hearts ears eyes
The First Time | As a queer person of a similar age, I'm still startled by "the love that dare not speak its name." The significance of doing so. Still.
I would follow you anywhere
leave the pear halved
meet you at O’Hare or Heathrow or at Marrakesh Menara
get lost once again
or forever
in your words
just your words
with or without any meaning
the shape of them
in perfect translation
I don’t even know
what you look like1
Two poets residing on opposite coasts set to read together for the first time, a shared admiration, anticipation. One last minute is injured, unable to attend. Another steps in to fill the spot. Yes, the night will go on, albeit not as originally hoped.
Then, poets arrive. Maureen Scott Harris. John Reibetanz. Sonja Greckol. Our feature, Arleen Paré, and graciously filling in for Annick MacAskill, Maureen Hynes. Writers, readers, young ones attend. Come to hear poetry, a bit off the beaten path, in that rarity of Toronto rarities, a historic back lane shed space with barn doors open wide, resonant aged wood, weeds/herbs from local walks hang/dry off hooks, centered turkish-style rug lit by chandelier. Simple. Elegant. An oasis created by Katya Nosko at The Great Escape Book Store which Knife Fork Book has been privileged to house many of its events this past year.2
O, darlin's, we did indeed receive poetry, good poetry, Maureen reading from her recent Sotto Voce and startling new work from her upcoming collection (with McGillQueens UP), followed by Arleen who I am meeting/hearing for the very first time, reading in support of her latest, Time Out of Time, an unabashed love letter to poet/artist Etel Adnan.
As Arleen writes in her note that fronts the collection, it was "poet/friend Maureen Hynes suggested I read Time by Etel Adnan. It was love at first page."
And they read to us of lesbian love, lives, the love of words, poets they loved, both of their wives were present and read to, love recognized, publicly adored. As a queer person of a similar age, I'm still startled by "the love that dare not speak its name." The significance of doing so. Still.
To witness the joy, the love of this friendship. Arleen & Maureen.
The love in the room. The space itself vibratory with the night voices, faces aglow.
And Annick, you, your words were there. Arleen read the opening poem from your stunning Gaspereau Press collection, Shadow Blight,
I finally found tomatoes / that really taste like themselves, and not / the coral ghosts sold through winter
Katya snuck off to the LCBO, gifted some prosecco to close the night, old friends, poets, writing group members, fellow travelers who read/write gather laugh love hurt mend spur each other on.
Was it the evening that was pictured/planned? No darlin's, it was that rare happenstance, one you sometimes think is gone, a night at a place that reaches, touches, unexpectedly makes you happy to be alive.
Notes:
The opening poem is Arleen Paré, “3.” from Time Out of Time (Caitlin Press)
Sadly, now in jeopardy like most such places in Toronto. Zoning laws. New construction. “Progress” [& other city killers].
Kirby. The poet (not the cream puff). poetryisqueer.com Publisher. knife | fork | book
Photo credits: Kirby.
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I just love this. I have Shadow Blight on order and can’t wait to hold it in my hands.
Adore this.