the banff notebook : , eleven days in may

In case you hadn't caught, I've been posting a series of missives from my time in Banff back in May over at my substack [I know I posted a little tiny at-the-time report on my Banff adventuring, but this is far more substantive], writing on days spent writing and reading, but also hanging out with such as J.R. Carpenter, ryan fitzpatrick, Fred Wah, Daphne Marlatt, Hiromi Goto, Jordan Abel, Adele Barclay, Sharanpal Ruprai, Conor Kerr, Derek Beaulieu, Joshua Whitehead and plenty of others, as I attempted to both be present within that space and group, and push the ends of a novel-in-progress. More posts in the sequence still to come, but catch the posts-so-far: part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six and part seven. I also have a new short story posting at the substack later this week, and some cool essays forthcoming. Stay tuned!

The Capilano Review issue 4.6 (spring 2026) : love bends / the mover: The Roy Miki Issue

The texts and artworks in this issue come together within and across many of Roy’s varied communities: artistic, activist, academic, and Asian Canadian among all of these, considering subjects like asiancy, archives, and, crucially, Roy’s imperative to action as a few more principles within his astonishingly imaginative praxis. The alliterative synchronicity here all the while attempts to return readers to the materiality of language that roots Roy’s work. As Michael Barnholden, editor of Miki’s Flow: Poems Collected and New, affirms: “Roy’s first language was language.” (“Editor’s Note,” Emily Fedoruk and Jacquelyn Zong-Li Ross)

I’m very pleased to be able to go through the latest issue of The Capilano Review [see my review of the three fiftieth anniversary issues--3.46-3.48--here; my review of 3.41 here; my review of 3.34 here; my review of 3.33 here; my review of 3.32 here; my review of 3.31 here; my review of 3.30 here, etc], produced as “love bends / the mover: The Roy Miki Issue,” celebrating the work and influence of the late Vancouver writer, teacher, activist, archivist and editor Roy Miki (1942-2024) [launching in Vancouver, by the by, on July 17]. As editors Emily Fedoruk and Jacquelyn Zong-Li Ross write as part of their introduction: “In circling the too-many possible places from which to ‘begin’ this note, we have often returned to the words of so many others who are forever moved and changed by Roy Miki.” They reference Phinder Dulai, for example, who offered this piece up at periodicities: a journal of poetry and poetics not long after Miki died. Literary activity, or even cultural activity generally, seems so rarely acknowledged in Canada (only occurring, if at all, once someone retires or dies), so these moments of homage, especially in memoriam, become essential for any kind of creative ecosystem.

For those unaware of Miki’s literary output, specifically his poetry, you should pick up Flow: Poems Collected and New, edited by Michael Barnholden (Vancouver BC: Talonbooks, 2018) [see my review of such here], a book of some six hundred pages, covering all five of his published poetry collections—saving face: poems selected, 1976-1988 (Winnipeg MB: Turnstone Press, 1991), random access file (Red Deer AB: Red Deer College Press, 1995), Surrender (winner of the Governor General’s Award for Poetry; Toronto ON: Mercury Press, 2001), There (Vancouver BC: New Star Books, 2006) and Mannequin Rising (New Star Books, 2011)[see my review of such here]. certainly well known as an editor and critic, from his years of West Coast Line to a collection of essays, a bibliography of George Bowering and editing Roy K. Kiyooka’s posthumous selected poems [see my review of such here] and bpNichol's posthumous critical writings, Miki is perhaps still best known for his years fighting for and finally achieving redress from the Canadian federal government for the internment of Japanese Canadians during the Second World War. One can best describe his decades of writing, editing, activism and teaching as a community-based focus on questions about identity, citizenship, race, and place.

dear roy,

 

this break between our years

makes the arch of a bridge you ride

into vaporous clouds (“dear roy,” shō yamagushiku)

