My dear pal Nancy has been taking a course called The Picture a Poem Makes, at The Poetry School in London, and she sent me a link her classmates have been sharing: UbuWeb, which describes itself as “a completely independent resource dedicated to all strains of the avant-garde, ethnopoetics, and outsider arts”. Just the place to find those elusive Gertrude Stein MP3s.
A little rant, for the record.
This morning I was approached, through a tip from a well meaning colleague, by a technical recruiter from Calgary who was looking for a technical writer in Victoria. But it was a junior position, and she offered me $20 an hour! That, I told her, is what my cleaner charges. This is the second recruiter in a six month period who’s offered me $20 an hour for tech writing; the last one was in Vancouver, for heaven’s sake. I think there is more pure dignity in working as a cleaner for that kind of money than as a technical writer, so I turned it down — in the interests of not driving the salary standards for professional writers any further towards the basement than they already are.
Who is accepting such wages, and can you please stop?
I think this also demonstrates the perils of agency employment vs contracting for a living; through the sweat of our brows we are offered the opportunity to subsidize the decent wages the recruiters are making. They do not seem to understand that there is a difference between a permanent salaried job with benefits that can be quoted as a theoretical hourly wage, and a contract position that requires us to patch a living together from a month here and a month there, and pay our own health care, training, holidays and overhead. Grrr.
The lovely Saskatchewan-born neo-formalist Elizabeth Bachinsky shared her passion for sonnets with Kate Braid’s form class in Nanaimo last night. She is very fond of palindromes and Sapphic stanzas as well, and her first book, Curio, included a translation into anagrams of part of The Wasteland. She has done some wild things with Google search results too.
There was a preliminary discussion of meter, and while reading the chapter on Iambic meter from the excellent text, An Exaltation of Forms, we ran into diverging opinions on how to scan the line, which I now learn is “oft-debated” in scansion: “When to the sessions of sweet silent thought” (–Shakespeare, Sonnet 30).
Kate said that Keith Maillard had once told her that it was important not to confuse rhythm with meter and that this had made sense of the metrical world for her. If I’m paraphrasing her correctly, she said that rhythm has more to do with the emphasis we might put on a line when we read it, and meter is the more abstract “unreal” template we put over that line to measure it, within the context of the rest of the poem.
I’m still puzzling on that, but I found something that supports Maillard’s view, if music and poetry are this strongly connected, on a page about music theory. It says:
Many modern conceptions of rhythm and meter place them in opposition. Rhythm is often defined to consist of the actually sounding durations of music, while meter is the alternation of strong and weak beats, or the interaction of pulse strata, that are inferred from the rhythm. Rhythm is thus conceived as emerging and active— a “concrete” patterning that is measured by, and heard to work with or against the “abstract,” deterministic, rigid metrical grid.
Does that make sense to anyone? A couple of us thought the line (see second paragraph above) could be scanned as more or less straight dactylic tetrameter (quibbles over whether “silent” could be read without an initial stress, in context), but others wanted to put it into iambic pentameter with a double ionic (unstressed/unstressed/stressed/stressed) foot in the middle and a trochaic substitution in the first foot.
Ok, any [other] prosody geeks out there? For the rest of us, I like this page for a nice basic summary of meter. And I was having a little fun today with this one that has some online quizzes and tutorials on prosody.
And for those of you who prefer food, here’s what I had for supper last night (Rich Leek Tart, it’s called). Obviously I have a long way to go as both a cook and a food photographer, but it was pretty tasty. The leeks were sweated for about half an hour, with minced shallots and a couple of sliced mushrooms, before being mixed with strained yogurt, swiss cheese and eggs, and the result was sweet and dense; it almost tasted like I’d added sugar.
Having returned from the land of snow, chickadees and Benedictines, my thoughts are now turning to the lone star state, where I’ll be next week. My stress levels are rising in anticipation: having reviewed the schedule of the AWP conference in Austin, it seems there are far too many sessions to attend all at once, and far too much going on in Austin to cover in the three days we have to be tourists before the conference starts.
