Showing posts with label Allison Chisholm. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Allison Chisholm. Show all posts

Friday, July 04, 2025

Ongoing notes: the ottawa small press book fair (part two : Pearl Pirie, Sacha Archer + STUMPT 7 + issue eight,

[nina jane drystek, jwcurry + Chris Johnson doing the first of their two sound performances mid-fair]

[see the first part of these notes here]

Toronto ON/rural QC: From Quebec poet Pearl Pirie comes the chapbook we astronauts (Pinhole Poetry, 2025), a title the acknowledgements suggest “could be considered a sequel to Sex in Sevens (above/ground, Sept. 2016).” With a poetics that includes collage-movement and haiku, this small collection again works Pirie’s own familiar forms while expanding her nuance, her repertoire, of poetic assemblage, collision, sketch-notes and density. “inside the exquisite loss of everything / except where skin knows sweat,” begins the poem “vacation day,” “time and all else will be someone else’s problem, / here is birdsong and wave crash, // eyelash and breath, lips as if warmed silk / and a hiking up onto one elbow.” Her phrases almost read accumulatively, with the slight disconnect between each one, allowing the poem to exist in the collision between descriptive phrases. What amuses, as well, is Pirie’s further inclusion into the ongoing “Sex at 31” series [see my own notes on the origins of the project here, and my participation in same], her “sex at fifty,” a two-page poem that opens with “perhaps I have seen my last / set of menstrual cramps. // I never needed to collect / the whole bleeding set.” and ends with the couplet: “eight minutes until a / teleconferencing call.”

light on your feet

how did it take decades
for the full moon to catch
you, the sun? your sunspots,
your corona flare of backlit hair
the dinner plate of light
on your chest, and your
shoulder blades as you
rise to turn down the heat
at 9pm, the moonlight is
music scoring your ribs,
and hip notch,
slips with my eyes
down to the horizon
of your fine, sculpted
delectable ankles, arches.


Hamilton ON/Achill, Co. Mayo, Ireland:
There is a beautiful compactness to Hamilton (formerly Burlington) poet, publisher, editor Sacha Archer’s latest, the delicately-lovely Second Sight (Ireland: Redfoxpress, April 2025), a title subtitled “(36 Masks)” and produced as a hardcover edition, number 214 in the “C’est mon dada” series, a “collection for visual poetry, experimental texts and works influenced by Dada and Fluxus.” I’m fascinated by these blends of handwritten text and physical object, image, stitch and erasure, and would want to hear far more on his process around such a project, and how far he might take such structures in subsequent work. And while the production for such an object is wonderfully graceful, I do hope there is an opportunity to see these works in larger renderings at some point. As the introduction to the collection offers:

The work of Second Sight repurposes facsimiles of so-called famous/canonical MSS to create masks in what is both a gesture of looking backward and forward. While reconsidering the manuscripts themselves, their relevance and legibility (handwriting and content) to the contemporary reader, the act of creating masks transforms the MSS into surface matter or, raw material, which is to say, the concrete. The mask, being a loaded tool both for its intended use as a transformative piece of costume and for its trans-cultural historical presence, not to mention the colonial exoticization of African masks met in Modernism, primarily in the work of Picasso, makes of the mask a powerful vessel for a leap of faith which is the blind gesture forward, concretizing the MSS via cutting and the addition of banal (read totemic) objects into masks which cannot be worn, but which may reveal.

Stuart Ross, Proper Tales Press

Kingston ON: If you’ve never encountered any publications from Kingston writer, editor and publisher Michael e. Casteels, through his Puddles of Sky Press, I would highly recommend: at any small press fair you might encounter Casteels at his table, quietly staping, cutting, folding and assembling small publications throughout the day, throughout the afternoon. Two of his latest include the envelope STUMPT 7 (64 copies; June 2025) and the Japanese-sewn STUMPT issue eight (60 copies; June 2025), all hand-stamped (echoing jwcurry’s own infamous production, through his 1cent series and other productions via Room 302 Books) by the publisher himself. There is a kind of care, an attention, to publications and processes such as these that photocopied items are simply unable to replicate: consider that this is not sixty-some copies of a single poem, but sixty-some times the publisher hand-printed each poem, each line, in the same way on each slice of carved paper. One has to admire the patience, and the attention, as well as the craft. STUMPT 7 is made up of three poems on cards, one per card: an untitled poem by Hamilton writer Gary Barwin, BC poet Dale Tracy’s “Soft Growth,” and Kingston poet Allison Chisholm’s “Attachment Unavailable,” which I photographed, below:

