It
seems strange to have actually attended three small press fairs this season
[see my most recent post on the Meet the Presses Indie Literary Market here; my posts on the Toronto International Festival of Authors’ Small Press Market here],
with the third of the trio being the 25th anniversary of the ottawa small press book fair! I really am quite baffled at how we managed to make it
to a whole quarter-century (I mean, really). And you saw my recent post on who came to our first fair way back in October, 1994, yes?
Ottawa ON: From Ottawa’s Coven Editions comes Grimoire (October 2019),
a collection edited by Coven co-publishers Mia Morgan and Stephanie Meloche [see their '12 or 20 (small press) questions' interview here] in
an edition of sixty copies, and offer an assemblage of work that one might
suspect, given both publisher moniker and chapbook title. The small collection
features the work of a number of familiar names, including Ariel Dawn, Allison Armstrong, Ellen Chang-Richardson, Erin Emily Ann Vance, Nisa Malli, nina jane drystek, Emily Coppella, Samantha Godwin, Manahil Bandukwala, Vivian Wagner and
Helen Robertson. Victoria poet Ariel Dawn, for example, is a name I’ve seen
increasingly over the past few months (two different editors, for example,
included works of hers in my journal G U E S T [a journal of guest editors]), and I’ve been quite taken with many of
the prose poems I’ve seen of hers so far.
CASTING
THE CIRCLE
Mark the gates with feather, wand, salt-water,
stones, and in the centre, chair and table with books, pen and cauldron burning
bay laurel and cinnamon. Turn to the East, Air, and call: sylph, Mercury,
primrose, mind, bless me with the power to know. Turn to the South, Fire, and
call: salamander, Jupiter, red poppy, spirit, bless me with the power to will. Turn
to the West, Water, and call: undine, Moon, rain, moss, soul, bless me with the
power to dare. Turn to the North, Earth, and call: gnome, Venus, rose, crystal,
body, bless me with the power to be silent. Turn to the Centre, everywhere,
nowhere, and call: sphinx, flowering almond, God and Goddess, bless me with the
power to go. Open the old dairy in air, let leaves and flowers fall, then open
the new and write beyond lines into this land of grey-green hills and starry
root matter.
For
her part, Ottawa poet Manahil Bandukwala’s work has been gathering a steady
momentum for some time now, collecting publishing credits and even the
occasional prize [see her 2018 “Spotlight” appearance here], all of which make
me curious to see each new step as it reveals itself. Erin Emily Ann Vance,
also, a poet with a chapbook produced through Coven, as well as a newly-published
novel, has a piece inside the new issue, a piece that slowly unfolds as both
direction, offering of hope, and potential warning:
VERY
SMALL NUDE
Steal the pews from the church that refused to
baptize you.
Build a large box
and a smaller box
and then a box the size of a twin bed.
Place them together like matryoshka dolls.
Line the largest box with parish newsletters,
the smaller box with alter boy entrails
and the smallest, line with the blanket of your
great aunt
crocheted upon hearing of your birth.
Here, you are safe.
Although
one of the most interesting poems in the collection has to be “IN A CANDLELIT
ROOM, a spell for when you don’t know who to call,” by Ottawa poet nina jane
drystek, that includes, at the end:
choose a vowel sound
make it low
let it grow
let it fill the room
hold the cup tight and drink
recite seventeen times:
for this i am this
Coven,
it would seem, is very much aware of emerging poets (with an editorial
preference to the first-person narrative lyric) and offering support, providing
an opportunity to learn the names and the works of young writers on their ways
to doing some very worth things; so, doesn’t this mean, in turn, you should be
paying attention?
Ottawa ON: The afternoon immediately
following our small fair, Ottawa poet Michael Dennis did a house reading with
Cobourg, Ontario poet, writer, editor and publisher Stuart Ross, and their
host, Alexander Monker, even produced a small item for the occasion: 8 Poems (Sunday Afternoon Poems), “Published
on the occasion of a reading held in Ottawa on November 24, 2019.” I’ve always
liked the idea of a small item produced in a limited quantity for the sake of
such occasions (Ross has been producing single-poem leaflets for similar
occasions, through his Proper Tales Press, for a very long time), and this
small and charming chapbook allows for the intimacy of a house reading in
published form. The collection, wisely, opens with the recent tribute Ross
wrote to the late poet Nelson Ball, composed “for, after, and with Nelson”:
Willow
Street
Nelson and I
sit facing
each other
in silence
I get up
put a kettle
on the
two-burner
stove
sit back down
resume
our silence
the kettle
rattles
I pour myself a tea
sit back down
resume
our silence
we cover
a lot
of ground
With
this small collection of two well-published poets and long-time friends, four
poems each, the overlap between their writing becoming more obvious, more
pronounced: the observational commentaries, and the unexpected twists
(something, obviously, less overt in Dennis’ work than in Ross’, but still
there). I’m disappointed to not have made the event, and had we not the sixth birthday
party for our Rose on the same afternoon, I would certainly have been at this
reading.
Sonnet
the lightning staggered across the sky
the sky carved its initials into itself
into itself the glass of water poured
water poured into my basement, destroying my
books
my books are all about emotions
emotions are often sold by the pound
Pound turned to skywriting antisemitic slogans
antisemitic slogans can win you free pizza
you free pizza from rusting cages
rusting cages hold your most tender thoughts
most tender thoughts are insincere
insincere is the dolphin that buries the coffin
the coffin contains a banjo and a banjo-playing
duck
playing duck is a worthwhile occupation
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