Such heart-rending choices: one particularly cruel morning’s simultaneous sessions include (among others):
Crazy Women: Writers Defying Diagnosis;
That’s So Funny: Irony and Meaning in Contemporary American Poetry;
From Rejection to Publication: Becoming A Resilient Writer;
Women Small Press Publishers on Publishing;
Blogs, Boards & Online Journals: Salons for the 21st Century; and
Symbol, Glyph, or Gimmick?: Repunctuating Contemporary Fiction and Poetry.
An interesting debate on TripAdviser’s Austin forum, about where in Austin do you find the best barbecue? A matter I intend to give serious thought to, my curiosity having been whetted by “The Whole Hog”, Jeffrey Steingarten’s account of judging a bbq competition in Memphis, in one of my favourite food books ever, The Man Who Ate Everything.
Cooked my first proper meal since my return last night: salmon coulibiac, which reminded me of my childhood favourite, kedgeree (my mother’s super simple version: mix hot cooked rice, chopped hard-boiled eggs, canned or leftover salmon, parsley and a good spoonful of butter). This grown-up puff-pastried incarnation tasted even better – with lemon, dill and mushrooms to zip it up a bit. It was easy to make but it took me a long time, here in the land of a thousand distractions. Apparently the beauty of it is you can make it ahead and then put it in the oven when your guests arrive.
We had it with an aubergine/eggplant pasta casserole I’d hidden in my freezer, and followed with leftover chocolate mousse cake from Thrifty’s.
Ok, so it was starch night at the hacienda, but on the other hand it was cold, wet and miserable outside. Starch keeps the rain out, I always think.
Here’s what the source of the mystery bark looked like before Tracy turned it into art.
Drove up to Nanaimo on Saturday, in the always entertaining company of Peter Such, to a regional meeting of the Writers Union of Canada.
As ever there were lots of things to talk about. The digitalization initiatives of libraries is a looming concern: what will it do to our already slender income (according to our regional rep’s research the average income for Canadian writers is $11,000 – well below the poverty line)? How on earth can it be done without violating an author’s copyright? These initiatives place at risk the very channels through which Canadian writers have managed – by virtue of some very hard battles fought by our union members among others – to receive some reliable payments for their created works: copyright payments and PLR, as well as royalties; and publishers, whose sales and subsidiary rights deals will be jeopardized, have big concerns about their digital income prospects as well.
Writers were asked to consider doing something for Freedom to Read Week this week, February 26th-March 4th.
My lovely publisher, Oolichan’s General Editor Hiro Boga, a writer herself (ambidextrous: she’s published a novel and a poetry collection) was also at the meeting, so we got to talk shop for a moment or two. Peter had swiftly stepped in when I mused aloud about where I would have my book launch for Cartography, and so it will be at his fabulous home, sometime in April.
At the potluck meal which followed, our BC rep Marion Quednau demonstrated her finesse with some hand made perogies, which she’d bought on Terminal Avenue in Nanaimo. She says she likes them best boiled and then gently browned in butter till golden; her secret weapons are leeks and cumin, and of course she serves them with a dollop of sour cream. Lots of other good stuff: home smoked oysters, dolmathes, chocolate mousse cake. Enough ballast to set off back down-island through snow flurries which tapered off as we approached Victoria.
Looking forward to the BBC Afternoon Play on Monday – a broadcast of Rapture, the TS Eliot award winning poems by Carol Ann Duffy. Online for 7 days from broadcast.
And finally, I welcome back Anton the Orphan, who spent three weeks working with me as my personal trainer before I headed to the writing retreat, and who will be lodging here for another week while his current custodian is otherwise occupied. He is being fostered through a great animal rescue society called Animals for Life – it is a sort of animal shelter, but its shelters are all private homes. They have a charity shop in Sidney which you’re advised to steer clear of if you have a weakness for kittens, as they keep a cage of them there which is always surrounded by animal lovers.
