That would be me. And finally I’ve got my life back! I am once again able to tutor my son, cook dinner, clean house, catch up on paperwork, email correspondence, walk in the woods with the dogs and write. Woo hoo! I can’t believe how time consuming, all consuming this Visible Verse Festival became. Josef kept saying I was doing too much, that I needed more help, which didn’t seem too helpful. Certainly it’s true but who else could I enlist? So I bit the bullet. I can do this. Once every 10 years, it won’t kill me. The festival turned out well though. I received many kudos and people were especially impressed with the programming.

According to the Visible Verse article and Georgia Straight film critic Mark Harris I have an “unusual vocation.” That’s one way to put it, perhaps a polite way. Oh, I’m not complaining. I’m just relieved to climb back to into the scribe saddle. I’m going to finish up this blog entry and then attend to an essay Sheri-D Wilson has contracted me to write for a reference book and her Banff Arts Centre workshop. Then, I can finally get back to my novel! It will be a miracle if I complete the final draft by Jan 1 but I’m going to try.

As I sit here lamely trying to recall the events of the festival less than two weeks ago, it occurs to me that it ‘s much like the pain of childbirth, a big blur of panic and pain. Actually, I’ve never had to push the Panic button, even after 54 hours of labour and being hit hard with food poisoning Saturday. Fortunately I was able to hand over the emceeing reigns to my dear friend and associate Kyle Hawke while I retreated to my hotel room until sufficiently recovered.

The Friday before the festival I met with Mark Harris, film reviewer for the Georgia Straight after parking at Pacific Cinémathèque. (Sadly, this will become a running theme, how congestion and a dearth of parking downtown complicates my already daunting logistics. I know I should use transit but I’ve got crates of videopoems to transport man!) I managed to arrive at our wintry November meeting on time but then couldn’t find said journalist within the crowded Starbucks at Davie and Robson; crowded and noisy. I located him inside but I don’t know how he was able to hear our conversation on his tape recorder later. We discussed the lack of cross-pollination between disciplines in Canada. He asked if I was influenced by Pasolini and Cocteau. I’ve seen some of Pier Paolo Pasolini’s work but wasn’t really familiar with him. Cocteau is a big influence, quite possibly the first poet to employ film. Post-interview I returned to the theatre to get started on the transfers but was thwarted due to a series of technical glitches. PC (Pacific Cinémathèque) head projectionist Al Reid  managed to find an old ¾ inch deck in a storage space but when he dusted it off and plugged it in found out it didn’t work. That meant changing the program because I couldn’t locate some of my selections on any other tapes. Ugh.

Tuesday, Nov. 16 was brutal. Rising at 5 AM for an early-morning ferry and after stopping off at the home of director Clancy Dennehy’s place to pick up a DVD of Michael Turner‘s Kingsway, I spent nearly ten hours in PC’s administrative offices working with Al but doing the bulk of the transfers myself, in order to master tapes for both nights’ screenings. I knew it would be a slog but by dark was beginning to worry I might miss the last ferry home. I did not have the option of returning to complete the job, we were down to the wire. I originally planned to break the monumental task into two sessions but had to wait until all the necessary DVDs had been delivered. Friday night’s Vancouver Videopoem Festival 1999-2002 retrospective screening was the biggest challenge as we had to mediate the clunkiest and oldest formats: ¾ inch tape and beta. I rolled up my sleeves and got down to business around 9 AM. At 6, PC Art Director Steve Chow expressed shock that I was still there. “Real time, my man!” I said. “No way around it. And remind me never to do this ever again.”  It was nerve wracking! I’m no tech head. Josef had kindly offered his assistance but there wasn’t enough equipment or space for both of us so I was on my own. Using a well-worn Cine Works camera as a player/recorder, I tried my best to check audio levels and be sure the lead time between the videos and films was adequate, which got to be overwhelming at times. Man, did I crash when I got home that night though I kept worrying about the quality of the master tapes and how to deal with the remaining gaps and glitches. I had to ask one of the artists to bring DVDs to the theatre the next day after discovering they were the wrong format. Then I discovered I’d lost my beloved iPod. Damn! Needing to pace myself, I was determined to get some rest, mediate the stress and pressure as much as possible. I could feel my body fighting some kind of infection or virus. I drank Emergen-C and ate raw garlic.

