One Small Corner

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One Small Corner  with its subtitle, A Kingsbrae Chronicle, is now available at CreateSpace. It will also be available online at Amazon in a very short time.

One Small Corner consists of 102 pages. The poems were written at Kingsbrae during the June 2017 residency of the KIRA program (Kingsbrae International Residency for Artists).

My thanks and best wishes go out to all (too many to name individually) who helped me to write and publish these Kingsbrae poems. The three standing stones in the above photo were unveiled on June 21 to coincide with the summer solstice. They resonate for me with all the history of the standing — and Gorsedd — stones that occur throughout Wales (and Ireland and the rest of the British Isles) and are exemplified in Stonehenge (3,500 BCE).IMG_0067

One Small Corner has several linked meanings. In the above photo, taken by Carlos Carty (thanks, Carlos), I am writing in the one small corner of my room, so thoughtfully provided with a desk and a view out over Minister’s Island and Passamaquoddy Bay. One Small Corner also refers to the KIRA Residence itself, to the Kingsbrae Gardens with their multiple small and delightful corners, to Jarea and Holt’s Point, to the delightful sea-side town of St. Andrews, and to the Sunbury Shore region of New Brunswick. A more personal meaning is that of the one small corner within ourselves from which we write and create.

Identity: Wednesday Workshop

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Identity
Wednesday Workshop

5 July 2017

Today’s workshop settles on the question of identity, loss of identity, and the attempt to recover any form of cultural identity that one feels one has lost. These questions are particularly important in the current age when so many differences are so easily erased. Language, culture, identity, music … they are all tied closely together.

The search for identity runs parallel to the search for the poetic voice (or the writing voice) that is so unique to each good writer. In fact, one can distinguish between good writers and lesser writers merely on the basis of voice. Lesser writers rarely establish a distinct voice while good writers usually have voices that are uniquely their own.

What to do we mean by voice? When we read Shakespeare or Miguel de Cervantes we know almost immediately whose work we are reading. The same is true of the great musicians. Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, Mahler, all have sequences and styles that are individual to them, as do Scarlatti, Brassens, The Beatles, Gordon Lightfoot, Gilles Vigneault, Edith Butler … their style, their voice is established. We listen to them and we know who they are.

Cultural identity is also very important. It is tied into language, childhood beliefs, fairy tales, myths, the basic culture that we receive as children. When we all listen to the same radio stations, or download the same ITunes, or watch the same TV programs with their infinity of ad nauseam advertisements, then we are socially engineered to be the same or, if not the same, remarkably similar within a series of very limited and extremely limiting patterns. When we establish our own identities, — and this is always difficult both for people who have had their culture taken from them and for immigrants, or the children of immigrants, who want to retain their culture at the same time as they blend in and fit in socially — then at the same time we develop our own voices.

When I hear the poetry of Lorca, of Antonio Machado, of Miguel de Unamuno, of Octavio Paz, of Dylan Thomas, of Gerard Manley Hopkins, of Wilfred Owen, I hear their very distinctive voices and recognize their individual styles and the cultural / poetic identities that they have established. The goal that we, as writers, are aiming for is to establish our own style, our own voice. To do this, we must listen to ourselves and discover how we think and how we feel. Then we must listen to others of our own generation. We must make comparisons and establish what we do differently, why we are different, what forms our differences … our own individual voice may come from speech rhythms, from language usage, from the establishment of a certain form of narrative, from the use of imagery or metaphor … there are so many different ways in which we are, each of us, different … or capable of being perceived as different.

When we write often enough and frequently enough, we at last begin to recognize those words, those phrases, those rhythms, those ideas, that are ours and nobody else’s. This is when we start to discover our own voices and our own personalities. It is a goal worth striving for … step by step … poco a poco … little by little … and a step forward everyday … until we grow into the type of writer or poet, fully established (or establishing), that we were always meant to be.

It is never easy to capture oneself and place oneself on the page in readable form. It’s a bit like trying to draw Picasso’s blue vase using only one blue pencil: not easy. It’s much easier to take a selfie with a flashy cell-phone.  Cell-phone selfies are easy, but verbal selfies are what we are seeking for. They take much longer to ‘produce’ and it is only when we finally achieve them, that we realize how difficult they are to actually achieve. But remember, read and re-read my earlier postings: don’t give up; don’t get off the bus!

 

Exhausted

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Exhausted

     To all my blogging friends and partners: an apology. I did not realize how much the arts residency at Kingsbrae was taking out of me. Up at 5:30 -6:00 am. Two hours writing before breakfast at 8:00 am. More writing between 9:00 and 12:00 noon. Lunch with artists. An afternoon driving, parking, writing, sitting by the beach, making notes …

     Back to the KIRA residence for 5:30 pm. A drop of wine before supper at 6:00 pm. Discussions, delightful, de sobremesa, over the supper table. Withdrawal to the drawing room for more discussions between 7:30 and 9:00 or 10:00pm. More writing between 10:00 and midnight. An occasional fire alarm. Some broken sleep, Perchance a dream or two. Then up at 5:30 – 6:00 am to start the day again.

