Tuesday, October 03, 2023
rob mclennan, natalie hanna + Nina Mosall launch ARP titles in Winnipeg!
Monday, October 02, 2023
the ottawa small press book fair, autumn 2023 (29th anniversary!) edition: November 18, 2023
span-o (the small press action network - ottawa) presents:
small press
book fair
autumn 2023
will be held on Saturday, November 18, 2023 at Tom Brown Arena, 141 Bayview Station Road (NOTE NEW LOCATION).
“once upon a time, way way back in October 1994, rob mclennan and James Spyker invented a two-day event called the ottawa small press book fair, and held the first one at the National Archives of Canada...” Spyker moved to Toronto soon after our original event, but the fair continues, thanks in part to the help of generous volunteers, various writers and publishers, and the public for coming out to participate with alla their love and their dollars.
General info:
the ottawa small press book fair
noon to 5pm (opens at 11:00 for exhibitors)
admission free to the public.
$25 for exhibitors, full tables
$12.50 for half-tables
(payable to rob mclennan, c/o 2423 Alta Vista Drive, Ottawa ON K1H 7M9; paypal options also available
Note: for the sake of increased demand, we are now offering half tables.
To be included in the exhibitor catalog: please include name of press, address, email, web address, contact person, type of publications, list of publications (with price), if submissions are being considered and any other pertinent info, including upcoming ottawa-area events (if any). Be sure to send by November 9th if you would like to appear in the exhibitor catalogue.
And hopefully we can still do the pre-fair reading as well! details TBA
BE AWARE: given that the spring 2013 was the first to reach capacity (forcing me to say no to at least half a dozen exhibitors), the fair can’t (unfortunately) fit everyone who wishes to participate. The fair is roughly first-come, first-served, although preference will be given to small publishers over self-published authors (being a “small press fair,” after all).
The fair usually contains exhibitors with poetry books, novels, cookbooks, posters, t-shirts, graphic novels, comic books, magazines, scraps of paper, gum-ball machines with poems, 2x4s with text, etc, including regular appearances by publishers including above/ground press, Bywords.ca, Room 302 Books, Textualis Press, Arc Poetry Magazine, Canthius, The Ottawa Arts Review, The Grunge Papers, Apt. 9, Desert Pets Press, In/Words magazine & press, knife | fork | book, Ottawa Press Gang, Proper Tales Press, 40-Watt Spotlight, Puddles of Sky Press, Invisible Publishing, shreeking violet press, Touch the Donkey, Phafours Press, etc etc etc.
The ottawa small press fair is held twice a year (apart from these pandemic silences), and was founded in 1994 by rob mclennan and James Spyker. Organized/hosted since by rob mclennan.
Come on by and see some of the best of the small press from Ottawa and beyond!
Free things can be mailed for fair distribution to the same address. Unfortunately, we are unable to sell things for publishers who aren’t able to make the event.
Also: please let me know if you are able/willing to poster, move tables or distribute fliers for the event. The more people we all tell, the better the fair!
Contact: rob mclennan at rob_mclennan (at) hotmail.com for questions, or to sign up for a table
Sunday, October 01, 2023
12 or 20 (second series) questions with Myronn Hardy
1 - How did your first book change your life? The first book truly gave me confidence. It confirmed that it was possible to do this thing I thought impossible which was to write and publish a book of poems. How does your most recent work compare to your previous? Aurora Americana and my previous book, Radioactive Starlings, are both thinking through the notion of place. They are doing this in different ways but the notion of place is the link by which they connect. How does it feel different? Aurora Americana is a dawn book. Most of the poems take place during or close to dawn. I’ve never centered time in this way.
2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction? I think I initially found the shapes of poems curious. When I started learning more about what they do, how concentrated language can create feeling, make music, I knew I wanted to attempt to make poems.
3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project? I’ve written poems that have taken years, a couple took a decade to write. I need time to figure out what poems need and how I can give them what they need. Does your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Slow. Do first drafts appear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious notes? Rarely do poems resemble first drafts. Attempting to make and know a poem take a lot of time. I spend a long-time compiling images, lines, phrases, sentences. I write several versions before the version is set. Often, during a reading, I’ll even change a word or phrase.
4 - Where does a poem 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 write poem after poem. I never know if single poems will compile into a book. After several years, I’ll look back to see what I’ve been writing, of what I’ve been fixated. Sometimes that looking back tells me that a book might be emerging.
