Patrick Kindig, Agape

 

MENELAUS

When Telemachus and Pisistratus arrive, Menelaus is overjoyed. They drink & drink & he tells war stories, talks about Odysseus. He leans against Telemachus’ shoulder & tells him he looks like his father. When Menelaus begins to compliment Telemachus’ arms, his wife looks away. By midnight Menelaus is very drunk & Telemachus & Pisistratus are tired so they excuse themselves & find their way to the guest room. Undressed, they fall asleep.

Pisistratus does not wake until morning. Telemachus wakes only once in the dark, a little drunk, something warm pressed against his thigh.

When the run rises Menelaus is still asleep & his wife serves them breakfast & does not look at them. Pisistratus recounts a dream in which his horse was stolen. Telemachus does not say anything. They pack their bags & leave without seeing Menelaus & soon they are home again. When Telemachus, days later, unpacks his bag, something unfamiliar falls out. It is a coin purse, red & full of money. Try as he might, he cannot close its mouth.

There is much to admire in the smart, sharp and tender poems of Maryland poet Patrick Kindig’s latest full-length collection, Agape (Broomall PA: Saturnalia Books, 2026), winner of the Saturnalia Books Alma Award. This is a collection that follows Kindig’s Dry Spell (Porkbelly Press, 2016), all the catholic gods (Seven Kitchens Press, 2019) and fascinations (Finishing Line Press, 2025), as well as the monograph Fascination: Trance, Enchantment, and American Modernity (LSU Press, 2022). There feels an element of New York School Frank O’Hara’s first-person declarations, tender gestures, cultural references and sharp observations through Kindig’s lyrics, but with an element of sly humour, one closer to the wry lyrics of Toronto poet Marcus McCann, especially through their shared lyric, one more overtly physical, erotic, queer and classical. As the poem “TENDERNESS FOR TRISTAN” begins: “there is a boy & a girl & another / boy. the two boys like to wrestle / & drink vodka after dark. they talk / about visiting amsterdam next summer / for the usual reasons. they have rules / for what will happen if they / are in a threesome. the girl // is sometimes ther but she is always / in the background. when the boys / wrestle, she watches.” Composing precise lines rippled with a musical flow and ease, Kindig’s humour is quiet, even unobtrusive, until something finally breaks through the surface, offering poems that return, once more, to the subject of the attraction between two men. Listen, for example, to the opening to the poem “ROBERT FROST SAYS NOTHING GOLD / CAN STAY,” as Kindig offers an alternate consideration upon the familiar, writing: “but Robert Frost clearly never tried / to clean dog piss out of carpet. // Which is to say: dog piss is / forever. It settles in, makes a home // for itself of whatever soft thing / it touches.”

Through an array of mythical and literary figures, Kindig writes origins and old gods; Biblical and classical tales told and retold, shaped from alternate perspectives. Kindig writes encounters with and through Adam, Daniel, Cain and Abel, Shakespeare’s Romeo, Dido and Aeneas, Tristan and Menelaus, offering alternate versions of familiar tales, and seeing what else might have occurred beneath the skin of what has long been told. “& he loved adam in ways to which adam / was unaccustomed,” begins the poem “& IN THE GARDEN, TOO, THERE WAS A / SECOND MAN, & HE WAS LONELY,” “raising, & re-raising the matter // of his groin, what grew there, drawing attention / to his nakedness & the way this nakedness // pleased him, & whenever eve found them together / he would tell her they were wrestling, & indeed // they were always wrestling, [.]”

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Kelly Kaur

Kelly Kaur grew up in Singapore. She works and plays in Calgary. She is a writer, author, speaker and an educator. She was awarded the Top 25 Canadian Immigrant Award, the Calgary South Asian Inspiration’s Outstanding Arts and Culture award, nominated for a Pushcart Prize, and won Honourable Mention in the International Human Rights Art Movement in New York. Kaur’s poem, “A Singaporean’s Love Affair,” landed on the moon in 2024 — the first historic library and an Artemis Accords Heritage Site. Her novel, Letters to Singapore, will go up in 2026. Kaur has a passion for human rights and is a creative writing instructor and Special Projects Editor for the International Human Rights Art Movement, New York. She has a children’s book, Howdy, I’m Singh Hari that was introduced to and celebrated at the Alberta Legislature in Edmonton for honouring Punjabi Sikh culture and was just shortlisted for the 2026 Alberta Book Publishing Awards. Her creative works have been danced to on stage, displayed on beer cans, at museums and art galleries, placed outdoors at Leighton Art Centre, and is on a permanent display at the Little Museum of Poetry in Italy. 

