read at Tree last night. the evening started with an open mic full of excellent prose, spoken word and poetry by Emily Falvey, Anita Lahey, Sean Dowd, Rhonda Douglas, Michelle Desbarats, Matthew Peak, Paul Tyler, and a few more people whose names escape me today.
Nick read from his first poetry collection “Every Inadequate Name” (Insomniac Press, 2006) and also some new poems. What pleased me most about what I heard was the very unusual imagery and stuff from everyday life, including expressions used by the young folk, such as “seriously” in the poem “Seriously, It Was the Biggest Cricket.” Yep, his titles are like that, kind of long and fun and unexpectedly playful. Here’s one of my favourite poems that he read, other than the one that had my name in it.
Bloor Street at sunset, easily
the most romantic street in the world.
Bloor is the colour of the sky, blue
but with the hard “r” of a fire
raging from the tail end of a day that drags
the work world back home to the boroughs.
I hope it’s Friday, steak night, the family
gathered around Bloor flesh, sinews of strained
muscle, and wine like the blood they have spent
all week to meet and laugh and eat
and drink themselves back in.
I hope there is Scrabble, and the child, bleary-eyed
from an afternoon playing Halo (bodies
Bloored to bits, the level completed) hits “grateful”
on a triple-word-score, and Bloors his parents
with what they thought he never knew.
Once in a Bloor moon, the joke goes, and mother
rubs his hair. Then she and her husband head
to bed and make love. That’s “B” for the bed,
“l” for the love, and the “o!” and the “o!”
a string upon which they wish
they could balance forever,
but they know it is temporal
like sunrise over the most romantic
street in the world. The conductor
saying, Bloor Street, Bloor Street, Bloor.