Sinewy Poetry

            I dreamed I was sharing an apartment with a couple. The woman was blonde and voluptuous and at first attracted to me. After the first week though the couple changed their attitude towards me and didn’t seem to want me around. The place seemed like a composite of some nice places I’ve lived before. In the dream it seems that I actually had lived in that apartment before. I took in a scroungy stray dog that may have been mine before and then abandoned by me. The dog was a sad and nervous large grey poodle and it peed on the floor, which didn’t sit well with my fellow tenants. Finally one night when I brought a young woman home to my place I discovered that they’d given my room to somebody else.

Every seven years each of us is an entirely different person and we just plagiarize the previous person’s memories for identity.

For the last couple of days I’ve been unable to delete emails to my gmail inbox. I kept getting the message, “Unable to connect to Google” even though I was obviously connected as I could receive and read the emails. There have been reminder emails that Google + is shutting down at the end of March and asking customers to either download or delete their information. It may be a coincidence but within a couple of hours of deleting my Google + account I was able to delete my emails again. I had been considering deleting Gmail entirely and starting over.

I spent some time on Thursday organizing my essay notes, but not enough time. With six days to go before the deadline I’m getting nervous about how little I’ve gotten done on this paper.

I printed five copies each of three poems for my creative writing class. They were “Abdullah", "She Would Not Settle for the Limits of Satisfaction" and "Dumb Bike Ride".

I dressed for early spring, with just one scarf and my range rider gloves.

Vivian, Alyson and Margaryta were already there when I arrived and Jenny and Ashley were coming up behind.

I told Albert that Lawrence Ferlinghetti is turning a hundred on Sunday and he said he just heard that from a friend in San Francisco. He mentioned that he really likes some translations of Jacques Prevert poems that Ferlinghetti did. I said that I translated one of the same poems and mine is better. I don't think Albert thinks much about better or worse. He just repeated that he really likes that book of poems.

Une orange sur la table

Ta robe sur le tapis

Et toi dans mon lit

Doux présent du present

Fraîcheur de la nuit

Chaleur de ma vie

Ferlinghetti- An orange on the table

your dress on the rug

and you in my bed

sweet present of the present

cool of night

warmth of my life

Christian- An orange on the table

your dress on the carpet

and you in my bed

sweet present of moment

cold breath of evening

hotness of being

            Albert got a confirmation from most everyone at the table that they’d received a survey about our course from Survey Monkey. He said, “I believe in being kind to animals, but don’t you want to kill the Survey Monkey?” It seems it was only sent out to students registered at Victoria College and so that’s why I didn’t receive it. He suggested that in the survey students ask for changes to the course if they want them, such as more hours. It is odd that the classes are only two hours a week when all of the ones I’ve attended are three hours a week.

            He announced that there is a Canada Counsel grant for new and young writers but I doubt if that applies to me.

            Our group went into Albert’s office for the workshop. We started with me because Margaryta said, “We never start with Christian.” We looked at my poem “Unloved by Cannibals”:

The Alien

staggers out of his stay in limbo

and tells himself he was only gone for a day, or two or three

But another self

says “Any time that’s done in limbo

is always the same measurement of one turn of eternity”

He’s ravenous

when the world considers eating him

as he looks like he is such a sweet free-range boy from the country

But he’s mystified

serving himself on a dirty plate

that not a soul at this buffet seems they’re the least bit hungry

He is a ball

of mercury in a game of tennis

played between the polarities of his extreme desires

He is splashing

his face into the trough of midnight

and then swallows all the faces as they look out from their cars

He’s soul debris

that’s spinning round a lifeless planet

and crashes every now and then for some unplanned vacations

His camera

is gone so he’s become the cyclops

and sends his exposed photo film to developing nations

            The main conversation over this poem was over the last three lines of the second stanza: “But he’s mystified / serving himself on a dirty plate / that not a soul at this buffet seems they’re the least bit hungry” Vivian, Blythe and Margaryta all agreed that there should be something like “while” in front “serving himself on a dirty plate”.

            Of the line “played between the polarities of his extreme desires” Blythe pointed out that “extreme” is already implied by “polarity”.

            Albert brought in his written comments later but I'll include them here.

            He wrote, “I think the third and fourth stanzas need to have the sort of strong but surrealistically metaphorical relationship that you give to stanzas one and two.”

            Of the final stanza he said, “To me, this stanza is a weak spot in two ways. 1. It’s not as surprisingly creative as the other three. related to this, it's ‘upside down': Its first three lines are better than its last three. 2. It’s not an ending. It feels like 'The next stanza' on the way to further ones.”