This special issue of The Capilano Review offers work by Michael Barnholden, Carolyn Nakagawa, Yoriko Guillard, Larissa Lai, Nicole Markotić, Cindy Mochizuki, Fred Wah, Yilin Wang, Echo Quan, Tiziana La Melia, Vivek Sharma, Gloriah Amondi, Khashayar “Kess” Mohammadi, Sena Cleave, shō yamagushiku, Wayde Compton, Daphne Marlatt, Rita Wong and Ranbir K Banwait, whether as direct tribute or response, or as indirect continuation of Miki’s decades of attention and labour. A play of language across language; a cross-section, that suggests and even explores further depths. The issue includes direct responses, but also pieces from those who might walk one of the many paths, so to speak, that Miki worked so hard to forge. Cindy Mochizuki, for example, provides “a textual and visual response” to Miki’s poem “Flow Nation,” from his collection, There. Larissa Lai offers “Rising Mist: Five Haibun for Roy” which are quite stunning (and hopefully part of an eventually-forthcoming collection, certainly). Wah offers some further lines of thoughtful lyric, of reminiscence, as does Nicole Markotić, providing an intimate detailing of Miki and Miki’s lyric in Winnipeg, upon first meeting him there. On his part, Wayde Compton provides the first part of an extended epic-in-progress, “Epistles to Oya: An Epic,” that stretches across an incredible canvas:

In the commander’s quarters, gathering
washing, she stopped, and her shape 

formed in the ornate lead-framing looking-
glass across the mantle: her self a 

stutter, a ripple in silver, foxed, a flash
of seeing; and in her cradling 

arm, swaddled warm, the worn
leather at her hip as she worked, the two 

oblong in the moment, together ahead
of missing, of breaking. And above 

his bed a painting, a flattery, this
commander, his eyes shadows, his face 

a simmer, a smear of power, at his neck
a chain, a locket on it, a spiral 

engraving of a ram’s horn there in
gold, a circling 

back upon itself. It hung
in paint as in life
covering his heart.

Echo Quan offers an intriguing sequence of text and photography, another form Miki had been exploring himself across a number of years. Translator and poet Yilin Wang offers three poems, the first of which, “mother tongue,” begins: “what is your mother tongue after you were / hoisted away from china at the age of four, and only // recovered the brushstrokes of your grandma;s name / by chance a decade later?” Highlights are almost too numerous to mention. I was also intrigued by the multiple pages of drawings, and again and again now that we know we know we know, by Sena Cleave, introduced with this short statement by the artist:

The curved lines in and again and again now that we know we know we know take after Roy Miki’s use of parenthesis in his poetic work. in poems like “Dome’s Story” and “The Fronds on Galiano,” I noticed how Miki would open parentheses without later closing them – sometimes opening multiple in a single poem – evoking a margin that continuously grows. Reflecting on Miki’s writing and activism (the latter of which he has described as a continuous process of change and negotiation) during the current rise in anti-migrant policies, I began drawing parentheses with coloured pencils, repeating and layering them until the parentheses took on a structural role in the composition, similar to how a stitch functions in embroidery, or how a row of thread functions in weaving. and again and again now that we know we know we know continues my inquiry into textiles, agriculture, and other repetitive forms of labour, using materials such as thread, fabric, and pine needles to think through themes of precarity, sustenance, and persistence.

Literature, I’ve heard it said, is less a continuous thread than a constellation of interconnected hubs, from which so much activity emerges, and Miki was one of those very important touchstones for multiple generations of writers, academics, readers and thinkers, well beyond his years teaching at Simon Fraser University (although a number of these contributors can be counted as some of Miki’s former students). As well, this is not the first special issue on Miki and his work, as the late journal that he founded, West Coast Line, produced a special issue, titled “Miki,” as issue #57 (42.1: spring/summer 2008), guest edited by Fred Wah [see my review of such here]. As Wah beings in his introduction to that issue, a consideration that could be equally applied to this current volume:

This issue of West Coast Line is a tribute to its founder, Roy Miki. It is not intended as collection of anecdotal or hagiographical testimonials but, rather, a collection of writing from some of the writers who have cohabited Roy’s extensive cultural community over the past 40 years. Writing was solicited to reflect not only the moment of production but also to reflect to Roy a partial sense of the threads of his own creative and intellectual milieu which he has generated through a lifetime of writing, thinking, and activism.

unidentified fiction remains and the true nature of banff

I recently spent a week at the Banff Centre for Arts and Creativity as part of celebrating the University of Alberta's Writer-in-Residence 50th anniversary [and there was even a livestreamed showcase reading by the group of us, which I posted about over here]. I honestly can't fully process all the adventures during that week, with a group of writers it would have been stellar to see even individually, let alone as part of a group. And did I mention I briefly got to meet Daniel MacIvor? (and yes, I know it's a Brad Fraser title I mangled, above). MacIvor was in Twitch City, you know, which was a small work of genius. And did you see him recently in an episode of Law and Order: Toronto? I got to hang out with Michael Barnholden and Adèle Barclay, meet writers such as Ryanne Kap, Sharanpal Ruprai and Conor Kerr. The wealth of the company was staggering.