    I didn’t realize how exhausted I was until I finished the first draft of One Small Corner, put it up on CreateSpace, and started to relax. I have done virtually nothing for nearly a week. I have slept, eight to ten hours a night. I have taken an afternoon siesta of two hours or so. My thoughts no longer function. My words no longer rhyme. This is the first time in five days that I have managed to write a post for my blog.

     I have been thinking of you all. I have tried to get online and check in and read your blogs. I have missed you all. But there is only so much a human being can do … and yes, I have hit a wall. I have driven into it at full speed. The writing and reading and talking tanks are empty and I must, and will, refill them.

     Bear with me. I will be back. Best wishes to all. Do not forget me

Residency: Thursday Thoughts

Chaos

Residency
Thursday Thoughts
29 June 2017

Application:
I would not have applied for the residency at KIRA had I not have been encouraged to do so by my writing group friends and by a friendly voice on the Kingsbrae phone.

Acceptance:
I was surprised to receive notification of my acceptance. It arrived on 2 March 2017. On 3 March 2017, I started to peruse the Kingsbrae web page and make the first drafts of poems that I would later complete on site.

The Red Room:
I was lodged in The Red Room in the KIRA Residence and I had a small desk at a window overlooking Passamaquoddy Bay. I spent a whole month looking out of that window and writing at that desk … or was it the other way round?

Community Commitments:
These were multiple, but they were always art orientated and therefore most enjoyable. They included working with school children, attending various unveilings and openings, and being present in our studios and discussing our art with visitors. On 26 June we had an exhibition in which each one of us either showed our work or produced a live performance.

Evening Salons:
Most evenings we had a literary / artistic salon in which we discussed various aspects of our art. These lasted two to three hours and some were summarized while others were video-taped. These quick-fire exchanges provided a backbone to our daily work.

Trips:
There was time for local trips and we travelled, individually or in groups, to many places including Deer Island, Passamaquoddy, Campobello, St. Stephen, New River Beach, Holt’s Point, Greenlaw’s Mountain, Jarea, Minister’s Island, Ile Ste. Croix, and several other locations. The photographic records enabled us to build our creativity.

Artistic Development:
This was individual to each of us, but we all remarked on a widening of our perspectives, a new commitment to narrative and theme, and a broadening of our artistic horizons.

Returning Home:
On my return home, I turned to my everyday life in which art, in my case writing, was of secondary, not primary, importance. The need to cook, to shop, to do normal household duties suddenly conflicted, once again, with my need to be a writer.

24/7:
24/7 is indeed a cliché. But for 28 days it became the pattern of my writing life. It was indeed a fertile time. I wrote some 100 poems, 25% of which will be rejected, with a possible thematic structure and three revisions already completed. Sooner or later, I will produce a book about this experience..

Conclusions:
This type of time commitment turns us from budding /artists into the real thing. We must strive to re-create these last 28 days in what remains of our creative lives. There can be no lesser or secondary choice, if we are to be serious about our art.

The Journey:
If we wish to travel from Halifax to Vancouver by bus, we must make several decisions.
1. We cannot get off at Moncton.
2. We cannot get off at Montreal, nor at Toronto.
3. Winnipeg, Regina, and Calgary are beautiful; but we mustn’t get off the bus.
4. If we do, we will never get to Vancouver.

Conclusion:
Art is a life-time journey: don’t get off the bus.

 

Comparative: Wednesday Workshop

Comparative:
Wednesday Workshop
21 June, 2017 >< 28 June 2017

6:00 am
21 Wake up … start writing
28 Wake up … start packing

7:30 am
21 Stop writing … shower
28 Stop packing … shower

8:00 am
21 Breakfast
28 No Breakfast

9:00 am
21 Writing again
28 On road in car

11:00 am
21 Coffee break
28 Arrive home and make breakfast

11:30 am
21 Back to writing
28 Unpack and wash laundry

1:00 pm
21 Eat lunch downtown
28 Make lunch

2:30 pm
21 KIRA Statue unveiling
28 Supermarket for groceries

3:30 pm
21 Reception and studio visits
28 Unpack groceries and think ‘supper’

5:00 pm
21 Pre-supper conversation and drinks
28 Cook supper

6:00 pm
21 Eat supper
28 Eat supper

7:00 pm
21 Post supper art salon
28 Do post supper washing up and then watch TV

10:00 pm
21 Bed
28 Airport to meet late flight

Time

Time

Where is time going
when it overtakes me
in its speeding car
and leaves me lumbering
along life’s highway?

It’s after five to twelve
and the morning has flashed by.
The clock is about to strike,
and the afternoon draws near.
It too will vanish, a milestone,
millstone tied to day’s neck.

I remember the old days
when the big handed pointed to XI
and the small hand pointed to XII.

Now the clock is starting to strike.
I have left the last gas station way
behind me and my motor’s failing,
and my car is running out of gas.