Most small press publications are very good at offering different elements of pieces by emerging, and established writers, and Casteels works a very nice balance as well, but working from a far different pool of writers than might ever appear across mainstream publishing. STUMPT issue eight, produced with hand-sewn binding, offers a poem each by Keaton Studebaker, John Grey, John Repp, daniel f. bradley, and, on the back cover, which I photographed, below, this piece by David Romanda:
 


Thursday, November 21, 2024

some recent adventuring : someone editions (Toronto) + drift/line (Kingston) (and Calgary tonight, fyi

Oh, adventuring. Christine and I are reading in Calgary tonight as part of the single onion series, at Shelf Life Books, but you probably already know that. We've been wandering around, there and here, over the past little bit to help promote our new books: her hybrid/memoir Toxemia (Toronto ON: Book*hug Press, 2024) [see my essay on such here] and my On Beauty: stories, (University of Alberta Press, 2024). You should pick up copies if you haven't already! I mean, they would make great holiday gifts, I would think.

You probably already know I was interviewed by Alan Neal over at CBC Radio about On Beauty: I was admittedly startled by how good an interviewer he is, although I probably shouldn't be. He's been doing this a long time. It was such a good interview (and you can listen to such here). And I even wore my CBC t-shirt! Out of respect, naturally.

On Friday, November 8 I did a short reading as part of a launch over at someone editions on Dundas Street West in Toronto. Given Christine had done a Toronto Book*hug launch the prior Monday, and a Hamilton launch the night before (she had been in the area across that whole week), we managed to figure out overnight childcare so I could leave the kids in Ottawa and meet up with her in Toronto (nights out without tasks or readings seem to be a rarity for us, so we took it upon us to enjoy the small space), and drive home the following morning. We were there to help someone editions launch a series of publications in their French Letter Society project, curated by Beatriz Hausner, which including a beautifully designed letterpress publication with a small poem of mine (part of my work-in-progress "Fair bodies of unseen prose," by the way) alongside artwork/design by Someone editions printer/designer/founder Deborah Barnett (who had produced, moons back, a prior letterpress object with poems by myself and Nathanael G. Moore, actually). There was a young Toronto poet, Agata Mociani, who also had work in the series, so it was good to be introduced to her, and her work. Saskatchewan poet Mari-Lou Rowley also had a poem produced in the series, but she wasn't able to attend.

Deborah had requested I land early, to sign all the copies of the publication (I think I'd signed half the run before I was even offered a glass of wine, which was probably wise). I probably signed them all properly, I'm sure. I mean, I wouldn't do anything ridiculous as part of such a project as that. Would I?

We got to hang out with Beatriz and Deborah and meet Agata; we met "writer, researcher and book artist" James Nowak (who passed along a chapbook he'd produced), and hang out for a good long stretch with writer (and Guernica Editions founder) Antonio D'Alfonso! There were a couple of other folk as well, but I'm terrible at catching names. Either way, it was a worthy event (and you should pick up copies of these publications)

Be aware that Someone does absolutely beautiful work. You should go by their space to see some of the things they've produced.

me an' Deborah Barnett

On Sunday, November 17
, Christine and I did a reading together in Kingston, alongside Kingston poet Allison Chisholm, as part of Wanda Praamsma's Drift/Line Series (the last of the 2024 season), with a musical set by Kingston musician Megan Hamilton. Allison mentioned upon stage that she'd manage to forget her glasses at home, so I made a point to only take blurry photos of her (out of respect, of course). Her reading was great! Such small, careful, delicate poems (although she should have read longer). I'm hoping there might be a further book on the horizon at some point, soon. [see my review of her debut here]


Christine was, of course, remarkable. You really need to hear her read from this hybrid/memoir collection [you can catch the video recording of her incredible performance as part of the Ottawa launch here via the Ottawa International Writers Festival, in case such intrigues]. It was lovely to be hosted by (and hang out a bit with) Wanda! And it was great to see local folk, including poets Jason Heroux (above/ground is soon producing a collaborative chapbook between him and Dag T. Straumsvag), Armand Garnet Ruffo (reading soon at VERSeFest, you know) and Eric Folsom (whom I have now known for thirty years! he was good enough to pass along a recent chapbook of his I hadn't yet seen). It was a packed (admittedly small) house! A lovely time had by all. Although, exhausted by adventuring (and the prior day's ottawa small press book fair), we crashed pretty early, and drove immediately home the following morning (where I delivered Christine back to work around noon). A day and a half or so of regular, before we're all back up into it. Calgary! Might we see you tonight?

Sunday, December 02, 2018

Allison Chisholm, On the Count of None



My Unravelling

Well, maybe I did
clamour around the subtle sense of luxury.

During the angular movement
I disfigured a sandscript [sic] scholar.

But maybe I didn’t
abandon the child prodigy
and the metabolic processes
like two drops of sadness
abundant on the teaspoon.