We had a week, most of which was our own. We caught meals, although I was at breakfast first, most mornings. My body said, 8am, time to get up [although post-karaoke, I missed breakfast altogether, which allowed ryan fitzpatrick that morning's first slot]. One morning I even managed an hour's work before leaving my room, and another, about half an hour's work before anyone else showed up for coffee and morning what-nots. While there, I was attempting to further my novel-in-progress, the one that rests somewhere between On Beauty (2014) and the follow-up, downstream from Missing Persons (2009); a novel that follows the threads of a handful of folk who don't necessarily interact, but exist within the same stretch of relative time. I hadn't presumed I could finish it, but after a week sitting within its pages (and at least four days prior attempting to re-enter), I think I can now actually see that light at the end of the tunnel. The week included a planned dinner or two, a karaoke night (and second round, given it was so successful) and a trip to town (which I did skip, needing to sit at my desk). We had our big showcase reading, which was incredible.

J.R. Carpenter [see my review of Carpenter's latest here] has a collaborative app you should check out, This Is Not A Good Sign, a curious eco-poetic of phrases one can overlay atop photographs, presumably of landscapes or whatever else, I was playing with while there. I spent the week taking the occasional picture as part of such, a number of which I did post over at Instagram, and am hoping to continue on same, here and there. It was very cool to hang with ryan fitzpatrick [see my review of fitzpatrick's latest here], get some good conversations with Fred Wah and Daphne Marlatt, get to learn (or learn better) folk such as Conor Kerr, Cody Caetano, Joshua Whitehead [see my review of Whitehead's latest here], Jason Purcell [see my review of Purcell's latest here]. Caetano's memoir is so remarkably, powerfully, good. I read much of it on the flight out. And so many other folk were around, there, participating, wandering through or wandering by. You probably already know I produced a handful of chapbook titles for the week as well, by myself, Fred Wah, Daphne Marlatt, J.R. Carpenter, ryan fitzpatrick and Derek Beaulieu. Copies were distributed free to all the participants, with a small handful left over for the reading event (further copies will be distributed through the University of Alberta Department of English and Film Studies, prod at Jordan Abel if you wish for copies, he has a bunch).

I worked to further this novel, as well as attempting a "Banff notebook" project, akin to "the green notebook," a journal-essay stretch from that week I'm still working to hammer into some kind of publishable form, with the hopes to start posting excerpts from same across my substack real soon. There were drafts of a poem, however slow. Sketch-notes. There might be something else, also. I am thinking through the bounds of a poem, certainly.

This was my first time spending any length of time at Banff Centre (beyond two days in May 2008 I don't really count, as I never quite landed and didn't know anything or anyone, so kept fallow).

There were quiet conversations and loud gatherings, languid stretches of walking solo, working solo, walking to town. I made a bad joke at a museum [a solid joke, really], and lost my breath singing, and walking, and standing [higher altitude, you know]. I took a big swing attempting a song from Frozen 2 at karaoke, which didn't quite land (but big swings are the point, certainly). I saw two full days of snowfall, and an overcast so complete, they put the mountains away for safety, only returning them once it cleared. I stayed out too late with writers, and the one night all the writers crashed, I stayed out too late with playwrights. I bought a t-shirt the wrong size, and had dessert with every meal. I got some nice time with Derek Beaulieu, and saw his office, far more ordered than had it been mine. 

