Some tasks

...present more of a challenge than others. Today I was looking over Reclamation, my multimedia project, concentrating on the photographs in particular. One would think that staring at a series of photographs would be among the least challenging of tasks, but the more I looked at my work, the more questions came to mind. Just when I thought I was nearing the end of this project I discovered a new-to-me direction I must explore. Here I go again.

This afternoon I took a break from my thoughts to listen to the broadcast of the CBC Poetry Face-Off that was held in Regina. One of the great things about living in a province with such a small population and such a strong writing community is that I've met all the poets I listened to. Anyhow, CBC certainly got their money's-worth. The poems were incredible.

Burning Hills

...a poem by Michael Ondaatje takes on another life in this experimental film by Jason White.

Listen

...to John MacKenzie read this poem by A. E. Housman. I don't know Housman, so to remedy that I followed John's link to an online edition of one of his books.

I found Hamlet and Horatio in the Graveyard

...an oil by Eugene Delacroix on a page showing his lithographs of Hamlet. I've spent the last while looking at his work in books and online, trying to recall why I bought Painter of Passion: The Journals of Eugene Delacroix. I finally started reading it today. It has been shelved here for almost 10 years between The Complete Writings of Emily Carr and The Letters of Vincent van Gogh.

So far nothing has twigged my memory, but this watercolour and gouache painting at the Hermitage caught my attention. I hope he discusses the piece somewhere in the journal. This translation only contains about half of his entries, so I won't hold my breath.

Tonight Regina will be treated

...to this, an event I'd love to attend. Donald Stein, composer and audio artist, has been working with CBC and SaskFilm as the Art at Work artist-in-residence.

CBC news says medieval ruins were discovered

... during excavation at Florence's Uffizi Gallery. The story mentions Caravaggio, an artist whose work I've longed to see in person after staring at it over and over in books and online. His painting Medusa, which is housed at Uffizi, fits this day well.

The Fever Van

...an oil by Lawrence Stephen Lowry struck me today.

Here's a great look at both the caduceus of Hermes and the staff of Asclepius.

What poet first knocked your socks off

...or a question very close to that was put to me recently. Hmm. I had no answer. Many poems by many poets popped into my head, but no poet stood out as The One. A guessing game followed. I shook my head to Gerard Manley Hopkins, the first guess. I shrugged at E. E. Cummings, the last, admitting a fondness for his work, but he certainly was not The One. The questions ended after that.

Today, after I went through my manuscript, correcting punctuation here, repairing the odd line there, and tuning whatever music that offended today's ear (it seems I'm given a new ear each day), I turned again to the question. Who knocked my socks off?

It wasn't long before I had the answer, though it was not a matter of who, but what:

Pussy cat, pussy cat,
Where have you been?
I've been to London
To look at the Queen.
Pussy cat, pussy cat,
What did you there?
I frightened a little mouse
Under her chair.

That knocked my socks off. I can picture exactly where I was standing when I first heard it. Needless to say, I've been asking cats questions ever since.

The other work that knocked my socks at an early age was The Book of Psalms, the influence showing through in my first published poem in The Western Producer back when I was 14.

The question had been answered. Or so I thought. I then picked a couple anthologies off the shelf and sat down to revisit the work of Hopkins, wondering why the heck he'd be the first guess. And then I saw it. I heard it. The disrupted syntax, the compounding, the familiar rhythm, the attention to the natural world and what he called inscape. Perhaps Hopkins had knocked my socks off after all. I do think my bare feet are showing.

I always leave St. Peter's Abbey

...with a list of must-read books. Sometimes as I'm wandering around, taking a break from writing, I stumble upon them. Other times I learn of a title through conversation. For example, during a frigid pre-breakfast walk in the dark with a couple writers, I learned of the work of Oliver Sacks. They were discussing one of his best known books, The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat, but the one writer, familiar with my current project, thought I should read A Leg to Stand On. So here I am tonight, checking out Sack's site, grateful that I like walking down icy gravel roads so early.

