing their hymns.
The forest is an orchestra, and we are coated in many shades.
Our flowers cover the road below us-
A sea of pink, with fragments of red and white.

In Summer from a distance we can see the boats we once sailed,
going back out to sea. Our flowers are replaced
With bright green leaves.

When fall comes our leaves go in a gust of wind-
schools of fish swimming through the waves.
The birds sing their last songs before flying south.
A soft breeze ruffles our remaining leaves,
leaving us bare once again for winter.

We are the trees down near the bay.
We were once fishermen, sailed our boats out into the sea.
But when our lives passed away,
and our bodies rotted alone in the grave,
our souls found their way to the forests.

Judges’ comments: This poem has a pleasing mystical quality. It is a good, multi-sensory portrayal of the seasons with simple, clear description and an intriguing twist at the end that makes you want to read it again. There is just enough repetition to build the panorama, and to help the piece hang together well.

Honourable Mentions:

“A Game of Chess” by Christina Chen, grade 8

“Lost at Sea” by Rebecca Dean, grade 9

“The Count of Spare Realities” by Sophia Wall, grade 8