5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings? I like doing public readings because they allow me to see and hear reactions to the work. As someone who attends poetry readings, I know that hearing poems read by the poet reinform one’s experience and knowledge of the work.
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? I’m very interested in how we connect and disconnect. How do we live, thrive despite everything? How does place inform? How do we sustain our humanity?
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? The role of the writer is to see what they see and write what they write. To always go there and get to the truth despite the pull to be untrue.
8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)? My experience with editors has been good. A good editor asks questions as opposed to saying, “This is wrong. Do it this way.” And this, for me, has always been helpful.
9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)? Be free. Your work, your writing (your poetry) is perhaps the only place where you can be free and dangerous. You are in control of that danger.
10 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin? I write every day. I wake up very early, before sunrise. I like to have that new day’s sunlight fall over the page as I write. I usually write for four hours in the morning. I end the morning writing session with a run. I dedicate the evenings to revision.
11 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration? When the writing is stalled, I read; sometimes I’ll listening to music, I’ll force myself to get lost within it.
12 - What fragrance reminds you of home? Pine.
13 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art? The natural world is my most profound influence. It’s an inexhaustible resource.
14 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work? Fernando Pessoa. Bob Kaufman. Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Lucille Clifton. Mahmoud Darwish. Elizabeth Bishop.
15 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done? I would like to visit Oman.
16 - 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? If I hadn’t become a writer, I think I would have liked to have become either an architect or astronomer.
17 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else? Writing is a necessity for me. It selected me. And I said, yes. And despite that selection, I didn’t believe it was possible. But here I am and here it is. And I’m grateful.
18 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film? Book: MPH and Other Poems by Ed Roberson; Film: Death for Sale
19 - What are you currently working on? I’m writing poem after poem. And I have novel manuscript. We’ll see what happens.
Saturday, September 30, 2023
Ongoing notes: TIFA’s Small Press Market (part two: Lannii Layke + Janette Platana,
[see part one of my notes here] Here’s another accounting of some of the titles I picked
up at the most recent fair in Toronto! 
the moment Ken Norris met ryan fitzpatrick
Toronto ON: I’m fascinated by the debut chapbook by Toronto-based poet Lannii Layke, their Os (knife|fork|book, 2022), a gracefully-sleek collection of exploratory poems. There is an intriguing narrative layering to Layke’s lines, offering line upon line upon fragment, a hush, and a halt. Their author biography at the end of the collection offers a couple of intriguing details: “They attend to crafting memory and fine jewellery. In French, os is bone.” The poems here are crafted but not precious: precise, and deft in their resolve, offering eight first-person poems that seek, seek out. “we have those secrets that stick us,” the poem “Sister” offers, “like our / talk and hate and / waxing piss onto our man [.]” There is such graceful, absolute beauty in Layke’s searchings, one that sparkles not just through discovery, but revealing and remarking upon what was already known.
Plum
My frequency
factors in the cloning of plums
The rib of plum
in the posture of plum
line a smaller Sweat
is that same salt collecting so
Toronto ON: There’s a wonderful sense of play and language across the nine poems of Peterborough writer Janette Platana’s chapbook New Fairious (Anstruther Press, 2023), each offering short narratives, akin to character studies, to a list of alternate fairies, from “The Shame Fairy” and “The Literary Fairy” to “The Fairies Feify & Deify” and “The Truth Fairy.” “They are not twins, these two,” the poem “The Fairies Reify & Deify” begins, “but reciprocating parasites who // rfuse to play host. / Yet each outstrips the other // in unxious luxury.” There’s a delight of sound and meaning through her word choises throughout these poems, offering an unexpected richness line by line by narrative line, all of which rolls along into a sequence of impossibility. How Platana is a writer I hadn’t heard of previously, although her author biography offers that her short story collection, A Token of My Affliction (Toronto ON: Tightrope Books, 2014), “was a Finalist for the Ontario Trillium Book Award.” Oh, how I wish to see more poems by Janette Platana.
The Shame Fairy
Her dust encauls you in nausea.
Until the ignosecond of
Her enclaspment
you did not even know
She was a thing. Now, you
are filled
with Her shitty gift.
