Why the call for next Poet Laureate of Greater Sudbury is so important…and why you might want to think about trying it out for size…

I’ve thought about writing this blog post for a few weeks now. My city has just put out a call for its next Poet Laureate. I am what I like to call–quietly–a ‘past Poet Laureate,’ but I’ve also heard the more officious ‘Poet Laureate Emeritus’ used in other places around Canada. Whatever you call us, after we’ve left the office of laureate–and as we continue on with our mostly quiet work of thinking about and writing poems–doesn’t really matter to me. I’m more thinking about why it’s crucial that these roles be defended and protected in North America these days. Here’s why…

‘Poets Laureate,’ as they’re properly called in the plural form, have been around for a very long time. The tradition finds its roots in England, but poets have been important since the beginning of time. In the Irish tradition, the seanachai would travel around the country and tell stories in the ‘courts’ of different chieftains. Stories, for all world cultures, carry power and help us–as humans–to pass down our traditions, beliefs, and humanity. Anyone who’s had a parent who read to them when they were little will remember the magic of sitting quietly with someone and listening with great anticipation. Poetry is magic.

So. England. Laureates go back to the 17th century, with John Dryden being named the first one in 1668. (One of my favourites, Tennyson, was a laureate for 42 years, during the reign of Queen Victoria. I can’t quite imagine that job…for 42 years!) Poets laureate have traditionally been appointed by governments, so you can’t just name yourself one simply because you feel you might have a kick ass sonnet in a shoebox under your bed. You need to have some publication credits. You need to show that you’ve taken the work of being a poet seriously. And you need to have a vision for what you’d like to do with the position, for how you can serve as an ambassador for the literary arts, and for your community, during (and after!) your time as poet laureate. There’s a sense of purpose, of responsibility, that definitely goes with the role. Perhaps that’s why some people are fearful of applying for it. I’m not sure…but I am sure of the fact that I want to talk about why I think it’s important for a city to have a Poet Laureate, and for emerging and established writers to consider applying, even if they’re a bit nervous…

This week, the City of Victoria, out in British Columbia, put out a call for a Youth Poet Laureate. This is something I’m very much in favour of as I met some dynamic young poets when I was laureate here in Sudbury from 2016-18. When I began to travel more in my work as laureate, and in promoting my book at the time, I met laureates from across Canada, and I soon found that I had made new friends who loved poetry as much as I did. It’s a fine group of people, ones who know that they speak and breathe poetry each and every day, and ones who do sacrifice their privacy to take on the role. That may have been the thing I didn’t really expect.

While I’m quite comfortable in being in public, in reading my work to large groups of people, I was surprised that I sort of found myself being recognized while out buying tomatoes at the grocery store, or tampons at the pharmacy. Neither of these things is really fantastic when your hair is a mess and you aren’t expecting to have someone ask if you’d want to write them a poem for their sister’s birthday next month. You become a public figure and–while you might have known that was part of the role, as an ambassador of arts and culture–you also really don’t know how it feels to put out the garbage and have a stranger talk to you while you’re in your skivvies and wearing a wild purple kimono. Those moments still happen for me, even though I’ve been out of the role for almost two years now.

So. Why bother? You might ask that question. And now I’ll tell you why.

In a world that is so very dark, the various arts (and I’ll include literary, dramatic, visual, musical, and theatrical in this grouping) are slivers of light that pierce the negativity. Each Poet Laureate around Canada is asked to propose a legacy project. I had many notions of what I’d do with my honorarium. I didn’t want the money itself, but I wanted to roll it into projects that I’d do around the community. My goal, I suppose, was to bring poetry into places where people wouldn’t normally expect to find it, and maybe make them reconsider their preconceived notions of what good poetry might do in a community.

For me, one of the projects that meant the most to me was bringing poetry into Health Sciences North, to the palliative care and oncology wings of the North Tower. Both of my parents had been in palliative care prior to their deaths, and I was surprised at how cold and sterile it felt to me. I only ever wished for art, and for words. There were always issues about where you could post a poem, or stanza, without it being unhygienic or too expensive. Working with Jessica Watts at the Greater Sudbury Public Library was my godsend, mostly because she always just nodded when I floated my ideas out towards her. When I started talking about putting poems on windows, and about my notion of how poetry helps us to see (and be) in the world in a different way, she seemed interested. We asked the previous three laureates to gather stanzas that spoke to hope, and to the landscape that we all love.

