On the Sunday morning of June 12th I tried to change my flat back tire tube and to replace it with one that I’d saved from a previous flat because I wasn’t sure if there had really been a puncture. I had changed front tires at home in the past but never the back, because the way the chain hooks around the chain ring always confused me until I started going to Bike Pirates. I used a couple of plastic putty knives to remove the tire from the rim and I found that they work better than the plastic tools designed specifically for that task that they have at Bike Pirates. I was pretty proud of myself that I got everything back together. Throughout the day I kept reaching up to where my bike hangs from the ceiling to squeeze the tire and see if it was still inflated, and it was.
Since Sunday evening was going to be the
last instalment of the Plastiscene Reading Series, I spent quite a bit of time
during the day trying to prepare something special to read on the open stage.
Since I started keeping a daily journal at the end of July 2013, and had
included almost every night of Plastiscene in that journal, I decided to put
together a file made up of all of my reviews of those monthly events. When that
was done I had a hundred pages of Plastiscene reviews. My plan was to try to extract
a moment from each night and to put together three minutes worth of three years
of Plastiscene. I was still working on it when the usual time for me to leave
came around. I worked for fifteen minutes longer but had to satisfy myself with
one year of Plastiscene, which seemed appropriate because it covered the time
just after the change of regime from Michael Fraser’s organization of the event
up until Susie Berg and Rod Weatherbie’s take over.
When I headed for the Victory Café, I
noticed that my back wheel was wobbling. I was pretty sure I’d put the will
back on okay. I later checked but found no broken spokes. I wonder if riding
for about a minute or less with a flat could have bent the frame.
There weren’t that many people on the
second floor when I got to the Victory. I took a table at the front and got my
poem out of my bag. I did some editing on the first few lines until I overheard
Nicki Ward explain to one of the features the format for that evening. She
mentioned something called “poets from a hat” as being the first half of the
night, followed by a break and then the features. There was no mention of an
open stage. I called to Nicki to ask and she confirmed that there would be no
open stage for the last Plastiscene and that they already had their line-up
set. That seemed wrong to me on all kinds of levels. What would have been a
great way to close down Plastiscene would be to make it an all open stage
night, so that everybody could join in rather than just a select few. When
Nicki told me that, I just gave a sighing, “Okay”, packed up my stuff and left.
It was a good thing that I hadn’t bothered to lug my guitar there for nothing.
I walked to my bike, but decided to call
Cad to let him know that there was no open stage, just in case he was on his
way there. He was home and hadn’t even known that the event was that night.
Then he told me that there had been a shooting in Florida and that fifty people
had been killed by “a Muslim”. Knowing Cad’s readiness to believe that anything
bad that happens is caused by Muslims, I asked him if he was sure that it had
been a Muslim that killed them. He put Goldie on the phone to confirm the
religious orientation of the shooter, but just then I heard someone call my
name. It was Rosalind Rundle, with her daughter. I had forgotten that she had
planned on coming for the last Plastiscene in order to read some of her late
father, Paul Valliere’s poetry as a tribute.
I told her that the open stage was not
happening but that she could go up and talk to them anyway and to see if they’d
let her read something. She went upstairs and I finished my conversation with
Cad. He said that if I was staying he’d come down and meet me, but I told him I
was leaving.
After ending the call though I decided to
sit on the sidewalk for a few minutes just in case Rosalind came back out. It
was pleasant and breezy in the evening sunlight. After about fifteen minutes, I
got up and started to leave, but Rosalind came out and called to me. She said
that at first they had been kind of blank about her request but Michael Fraser
seems to have convinced them to let her read one poem. I sensed that she wanted
me to be there when she did so, and she confirmed that was the case, so I
changed my plans and joined her and her daughter at the back of the room.
Rosalind showed me three of Paul’s poems
and she asked me to help her choose which one to read. There was one that I
thought was a better poem, but another, called “What Kind Are You?” that plays
on the two meanings of the word “kind”, was more reflective of Paul’s
philosophy and so I suggested that she go with that. I only got a little bit
teary eyed when she went up to the stage and read it.
I had only planned on staying till after
she’d read, but it seemed more appropriate to wait until the break so as not to
disrupt the other readings with my exit.
The first official speaker of the night
was the founder of the Plastiscene Reading Series, Michael Fraser. He said that
he had asked to go first because he knew that he was going to get emotional,
and he did. He started crying a bit when he thanked people for their support.
He also named Paul and I, which was nice.
