FRESH VOICES: KARIN COPE, NAN WILLIAMSON, BARBARA BLACK
Welcome to the eighth edition of Fresh Voices, a project from and for the League’s associate members. The League’s associate members are talented poets who are writing and publishing poetry on their way to becoming established professional poets in the Canadian literary community. We are excited to be taking this opportunity to showcase the work of our associate members in this series!
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A Winter in the Baja
by Karin CopeA sudden drift of
fish startles up from the sea,
their silver backs flash.
Nightfall. The Little
Dipper pours starlight over
darkened mountain tops.
Walking a desert
track we turn and stumble on
piles of pipefish bones.
Break a branch of the
torote tree—sharp scent of
bitter orange lingers.
Palo Adan, grey
branch, half-moon: one scarlet bud
streaks the evening sky.
A Pacific wind
freshens. Hungry clouds nibble
The fattening moon.
Empty shells of a
conch graveyard glisten: so much
broken crockery.
Almost spring but the
sharp scent of beach fires burning
intimates autumn.
Walking on the beach
we startle a cricket; it
leaps into the sea.
A buzzard sits on
an abandoned power pole,
lines cut and dangling.
A beached sea lion
skull slowly submerges: sand
fills the eye sockets.
Karin Cope is a poet, sailor, photographer, scholar, rural activist, blogger and an Associate Professor at NSCAD in the Division of Art History and Contemporary Culture. Her publications include Passionate Collaborations: Learning to Live with Gertrude Stein, the 2015 poetry collection What we’re doing to stay afloat, and since 2009, a blog focused on verbal-visual interfaces entitled Visible Poetry: Aesthetic Acts in Progress (http://visiblepoetry.blogspot.com.) Cope has also authored and co-authored popular histories, short stories, policy papers and travel literature; her artworks include video installations, performances, guerrilla theatre and online works.
kindled
by Nan WilliamsonThis morning my body unfurls from sleep soft sheets teasing bare breasts groin thrumming outside my window a goldfinch whistles and warbles I laugh aloud there are miracles in the garden water spurts from the fountain splashes over mossy stones licks my bare feet lush late blooming peonies bend in sweet heaviness until the lover sun urges them awake they unfold glad petals tip perfume to the air
Renoir painted them open brushed on thin washes and strokes of iridescent white daubed the centre soft dots veined with purple faintly crimson shadow he caught the creamy petals’ silky feel peonies dew-slippery wanton luxurious in their prime as if aware that imminent rain will leave the petals pale and splayed
I walk around all day naked under my clothes half-annoyed as you tug at my roots again planted long in the garden of affection and easy love tenuous links with old romance mix memory and desire enough to renew faith in my own power I move more assuredly now seductively little tongues of fire flickering low astonished by appetite at my age I am amused these sudden surges of desire disrupt the current narrative last night I felt both beautiful and unprepared
Nan Williamson works as an artist and writer in Peterborough, Ontario. She was mentored by Karen Connelly during her time at the Humber School for Writing, and has been published in several journals. She is the author of the chapbook Leave the Door Open for the Moon.
Incremental
by Barbara BlackYou dream a plain grey room,
a table, a plate. One gooseberry
set there as punctuation.
Since you are destructiveyou break the plate, the berry
drops like an orphaned eye
causing a massive tidal wave
which runnels its way
to your coast, drowns the house,
the neighbours, engulfs the store,
dogs float past with snaking leashes
there are middle-aged women
in west coast coats, a man
clutching The National Post,
and, of course, the postman,
with your sodden parcels,
the books you’ll never read.
You hear dire pronouncements,
go back to your tea and yet
all along there’ve been quakes,
minute ones, that only caress
the needle, the underpinning moves
without your knowing
and you put down the cup,
and it’s fall and the garden
rots—but so beautifully slow,
as if not afraid to succumb.
At the end, she wrung her hands
as if—absolution.
You recall the word “forsaken.”Months later you make
a mask that frightens you.
The instructor screeches:
“You will write about this!”
pulling ugliness from you
you didn’t know was there.
First, torn paper—three layers at least,
nostrils were difficult, and ears.
Then the gesso, the white face.
You like that best, stopping there.
She says “Paint it!” You do:
red-white-black, black-white-red.
When you put it on it unbirths you.Mother, mother, where are your
lovely hands?
I have already lost your face.
Barbara Black recently won first prize in the 2017 Writers’ Union of Canada Short Prose Competition and was a fiction finalist in The Malahat Review 2017 Open Season Awards. Other publications include Freefall, The New Quarterly, and Kaaterskill Basin Literary Journal. A recipient of the $1000 first prize in the 2017 Don’t Talk To Me About Love Poetry Contest, her poems have also appeared in Contemporary Verse 2, FreeFall, Forage Poetry, The Dying Dahlia Review, and Poems from Planet Earth. She lives in Victoria, BC, where she’s currently busy riding the twisties on her new motorcycle. www.barbarablack.ca
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Curated by Lesley Strutt and Blaine Marchand, these poems represent just a small portion of the great work being produced by our members, and we are excited to have this opportunity to share their poetry with you. If you are interested in contributing to Fresh Voices, please send 3-5 poems to [email protected]. You may submit only once per month, but you may submit every month until your poetry is selected. This opportunity is open only to associate members of the League–if you are interested in joining the League, please visit our membership page!