It took most of my two year term, but we got the poems into the hospital in the last few months of my time in the position. It made me cry. I could only just think of my dad, and how much time he and I had spent together talking in his rather bland palliative care room before he died. I wished he’d had a poem…but he never did. Going up to that floor to install the stanzas on the windows was the hardest thing I’d ever done, as I hadn’t been up there since he died in late December 2011. I hadn’t the fondest memories of that time, so it took every ounce of bravery I had to do it. I’m glad I had Jess alongside me, and my poetry-loving friend, Martin Lees, who works at the hospital, and who was so instrumental in helping me to make my dream of palliative care poems come true.

Trying to get the right photo of Tom Leduc’s poem meant a strange bit of angling on the floor in the long-term care hallway. (His was sneakiest to photograph because it looked out onto a roof space and there was a silvered box on the roof outside.)

I also love the airport poems for the same reason. Any place where you have to wait can be a difficult place to be. Waiting of any sort is hard. It means you have to find a quiet place inside yourself, go inside and find the place where you know there isn’t much you can do but just ‘be still.’ My favourite things are the photos that people took of their little kids with the poems at the airport. One woman messaged me through my blog and said that she had memorized my stanza. She had moved away to British Columbia, but every time she came home to Sudbury, she loved to read my airport stanza about the trees and lakes. That she memorized my work…well…that makes me amazed. Still, and always, my favourite photos are of the little ones with the airport poems.

My absolute favourite is courtesy of Gen Waszczylo, who took a photo of her grandson, Izaak, back two years ago.

Then there are the really ‘far out’ things, as my mum would’ve said: the invitation to represent the city at the Governor General’s Literary Awards at Rideau Hall in Ottawa in November 2017, and then the invitation to read at Laureate City in Ottawa that same week. There were the two lovely readings at Windsor’s Poetry at the Manor, which was organized by Marty Gervais, who ended up publishing my book of poems, Some Other Sky (Black Moss Press). And then, there was a glorious trip to Yellowknife and its Northwords Literary Festival in late spring of 2018, where I met new writer friends, with whom I still stay in touch. These are the ripples of having been laureate, and they’re the things I love. That I can travel and stay with fellow poets, and sit with them for a cup of tea and then have a chat about words, is a great gift to my life. I’m so grateful for it. I can’t even begin to tell you…how much that means.

I never went to prom in high school, so this was a big night…all dressed up at the Governor General’s Literary Awards, and chatting up writers whose work I love.

Laureate City in November 2017, with my cousins, David Ennis and Lisa Ennis, at the National Arts Centre in Ottawa.

While I was still laureate, a small group of us managed to get Project Bookmark Canada to install a plaque honouring the work of local writer, and friend, Matt Heiti. Matt’s been my playwriting mentor since Fall 2015.

What I love about Project Bookmark is that it’s all about creating a tangible literary trail across Canada. It promotes local authors, and literacy, and weaving words into communities in new and unique ways. Again, I love it when words get onto walls where you might not expect to see them. The element of surprise is always magical…

And then there was The Rain Poetry Project…which I loved for its whimsy, but also for its power. Here’s one of my favourite little poems, with one of my favourite local poets, Ignatius Fay, down next to his poem at The Market downtown.

After my time as laureate ended, the ripples continued rippling. That surprised me the most. I was invited to read in Calgary, where I got to reunite with three of my favourite people, all writers I’d met at my Banff workshop.

Blurry photos in a Calgary pub with Monica Kidd, Emily Ursuliak, and Sandra McIntyre.

Seeing Great Slave Lake from the air, on the way to Yellowknife, and the way the ice breaking up reminded me of doing paper marbling at Levigator Press in Windsor last year. Working with the magic kids at Sir John Franklin Secondary School in Yellowknife. June 2018. Meeting more magic kids in Fort Smith, NWT, with Terry Fallis. June 2018.

