Again, this blended sequence, as the weekend of back-to-back small press fairs was a bit of a blur. [see my first post on such here]
Toronto/Mississauga ON: The debut poetry chapbook by Mississauga poet Jacob Alvarado is I Can Make It All Up To You (Toronto ON: Knife│Fork│Book, 2024), a collection of poems that write around their subjects, their initial prompts; less a sense of being evasive than simply working a different kind of clarity. “Bowie made his deathbed with Kendrick in his headphones,” begins the poem “How Many Times Does An Angel Fall?,” “a shipwreck saluting its reflection. // 3:16 AM: my head hits a wall. / Confetti bursts from my ears like ripped toilet paper.” There’s almost an element of the English-language ghazal (John Thompson, et al) in some of Albarado’s lines, allowing a leap between lines, between couplets, allowing the space between as much narrative space as the space itself. There are times that I do want the author to push further, just to see what else is out there, but there remains a clarity through Alvarado’s lyrics, one that finds itself the occasional wisdom, sharp lines that poke through, such as the final line of “Me and You and Awkward Silence,” that reads: “Depression is a room full of cereal bowls.” I am intrigued by this debut; intrigued by where this particular author might venture next.
Branches
His hands: dew leaves,
iced tea, a waterfall.
Dares and truths are both
dreams. Two choices; one flesh.
My shoes were faded by the
soaked suede
of summer strolls through
sweet grass.
A clearing. Of throat and brush.
My legs were oaks. My knees; a forest-fire.
The sun was my heartbeat.
Its rays my veins;
its heat my pulse.
His eyes: acorns, aloe,
alcoves.
Needles rained from
pine-trees: self-clouding.
The breeze flew around me
but not through me:
grease in a dewdrop.
Palm sweat: a waterfall,
an avalanche, inevitable.
His back: smooth, steady, slicked. A rockface.
His mouth: The Devil
dawned into God,
The stab of Eden’s
gatekeeper, the sun.
A hickey is a mark of belief.
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| TIFA fair: Jay MillAr of Book*hug Press, Leigh Nash of Assembly Press + Michael e. Casteels of Puddles of Sky Press |
Moncton NB/Toronto ON: From the current poet laureate of Moncton, New Brunswick, Drew Lavigne, comes the chapbook EveningDress (Toronto ON: Anstruther Press, 2025), a title that appears to be his debut, chapbook or otherwise. Lavigne offers poems of narrative richness and gestures that suggest performance, offering descriptive thickness across long lines and evocative meaning. “There is a dress by Paul Poiret,” he writes, to open the title poem, “which I first saw / in James Laver’s Costume and Fashion: A Concise History. / It was called ‘Evening dress: Il a-été primé.’ A fashion plate / from the Gazette du Bon Ton, 1914. / I was ten, and had never seen anything like this / turquoise pleated tunic, over a wrapped hobble skirt, / fastened with a gilded oval gem, bands of the same / fabric twisting down the arms, clasped at each crossing / by round jade jewels.” There is such careful narrative unfolding, unfurling, through his lyrics, one that might provide as much comfort on the stage as on the page.
Round Mirror
It was easy then to walk
into the sky
with my mother’s gilded
mirror,
stolen from her dark
room, held in my hands outside.
Startling then to find in
the disc
that everything was
upside down.
With little effort I could
fly,
or walk among the branches
of trees;
then jump from cloud to
cloud: going higher,
seeing everything in a
way that was strange and new.
Not understanding the danger
of falling.
I tripped on the root
tangled ground.
I saw the rolling sky,
the black trees, the hard earth,
my face like a desperate
man, seeing blood.
I fell into the mirror,
shattered on the ground.
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