rob and Christine at Lunch Poems at SFU: a report,

Christine and I were fortunate enough to make our way to Vancouver last week (leaving our wee girls at home with their Oma, who was kind enough to watch them while we were away), to read at the monthly Lunch Poems at SFU series, lovingly hosted and co-curated by Renée Sarojini Saklikar. We’d originally been scheduled for last October, but Christine’s health wouldn’t allow for it, but we were able to reschedule for February, just in time to keep the funding from The League of Canadian Poets in the same fiscal year (so complicated). We flew out on Tuesday night, just making our flight, where we sat beside a four month old and her father; we assisted, of course. The baby sat with me for some time, and coughed on me repeatedly, which provided me with a head cold for many days once we returned home (I regret nothing).

It was a grand crowd! We’d already had a head’s-up that there would be a classroom’s worth of thirteen year olds (forty in all), but they barely made up half the assemblage of people attending: Fred Wah, Michael Turner, Daniel Cowper, Elee Kraljii Gardiner, Laura Farina (who now assists with the series as well), Kevin Spenst, Pete Smith, Warren Dean Fulton, Meredith Quartermain, Michael Edwards, Ted Byrne, Diane Tucker, Jenny Penberthy, George Stanley and many others. It was glorious! Although at least half the people I wished to say hello to had vanished by the time I had any attention, and Warren flew in and out during Christine's reading (apparently he was "at work," so wasn't technically there at all), but he did slip me a couple of new Pooka Press items.

I focused on reading from the "book of magazine verse" manuscript, which includes my new above/ground press chapbook and my new Anstruther Press chapbook. It was odd to read a poem referencing Quartermain and Turner with them both in the room, as well. Christine read sprinklings of both her published collections, as well as her third manuscript-in-progress. 

One thing I quite like about this series is that we were taken to lunch after, and it was grand to be able to spend some time talking to Renée and Laura (I see her so rarely, that every time I do, she's living in a different province; the last time I saw her was in spring 2008, when she was working at Banff under Steve Ross Smith; I originally met her when I read to her grade ten class at Ottawa's Canterbury High School), as well as some good time with George Stanley, who has an above/ground press chapbook forthcoming (meaning that all three of our poet-lunch companions have now been published through the press). Renée was also good enough to take us to The Paper Hound, where, of course, we spent handfuls of our book-money on even more books.

We flew in the night prior, which was an improvement over what I’d done with Stephen Brockwell [see my report on such here] three years earlier, when we left Ottawa at 4am Ottawa time and landed in just enough time to read at noon Vancouver time, and stay only the one night. Christine and I stayed two nights, at least, and at the infamous Sylvia Hotel, no less. As Christine was aware, I'd published a poem on Errol Flynn, who infamously (also) stayed his last nights at Vancouver's Sylvia Hotel, attended by Dr. Gould (uncle of Glenn), who would witness the actor's death. Here it is, a poem from my poetry collection paper hotel (Broken Jaw Press, 2002):

errol flynns last lover


breaking 40 years of silence & bad stigma,
            well after his swash & buckle days.

dying of everything in vancouver, a failure
            made complete - of liver, heart.

like malcolm lowry, death by misadventure,
            an accidental yankee caught for good.

theres love at seventeen & then theres this, the starlet
            & the alcoholic cad, old misfit.

the magic of life & bigger than, shrunk down to copy,
            when none of it matters. never did.

as the couple lands in canada, 1959, the final stop
            in all adventuring. the airplane touching earth.

Oh, Errol Flynn, you damned, damned fool. Apparently the hotel was also a favourite of Malcolm Lowry. Christine had stayed once prior, with Sandra Ridley, during a reading tour they were doing a few years back, so she had some familiarity with it. English Bay, which always makes me think of Victoria. They have one in Vancouver too? Oh, yes. And after the reading we didn't do much, didn't stray much, exhausted. We deliberately, it seemed, refused to adjust for the time-change, which meant we were up at 5am local time, but in bed at 7:30pm. We wandered the beach for a bit. We made for dinner. We made for our room.

Part of the benefit of that was being up in the morning for our flight, with a 7am opportunity to have coffee with Vancouver poet and critic Soma Feldmar, who I hadn't previously met, despite our years of email correspondence. She was absolutely delightful! And I loved her first book. She should have more poems out in the world. Don't you think? She was even good enough to drive us to the airport, which allowed for a slightly longer visit (and we barely made our flight, honestly). Maybe next time we'll stay a bit longer?