And speaking to more young writers at the college in Fort Smith, NWT. June 2018. Meeting the Great American Pelicans at the Rapids, Fort Smith, NWT. Thanks to Patti Kay Hamilton for the photo of me and Terry. June 2018. Hiking down a hill with Terry. Worried about slipping into the water…which isn’t far out of frame. Fort Smith, NWT. June 2018.

 

New and steadfast friends in Rebecca Hendry and Terry Fallis. Yellowknife, NWT. June 2018.

Patti Kay Hamilton…and me…at 11:30 at night in Yellowknife. The light…oh, the light in the sky! PK and I met at the Banff Centre in Spring 2016, when we both took part in Larry Hill’s historical fiction workshop.

Meeting Kirby at the Detroit Book Fair in July 2018 brought me a new and amazing friend. She owns Knife Fork Book in Toronto, a poetry-only bookstore that I love and support.

Reading at Knife Fork Book, from These Wings (Pedlar Press, 2019) in March 2019.

So. I posted a bunch of really amazing photos here, and I know I’m blessed to have gone to these places, to have been invited to read in such beautiful bookstores, and worked alongside other writers from across Canada. None of it would have happened, though, if I hadn’t applied to be laureate.

That’s a big statement, I know, but the doors of possibility that open to you if you’re lucky and blessed enough to be a poet laureate are many. The community of poets is a small, woven one throughout Canada, and it’s much tighter than people would imagine. Geography and its vast distances obviously mean that we mostly stay in touch via social media and email, but literary festivals and shared retreats and readings mean that we’ll see each other more often than people would imagine.

I know that when people see the call for Sudbury’s Poet Laureate, a number of local writers who are mostly poets at heart will flinch. They will say–to me, or to the other past laureates–“Look at all that you did! I can’t possibly do that!” but I also said that before I applied. I was the most reluctant of applicants back in the Fall of 2015. I was battling the dregs of a depression and a fierce bout of anxiety at work as a teacher, but I knew that I needed to commit myself in a new way to my writing. The honour of being laureate, and the responsibility, and the gift that it has given to me since, has almost completely been rooted in the amazing people I have met. My work with young poets has been the most rewarding thing. When I think back to when I started to write in high school, there really wasn’t a person who knew what I was about, or how to encourage me. I had a Grade 8 teacher in Tony Armstrong, at Pius XII, as well as an OAC teacher in Rick Carter at Marymount College, but outside of those two, I didn’t have writers in my life to read my work and offer constructive feedback until I worked with Timothy Findley through the Humber School for Writers in my late 20s.

We have so many talented young poets and creative writers in Sudbury. They are likely the way I was back then: shy, a bit uncertain, likely very much cerebral and in their heads, artistic, and maybe just feeling out of sorts within their schools. I’m hoping that their teachers are encouraging them to continue writing creatively. The Ontario curriculum doesn’t allow for much creativity, sadly, as it’s packed to the gills with dense information, and leaves little time for creative expression. I know there are great English teachers in our public and Catholic school systems. I hope some of those writers of theirs will find a mentor who writes, and who will encourage them to continue onward. I wish I’d known a ‘real writer’ when I was their age…it would have helped me a great deal.

Meeting with the lunchtime Poetry Club at Lo-Ellen Secondary School in January 2019, talking about ekphrastic poetry with Poetry in Voice Canada.

Hanging out with the Writers’ Craft students at St. Benedict’s in March 2019, talking about eco-poetry and the SciArt Poetry Contest.

A poet laureate can do so much, if they let themselves be open to the possibilities of partnership and creative collaboration. While the initial response to the call for applicants to the role might be one of dread and a bit of nervousness, I’d challenge local poets to seriously think about what they might offer the role, and the City and its citizens. You can make of it what you want, and you aren’t limited by what previous laureates have done or not done. The canvas is yours alone to paint.