Wednesday, Nov. 17, I participated in Sean Cranbury’s of Books On The Radio Real Vancouver Writers Series at W2.  Indeed it was a fabulous evening of poetry and prose wherein I showcased some videopoems and invited people to the festival though I had to leave early to get back to the island. Held in the Cedar Room, don’t you know, I had the pleasure of hearing Sarah Emily Roberts, Chris Eng, Peter Darbyshire, Elee Kralji Gardiner and pals, the murderously funny Dennis E. Bolen, fictionista Jenn Farrell and the sterling works of poet Gillian Jerome. I bought a copy of her ReLit Award winning collection, Red Nest and she signed it for me. I ran out before turning into a bumpkin, missing out on Cynara Geissler and Chris Costa. I parked my trusty steed in Horseshoe Bay overnight and dashed down to the pier to wait in cold-as-a-witch’s tit night air for the water taxi.

The next day, on my way to Vancouver, despite balding tires and news of a possible snow dump to pick up Los Angeles poet Ellyn Maybe, I found a ticket on my car. I plugged their damn meter with 19 effen dollars the night before but apparently it wasn’t for 24 hours, only until midnight though I selected “One Day.” Arrgghh! Bloody Imperial Parking has such a monopoly and their name is entirely appropriate. I’m going to fight it. After battling Lions Gate snarl-ups, I reached Waterfront Station and waited. And waited. Ellyn’s flight was 5 pm, not 4:30. Ate a horrid gyro, which is another challenge amidst the throes of event coordination; it’s nearly impossible to eat properly. I pack nuts and fruit but they do get tedious so I wind up taking chances on sandwiches and the like which turn out to be awful. Food on the run always is. Ellyn had no cell phone, which drove home the fact we can’t seem to function anymore without being completely wired all the time. I was reminded of my Sage Hill writing retreat experience and the monastery, how I relished the serenity of the place and not having wireless in our rooms. Christ, parking downtown is such a nightmare; I had to move my car several times. Finally Ellyn was able to call from a pay phone. I dashed back to the station and immediately spotted her cap, curly hair and wire rim glasses. It was a sharply clear and cold night as we headed up Highway 1 to Howe Sound. Ellyn had never been on a car ferry before and was enthralled to the point of giddiness. We had some homemade chicken soup when we got home and wound down in front of a fire.

After a hearty breakfast Friday morning, we braved the elements and made our way into the city. Sweet and charming Ellyn bestowed me with her CD, Rodeo for the Sheepish and requested I play my CDs Surfing Season and Princess Nut, (that’s how bad traffic was, we had time to play both.) I hadn’t listened to them in a long time and had to agree, they’re awesome. I want to start a new band next year, do more singing than spoken word this time around. Despite month-old reservations, I had a hard time checking in with a maxed out credit card when we finally reached our downtown hotel. Fortuitously my dear friend and associate, e-poets director Kurt Heintz had already arrived and came downstairs to bail me out. Ellyn and I just had enough time to change before going over to the theatre. I was heartened to see a formidable knot of red-nosed videopoetry aficionados at the opening reception. I had to excuse myself and run upstairs for a review of the program with the projectionist. I returned to the lobby, excited to greet participating out-of-town artists while trying to organize the videotaping, a table for a display of Vancouver Videopoem Festival and Visible Verse archives while answering a kazillion questions. These esteemed artists included the aforementioned Kurt Heintz and his friend the poet Duriel E. Harris from Chicago, Kath MacLean from Edmonton, Taien Ng-Chan from Montreal and Marilyn Zornado, from Portland, Oregon. It was gratifiying to see members of my tribe Jamie Reid, Sylvia Taylor, Dennis Bolen along with Vancouver Videopoem Festival alumni Alice Hamilton, Leanne Averbach, Michael Ricciardi, up from Seattle, and my talented singer-songwriter nephew Sanjezz.

Soon it was time for attendees to knock back the last of their vino and get down to some serious vidopoem viewing. “Hello!” I said. “I’m your host and curator of this videopoem extravaganza, Heather Haley. Welcome!” For some reason I blurted out “10 motherfucking years!” Well, it has been a long haul. I thanked all the artists. Without their vision we wouldn’t be celebrating 10 years of their brilliance. Aside from the hybrid genre of videopoetry, its myriad and fantastic forms, the most remarkable aspect of the past 10 years has been the artists. I feel privileged to have worked with so many extraordinary poets, videographers and filmmakers. I thanked Jim Sinclair, Pacific Cinematheque’s Artistic Director, clearly recalling the day we met in 2000 to discuss a videopoem showcase called the Vancouver Videopoem Festival. I am grateful for his unwavering support, proud that we still provide the sustaining venue for artistically significant poetry video and film in North America. I thanked the staff and volunteers for their support and commitment to this once obscure genre. I thanked my partner in crime, Josef Roehrl. I’m lucky to have him in my corner. The rest of the festival, like I said, was a blur. I ran back up to the projection booth to make sure certain selections weren’t omitted. Ellyn Maybe wowed the audience, completely charming everyone with her sparkling personality and dazzling poetry. I lost a ring, a glove, later finding a sweater at tapas bar La Bodega. I couldn’t believe we ended up there. I really don’t like the place but my Bushwhack collaborator Tina Schliessler and her family went over after the show so we joined them despite the characteristic chaos. The wait staff resolutely ignored the group of us until I charged into the back room and found our colleagues along with several empty tables. I was in no mood. Still, it took at least 15 minutes for the confusion about seating to abate and then another 15 minutes to get drinks and food to the table. Fortunately I got to visit with Tina and Kyle and Tom and Ellyn and Kurt and Duriel and Jamie. He was in an ebullient mood, buying a carafe of wine for the table though I was a good girl, determined to be in top form for the next day of the festival.