A few other people read, a couple of whom
hardly ever came to Plastiscene over the five years it existed. As far as I
could tell, the names of several Plastiscene poets had been placed in a hat and
each person that spoke, upon getting down from the stage, drew the name of the
next poet. I think that Nicky would have let me know if my name had been among
them. Over the last five years I probably came to Plastiscene more than anyone
else and performed on the open stage more often than anyone else. I had also
featured there once and brought in a fair number of people that night to hear
me. I think that if Michael had still been in charge of the Plastiscene for the
last event. Perhaps familiarity bred contempt or perhaps Susie just doesn’t
like me. At the beginning of her tenure as the curator and grant applier for
Plastiscene, she had placed Plastiscene among the many venues that had publicly
banned Greg Frankson from attending their events because of allegations of
inappropriate sexual touching and speech by Frankson that several Ottawa women
had come forward about. I disagreed with the ban and called for open
communication and confrontation as an alternative. Susie and several others
didn’t like her decision being challenged. Maybe that’s the reason that I
wasn’t included or maybe they just think I’m a lousy poet.
A couple of poets, such as Kate Marshal
Flaherty and Lisa Richter read poems and gave testimonials. Their presence on
stage made more sense than some of the others. Lizzie Violet’s reading made
sense as well because she had done a lot of media work for Plastiscene over the
years. She read a piece that presented mock ads by sex trade workers in the
back of Now Magazine and then speculations about what the real people behind
the ads were like. Rosalind was worried that her daughter would pick up wrong
ideas about sex from Lizzie’s poem, but she was zoned out of the readings as
she sat drawing in her book. In my experience, sexual language has no negative
effect on children whatsoever unless one either imposes it on them or else
makes it extremely taboo. I think that references to sex tend to just roll off
of pre-sexual children’s consciousnesses like water off of a duck’s back. It’s
not something to worry about. I took my daughter out to poetry readings where
she heard all kinds of language and sexual references at a very young age. I
don’t think that it negatively affected her at all.
Other than Michael Fraser, the star
reader from the first set was Plastiscene’s former host, Cathy Petch. She read
a piece that she’d obviously very recently written about the shooting in
Florida that I’d only just heard about. Cad hadn’t mentioned that it was a Gay dance
club that had been attacked. She predicted that both sides in the US
presidential race were going to exploit this tragedy for political gain.
When the break came around, I asked
Rosalind if she would be sticking around. She said that she thought she might
because she was really getting into the poetry. I asked her if she was going to
be okay if I left and she told me she would, so I gave her a big hug and left.
Rosalind’s father really hated the
direction that Plastiscene took after Michael Fraser gave it up. I hadn’t been
there the last time he’d attended Plastiscene before he died, but I spoke to
him over the phone about it later. He said that he’d signed up for the open
stage, which allows each reader three minutes. But that time Nicki had said that
the open stage performers could only read one poem. Paul told her that he had
two short ones and together they would take about two minutes to read. Nicki
had said, “Okay, but make it quick!” He read his poems but felt disappointed in
the series because it didn’t feel as friendly anymore. Michael Fraser had been
the feature that night and Paul stayed to hear him, but left right after that.
He told me that he would only go to the next Plastiscene because I told him
that I’d be going, but he really wanted to find something better, like the open
stage that I used to run. Paul died before he’d had the chance to read his
poetry at Plastiscene again.
But why did Plastiscene die? I think that
there were several contributing factors. The earlier version of Plastiscene was
generally more relaxed about most aspects
of the format.
In terms of hosting, while Nicki Ward is
very intelligent and often funny, she doesn’t have the almost magical
spontaneous wit of Cathy Petch. Cathy also had something unique to say after each
poet, including the open stagers, stepped down from the stage. This made
everyone feel like they were an important part of the event. Nicki only did
that occasionally.
Michael Fraser passed the hat in order to
pay the featured readers, whereas Susie Berg applied for various council
grants. Of course, Susie was able to get a bigger paycheque for the readers,
but I think there is something to be said for letting the audience take
responsibility for payment. It makes them feel like they are part of things in
a fuller way than just applauding. I think that under Susie, features got a
cheque for $200, but I was glad to get the $35 or so that I got when I
featured. Also, when one applies for government grants, one is accountable to
certain rules of political correctness that the granters impose. I agree with
Banoo Zan’s approach at the Shab-e She’r poetry night, which is that there be
absolutely no censorship.
The last Plastiscene regime was not as open
stage friendly as the first. Nicki Ward chopped the open mic segment by half
and gave equal time to both the open stage and the gimmicky “poems from a hat”.
I seriously doubt that anyone ever came to Plastiscene just to read a poem from
the hat, whereas many people did come specifically to share their own writing on
the open mic. To give equal attention to two segments that were obviously not
equal was a gross error in judgement.
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