Another book that made my list is The Ethnographer's Eye: Ways of Seeing in Anthropology by Anna Grimshaw, a book I found in the well-stocked colony library.

Also in the colony library was Jan Zwicky's Wisdom & Metaphor. I read some of it, but I didn't have time to read it all, so on the list it went as well.

St. Peter's Abbey houses an incredible library, which includes the library of Anne Szumigalski, a library I've poured over many times. A great portrait of Szumigalski now hangs by her collection, adding to the magic I feel whenever I touch her books.

Another one of my great joys is turning on the lights and winding my way down the staircase to where more of my favourite books are kept. Among my new finds was The Cottage Builder's Letter by George Murray. I already have The Hunter and because of it The Cottage Builder's Letter has been on my list for some time. Now I really must Add to Cart so I can finish reading it.

Though home in body

...my mind is still making its way back from St. Peter's Abbey. There I spent the last two weeks working on Bone Conduction, my seemingly endless manuscript, resolving many of its troubles and creating more trouble in the process. Perhaps I'll spend the rest of my days writing this book or at least arguing with it.

It will take some time to catch up with the news and the goings-on on the blogs I regularly visit. I did notice that John MacKenzie had discussed Sue Sinclair's poetry on Salt and Ice the other day. I ran across Sinclair's Secrets of Weather & Hope in the St. Peter's College library a few days ago. Though I didn't have time to read more than a few poems, I was struck by perception, by the act of perceiving, and felt wholly involved in a process, in what it means to make sense.

Over the past few years St. Peter's College has been hosting Canada Council readings that are nicely timed with the winter colony. Last year I saw Fred Stenson and Greg Hollingshead read there the year before. This year Douglas Barbour, author of Lyric/Anti-lyric, gave a lively reading. I was especially pleased to hear him read from A Flame on the Spanish Stairs, a chapbook of experimental sonnets and acrostics inspired by or arising from the letters of John Keats, a chapbook I've owned and happily puzzled over for some time.

I also saw Maureen Scott Harris give a moving reading from her new collection Drowning Lessons. She will be reading at the Grant Park McNally Robinson tomorrow night, so you Winnipeg people should check it out. The Drowned Boy poems are stunning.

One more thing to wind up this scattered post: I bought a copy of Sacred Electric, a CD by Brother Kurt Van Kuren and Janice Weber which takes the guitar to Gregorian chant. Great stuff. It leaves me feeling almost at home in what I do.

My manuscript and I

...will be spending the next couple weeks together. My next post should appear here on Sunday February 20. I hope you'll check back then.

It's ptarmigan time

...at least in Route North Roots. The latest issue is now online, including my birding column which looks this time at our experiences with ptarmigan.

The whole world

...thing in the last post likely came to me from a poem by Edward Lear of "The Owl and the Pussycat" fame. Lear, known for his nonsense verse, was also a painter whose landscapes - Jerusalem from the Mount of Olives, Sunrise being a fine example - rely just as much on rhyme, rhythm and nonsense. The poet, I think, is most transparent in his watercolors. In them I see playful lines, though some seem to be escaping.

The whole world should know

...about this winter bean curry. I'm certain it will make me a better writer, a better painter. I'm absolutely positive it will...this is what I plan to tell my partner so he'll make it over and over again.

And the whole world should check out the Bookninja field trip to Bibliotheca, a photography exhibition in Toronto. They even made a great little video!

On another note, if Penticton's vandalized nude statue had any say, I wonder if it would want the whole world to know the details of its injuries?

Though it didn't win a prize

...I'm happy to learn a selection of poetry from Bone Conduction, my large manuscript-in-progress, was shortlisted for the 2004 CBC Literary Awards. There was a record total of 1196 submissions in the poetry category. My partner awarded me a cup of southern pecan coffee and a raspberry scone.

If you missed Atwood

...on CBC's Monday Report last night, the video can be viewed here. It's a must-see.

In Limerick's limerick

...database there's a link to some wonderful physics limericks that speak of Newton, Galileo, Einstein and Witten to name a few.