Gawd. Lived here for nearly a year and the building across the street is still being built. Wish we could move. In any case, got my CV updated with the help of Tanya Van of Dollymomma Designs. I’m fortunate to have such kind and talented friends. It looks good and we got ‘er down to one page. Might as well apply for that treehouse-in-Switzerland residency. Dreaming is free after all.
Ah, life in the big city, or “big smoke” as we ex-islanders refer to it. Our rent is going up, I need to get some editing done but again, there is a huge mother of a truck in front of the construction site across the street blasting away, since 6:30 this morning! Seriously considering moving. I still love Vancouver but it is becoming uninhabitable.
Oh well, we got to watch some free Canada Place fireworks last night, ear plugs help a little and it will get done as I need it by tomorrow. Deadlines as a cure for procrastination, yeah! I haven’t looked at this thing in at least a year. Fortunately my dear friend Tanya is going to help me whip it into shape.
My dear friend, musician and musicologist Jason Flower of Supreme Echo Records in Victoria just announced that he is about to remaster the only known surviving Zellots recording, a cassette copy of a demo tape engineered and produced by the late Peter Draper, RIP. Jason and I spent nearly two years trying to track down the master, to no avail. I did a lot of sleuthing and may have pissed off some people but could not even unearth another cassette. There was talk of possibly using the audio off some of the video Lenore Herb shot back in the day-which I hear has been digitized-but it appears Jason is going with this tape which contains On The Dole, Let’s Play House and another track called Vampire Love. I think that’s what it’s called. And there might be a fourth track, I’m not sure. Oh it was so long ago…In any case, I’m excited that the Zellots will finally be on vinyl! Details to come. Check out this “teaser clip/video” and the fabulous Supreme Echo merch at the website. Also, head over to the record store in Victoria when you’re in that neck of the woods. Jason knows his stuff! And this is all true:
extraordinary archives of forgotten scenes from lesser known places
the anthropology of counter-culture. extensively researched biographies. remastered audio. restored original-era imagery. hand assembled in small editions.
I have not had time nor money to produce a book trailer for The Town Slut’s Daughter but pulled this together on Facebook. It even has music! Just click on the image below.
All right! Came up with a title for the new collection with the help of my esteemed editor; The Skookum Raven. Currently working on book structure, the manuscript is nearly complete. Themes and sections include work and labour-Clown Duty, love and sex-Ripe To Stray, nature and birds of all sorts of course-Skookum Raven, crime and violence-Detective Work and no dearth of character sketches we’ve dubbed Piratical. Also, not surprisingly, the book is replete with deep BC culture.
BIRD WATCHING
Binoculars resting on the sill
Blackly inveigle us to look.
The luxury of observation,
Royal silk roads.
Cotton sheets abuzz,
I sleep with a mad bomber
In a bed too narrow
To contain explosives.
Eroding acres encroach
Shores of receding flesh.
Grip off, I spy
Elfin hummers amok,
Flap-happy mallards
Swarming a blustery afternoon.
I recall bionic gunrunners, East Van,
First day back from gangster land.
Recoiling at the forecast I’d fled,
Cramped in a compact car,
A woman piloting the wife.
Blindfolded against his scrutiny,
Foiling implicit shame, I skirted
Roadblocks, sculpting my spine
Straight, forcing it
To withstand gales. Tolls.
Lousy steward, I drop
The argillite raven,
Gleaming abalone eyes divided.
I slap my back with hot plasters
So it might bend when necessary.
Fit inside. Repair.
When will listening
Reveal the shape? When
Will seeing decode the trick?
Win a copy of Canadian poet Heather Haley’s incendiary debut novel at Goodreads. ”Haley has the gift of writing to suit her subject in all its raddled variety, from wired and jarring to lyrical and tragic.”-Vancouver Sun
…from the forthcoming collection and a photo of a young bear taken by my son when we lived on Bowen Island. I miss our old place, you never knew who might drop by.
MAMA
Beefy titmice.
Permanent chickadees.
Cubs, cute
Marvels I must leave,
Push, fling, provide
The briefest infancy.
Born back east, in Quebec, I have resided on the left coast so long, I’m practically a native, most at ease surrounded by ocean. Here are two more poems from the forthcoming untitled book.
WILD WEST/COAST
No lotus eaters we
Swelter pepper,
Swig beer and bitch.
Cook up the rent.
barbecue / cauldron.
steak / prize.
gavel / tenderizer.
We grow enormous,
Righteous, meting out
Beach justice, from our camp,
Our point. Our peninsula.
With less mitigation
Than an island, its
Star gardens, clarity
Of marine life, surround
A Sound of silent crime.
THE HUMBLE MURALIST AND THE REPROACHFUL BUDDHIST
Island roads are only as long as the island,
invariably leading to the vortex every island hosts,
the village or burg hugging the cove or bay,
the place where sweaty, unrepentant
cocaine and alcohol consumers
wind up, gurgle down, to rub
elbows with the vigorous Tilley-hatted,
swamping the gentry
with their nasty habit stench.
Island roads rove lowly
through swaying grasses, expansive elms,
lambs, cows, horses, llamas.
Do not be lulled.
Anxiety stalks the dales and hollows,
tamped down, concealed behind neat
rustic wooden fences,
skulking in the cottages
despite a glut of acupuncture outlets,
yoga, meditation and pottery classes.
Here there is much intestinal discomfort,
ceaseless aspiring, straining
toward the light.
Dolly for example is the biggest Buddhist,
baddest, blackest sheep
herder on Paisley Island,
happily bending over
for regular shearing
as long as the taxman
is tranquil about it
and she’s back at the ranch in time
to inject herself
into the tête-à-têtes.
Her resident good egg Greg studies
the recommended sutras,
working on his anger,
moving past it, out
of his townie flat to create
murals in the great outdoors.
Grandiose depictions,
towering trompe l’oeils.
Ostentatious? Yes,
but they have provided
our meek hamlet with an angle,
a tourist attraction.
Indeed, they sustain us.
Revisions for my new, still untitled book are nearly completed, including this poem.
WARES
I need a good barrel. Or barrelful.
Beer, rain, oil, doesn’t matter,
Just give it to me
Then go
Or come, oh nuisance caller,
Nothing to sell, less to share.
Will we ever buy into one another?
Exchange crowns? Silence crickets,
Respective niggles?
‘Tis folly, seeking sanctuary
Beneath a bat-roosting tree.
Their jaunty black-sky scribbles
Invade our periphery,
Jolt our creaky alliance.
Cold in front of the fire,
Burning side by side,
Stones skip beyond us, the
Cinema of sunset so banal
It provides no sidetrack.
Score. Or anything we want.
…you heard it here second folks. Now through tomorrow, Wed, April 20, the e-book edition of my novel, The Town Slut’s Daughter is free. Follow this link. “Haley has the gift of writing to suit her subject in all its raddled variety, from wired and jarring to lyrical and tragic.”-Vancouver Sun. Happy spring!