I believe that poetry is personal and political. I also believe that we are here for a purpose, and only for a very short time. I’ve said it before here, in many blog entries, but I’m constantly mindful of the fact that the first part of my life wasn’t always light.  A few close friends know that it was much darker than I’d imagined. The last three years of my life have been about getting healthier, about focusing on my written work, and about trying to find a way to channel creativity in a positive way into my community. We live in a beautiful place, I think, and it can only become more vibrant and beautiful if we invest in its future. It isn’t really for us, and it really shouldn’t be, if you ask me. It’s about what we want to sculpt it into for those generations who will come after us. The arts and culture sector needs to be fed, made healthy, encouraged, and the role of Poet Laureate is one vital piece that can help do that. Yes, it’s a volunteer commitment, and yes, it is a lot of work, but I can also say–without any reservations–that it is the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me. Sometimes, you know, you take a calculated risk…you follow your heart, even if your head is a bit wary. (It might be a bit like falling into love…or moving towns…or shifting careers…or taking up a new hobby…and taking that sort of hopeful risk, if you’re looking for an analogy…)

If you’d like to think about applying, please see the call below and check to see if your literary c.v. might match up with the requirements for the position.

The short description is here, on the City’s website:

“Applicants for the position of Poet Laureate must be a published poet, recognized for their achievements, and active in the cultural and literary community. Additional requirements include demonstrated leadership skills, public speaking ability and flexibility to carry out all duties required of the position in a manner that reflects English, French or Indigenous heritage.”

The URL with the link to the application form can be found here:

http://www.sudburylibraries.ca/en/booksmuchmore/poet-laureate-call-out.asp

If you have any questions, just reach out. There are at least five laureates who love poetry enough to sit and chat with you. Trust me on this!

peace,

k.

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Two Brilliant New Exhibits at the Art Gallery of Sudbury–Dennis Geden & Joshua Mangeshig Pawis-Steckley’s Oshkimaadiziig: The New People

There are two exhibitions on at the Art Gallery of Sudbury right now. One features the work of Dennis Geden, a veteran North Bay visual artist. There are ten oil paintings, completed within the last ten years. They are portraits that focus on what the gallery calls ‘the stories of arcane figures, historical and contemporary.’ What I like, mostly, is that I’ve always been drawn to the faces and eyes of Geden’s people. They have, when I first volunteered and worked at the gallery back in the late 1990s, sort of entranced me. They look out at you (or not, depending on the painting) with their sculpted faces and their haunting eyes. I also really liked that there were cell phones in the paintings. It seemed, to me, quite timely, given the state of our western society. What I love about Geden’s work, though, is that, when you look at his paintings, you find yourself drawn in close, as if you might step right inside the canvas and enter into a different world.

Rising the Black Dogs, 2010.

Sea Onion with Botanist, 2019.

The second exhibit, though, is my favourite right now. It’s Joshua Mangeshig Pawis-Steckley’s Oshkimaadiziig: The New People, and it’s in Gallery 2, upstairs. I’m a fan of the Woodland School of artists. Some of my favourites are Daphne Odjig, Alex Janvier, and Norval Morrisseau. I’ve always been entranced by the work of Leland Bell and James Simon. (I once stood in Simon’s art studio on Wikwemikong, waiting while he ran into town for something. His wife let me in there, so no one needs to think I broke in illegally or anything. He and I never actually met, though, because I felt too weird, waiting in an artist’s studio for quite a while and feeling as if I were intruding on his personal and very private creative space, so I left after a bit.)

 

Many people cite Norval Morrisseau as the founder of the Woodland School of Art. You can see his work at the McMichael Gallery in Kleinburg, Ontario. I was there last week, so I had the pleasure of going up to that loft gallery and being alone with his wonderful spirit fish. Artists who fall into the category of the Woodland School often tend to paint with bright colours, bold lines, and a sort of ‘x-ray style’ of vision that looks inside the people, plants, animals, and landscapes that are the focus of the work. Most often, the style of Woodlands Art is such that Anishinaabeg stories are translated to canvas. These paintings are beautiful to see in person, especially if you can go on your own, or maybe just go with one friend who is also fairly quiet. You need to sit down right in front of a piece and let it sink into your heart and mind. Chatter would disrupt the effect.