Now, you bob
inside Her gassy bubble
like you are the grinning
bonhomme
in one of those oversized
inflatable snow globes
in the parking lot of the
biggest big box store
when your anchor cable
has sprung
and you bounce between
parked cars,
legless, footless, as
well as entrapped,
head blog
indignant and
indistinguishable
from bottom blog.
It would be funny if it weren’t forever.
Friday, September 29, 2023
David Martin, Kink Bands
TURNER VALLEY OIL FIELD
They trotted out his
anticline,
capstone crust punctuated
by a wedge-thrust to the
town’s
makeover bonanza, where
seismic pricks could plot
secured flab, and flatter
him
under talk-show sunlight.
Yet look at the after
shot:
Devonian shell-sweat is
girdled by a deer-head
buckle,
his footwall has lead
foot
an a King Cab, and during
apotheosis to carbon
cloud
his Nudie suit will
blacken
at dusk, sloughing
sequins
over our sweet, crude
sleep.
Martin’s poems are hewn, carved and crafted, comparable to if one could simultaneously carve and reconceptualize stone. Simply to read the notes set at the end of the collection makes for interesting reading, seeing how he approaches the composition of poems and the application of ongoing study. Martin moves from bedrock to striation, legends of the creation and use of stone tools to the myth of Philoctetes, and even to Martin’s own adaptation of Earle Birney’s infamous poem “David,” from David and other Poems (Ryerson Press, 1942), a poem he translates “into the restricted language of Basic English. the poem mimics the crystalline structure of foliated metaporic rocks that have been subjected to extreme pressure and heat at tectonic zones of subduction.” There is something so deeply fascinating about a particular interest or research becoming ingrained to the point that the poems that emerge feel entirely natural. “I watch my daughter clap two mitts / of snow,” he writes, to open the poem “SINTER,” “amalgamating hand-bergs. // A jillion columns, taunts, and spoked / dentrites have their civil distance // fractured.” There’s a play across Martin’s sharp language, and one might even compare Martin’s lyric use of scientific research and landscape to such as Lorine Niedecker’s “Lake Superior,” or Monty Reid’s The Alternate Guide (Red Deer College Press, 1985). His note on the poem “Stone Tape Theory,” for example, referencing the infamous Frank Slide of 1903, the subject of numerous poems over the years (including one of my own, around the time of the event’s centennial), read: “One explanation for the magnitude of displaced debris that occurred during the rockslide at Turtle Mountain in 1903 (next to the town of Frank, Alberta) is a phenomenon known as acoustic fluidization. To my knowledge, the Stone Tape Theory has yet to be substantiated.” As the first of the four stanzas of the poem reads:
Turtle Mountain belting a
tonic
from its spooned-out
lungs
as Livingstone scutes
surf
on tranced cushions of
sound:
charming friction’s coefficient
to embrace a dazed
disinhibition.
Thursday, September 28, 2023
12 or 20 (second series) questions with Hannah Kezema
1 - How did your first book or chapbook change your life? How
does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel
different?
My chapbook, three, came out in 2017 through a now
defunct press, Tea and Tattered Pages, and I remember feeling like I’d been
validated as a writer. I was still sort of fresh out of grad school, and being
solicited (after many, many rejections) and then published felt like I’d been
given the “okay” to keep going. It’s a strange and dark little book centered
around the number 3 – triangles, mirrors, mythology, pyramids, threesomes, and
an unreliable first-, second-, and third-person narration. Very experimental
and what I would call within the Naropa [University] aesthetic. I remember
being really surprised that there were no edits from the publisher, aside from
a few things I tweaked here and there, since I tend to over-edit. Looking back,
I definitely would’ve asked more questions about the process and book roll-out,
but I hadn’t even so much as signed a contract, and that book struggled to get
out in the world for a variety of reasons.
My debut full-length, This Conversation Is Being Recorded,
which came out with Game Over Books in late March, was a completely different
experience, both in terms of the publishing process and subject matter. I’ve
worked in the insurance fraud industry for the past 7 years now in a few roles,
but primarily, as a field investigator and editor, and I began writing poems
about the cases I was working on about one year in. Over time, the poems began
accumulating, and Game Over Books was actually the reason the book became
hybrid. I’d always been interested in incorporating visual aspects into my
work, and ironically, This Conversation Is Being Recorded was my first
work that was just straight up poetry. Honestly, after creating hybrid work
without any traction for years, I was a little discouraged, and I was trying to
do something more “straightforward.” But I was so thankful to have a publisher
that understood my praxis as an artist and encouraged me to go all out. To pick
up the paintbrush. Get my hands in the dirt.
