From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
If the red slayer think he slays
or if the slain think he is slain
they know not well the subtle ways
I keep and pass and turn again
Far or forgot to me is near
shadow and sunlight are the same
the vanished gods to me appear
and on to me are shame and fame
They reckon ill who leaves me out
when me they fly
I am the wings
I am the doubter and the doubt
and I the hymn the Brahmin sings
The strong gods pine for my abode
and pine in vain the sacred seven
but thou meek lover of the good!
find me and turn thy back on heaven.
Who: Anyone participating in National Novel Writing Month 2011
What: an “Unofficial” NaNoWriMo Write-In
When: Tuesday November 8th at 6:30pm
Where: Chesters - Beers of the World at 60 King St. E. (look for us in the back)
Why: Get your word count up! Get motivated!
How: Bring laptops, notebooks, whatever you want to use to write with. Set word-count goals; participate in word-wars, spend this time writing, writing, writing!
Hope to see you there!
If you’re a member of Hamilton Writers and are participating in NaNoWriMo this year, let me know so I can include your name on this site.
The HAMILTON ARTS COUNCIL announces the 18TH ANNUAL HAMILTON LITERARY AWARDS!
WHEN: Monday, November 14th, 2011
WHERE: Theatre Aquarius’ Dofasco Centre for the Arts (the Ron and Donna Patterson Lobby)
190 King William St. West, Hamilton, ON
Reception at 6:30 PM
Awards Ceremony at 7:30 PM
Admission is PAY-WHAT-YOU-CAN @ Box Office of Theatre Aquarius
This event celebrates the accomplishments of Hamilton-based writers with awards given in the following categories: Individual Poem, Fiction Book, Non-Fiction Book, Poetry Book and Children’s & Young Adult Fiction Book. Mark the date on your calendar and please RSVP to development@artshamilton.ca or phone (905) 481-3218 and let us know if you will be attending the event.
The nominees are:
FICTION - Book
Trevor Cole for “Practical Jean”
Ed Woods for “Survival” and “The Casino Shuttle”
James King for “Etienne’s Alphabet”
NON-FICTION - Book
David Laing Dawson for “The Adolescent Owners Manual”
Peter Edwards for “The Bandido Massacre”
David Collier for “CHIMO”
Linda Joyce Ott for “Auto Parts”
POETRY - Book
James Deahl for “Opening the Stone Heart”
Gary Barwin for “The Porcupinity of the Stars”
Jeff Seffinga for “All We Like Cats”
R.W. Megens for “The Infinite Ache”
Ed Woods for “Word Crafter Haiku” & “Word Crafter Poems”
YOUNG ADULT/CHILDRENS - Book
Sylvia McNicoll for “Last Chance For Paris”
Deborah Sherman for “The Triple Chocolate Brownie Genious”
Ron Dennis for “Adventures in Shroomville”
POETRY - Individual Poem
David Haskins for “Urban Fox” & “Disposition”
Jeff Seffinga for “Ten Minutes, With Chickadees”,
“My Cat Plays The Mandolin” & “Rose Garden”
Ed Woods for “Hookers”, “Open Door” & “Awake”
http://artshamilton.ca/recent.html
Jordan Newman
Why I think it’ll end differently if she can hear
me sing these words I lay to death upon paper,
I have no clue. But in her ear canal I hope for
a home to be found, for these syllable’s
aren’t like all else I’ve ever been able
to do, be wasted beyond doubt; yet for
why I want to wake beside her one more
time before death takes me back to the
realm where we go before and after
our time here, I will never accurately know.
It’s not like that summer fling we were
to share was anything worthy of Roseau’s
theory of romantic genius; or even Poe’s
tragic prose’s could bring to our summer’s
paradise anything other than what it was
to be. We experienced with each other
what ever kind of poison we could land our
hands on. Her moaning wasn’t exactly
a psalm for choirs to hum, but what do I know?
Except her skin was soft and smooth to
the touch. The way her voice crackled and how
she was always grumpy in the morning, ain’t be
an worthy of influencing a poem by even the
most down-and-out poet, let alone an anthology.
Why then is it her that is my muse? Her smile
is far from unique, quite contrary, boarders
on ordinary- so then does most of her beauty.
But it’s just the way she only allows the joy-
fullness of life touch her gentle soul. The way
in which I alone seem to see in her pupil’s,
the heavy loss of time she is meant to share.
So then I should count my lucky stars
that I was one of the men who was picked by her
to spend a summer’s season, let alone, simply
a one night stand. But even if that’s what she
desired from me, it was out of her control,
a deity destined us to have a long standing history.
But I can recall, through the vague haze of memory,
that it wasn’t all beautiful. That if a yellow
car hadn’t chaperoned us to the beach that day
in June or July, would we have ended up together?
I could spend an eternity trying to decipher
the truth behind the spell of which the elixir
of her life’s essence has over me and still be
no closer to the answer, so why do I bother?
I just need to know why it never ended the
way she said, swore, vowed, it would be.
Instead of a record for my birthday, like she
swore she’d go and get me, I received a surprise
like no other! Didn’t see it coming, instead of a
musical gift, it was the termination of our
romantic contract. So now then I am to always be
a vain example of a boy who longs to become, for her,
a man she’d maybe decide would be worthy to share
her life with; and to grow old beside, because it’s rare,
this time we our given on earth, she said. So then I need to be
true to her and show with time that absence grows makes the
heart grow fonder. If this has any truth, then she misses me
like the coast line misses the tide, & the moon, the light of day.
