Lyricalmyrical launch
Tonight is the launch of Valentino Assenza’s Making Peace with Rattlesnakes, James Deahl’s No Star is Lost, Donna Langevin’s The Middle-aged Man in the Sea, and Bruce Meyer’s Bread. 8pm at The Annex Live: 296 Brunswick Ave. Lyricalmyrical produces unique hand-sewn, hand-bound hardcover books. I did the cover art for Donna’s book which has disarmingly beautiful poems based on her experiences in Cuba.
Cover for Donna Langevin's The Middle-aged Man in the Sea
Guernica Launch invite
I’m reading this Sunday, Nov. 15th at the Guernica Launch (short reading, 5 minutes).
Orvieto: Urbs vetus by William Anselmi (City Series)
Conjuring Jesus by Brian Day (Essential Poets Series)
A Place in the World by Robert Flanagan (Essential Poets Series)
The Trestler House by Madeleine Ouellette-Michalska
Translated by W. Donald Wilson (Prose Series)
The event is open to the public, so please forward this invitation to anyone you think would like to attend. Our launches are widely attended by the greater community, and we’d love to see you there!
Sarà un vero piacere di vedervi
A Victorian Life
I have one poem published in the most recent issue of the UK magazine Dream Catcher. Issue #23 is dedicated entirely to Canadian writing. Apparently there hasn’t been an exclusively Canadian issue of a literary magazine from the UK for fifteen years.
http://dreamcatchermagazine.co.uk/page132.aspx
A Victorian Life
My life began drearily –
daughter of a minor clerk
and a woman who died in childbirth.
At twenty, courted by a melancholic
who threatened suicide if we didn’t marry.
Tired of dragging my petticoats through sludge,
I acquiesced.
We were happy for a while
until he frequented brothels.
Soon after, his “precious angel”
became “lunatic whore.”
Cast adrift, I discovered
the bohemian circle – artist faces
gloomy as the maroon of parlour walls.
I investigated spiritualism and theosophy,
joined a secret society –
an offshoot of the Golden Dawn.
Remarried, a magus.
We were mad for each other, twin souls,
until he became violently ill
from a malady no doctor could name
(though I suspect malevolence).
Richly inherited,
I packed my late husband’s regalia,
fled to Canada and crossed it by rail –
registering under a pseudonym
at the Empress Hotel.
Visitors come and go.
Daily I read tea leaves
for signs of the approaching century:
a raven perched on a cross,
a sword piercing a cloud.
Copyright © Clara Blackwood 2009
(published in Dream Catcher 23)
This photo was taken inside the Sydenham St. United Church in Kingston, Ontario on April 15th. Looks like I’m in the midst of an astral projection…
Open Stage Night at Harbourfront
Tonight is Harbourfront’s Open Stage Night. I’ll be one of twenty poets reading for 5 minutes. Following the event, the judges will award one poet a reading at the International Festival of Authors. The poets were selected randomly (through a draw) and had to have their names submitted by their publishers.
http://www.readings.org/?q=main/authors_at_harbourfront_centre_weekly_reading
Plasticine Poetry Series
Tomorrow night I’ll be reading at the Plasticine Poetry Series, a monthly poetry series held at The Central: 603 Markham St. Also reading are Rocco de Giacomo, Amanda Hiebert and Bunny Iskov. 6 pm start time. Hosted by Cathy Petch. The Central is a small venue that fills up quickly — arrive early to ensure getting a seat.
Carousel Appreciation Night
I’m reading tonight in Guelph at the Bullring Pub (University of Guelph campus) as part of Carousel Appreciation Night. The other readers are Jim Johnstone and Desi Di Dardo. 7 pm start. Carousel is a gorgeously-designed hybrid literary and arts magazine which is produced twice a year. The first 25 people who show up at this event get a free copy of the magazine.
This is my first blog. It’ll be mainly a space for sharing poems and info about upcoming events and readings. I have three readings coming up this month and will post details soon. Here is a poem about the building I used to live in, years ago, in Toronto’s Annex neighbourhood.
The White Tower
I believe a strange force field surrounds
the high-rise I live in.
This would explain the insanity,
the jumpers, baby-danglers,
elevators opening between floors,
and my perilous love life.
It’s not a force field that protects,
but revs things up, frenetic,
like too many nines in an address.
It explains the lady on the 14th floor,
dressed in vintage Edwardian,
who threw a butcher knife
down the length of the hallway.
Remaining in its clutches,
I will witness the balconies bleeding blue,
the flying buttresses unhinged,
3 a.m. false alarms, urgent
knocks at my door asking for help.
I have my place in it.
Copyright © Clara Blackwood 2008
(published in the Hart House Review 2008)