1 - How did your first book change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?

My first book was a novel, Letters to Singapore. It was a dream to see it published by Stonehouse Publishing. It changed my life by giving me the inspiration to write more, be braver, and take more chances. I also met the 3 other incredible authors who were also published by Stonehouse, and we became friends. We launched our books in Calgary, Edmonton, Regina and Vancouver, and the experience was incredible. My second book was a children's book about the first Sikh immigrant in Alberta - Howdy, I'm Singh Hari. This book was well-received and one I am proud of as well. It has also been shortlisted for the Alberta Publishing Book Award for the Children and Young Adults Book of the Year.  I love the feedback from everyone who has read this book, especially the children I have read the book to at schools and presented it online for the Calgary Public Library, and anyone can still access it for free. My third book is My Love is a Durian - this poetry collection is coming out on October 15, 2026, is yet another incredible vision come true. I did not think I had a collection of poems at all until, one day, I counted how many poems I had that had been published in anthologies all over the world. These poems are special to me - from my heart and soul.

2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?

I always wanted to write poems. I thought it was easy. I struggled, continued, gave up, read more, wrote more, edited, and, thankfully, I kept at it. I love the beauty of poetry. I want to keep evolving, experimenting and writing more. Since I write in many genres, I love dabbling and moving from one genre to the other.

3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project? Does your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts appear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious notes?

I wish that I had a million dollars and not have to work full-time. Therefore, I go with the flow and steal whatever time I have. The first novel took me 100 days because I was selected and was in a 3-month writing mentorship for BIPOC writers. I really wanted to write that bucket list novel. I also had an incredible mentor, Aritha van Herk. The second one, Howdy, I'm Singh Hari, was faster to write but more laborious to start as I had to interview and research more before I could even begin. For the poems, I love to procrastinate from marking university essays, so I would meander off from grading essays and would write a poem, instead. Often, I begin with an idea – for example, my Papa. Then, I continue with throwing out some words/images/descriptions and recalling those special memories. Voila - I see the makings of a rough draft poem. Then, I come back to it every day to edit until it takes that shape that I like - it can take 2-5 days per poem. It is much more fun than marking!

4 - Where does a poem or work of prose usually begin for you? Are you an author of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a "book" from the very beginning?

I am a thinker, dreamer and crafter “in my mind and imagination” type writer. I have so many ideas for a novel, and I am open to any opportunity that comes up. I have so many ideas brimming and overflowing in my brain. When I see a theme or a call, I am inspired to submit a piece. This year, I had 4 pieces accepted in 4 different anthologies - short stories, a poem and creative non-fiction.

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?

Luckily, my toastmasters' experience has given me the practice, training and confidence to present with joy. I made it to the top 100 toastmasters around the world, represented Alberta and Saskatchewan at the 2017 Toastmasters World Championship of Public Speaking in Vancouver. Then, in 2025, I was selected to give 2 different TEDx talks at Western University and McMaster University, both talks 3 weeks apart. All these experiences have made me enjoy doing my book readings, though I still get butterflies in my tummy.

6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the current questions are?

For me, personally, I explore my own questions and concerns of being an immigrant, a woman and a writer of colour. In my writing, these concerns, fear and challenges are examined and prodded by the characters as well. I hope that readers can share these observations, empathize, sympathize and think about these invisible issues. Sadly, the current issues of immigration and colour persist today.

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Do they even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?

A writer should write. They should share their passion for storytelling. They should weave stories that capture their own imagination and those of their readers. Some want to entertain. Some want to make a point. Some want to educate. Some want to experiment. Some do all. A writer should do whatever they want to do.

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?

I have been very lucky in that I had 2 amazing editors. Lisa Murphy Lamb from then Stonehouse Publishing was my editor for Letters to Singapore. She was incredible. I looked at her notes and suggestions and ended up adding 100 pages to my novel. I appreciated her insights. For My Love is a Durian, I watched with wonder and amazement as the brilliant Aritha van Herk, University of Calgary Press, shuffled pages and pages of my poems on the table and came up with the thoughtful plan and planning of the themes, besides her astute edits. I learnt so much from my editors and was grateful for the end result. Essential!!!

9- What fragrance reminds you of home?

