poets-from-canada

"Lightning blinks, striking things in its midst with blinding light. Whirlwinds whirl; driftwinds drift. Spindrift is spinning in thrilling whirligigs. Which blind spirit is whining in this whistling din? [...] Is it this thin, sickish girl, twitching in fits, whilst writing things in spirit-writing? If it isn't — it is I; it is I..."

"Alarms clang as a radarman tracks an attack craft that can jam radar and dart past flak at half a Mach: ack-ack-ack, rat-tat-tat. Vaward attacks blast apart hangars and tarmacs: blam, blam."

"Loops on bold fonts now form lots of words for books. Books form cocoons of comfort – tombs to hold bookworms. Profs from Oxford show frosh who do post-docs how to gloss works of Wordsworth. Dons who work for proctors or provosts do not fob off school to work on crosswords, nor do dons go off to dorm rooms to loll on cots. Dons go crosstown to look for bookshops known to stock lots of top-notch goods: cookbooks, workbooks – room on room of how-to books for jocks (how to jog, how to box), books on pro sports: golf or polo. Old colophons on school-books from schoolrooms sport two sorts of logo: oblong whorls, rococo scrolls – both on worn morocco."

"Whenever Helen sleeps, her fevered rest meekens her; hence, she re-emerges enfeebled — her strength, expended; her reserves, depleted."

"Duluth dump trucks lurch, pull U-turns. Such trucks dump much undug turf: clunk, clunk — thud. [...] Such pumps suck up mush plus muck — dung lumps (plus clumps), turd hunks (plus chunks)."

"one of the questions that I had in my writing was not so much about how to reorganize the material, but also how to write the material in a written form and retain the integrity of how we perceive oral literatures and how they work."

"I don’t believe that we could exist with one foot in two worlds. We have to be able to synthesize and be part of whatever that world is, from within our identity."

"As human beings, we have to learn; we have to become knowledgeable enough to be able to accomplish that continuum of life, and also to make life natural. When we can’t do that, we are not learning; we are not knowledgeable; we are parasites on the earth and we destroy life rather than create life, work with life, embrace life, and uphold life."

"Indigeneity describes principles of how to be in a specific place, and the kinds of laws or rules or protocols that human beings could practice within those principles. Indigeneity can still apply in a contemporary context, without humans having to go back to the woods of a thousand years ago. (Mind you, that would be nice too.)"

"The idea of indigeneity is to create that kind of process, and to mimic, this is where the idea of eco-mimicry comes in, and to be able to mimic what nature does in those interactions in order to stabilize how we have to participate in that interaction of what constitutes the place we live. So, we become a healthy part of that interaction rather than isolated from it, or aggressive toward it."

"This love that had come to her was a kind of madness. It owned her. It created a wreckage of her body. The way, after a long climb, there is no longer searing pain and the muscles give up and all that is left is a deep and silent quivering. All else is blurred and each breath is a sacrifice. The way when the body finally finds itself. This madness moved inside, not the heart, but a place more hidden, yet more omnipresent. A place where one should never find it. It had found her; claimed her in the way it did to make her become what she must. This love. This is a map."

"the idea of complete regeneration has to be underpinned by an idea that every life form has as much right to exist as the human lifeform. That idea of the human being having dominion, or the human being having more right or more privilege, in terms of the field of ethics, is no different than saying one race having more right and more privilege. So, that is a profound principle to think about. How do you enforce that? How do you create that? How do you act responsibly,if that were the bottom line? How would you create a government? How would you create an economic system? How would you create an education system around that?"

