Postmodern Weather Report
- Turnstone Press
- Initial publish date
- Apr 2023
Paperback / softback
- Publish Date
- Apr 2023
- List Price
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In today's world, space is at a premium to accommodate humans, nature, and ideas, but what, exactly, occupies the vast psychic space of the Prairie landscape? In Postmodern Weather Report, Kristian Enright expertly weaves critical theory with playful poetics to suffuse this space with reflections on science, semantics, pop culture, philosophy, and a blossoming emergence into new cultural awareness for a contemporary age.
About the author
Kristian Enright's work has been shortlisted for the Matrix Magazine Litpop awards and for the Robert Kroetsch Award for Innovative Poetry. He has been featured in Juice, the University of Winnipeg's creative writing literary journal, five times, and is a long-time contributor to Winnipeg's cultural scene. Recently, he completed a Master's degree in creative literature at the University of Manitoba. Postmodern Weather Report is his second collection of poetry.
Excerpt: Postmodern Weather Report (by (author) Kristian Enright)
A Beginning Sky Report: at Night
Egotistical gaseous ghosts, trying on dresses: Northern Lights
neither impressionist nor expressionist. Though anger is
rarely bright nor happiness heavy together: an epiphany.
There will be a birth through it all as soon as impatience
appears unappreciative before longing, here, in the parody
of a pilgrimage the advertisement, encountering (truck stop: convenience store)
mild creativity, reaches
Dresses made of theatre curtains, shifting
old Gods trying to make a come-back like Classic movies
or clouds that came over from Europe, decadent tardy
apologies. Imagine they have brought songs,
foggy sycophants...They warn, but in using rhyme
give all away: how do we address the following longings--?
Let your butterfly-utter fly: wings,
abstract, lose a pillow fight for sky/ the victory
is for an emanating butter medallion
strung on high/ like a culminating fact...
The Gods watch our cars drive away, their inversion
of the stars, as we rush home to watch Canadian Idle.
Imagine how narcissus would feel in outer-space
--besides being unsure of when he was drowning--
And I am somehow certain that if he did drift it would be
exactly static, he would be such a perfect representative
of "us," thinking we are beyond all psychology, a new
disorder removed by a meltedsilverspoon scalpel, eaten by a
wealthy philistine, assuming it was a "growth" to fill the stomach
Like the dandelion of nostalgia, as when finally entered
a planetary atmosphere, it would not need to have "life" :
The thickness of the gases that suffocate, pillow-wielding murderers.
We would have abundant chemistry kit and it would be enough:
and for hope he knows beyond personification
that a fossil is not a momento mori it is more important
to imagine nature outracing all our technology a silent burr
in the terrible chill of the silk fabric of space / time: mutation
in the fortified seed.
Could not the gender of the Gods go off to an abstract war?
They must combat the voids, vast statues who shower in meteors.
The cherubic faces of planets: shields to which the Gods' intentionality
are alien fingers pointing, groping at hidden interiors
gasesous spills sensationalist wills if only telescopes were neighborhood
If galaxies were only bloody, perversely, there is/was life out there?
This seems like the version of God that emerged in history
not refined by curiosity--yet, this is a projection steeped in irony.
But the stars have "reached the point" where our metaphors
need far greater sophistication: the stray satellite
will earn its rust badges, the dead ears of pure space.
Instead, consider the phrase of a literary physics its non-reality:
Mere/ age in (the) dis-trance (a child thinks this, looking out home window)
So that when we think of life, we imagine we are still moving...
Here on the prairie, we walk through the graveyard's
strange parallel happenstance, a crash test dummy's speed bumps
The retreat of space into its own victory yet, when we think of time
liberated from our own aging...a new sense of time emerges.
In the house, is a winding star-case:
The skylight in a child's castle ceiling opens to a combined space:
Forbid the bureaucrat of stars, stick it notes on making constellations
On-the-page-poet, but only briefly.
'How the hell...do you get into an accident...on a prairie field?' By reading Kristian Enright's new book. In Postmodern Weather Report Enright plays a "barb wire harp" with hammer-ons, loopiness and zeal to identify, dis-identify, re-identify, smudge, erase and reconstitute multiple possible and impossible objects in an entanglement that demolishes cause and effect in a radical dépaysement. The new book is a "collidescope", a vast pataphysical prairie tsunami, a 'damn burst" city of "owl drone", aphasia", "lunar toe-nail clippings", and "image madness pointing everywhere at once." For Enright there is no such thing as empty space; there is always a there "THERE", but "it will take time to make sense" and is filled with "speed bumps" as it deconstructs us and defamiliarizes the "object-if". Welcome to the weather report of the future.
--Brian Henderson author of Unidentified Poetic Object
Kristian Enright's Postmodern Weather Report is an ambitious work of poetry: a poet's book of poetry. Reading Enright's poetry is a consciousness-altering experience that a scholar could work on for a lifetime. Enright provides a "freshness of perspective" (36) on topics like climate change, the prairies, the urban environment, and deist theology. This work walks a tightrope of being joyous and playful, while being psychologically and theoretically complex. With this prairie poem collection, Enright can claim his rightful place among foundational Winnipeg poets like Dennis Cooley, Robert Kroetsch, and Deborah Schnitzer.