Margaret Christakos
Total Page:16
File Type:pdf, Size:1020Kb
JIJN O 8 2{]05 You, whoever you are! ... All you contmen al of ia, Africa, Europe, Australia, indifferent of place! All you on the num rtess islands of the archipelagoes of the sea! (Walt Whitman) Are You Toll Taker Or Toll Payer TINERANT NOMADIC DIASPORIC Rootless Displaced Or Global Citizen? The Windsor R -...,...~r·)..tns , Uterature and the Arts, is ace 5 'Diaspora' issue AND a related rformance series. Work in ine-based projects, video, sound, Installation, performance, pai ng, drawing, photography, poetry, snort fiction and creative non-f welcome. Deadline for vlsu ual work Is Ma Vol. 37, No. 2 (Fall 2004) Managing Editor: Marty Gervais Fiction Editor: Alistair MacLeod Poetry Editor: Susan Holbrook Visual Arts Editor: Alex McKay Editorial Assistants: Jenny Sampirisi, Lindsay McNiff, Delailah Khan,Janine Ahpin Designer: Karen Veryle Monck Layout: Jenny Sampirisi, Lindsay McNiff Cover images: Chris McNamara Published by the Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences of the University of Windsor, Canada ONTARIO ARTS COUNCIL CONSEIL DES ARTS OE l'ONTARIO The Windsor Review gratefully acknowledges the support of the Ontario Arts Council. CONTENTS 1 Lafibit 3 DQ Ryan Cox 5 Flannel Nightmares Angie Abdou 19 Object of the Report 24 Willow Margaret Christakos 31 Margaret Christakos 32 Poetics of Extensions and Prosthetics Susan Holbrook 40 Stephen Cain's geography 41 Clark Coolidge's diction 42 Adam Dickenson's envy 43 maria erskine's grace 44 Gil McElroy's astronomy 45 Don McKay's birding 46 John Newlove's silence 47 Karen Solie's guitar (12 string 48 William Carlos Williams' pad rob mclennan 49 The Watchmaker Elizabeth Blanchard 54 Group Tour Don McLellan 60 "Pont Neuf: Ravel's Birthday'' Excerpt from Aquamarine Karl Jirgens 63 Skaters or Sinners Gail Ghai 65 Bab~Baby Sandra Lloyd 69 Lynch, McNamara, Wilson, Wright Alex McKay, Visual Arts Editor 70 Magic Hour Christopher McNamara CONTENTS 71 It fades in the light Grahame Lynch 82 Ice Lake Innocence Dermot Wilson 85 Prairie Skies Andrew Wright 93 Tea Time Matthew Fries 103 No Complaints 107 Coming Up Short 109 Trespass Robert Hilles 112 Robert Hilles 113 No Ideas Without Emotions: An Interview with Robert Hilles Janine Ahpin 118 Infidelity Patrick Lane 119 August 120 Plain Truck Sean Johnston 121 In A Week Jenny Sampirisi 125 This Common Object Micheline May/or 126 The Most Lamentable Roman Tragedy ofTitus Andronicus 135 Train Conversation 136 Helpless George Elliott Clarke 137 Northwest Passage Meredith Quartermain 145 Contributor Notes Lalfibit I by Ryan Cox for baypay ahhh (this is where LE should be. I enjoy LE. The French don't use it anymore, neither do we. ash. ashes to ashes, dust to dust) bay say, (You look pretty good to day uh eff (eff is for fraggle) jhay osh (kosh b' gosh, omigosh!) eeeeee J111 kaw (crows are French, les corneilles. they're only semi-literate, they only know kaw) el (el is the in Spanish, in French it's a letter. El el) ehm (Auntie or Erica?) en oh! (I didn't see you there) pay cue air (breath is important in language. go on, ask the French) essssss tay ( there is an absence of a P. blood indicates the presences of a thorn) ooo (that looked like hurt) vay doobluhvay (it sounds just as silly in French. maybe sillier. the language of love is built of blocks of silliness) eeks egrect (when it reaches the proper age, the young egrect will spread its wings and leave the nest) zed (the bane of Canadian Sesame Street. blame the French when Kermit looks confused) 2 DQ I by Ryan Cox 5. Do you have lemon flavoured ice cream? no do you have chocolate? no I'll have a scoop of butter pecan and one of maple walnut we don't have those can I get mine in a waffle cone? no, I'm sorry I'll get a strawberry blizzard, but make it with yoghurt we don't have yoghurt I'd like my cone dipped in cherry we don't have cherry dip but I get it dipped in cherry at the one back home all the time it's only available in the states I'd like a hot dog Foot long or regular? that's made with extra oreo right? no, I'm sorry it isn't well, that's how they made it last time then they made it wrong What do you have? all of our soft serve is vanilla and soft is this even a poem? probably not 3 6. Do you have Concrete flavoured poetry? no do you have Harlem Renaissance? no I'll have a scoop of Beat and one of French Symbolism we don't