I grew up in Singapore. I go home very year to visit family and friends. It is a beautiful garden city. Here are two flowers I remember. I grew up surrounded by bougainvillaea and the intoxicating scent of the flowers of the frangipanni tree – the Singapore graveyard flower associated with the Malay ghost lady called a Pontianak.  Of course, any Singaporean will talk nonstop about the smell of Singapore food. Go to any hawker centre and be mesmerized and enticed. I mention food in many of my poems. Yes, the durian is that one scent that anyone who knows this fruit loves or hates. Indeed, My Love is a Durian.

10 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?

I would love to write a play! I can imagine my novel, Letters to Singapore, as a play on stage.

11 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?

I still dream about being a lawyer. When I was a young girl growing up in Singapore, I gave up on focussing on school because I grew up in a strict family where I was expected to have an arranged marriage like my grandmother at 15, my mother at 16, and my sister at 21. Oh, my grades were awful because I was too pessimistic and did not study enough to get those A grades. It was a miracle that I passed my A level exams, ended up at the Institute of Education, and became a teacher. And yes, I did run away from an arranged marriage.

12 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?

You don’t need that house in Canmore facing the Rockies to inspire you to write. Just write, ok! Advice given to me by me.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

Dani Spinosa, Whispering Gallery: Poems

 

There is one student who is attentive and thoughtful in my college Classical Mythology class. She wants to make video games and has played Hades maybe fifty too many runs and she draws me an illustration of a non-binary Herakles wearing a raver outfit with a furry lion hat. She stays after class to talk to me about her final paper. The windows of this room do not open. I wonder if I’ve ever been in a classroom with windows that open. She has questions about the impending strike. The room contracts. I feel the questions’ labour. The clock on the wall moves itself forward again and again. She wants to know which source is definitive. I can’t stop her from taking notes.

The latest from Toronto-area poet, editor, publisher and critic Dani Spinosa is the trade poetry title Whispering Gallery: Poems (Prince Edward County ON: Assembly Press, 2026), following her full-length debut, OO: Typewriter Poems (Picton ON: Invisible Publishing, 2020) [see my review of such here], and the monograph Anarchists in the Academy: Machines and Free Readers in Experimental Poetry (Edmonton AB: University of Alberta Press, 2018). Furthering her exploration through the typewriter-constructed concrete poem, Spinosa’s Whispering Gallery is structured as a collection of duos—thirty-six two-colour typewriter poems titled via heroines from Greek mythology in alphabetical order, each of which follow first-person prose blocks—each pair held as point, and counterpoint. Alkmene, Alkestis, Andromeda, Antigone, Aphrodite, Ariadne, Artemis, and so on. Through the two narrative threads and multitude of voices, there’s an element of performance to this book-length suite, one that might sit equally at home on a theatrical stage, if one might imagine concrete poems, say, performed on stage (and honestly, why not?). Two actors on stage, each performing one of the two of this collection’s threads. The narrative quilt of her text blocks provide a structural through-line, writing on the many ways and times that women have been abused, reduced and restricted by the machinations, whether passively or overtly, by men.

Yes I am still—I am always—trying to find space for poems. I am looking for writing hours though my friends remind me that the day does not come with writing hours and you have to put them there.

Through both sides of the conversation, Spinosa writes trauma and women. “But I know traumas,” she writes, early on in the collection, “the traumas of women. My women. Other women. The real heartbreak stories. A woman answers the door with a toddler on her hip, bobs her up and down slightly as the cop details her husband’s DUI. A woman must birth her eight-and-a-half-month baby that, she knows, has died in utero while her family goes to their house to dismantle the already assembled crib. Burnt-down house. Stolen car. Missing cat. Kidney stone. One of those real asshole cancers that just doesn’t let go. This is a stupid game. There are only losers here.” From structural point to counterpoint, across these two threads, Spinosa offers a poetry collection of visuals and concrete poems that forms itself into a book-length essay, one that speaks to and through female agency and gendered violence, whether physical, emotional or cultural; a book that writes herself and students through heroines and old gods, a collection that directs itself, in whole, towards the young lady that will make the author an auntie, directing all this talk of agency and possibility into all the hopes anyone could have. This is Auntie Dani writing the world as it is and has been, and as it could be, all for the sake of this new life, an opening salvo of a mentorship, offered open-hearted, without cover or expectation or bullshit. Or, as she writes near the end:

I am here and you are there. Silly thing, that distance. I’ve been saying small, quiet things all morning while the dust and cat hair twirl in great winter angles of light. I hear the little whispers come and go as if it wasn’t me speaking them. I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’ll keep saying this shit anyway.