Lately I have taken to multi-tasking as a reader. In the past I would only read one thing at a time. Now I find my bedside table cluttered with poetry compilations, film and journalism magazines, a novel and usually a book of essays tossed in for good measure (or does one refer to essays as creative non-fiction)? I like soaking it all in and my only regret is not having more time to devote to the printed word. I didn't even include graphic novels or chapbooks, my bookshelves are groaning with stuff I feel I cannot not live without. In any event, I have been deriving pleasure from a myriad of sources/voices these days.
A friend gave me a book of poetry "Home of Sudden Service" by BC poet Elizabeth Bachinsky for my birthday. There is a longing and restlessness articulated in Bachinsky's writing that makes me ache, but in a "hurts so good" kind of way!" The first section of the book, entitled "Valley Girls", is brilliant. The poems are succinct, not a syllable is wasted. The poet's version of adolescence so mirrors my own, (or maybe its just Bachinsky's genius that makes me feel that way). I absolutely love these poems which have accessibility yet aren't lacking in technical prowess. There's a marvelous cadence to the writing as well, which makes me want to revisit the poems over and over, like listening to a favorite song.
I have also been working my way through the yearly Giller prize shortlist anthology books (just read 2005's shortlist compilation). This has been a hit and miss experience. A lot of the short listed stuff is the kind of poetry I find mystifying i.e. pieces that are technically well crafted but emotionally empty, and, in my opinion, excessively cerebral. I discovered Croatian poet Charles Simic through the Giller shortlist however, and for that I am eternally grateful! Simic's poem "Outside a Dirt Road Trailer" is perhaps my favorite poem. Like "the other Charles" (Bukowski), Charles Simic's poetry are so unadorned as to seem artless but that is precisely why he is so rhapsodically good. Charles Simic manages to be both surrealist and deeply sensuous at the same time. You'd think that'd be hard to pull off, but he manages it. Some of his work is poignant and powerful, it isn't all irreverant but its all wonderful.
Below is a poem by Elizabeth Bachinsky I found at www.nthposition.com the best website for poetry on the planet...
The goddess of Anthropomorphism
We sleep with the curtains open. Tonight,
the forest is lit by a full-faced moon. Black water
winks past the riverbank through the trees.
We were from the city. And now we are from
the country too. In the spring, teenagers
will appear with their titanium fishing rods.
In the summer, they will ride rubber inner-
tubes downstream. Masses of young flesh
will chirp and yip on the whitewater where,
not ten months before, the whole place reeked
of death. Chip bags and beer bottles and cell-
phones in hand, parents will prop plastic chairs
in the shallows and eat take-out burgers
while their little ones paddle out to the pools.
But, now, the river is silent
in the way a river is a silent rush of rivergrass
and the fetid stream goes about its decomposition.
My husband's hands are slippery on my thighs.
He can't help it, he says We are two slick fish∑
and floodlights illuminate our gravel driveway.
We sit up, caught, momentarily, in our own
harsh light. One minute, two, and the flood clicks
off again. I can hear the refrigerator keeping
things cold in the kitchen, rooms away. What
is out there? What creature slouches through
the yard so late at night? Anthropomorphism,
I say, is a dangerous business.