2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say,
fiction or non-fiction?
I kind of came to poetry last! I studied literature in my
undergrad while at the New School, and when I got to Naropa for my MFA, I was
very much interested in writing prose but also expanding my notion of what
prose could be. I hadn’t read any contemporary poetry whatsoever and felt
completely out of the loop compared to my peers. I hadn’t even heard of small
press publishing, and outside of doing theatre for years, I’d never read my
work in front of anyone. Those two years were vigorous for me because I had
always felt safer in the sentence than the line. Then, of course, I fell in
love with the freedom of the line.
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?
It depends on how we quantify a “start,” but I’d say that the
moment I have an idea for something, even if it isn’t totally cohesive, I
usually make a note in my notebook or phone. Something non-committal because I
don’t want to scare the idea away! Then I’ll usually wait and see if the idea
sticks. Sometimes, lines will come to me first, without the full shape of the
idea, but more often than not, I’ll get the impulse to make something specific
and it’s a matter of figuring out from there whether it’s fruitful or
worthwhile. I think about things very categorically. When the idea becomes a
Thing, then the real work happens, and I am (to my own detriment) quite a
perfectionist in that regard. I want my first draft to be as close to polished
as possible, and as an editor, I can’t turn that part of my brain off. I
overthink and I edit and edit and edit, which is likely why each project takes
me years to complete.
4 - Where does a poem 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’ve always considered myself a very projects-oriented
person, maybe to a fault. I have a very hard time writing a piece “just
because,” or without thinking about it within a larger context. Of course,
every now and then, I’m inspired to write a poem with no strings attached. I’m
trying to be better about this because I think being so book-forward can
actually stifle the process. Who’s to say a single poem can’t hold the same
gravity as a book of poems? This is something I’ve been thinking about lately.
5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative
process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?
I have a kind of love-hate relationship with readings. For
starters, they make me very anxious, despite my performance background. There’s
something specifically stressful about reading words you’ve written in front of
a crowd – it’s more vulnerable for me than singing. But I will say that the
dread only lies in the build-up of the event because once I’m reading, I’m in
the zone. And I feel the post-reading high afterwards. While it’s still
challenging all these years later, I think it’s important to take your work off
the page and let it test the waters. What comes up – and how others respond -
might surprise you and possibly change the trajectory of the work. I do believe
a sort of synergy can happen between the reader and the audience when bringing
the written word into a physical space.
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?
I’m not sure that my body of work has a unifying theme by any
means, but I think of each work in terms of various stages of my life. All my
work is hybrid, which is a common thread, but where my earlier works were more
conceptual and form driven, This Conversation Is Being Recorded and the
work leading up to it became more about my own life, my job, the seeking of
truth, and exploring issues like labor and gender under capital. Of course, I
can’t help but weave in the visual aspects, too. Perhaps I’m not as interested
in answering the questions as I am in letting the questions linger in my
work.
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?
This is a tough question, as I feel I’m still figuring this
out for myself. Many people will say that in these times, the role of the
artist at large is to be an activist for change. I don’t disagree with this but
also feel the pressure of it and find myself just as interested with the
internal kind of revolution that a reader can experience. If a text can change
the way you think or feel, then I think it’s fulfilled its “purpose.” All
effective change must begin with the individual. I also can’t deny that the
role of the writer historically has been the outrider of society, and yet, they
are also the visionaries who archive histories, and their legacies live on
beyond them. The writer is the dreamer, the documentarian, the hermit, the
Shaman. Ultimately, I think writers and artists shouldn’t be afraid to create
for themselves – the act of creating a work of art is just as, if not more
vital, than its reception. When we become too concerned with the latter, we
stray further from poetry and closer to careerism. There’s a lot of nepotism in
the poetry “community,” but I don’t believe in the commodification of poetry. I
believe that defeats poetry’s very essence.
8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor
difficult or essential (or both)?
Both! Especially as I’ve had many people tell me I’m a brutal
editor myself. But it’s always valuable to get an outside perspective on your
work. Sometimes we just need another pair of eyes.
9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not
necessarily given to you directly)?