"Knowledge should be mobilized for all people. It’s not something that is held only by one group"

"if we were to look at how the cells in the body operate, they are interdependent. If you look at how an ecosystem operates, any ecosystem, there is this mechanism of interdependency, which means one part could not exist without the cooperation and the help of the other parts that surround it. So, if we look at communities in that way, as an interdependency, and we look at what, therefore, it might mean in terms of governance, or a social structure, then it becomes really exciting research. Because, in a lot of ways, the opposite ideas are in place in regards to governance and government. Where governance and government is largely exclusionary, and largely protectionist, in terms of trying to isolate and protect"

"Globalization is foundational to destruction because of the competitive nature of corporations, extraction of resources, mobilization of peoples as a labor force,, and countries segmenting the world to own and commoditize. In contrast, indigenous peoples, valuing long term residency and knowledge, work within the conditions appropriate to whichever place they are located. They develop social structures to live sustainably, not only for the environment but for the community itself. To be indigenous to a place is to have adapted to the conditions present over a long period of time, to have learned not only how to thrive, but how to survive the catastrophic interventions and changes that threaten lifeforms on the land."

"When the Sleepy Man comes with the dust on his eyes (Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!) He shuts up the earth, and he opens the skies. (So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)"

"O wild, dark flower of woman, Deep rose of my desire, An Eastern wizard made you Of earth and stars and fire."

"Time, like a flurry of wild rain, Shall drift across the darkened pane!"

"Like some grey warder who, with mien sedate And smile of welcome, greets the throngs who pour Between the portals of a wide-thrown door, stands guardian at our water gate, And watches from her battlemented state The great ships passing with their living store Of human myriads coming to our shore, Expectant, joyous, resolute, elate."

"Oh, linger, little river! Your banks are all so fair, Each morning is a hymn of praise, Each evening is a prayer. All day the sunbeams glitter On your shallows and your bars, And at night the dear God stills you With the music of the stars."

"Ah God, what thunders shook these crags of yore, What smoke of battle rolled about this place, What strife of worlds in pregnant agony! Now all is hushed, yet here, in dreams, once more We catch the echoes, ringing back from space, Of God’s strokes forging human history."

"O mighty Soul of England, rise in splendour Out of the wrack and turmoil of the night, And as of old, compassionate and tender, Uphold the cause of justice and of right."

"In lonely gorge and over hill and plain, I sowed the giant forests of the world; The great earth like a human heart in pain Has quivered with the meteors I have hurled."

"They saw the stars in heaven hung, They saw the great Sea's birth, They know the ancient pain that wrung The entrails of the Earth."

"for me will be five hundred years of catching trains and two thousand years of remembering names."

"The great world's heart is aching, aching fiercely in the night, And God alone can heal it, and God alone give light; And the men to bear that message, and to speak the living word, Are you and I, my brothers, and the millions that have heard."

"Sweet house of God, sweet earth, so full of pleasure, I enter at thy gates in storm or calm; And every sunbeam is a joy or pleasure, And every cloud a solace and a balm."

"Clay was I; the potter Thou With Thy thumb-nail smooth'dst my brow, Rolltdst the spittle-moistened sands Into limbs between Thy hands. [...] Strong Thou mad'st me, till at length All my weakness was my strength; Tortured am I, blind and wrecked, For a faulty architect."

"It sleeps among the thousand hills Where no man ever trod, And only nature's music fills The silences of God."

"'Is Sin, then, fair?' Nay, love, come now, Put back the hair From his sunny brow; See, here, blood-red Across his head A brand is set, The word — 'Regret.'"

"Give me splendour in my death — Not this sickening dungeon breath, Creeping down my blood like slime, Till it wastes me in my prime.Give me back for one blind hour, Half my former rage and power, And some giant crisis send, Meet to prove a hero's end."

"So often have I met death face to face, His eyes now wear the welcome of a friend's."

"'Oh, curses on you hand and head, Like the rains in this wild weather The guilt of blood is swift and dread, Your sister's face is cold and dead, Ye may not part whom God would wed And love hath knit together.'"

"Something in my inmost thinking Tells me I am one with you, For a subtle bond is linking Nature's offspring through and through."

"One doom waits all — art, speech, law, gods, and men, Forests and mountains, stars and shining sun, — The hand that made them shall unmake again, I curse them and they wither one by one.Waste altars, tombs, dead cities where men trod, Shall roll through space upon the darkened globe, Till I myself be overthrown, and God Cast off creation like an outworn robe."