Oshkimaadiziig: The New People/Le nouveau peuple is a stunning exhibit. It has a sacred essence. Based on the teachings of the The Seven Fires Prophecies, Joshua Mangeshig Pawis-Steckley’s paintings embody the various prophecies, leaving the viewer to consider the scope of history as well as the forecast of where the prophecies lead.

In a release, Pawis-Steckley wrote of his work: “(The prophecies) speak of the poisoning of the Indigenous spirit and our lands, and our resiliency to survive and overcome it. They speak of restoring relations between Indigenous settler society. They also educate Anishinaabeg youth on the history of the great Anishinaabeg migration from the mouth of the Saint Lawrence River over to the land surrounding the Great Lakes.” Pawis-Steckley is from the community of Wasauksing First Nation, but now lives in British Columbia. He’s a graduate of the graphic design program at Nova Scotia Community College in Halifax and has been exhibiting his work across Canada since 2015.

The Great Migration, The Third Fire.

The prophecy of The Third Fire speaks of how a ‘light skinned race’ arrives on Turtle Island. This is the time of colonization. “Beware if the light skinned race comes wearing the face of death. You must be careful because the face of brotherhood and the face of death look very much alike. . .If they are indeed your brothers, let them prove it. Do not accept them in total trust. You shall know that the face they wear is one of death if the rivers run with poison and fish become unfit to eat.”

Deceit, The Fifth Fire.

As a settler, I can only say that viewing Pawis-Steckley’s work is a powerfully emotional experience if you open yourself up to it. You should, I think. Better to be open than closed off your whole life, and experiencing art that makes you think and question what you’ve been taught in the traditional school system is the best way for you to grow. Part of the legacy of the Truth and Reconciliation work is that settlers learn the truth about Canada’s history, that we make ourselves aware of what this country’s true history is, even if it makes us uncomfortable at times. There are references in the artwork to colonization, to illness and pollution, to friendship and to warfare, to the brutality and horror of the residential schools, and to the loss of Indigenous women who are missing and murdered.

The New People, The Seventh Fire.

 

The resurgence comes in the prophecy of  The Seventh Fire, when the New People emerge.  In The Eighth Fire, there is some hope offered. If the light skinned race chooses the right road–between a choice of two roads–then the Seventh Fire will light the Eighth Fire, which is one of peace, love, brotherhood, and sisterhood. “If the light skinned race makes the wrong choice of the roads, then the destruction which they brought with them in coming to this country will come back at them and cause much suffering and death to all the Earth’s people.”  These are the words approved by Pawis-Steckley in the exhibition booklet. They aren’t mine, and nor should they be.

What I was left with, after viewing the Pawis-Steckley exhibit, was a sense of awe and gratitude, actually. I’m so glad that the Art Gallery of Sudbury has this exhibit up in Gallery 2. The show runs until November 10th, so people in Sudbury and the Northeast part of the province should really try and see it. It’s thought provoking and stunning.

If you know you don’t know enough about Canada’s history, I’d suggest you go to see this exhibit. Take your children, and take your parents and grandparents. Then, on Thursday night, see if there are any tickets left to hear Justice Murray Sinclair at the Fraser Auditorium at Laurentian University. The only way we can begin to try to understand how we can all live together respectfully is to be open to listening to the teachers who present themselves to us at the right time. In this case, in this particular week, I am deeply thankful to Joshua Mangeshig Pawis-Steckley and Justice Sinclair for being my teachers…and for letting me listen.

As always, as a member of the Art Gallery, I want to suggest that, if you aren’t a member yet, you should think seriously about becoming one. You get little perks at the Gallery and around town, and they’re all outlined on the website, but really it’s important that we support these arts and cultural institutions in our town. For me, art is part of life on a daily basis. A day without a piece of visual art would be a day without breath, almost. (Melodramatic, I’m sure some would think, but for me, it’s absolutely true.) You can check out the Art Gallery website at http://www.artgalleryofsudbury.myshopify.com, but you can also follow their good work on Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook, too.

peace,

k.

 

 

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