I can’t remember who said this, or if it was a conglomeration
of things other people have said, but more or less: “Give yourself permission
to write.” And probably cliché at this point, but Ginsberg’s “first thought
best thought.”
10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres
(poetry to visual art)? What do you see as the appeal?
I don’t typically do both simultaneously, as I believe
different mediums require different minds. But they can support one another in
that way – it can be incredibly beneficial to turn to painting when I’m hitting
a wall with the writing. That being said, I do find the visual work is faster
for me, or at least I spend less time doing it. For instance, with This
Conversation Is Being Recorded, most of the paintings were created in the
final months of my working on the manuscript, whereas the text itself took me
about six years. For this book, I needed to get all the writing out first, sort
of like laying down the foundation. I needed more time to consider how the
visuals would be executed, with plenty of trial and error along the way.
11 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do
you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?
What’s cool about this is you asked me a similar question in 2019, and when I first answered, I
had recently completed my first residency at Arteles in Haukijärvi, Finland,
during which time, I’d finally developed (if only for about a month) a
consistent writing routine. Outside of that and my MFA program, I really haven’t
had one. I used to shame myself about it, but I’ve learned that I’m not the
kind of writer who can force it. I’m not of the school of thought that doing
some writing is better than no writing at all. I’m just not interested in
writing for writing’s sake, but I know this works for a lot of other folks. I
also hate sitting down at the computer. Unconventional aspects of my “writing
routine” are spending time outside, touching water, having meaningful
experiences with people I love, sitting still with hard feelings, spending time
with art that moves me, and traveling. I let myself get inspired, and it keeps
the writing exciting (and not burdensome) for me.
12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or
return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?
Usually, I read the work of others before me or turn to other
forms of art altogether, so as not to be too influenced. I’m also a firm
believer in a good walk or moving the body in general to get
unstuck.
13 - What fragrance reminds you of home?
Pine-Sol, newspaper, and fireplace smells. Fresh mint leaves
always make me think of my grandmother and her famous iced tea. Cinnamon and
clove remind me of my mother.
14 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books,
but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music,
science or visual art?
Being in nature is vital – among the flowers, trees, animals,
fungi, and bodies of water. I also usually listen to music that resonates with
the mood of what I’m writing. It’s surprising what can come up if you even just
put on a song that makes you emotional. It can make the writing even more
cathartic or therapeutic. I also love zoning out to images as a break from
language, which can be so unruly. Letting my mind rest and my eyes scan the
colors, shapes, and textures of something allows me to slow down. Gardening and
creating floral arrangements with flowers from my garden and other things I’ve
foraged has also been really meditative but creative at the same time.
15 - What other writers or writings are important for your
work, or simply your life outside of your work?
So many, but I’ll try to be brief: Molly Brodak, Diane Seuss,
June Jordan, Maggie Nelson, Clarice Lispector, Truman Capote, Lisa Robertson,
CAConrad, Theresa Hak Kyung Cha, etc. etc.
16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?
Take a real vacation in adulthood.
17 – 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 always saw myself studying law or forensics if I decided to
give up on my creative pursuits. I’ve also felt like I could’ve been a lawyer
(or even judge) in a former life. I’m fascinated by detectives but could never
be a cop. For some time, my dream job was to be a handwriting analyst, which I
guess isn’t too far off from writing.
18 – What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?
Writing has always come naturally for me, even if I resisted it at first. I was a voracious reader as a child and wrote these dark little ghost stories. But what I really dreamt of then was becoming an actress and singer – I always wanted to perform. I did theater all throughout high school, studied it during my first year of college, and I was living in New York, hustling but not getting call-backs and questioning whether my heart was really in it. I ultimately decided it wasn’t working and took a semester off to travel to California and then transfer to another school to study literature before later going on to study writing and poetics in grad school. It worked out pretty seamlessly, in the end, but I still sometimes miss being on stage. Maybe my next phase will be playwriting, who knows?
19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last
great film?
La Movida by Tatiana Luboviski-Acosta and Asteroid City by Wes
Anderson.
20 - What are you currently working on?
Self-care and gardening, for the most part. I’ll be teaching an online workshop focused on This Conversation Is Being Recorded on October 24th and hope to have some more readings later in the year. I may have also started writing another book, but only time will tell…
12 or 20 (second series) questions;
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