have those can I get mine in a folio? no, I'm sorry I'll get a Pastoral Ode, but make it with yoghurt we don't have yoghurt I'd like my poem dipped in Whitman we don't have Whitman dip but I get it dipped in Whitman at the one back home all the time it's only available in the states I'd like something iambic Foot long or regular? That's made with extra metaphor right? no, I'm sorry it isn't well, that's how they made it last time then they made it wrong What do you have? all of our poetry is vanilla and soft does this have anything to do with ice cream? probably not 4 Flannel Nightmares I by Angie Abdou Joyce wakes gradually in the shadowy hours of early morning, pulled out of the deep comfort of sleep against her will, stricken with the noise of a crying crowd. In the mix of cries, one voice is distinctly like a woman's, a hoarse desperate: "Help! Help! Help!" Joyce pulls the pastel-covered down duvet over her head, fear gripping her stom ach, and pretends not to hear. She knows she should help the woman. But she can't. Wherever that woman is, is somewhere that Joyce does not want to go. After Joyce hears the woman, but pretends not to hear, she can't fall back asleep. She calls her favourite dream characters to come to her. Sometimes she can do that, just by thinking of people she likes doing things she wants them to do, she can invent a dream and easily slide into it. But today she uses all her sleep tricks. Sleep won't come. Murray's breathing is even and heavy next to her. Joyce envies his deep sleep, his obliviousness to the crying crowd, to the woman who needs help. His body is warm and she resists the urge to snuggle against it. Perhaps if she could let herself be drawn to it, she wouldn't feel so sad. Everything would be OK. But Joyce kicks off that temptation along with the duvet as she slips out of bed and heads downstairs to make coffee and read the paper. At the patio door, she sees Ben, their black tomcat, begging to be let in. That's probably the "Help! Help! Help!" that made its way into her dreams. Just the cat. What a way to start the day! An ominous morning to follow an ominous night. Joyce opens the patio door for Ben. Poor kitty, out all night. She goes to the fridge, pouring a saucer of milk as a peace offering. Ben is easily won over and rubs his dewy fur against Joyce's calves, still bare since she has only pulled slippers on under her knee-length nightshirt. Having made amends to Ben, Joyce turns on the pot of coffee, gets the paper from the front door and selects a radio station, some easy-lis tening on low so as not to wake Murray. There. Joyce feels herself coming out of her sleepy gloom and savours the silence of the morning, flipping through the paper to the Arts Section. Really, the book and movie reviews are all that interest her. She knows the other stuff, the "real" news, should concern her, especially since she has two grown children attempting to fend in today's world, but ... well ... yawn. She'd rather read what the National Post's critics think of Alice Munro's latest short story collection. Propping her elbows on the granite countertop, she perches on a stool, pulling her 5 legs under her shirt and sitting on her feet. Her tiny frame allows her to do this with out losing balance and toppling the stool over. Even though Joyce is into her forties - her fifth decade, she likes to say with a laugh and a cheerful recitation of I grow old .. .I grow old .. .I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled - this childish pose is perfectly comfortable. Murray claims there's something youthful about Joyce's whole being, not just her girlish figure or the thick black hair falling heavily over her shoulders, but something in her energy, her gestures: the way she absent-mindedly twirls a strand of hair around her nose as she reads, the way she occasionally and unselfconsciously belts out a verse in time with the radio - DelTA Da-awn what'ssss that FLOW-er you got on? Could it be a faded rose from days goooonnnne byyyy ... Her kids liked this when they were little but sometimes complained of it when they got to be young teens. "Why can't you be more like other moms?" Jen would whine as Joyce sat down with the girls to play with make-up and talk about boys. Or Mike would insist "Moms do not play road hockey!" "I yam what I yam," Joyce would announce in an exaggerated Popeye imitation, getting a smile every time.