[Pee break.]

Our mutual decay
and your untying of my apron strings
occur each Wednesday
or when hanging from the branches.

From Kingston poet and musician Allison Chisholm comes the debut full-length On the Count of None (Anvil Press, 2018), published as the third title in Stuart Ross’ “A Feed Dog Book” imprint (an extension of his former imprint over at Mansfield Press). Following her chapbooks through Puddles of Sky Press and Proper Tales Press (The Dollhouse and On the Count of One, respectively), the poems in On the Count of None display a curiosity, odd humour and a slant perspective, occasionally providing a glimpse of something else, something far darker. As she writes in the poem “The Dollhouse” (the first of a trio of poems with this title, spread out across the collection): “The approved remedy for loneliness is / a stiffening expression, a bedfast songbird. / Somewhat by surprise, a lark, toneless as a tarantella, / enters the dollhouse in Act II / to grasp the hairpin, unsettle the cigar box.”

Composed by an incredibly deft hand, Chisholm’s poems exude a meditative calm with the occasional dark undertone, presenting descriptive offerings of various scenes, as well as a variety of horoscopes, reinforcing the possibility that her poems only wish to offer assistance; offering suggestions, but often as a distraction, as she presents you with a something entirely different.

Sagittarius (November 22-December 21)

You will find it necessary to restructure part of your day-to-day routine.

Defer to a household deity

or a small portion of humankind.

A new beginning becomes possible

when you take a quick break from the worst of the species.

This week: rediscover the relic of your youth

or some other thing

Chopped up in the kitchen.


Sunday, December 03, 2017

Ongoing notes: Meet the Presses’ Indie Literary Market (part two,



[in the background, bpNichol Chapbook Award-shortlisted author Doris Fiszer and her husband, beyond a flurry of activity including Eric Schmaltz and Gap Riot Press, etc]

Further to my previous set of notes (and, see, I’m writing about the ottawa small pressbook fair as well), here are some other items I picked up at the most recent edition of Toronto’s Indie Literary Market [see my notes on last year’s event here]. Although, did I mention that I was mistaken for Gary Barwin at this event, not once, but twice, in under the space of two minutes? Baffling.

Cobourg ON: Kingston poet and photographer Allison Chisholm’s seemingly-debut is the chapbook On The Count of One (Proper Tales Press, 2017), a collection of short, surreal lyrics:

Epoch

Teens of the new millennium
tattoo their inner thighs
and mouth the words
to shoddy pleas
the scandalized confessions of
a thousand feet above.

The bulk of the collection is made up of the twelve-poem astrological suite, “Crumbs for Birds,” a dozen poems playing with the twelve signs of the Zodiac, opening with “Aries (March 21 – April 19)” and closing with “Pisces (February 19 – March 20).” Playing off the format of the short newspaper/online daily astrology, Chisholm’s suite of poems, easily the strongest part of this chapbook, aren’t attached to any particular date (as astrologies often are), but suggest something both current and ongoing, writing to Aries that “If you are not yet moving at top speed, you very soon will be.” or to Libra, writing “Understand that every other name // begins and ends // with dirt in the sky.” or to Aquarius, offering both advice and the chapbook’s title, writing “Demonstrate your esteem // with a chorus of obscurity // or crumbs for birds. // He or she likes what he or she sees.”


Hamilton ON: Alex Porco’s chapbook, The Low End Theory (2017), produced by Gary Barwin’s serif of nottingham, made me realize that it has been a while since I’ve seen a new publication by him (he’s been busy, otherwise, having edited the critical edition of Jerrold Levy and Richard Negro’s Poems by Gerard Legro, produced by BookThug in 2016, and authored the afterword to Steve Venright’s brand-new The Least You Can Do Is Be Magnificent:Selected & New Writings, produced by Anvil Press). Part of, as his author biography at the end of the chapbook tells us, “The Minutes, Porco’s ongoing serial poem,” The Low End Theory is made up of a single, unbroken poem produced in short lines, structurally akin to much of the work of Vancouver poet Stephen Collis. I’m curious about his ongoing serial poem; curious about the “ongoingness” of this poem-of-anxiety, and how the larger project is structured. Is this simply the opening salvo to a single poem unending, or one of an open-ended suite? How far might such a project progress? His poem opens:

I am in
Room #513 at
The Aloft Hotel
In Atlanta. I
Have fears. Real
And particular. But
Also unreal and
Particular. I’ll get
To ‘em in
One sec. First,
I’m thinking about
Naming this poem
“Poem about Fears,”
But am worried
That’s too on
The nose. I
Like my nose.
I do not
Fear it, and
You shouldn’t either.
I haven’t decided
On a title.
It’s early still.
Let’s see how
Things go. […]