Day 2: Special Panel Discussion + th quiet releef uv bones    “Seeing the Voice: The Evolution of Videopoetry from Cocteau to Youtube”    A hybrid of verse and video. A wedding of word and image. Panelists will address the state of the union while discussing the past, present and future of the once-obscure genre of videopoetry.

Panelists: Tom Konyves, Canadian videopoem pioneer • Warren Dean Fulton, poet, publisher, videographer and past curator of the Vancouver Videopoem Festival • Katrin Bowen is a director residing in Vancouver BC Canada. She writes and directs documentaries, visual poetic short films, television, and feature length films • Kurt Heintz, Chicago-based writer, new media artist and director of e-poets.net • Taien Ng-Chan, Montreal-based writer, editor, photographer, film/videomaker and curator. Moderator: Danika Dinsmore, poet, novelist, screenwriter and past President of Women in Film and Television Vancouver.

PRECEDED BY SCREENING: th quiet releef uv bones • Canada 2009. Film: Lenore Herb. Poem/Voice: bill bissett. 10 mins.   In Memoriam: Lenore Herb • Vancouver videographer/filmmaker Lenore Herb, an important chronicler of Vancouver’s poetry and early punk scenes, died on October 24, 2010, at the age of 63. In her memory, a screening of th quiet releef uv bones, a videopoem she made in collaboration with her friend bill bissett, will precede this afternoon’s panel discussion.

But–and this is a big one–the next morning Ellyn and I went out for breakfast which is where I acquired the aforementioned food poisoning. Should I reveal the name of the restaurant? Gal pal Julie Vik thinks it was the spinach that came with my eggs. Remember that e-coli spinach outbreak a few years back? I don’t know, we eat spinach at home all the time though with no problems. The food was tasty and they brought me coffee in a French press. I think it can happen at any eating establishment so maybe I will remain mum. It hit pretty fast and hard. By early afternoon my guts were in serious distress. I’ll spare you the gory details. I managed to get over to the theatre to help set things up, say hello to the panelists, talk to Saturday’s young projectionist Jeff, introduce Lenore’s daughter, Saphira Coutts and the quiet releef uv bones. Then the pain got really intense. That’s when Kyle took over and I rushed back to the hotel. I lied down. Josef and Julie arrived and fussed over me. My niece and her girlfriend came into the city and I wasn’t able to visit with them much I was so miserable. I missed the first part of the evening, the Visible Verse Retrospective 2003-2009 but slowly started to feel better. I got dressed and was able to enjoy the rest of the evening including Tanya Evanson’s stellar performance and the screening of current works. People praised the panel and panelists. I will post video soon and look forward to watching it along with everyone else.

Though fading, I was still determined to celebrate after all of that. A rowdy bunch of us convened in the hotel lounge for much lively debate and socializing. Duriel, Michael, John, Danika, Michael, Marilyn, Thesa, Ellyn, Josef, Julie, Kyle, Warren. A few people complained that several videopoems were too long. I agreed but when a piece meets most of the Visible Verse criteria—I am bombarded each year with experimental films—it’s hard to repudiate. Less is more and people don’t know when to quit. All artists can be guilty of this. Often an artist will grab onto a concept and not let go until it’s completely wrung out, along with the audience.

Later we die-hards ended up at Characters in the West End, were nearly run over crossing the street at one point amidst all the shenanigans. Me and my fellow Edgeheads (Edgewise ElectroLit Centre), Kyle and Warren excitedly discussed the future of Visible Verse and made a date to meet soon to discuss plans further and while sober. A fun, into-the-wee-hours night. Next day we checked out and I took Ellyn over to Thesa’s cozy apartment in a West End high-rise. We had coffee and did a little bird watching. A hummingbird appeared at her fuchsia! I thought they flew south in the winter. I said goodbye, picked up the tapes and DVDs from the theatre and drove home, weary but happy.