Oh, and our final night there, as Thomas Wharton, Marilyn Dumont and I were walking through town back from dinner, catching a group singing loudly hey now, you're a rock star, get your game on, hey, and realizing the group was all dressed as characters from the Shrek animated films. A bridal party, clearly. Did Wharton take this picture? Dumont at the front, there. The bride (dressed as the prince, centre) was so proud of the fact that this was all her idea. Don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise. In hindsight, I did wonder, what might have been the theme of the wedding?

above/ground press (and myself!) at Banff! , with six new titles + an online reading,

In case you hadn't heard, above/ground press (and myself) are in the midst of a week at Banff, wandering through the writing studios as part of the fiftieth anniversary of the writer-in-residence program at the University of Alberta! See the interviews I conducted with twenty-seven prior writers-in-residence back in 2016, as part of the fortieth anniversary celebration, as well. and of course, there are six new above/ground press chapbook titles to accompany this new anniversary:

METAL OF THE FUTURE, ryan fitzpatrick $6 ; shore thing, J. R. Carpenter $6 ; So Now, Daphne Marlatt $6 ; Shanzai, Fred Wah $6 ; from the green notebook : , a writing vigil, rob mclennan $6 ; Sparky and Squire, Derek Beaulieu $6

See the prior cluster of new above/ground press titles here;

There will also be an online (and in person, if you are nearby) reading as part of the week! Register here.

May 15, 2026 7-10pm MDT
Clvb 33, St. Julien Way, Banff AB and online

With readings from Thomas Wharton, Fred Wah, ryan fitzpatrick, Cody Caetano, JR Carpenter, rob mclennan, Daphne Marlatt, Jana Pruden, Hiromi Goto, and Marilyn Dumont.

Joel Katelnikoff, Recombinant Theory

 

The limits of language seem incomprehensible because we are. Unexpected associations resist assimilation, and thinking is unconscious and almost unfathomable. In this way, poetry becomes the limits of language. (“‘take then these nails & boards’ (Charles Bernstein)”)

I’m intrigued at Edmonton writer and critic Joel Katelnikoff’s Recombinant Theory (Calgary AB: University of Calgary Press, 2024), a collection of essays, of responses, to and through works by Lisa Robertson, Fred Wah, Lyn Hejinian, Steve McCaffery, Sawako Nakayaso, Johanna Drucker, Charles Bernstein, Annharte, Erín Moure and Christian Bök, each of which are done by repurposing the authors’ own words. Set as chapter-sections, Katelnikoff repurposes each writer’s words as a response to those same works, offering a way across the work that is, in fact, through. In his own way, he turns their words back as a mirror to themselves. “In short,” he writes, to open the Erín Moure essay/section, “how can we be true to the way the brain works?”

Katelnikoff’s process has echoes of the way Klara du Plessis has been composing essays over the past few years, specifically through her I’mpossible collab (Kentville NS: Gaspereau Press, 2023) [see my review of such here]: the critic is not removed from the material but an essential part, offering the critic a way into the material comparable to the creative non-fiction explorations through the 1970s and 80s by writers such as Myrna Kostash and Brian Fawcett. Whereas du Plessis places the critic directly into the material, Katelnikoff, instead, places the criticism directly into the material, and the material discussed directly into the criticism. Poets have been working elements of essay-poems for years—poets such as Phil Hall, Erín Moure, Laynie Browne and the late Barry McKinnon, for example—swirling across theory through the lyric, but Katelnikoff offers critique through repurposing the language being critiqued, taking the process a whole other level, writing essays from the inside. As he writes as part of the acknowledgments: “All of the essays in this collection are written with the permission of the writers whose textual materials have been recombined. In each essays, the title, the section headers, and the sentences in the first section are direct quotations from the writer’s textual corpus. All other sentences are spliced together from diverse materials found throughout the corpus.” It’s a fascinating process, and a fascinating read.

“my words keep meaning pictures of words meaning tree”

As I am slow in my experience of myself (a man who is a tree and rivers and creeks), I can’t stop looking at the site of this poetics. Landscape and memory as the true practice of thought. Pictures of words meaning something of themselves.

Among the spruce I admit there is a moon at night. Somehow these pieces of driftwood are everywhere, foregrounding the materiality of the Kootenay River, the most important cipher in its dry branches of driftwood. There is a moon among the spruce.

The more I write, the more meaning has slipped, whirling through a green blur of moving trees. The mind wanders in green mountain valleys, a mountain dispersed in a scatter. To write in poetry is to move among the spruce, foregrounding the materiality of a mountain rising to the moon. (“‘where you are is who you are’ Fred Wah”)