Through mist and shadowed hope we toil
each foot
forward
a step toward success
eyes certain
chins firm
shoulders straight
no thoughts given to the negative space
to the freefall of uncertainty
to the sure death of anticipation
just inches from our trail.
“Ji six-mukws n̍iin,” rumbles Sgan̍ist
~ listen carefully ~
Over our heads a boulder whistles
followed by the clatter of lesser stones.
The mountain speaks.
My clearest memory of school when I was a child is the yearly project on culture. I say, yearly, because it seems like every teacher in the world thinks that they have developed the “BEST IDEA” to get kids to not only explore their personal histories, but to appreciate the cultures that they come from. I wouldn’t say that I was a cynical recipient of the ever-present “culture” project, but I wouldn’t say that I was enthusiastic either. In fact, my general thought was that my culture was pretty boring, and I’d really rather study someone else’s culture. Any culture.
Paper That Makes You Want To Do Something
Dutiful, obedient, compliant – I would trudge to the front of the room to collect the large sheet of white paper that my teacher wanted me to fill with the patterns of my cultural background. Then, there I would sit, wondering just what was my culture? As I had already done this project the year before, and the year before that, and the year before that I already knew what my mother would tell me when I asked her for help. “You are Canadian,” she would say, “just show what it means to be Canadian”. And I would sigh and stare at that big piece of white paper. Are we Scottish? Irish? English? Continue reading
Adiantum Pedatum
We’ve just started working on poetry in my writing class, and (meanie that I am) I decided that we would start with an ode rather than with free verse. Although I love the versatility of a free verse poem, I thought it would make an interesting challenge for my students to start with more, rather than less, structure. Also, considering the sometimes moody nature of teenagers, I wanted my students to really focus on a positive subject. Finally, I figured that I would cure myself of my antipathy for rhyme.
What I remembered while writing my own ode, is that rhyme is not easy and that conforming to an iambic pentameter rhythm sets certain constraints on how you express an idea. In short, writing an ode is no easy task. It is an intellectual puzzle. It requires patience, thoughtfulness, and skill. The emotion is still there, but, is dressed in more sophisticated garb. Also, I have learned to appreciate the subtlety of rhyme.
The Glacial Ishkinish
I
Adamantine, turbulent Ishkinish
Carving granite troughs through boreal groves
Of shadowed fir, mossy pine. Relinquish
Your leaping, swirling, foaming fandango,
And pool aloof amidst the opulent
Black-stockinged adiantum pedatum.
There, sing of pragmatic and poignant
Travels … serpentine, green and darksome.
Teal coated transient of veiled origin
Stay. Drink. Partake. Until elsewhere bidden.
II
Unspoiled, scarlet-tongued, dewy maids of spring
Growing to frilled, black-gartered madams
Of summer. Linger long in cascading
Syllables of effervescent freedom
Then furl your pinnate fans…
Impudent coquettes. Wayward tomboys. Dip
Your emerald skirts into depths unfathomed
And from glacial waters let earth acquit –
Oh, you red-shoed girls with faces aglow
Teasing cool Ishkinish to sweet furlough.
III
Curling round in a lazy promenade
Through sun-sweet shadow and dawn’s breaking mist
The colonial beauties his measure sought ~
All ~ to charm inscrutable Ishkinish.
Fruitful in part. The mighty river pooled
In shallow eddies on their fields of green.
Marshy maidens let down their hair – tenfold –
Then, the brackish beck, his solitary stream
Continued. . . Leaping, lunging, laughing
Into the adamantine spray…
...bones... 