"The immortal spirit hath no bars To circumscribe its dwelling-place; My soul hath pastured with the stars Upon the meadow-lands of space."

"Right hath the sweeter grace, But Wrong the prettier face."

"I saw Time in his workshop carving faces; Scattered around his tools lay, blunting griefs, Sharp cares that cut out deeply in reliefs Of light and shade: sorrows that smooth the traces Of what were smiles."

"The pulse of our life is in tune with the rhythm of forces that beat In the surf of the farthest star's sea, and are spent and regathered to spend."

"'How slayeth Sin?' First, God is hid, And the heart within By its own self chid; Then the maddened brain Is scourged by pain To sin as before And more and more, For evermore."

"Growing to full manhood now, With the care-lines on our brow, We, the youngest of the nations, With no childish lamentations, Weep, as only strong men weep, For the noble hearts that sleep, Pillowed where they fought and bled, The loved and lost, our glorious dead."

"On wan dark night on Lac St. Pierre, De win’ she blow, blow, blow, An’ de crew of de wood-scow Julie Plante Got scar’t an’ run below— For de win’ she blow lak’ hurricane, Bimeby she blow some more, An’ de scow bus’ up on Lac St. Pierre Wan arpent from de shore."

"(To those who gave their lives to England during the Battle of Britain and left such a shining example to us who follow, these lines are dedicated.)They that have climbed the white mists of the morning; They that have soared, before the world’s awake, To herald up their foeman to them, scorning The thin dawn’s rest their weary folk might take; Some that have left other mouths to tell the story Of high, blue battle, quite young limbs that bled, How they had thundered up the clouds to glory, Or fallen to an English field stained red. Because my faltering feet would fail I find them Laughing beside me, steadying the hand That seeks their deadly courage— Yet behind them The cold light dies in that once brilliant Land. ... Do these, who help the quickened pulse run slowly, Whose stern, remembered image cools the brow, Till the far dawn of Victory, know only Night’s darkness, and Valhalla’s silence now?"

"Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings; Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth Of sun-split clouds,—and done a hundred things You have not dreamed of—wheeled and soared and swung High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there, I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung My eager craft through footless halls of air. ...Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace Where never lark, or even eagle flew— And, while with silent, lifting mind I’ve trod The high untrespassed sanctity of space, —Put out my hand, and touched the face of God."

"We laid him in a cool and shadowed grove One evening in the dreamy scent of thyme Where leaves were green, and whispered high above— A grave as humble as it was sublime;There, dreaming in the fading deeps of light— The hands that thrilled to touch a woman's hair; Brown eyes, that loved the Day, and looked on Night, A soul that found at last its answered Prayer. ...There daylight, as a dust, slips through the trees. And drifting, gilds the fern around his grave— Where even now, perhaps, the evening breeze Steals shyly past the tomb of him who gaveNew sight to blinded eyes; who sometimes wept— A short time dearly loved; and after,—slept."

"To deftly do what many dimly think; To fund a feeling for the world to borrow; To turn a tear to printer’s ink; To make a sonnet of a sorrow."

"The man who fears to go his way alone, But follows where the greater number tread, Should hasten to his rest beneath a stone; The great majority of men are dead."

"This trouble seems to be Chief in theology: Each thinks the hymn should be,— Nearer, my God, to Thee."

"The rake upon a wanton wastes the wiles Which dazzle innocence. The nettle guards itself; the lily smiles Unheedful of defence."

"Did you tackle that trouble that came your way With a resolute heart and cheerful? Or hide your face from the light of day With a craven soul and fearful? Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce, Or a trouble is what you make it, And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts, But only how did you take it?You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that? Come up with a smiling face. It's nothing against you to fall down flat, But to lie there—that's disgrace. The harder you're thrown, why the higher you bounce; Be proud of your blackened eye! It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts, It's how did you fight—and why?And though you be done to the death, what then? If you battled the best you could, If you played your part in the world of men, Why, the Critic will call it good. Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce, And whether he's slow or spry, It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts, But only how did you die?"