            Of my poem “Beneath the Rubble of Us”:

My efforts to understand her helped me gain

confidence as a lover, which is a strength

that comes from knowledge of another person’s need

to live a different pace, but maybe it’s fear

of rejection and of growing too forceful at being

tactful at the expense of staying true

to my own vision, which had to be altered

in order to see her point of view and to find courage

to add my voice to her perception

but it often took the form of an apology

for trying to defeat her, which was her victory

over her attraction to me because she could

not be interested in men that she could push

away without them standing up to her test and fighting

to keep the lines of communication alive

by listening better since she had a hard time

embracing any other viewpoint

than her own. So I grew

abler at tuning in and struggling

against the urge to blindly argue

but that only seemed to make her fight me

more and to hurl anger and disappointment

over all the ways that I was falling

short in terms of application

which she told me was pushing her

away from our collaboration

in romance because she didn’t think

it was possible for us to be

partners, which broke my assurance a bit

more, so I don’t know if I gained

strength that’s hidden beneath the rubble

of us or not

I did learn a lot about touching

her body and how to be creative

in response to inhibitions than with any

woman, which frequently required a stretch

of courage, perception and becoming

stronger at giving in to her weakness

            The whole group agreed that the short stanza at the end was unnecessary. Vivian said it doesn’t feel like the end. She suggested that I either include it in the narrative, take it out or expand on it. Margaryta thought that I should only keep "becoming stronger at giving in to her weakness" and put it at the very end.

            They also all agreed that I should start a new stanza with “So I grew” on line eighteen. Margaryta and Vivian both thought that I should change “abler” to "better” on line nineteen.

            Blythe wrote, “I like it. It can be laborious to read in one chunk – Not the worst thing since it seems like it’s meant to be read aloud anyway. The line breaks are very effective.”

            Albert’s only criticism was that in " I did learn a lot about touching

her body and how to be creative in response to inhibitions than with any

woman” my use of “than" is bad grammar since there is no "more". I should have said "I did learn a lot more".

            Albert’s general comment on the poem was, “The formal inventiveness of this is impressive. It ‘dramatizes’ the poem’s extremely complex and sensitive presentation of converse and relationship. The detailed look into the interpersonal in its exact unfolding is a rare subject, a rare accomplishment. Its nature as a memory, in addition gives it great poignancy.

            Of my poem “universalorder829”:

Since your profile picture is a notorious Nazi thug

I'm sure you're entertained by all kinds of psychotic fantasies

Political violence is not new or old and we know that

whether we'd admit it or not but we know in our hearts

in the United States of America the worst is to come

It should not be just preference to prepare, but duty

There’s no point in history one could not say the worst is to come

For you saying the worst will come sounds like wishful thinking

It might be a good idea for you to see a counsellor

but bring along your photo of Horst Wessel when you go

If this was in person we would be fighting in the street right now

and without mutual respect weapons would be involved

Do you have the ability to fully comprehend that?

This is far beyond words and so yes the worst is to come

I am seeing it all with eyes that are wide fucking open

There have been some skirmishes here and there in the US

It’s not yet TOTAL OPEN CONFLICT like Venezuela

But it’ll happen here in times to come, you fucking watch

I don’t agree that if we were talking in person we’d be fighting

I lived in the street for ten years and know how things go down

You would not use such confrontational language on the street

That’s the crack-for-fantasy language of social media

Perhaps you should take a history course at a real university

You’d have to argue against your own cherished opinions

The conditions do not exist here for the rise of fascism

Look a bit more objectively at history and you’ll see that

I don't need to give my education credentials to some hobo

Truth is black and white and you’ll never convince me it’s grey

You started it by saying I should see a Freudian soothsayer

That's not indicative of a conflict free conversation

That's the kind of shit that people spout who want to get their heads caved in

For a guy that says he’s street smart you are an imbecile

If you wanna communicate keep facetious comments to yourself

No one would take advice from you even if you were sincere

Capitalism and communism are based on the assertion of never ending growth

which is impossible once it becomes too costly to get finite resources from the ground

They will stay in the ground and society will cease to function as we expect

But by all means go and learn everything there is to learn about the Byzantine Empire

Don't concern yourself about the problems of the present and future

Leave that in the hands of the professionals who got us exactly where we are right now

When your hero is a murderous Third Reich thug it raises concern

Caving heads in is social media-dumb and not streetwise

You are obviously angry and should find out the reason

But it's not about some imagined conflict in which you are a soldier

I think you would like me to be more unhinged than I actually am

I was brought up in this so you’re insulting more than me

by putting me in the same category as faggots, junkies

and other defectives that think their vileness is justified

A doctor can't convince me that I’m brainwashed if I think he's brainwashed

If I’d come from a different family I’d be a different person

People like you tend to further entrench us in our ideology

I gather that you’ve sunk to the depraved depths of capitalism

but I think you have very little to show for it other than your life

You can keep saying whatever I say doesn't sound street

Be chairmen of American homeless affairs for all I care

I am not some white nigger who is concerned about street credit

or whatever code it is that all of you thieves live by

You can keep your multicultural cities and your streets

I don’t want any part of them nor of the vermin that infest them

Raised by Nazis in North America? Just imagine that! 

If you’ve been brought up with beliefs logic can't shake, you must be brainwashed

So you just go around the country to every far right rally

in the same way that Deadheads follow the Grateful Dead around?

I was in Charlottesville fighting in the streets and I have fought my whole life

I’ve fought people that want to kill my friends and loved ones

Fending off Antifa everywhere we go is our bread and butter

It only gets violent when they’re allowed to 'no platform' us

How about you come and talk to us the next time we're in your area?

I'll try be there and we’ll fight if need be but we don’t have to

In most cases everything is always very easy going

and we are friendlier in person than we are on the web :)

            Blythe said, “While there are some interesting bits and the dialogue nature could work, I feel like too much of the poem is hitting points, especially about social media, on the head a bit too hard.” She suggested condensing it.

            Vivian made no comments whatsoever.

            Margaryta thought the two lines: “It might be a good idea for you to see a counsellor / but bring along your photo of Horst Wessel when you go” were great.

            Beside the paragraph that begins, “I don't need to give my education credentials to some hobo” Margaryta wrote, “It’s right about here that I got into the poem because I clued into the structure”.

            Albert wrote, “I would not change a word. Perfectly done. It's detailed recreation of the frustration of ‘politics' as it exists among so many people today is kept vivid by the constant shifts that bring in aspect after aspect of the situation. The evenly long, yet free and sinewy, lines are brilliantly handled.”

            Of these three poems altogether, Albert wrote: "These are three outstanding, unusual poems! I loved them. Each of the three has a different, inventive form that perfectly brings across its emotion/mood and its subject/analysis.

            Albert had also handed back his comments for the poems from the week before this one. He’d already commented in person about my poem “Unswept Memory” and of the four short poems that I’d submitted he’d just put approval checkmarks beside each one and two checkmarks beside the first tanka:

spotted snowbank

beside the café
a Holstein carcass
Black coffee today

            At the bottom of all the short poems he wrote “Superb”.

            Of my poem “Waves”:

The traffic is wet and sucking along the street where it has sounded the same in the city for so long that it’s familiar as the names of kin and its sonorous chorus comforts when it’s steady and flowing and builds musically with a rhythm and pitch that soothes the nerves unlike when sirens pass in daytime but at night with the breathing shushing traffic it comes from a distance and rises to an elastic crescendo below my window then fades away and when several vehicles are doing the same thing but starting at different times it’s like a symphony of polyrhythms and tones such as that of that deep-voiced truck grumbling by or this thundering streetcar until the soft cars are alone again with the resonance of hurrying ghosts dragging their damp ectoplasm along the road

            Albert wrote: “Wonderful evocation of the night sounds of the city. True prose poetry.”

            Vivian’s poetry continues to be overly wordy. I suggested again that she try reading it aloud while writing it. She used a phrase “slice of cream” which I said would only work if the rest of the poem were surreal as well. She asked what surrealism is and this led to an argument between Margaryta and I as to exactly what surrealism is. She said it doesn’t have to mean anything but I said it always means something and that it’s Dada that doesn't have to mean anything. Surrealism comes out of Freudian analysis and so it can be analyzed in the Freudian sense like dreams. Vivian said she wanted to learn more about surrealism and so Margaryta recommended that she borrow Albert’s book by Andre Bréton, so later she asked him if she could.

            Vivian had another poem about a bleeding woman knocking on doors and looking for her baby. She referred to the streets of two states and one province. I suggested that she just say, “The streets of everywhere”. She said I was based on something she’d read about indigenous women. I said that if that was the case she should make it clearer but Blythe thought she shouldn’t touch the subject at all. I didn’t get that. If indigenous women are suffering cultural sensitivity would dictate we mind our own business and not write about it? That sounds like bullshit to me. I told Vivian though that better poetry comes from writing what you know. Both Margaryta and Blythe agreed with me but Vivian didn’t think that was true. She said, "What about speculative fiction?" Margaryta tried to explain that writers disguise their own experience in fiction.

            Blythe continues to fight almost every suggestion anybody makes. She had an interesting poem about accidentally almost being touched in the face be someone that she wanted to know when they reached to open a door.

            Margaryta had a poem called “Watery Aquarium”, which she said in a note was a quote from Claude Monet in reference to his painting of waterlillies. I told her that she had the quote wrong and that it’s really “Flowery Aquarium”. I said “watery aquarium” is like saying “wooden tree”.

            Since we only have two classes left and for the last class we will just be bringing in our final manuscripts and reading poetry to the entire group, we don’t have to bring in new poems for critique next week. We’ll just be workshopping the ones we brought in this week.

            I didn’t stop at the supermarket on my way home.

            I had already boiled three potatoes before leaving for class, so when I got home I just heated them up along with some gravy. These were the last potatoes or any starch I would be eating for the next month. I had them while watching The Rifleman.

            In this story, Micah the regular sheriff was away and so a young man named Dan tries to prove himself as acting marshal. Dan has been recently rejected by West Point because of his bad eyesight and so he is trying a little too hard to prove he’s tough. There just happens to be some rowdy drovers in town taking a break from a cattle drive and shooting up the town. Dan creates a new law that everyone has to turn in their guns at the sheriff’s office when they’re in town. One of the drovers challenges the law and Dan draws first and kills him. Now the trail boss takes it personal and challenges Dan, but after talking with Lucas he only shoots Dan in the hand.

            Dan was played by Robert Vaughn, who went on to star in The Man From U.N.C.L.E.