About the Author

Jon Paul Fiorentino

Jon Paul Fiorentino
Jon Paul Fiorentino’s first novel is Stripmalling (ECW, 2009). His most recent book of poetry is The Theory of the Loser Class (Coach House Books, 2006). He is the author of the poetry book Hello Serotonin (Coach House Books, 2004) and the humour book Asthmatica (Insomniac Press, 2005). His most recent editorial projects are the anthologies Career Suicide! Contemporary Literary Humour (DC Books, 2003) and Post-Prairie — a collaborative effort with Robert Kroetsch, (Talonbooks, 2005).

Robert Kroetsch
Robert Kroetsch is a Canadian novelist, poet, and non-fiction writer. In his novel, The Words of My Roaring (1966), he began to use the tall tale rhetoric of prairie taverns. Both The Studhorse Man (1969), which won the Governor General’s Award, and Gone Indian (1973) call the conventions of realistic fiction hilariously into question.

In 2004, he was made an Officer of the Order of Canada.

Books by this Author
I'm Not Scared of You or Anything

I'm Not Scared of You or Anything

edition:eBook
also available: Paperback
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Indexical Elegies

Indexical Elegies

edition:eBook
also available: Paperback
tagged : canadian
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Leaving Mile End

Leaving Mile End

edition:Paperback
tagged : canadian
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Needs Improvement

Needs Improvement

edition:eBook
also available: Paperback
tagged : canadian
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Transcona Fragments
Excerpt

transcona fragments

ah, good old ground tasting like invasive snow salt reeling under exhaust (no matter the cost) and don't forget to write from the east where you will sit in a state of abandoned bliss stitched to a street that hardly knows you

unpacking that metaphor the unkempt gravel or tar of a transcona side street driving with your third eye on the road splaying yourself out the side window, with both eyes on what you know

that taste, that region: gravel, tar, spit leaves of glass splinters on the dream road tin am radio chevrolet and a block heater and an electric blanket and a six pack for christmas

park on the frigid plain, dig a ditch round the city plunge into floodway and dream headlong into traffic as if you had the guts as if you ever had the pleasure

under windows laced with the thickest frost you ramble on about the weather and the family and i'm almost lured into your language until i recoil at the irrational flash of a police search light

we quickly clothe ourselves and turn down the heater and turn up the radio and pretend to be innocents with decorative smiles for the constable who was hoping for something more cinematic

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Blues and Bliss

Blues and Bliss

The Poetry of George Elliott Clarke
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also available: Paperback
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Excerpt

Africadian Experience by George Elliott Clarke

(For Frederick Ward)

To howl in the night because of smoked rum wounding the heart;

To be so stubbornly crooked, your alphabet develops rickets;

To check into the Sally Ann—and come out brain-dead, but spiffy;

To smell the sewer anger of politicians washed up by dirty votes;

To feel your skin burning under vampire kisses meant for someone else;

To trash the ballyhooed verses of the original, A-1, Africville poets;

To carry the Atlantic into Montreal in epic suitcases with Harlem accents;

To segregate black and white bones at the behest of discriminating worms;

To mix voodoo alcohol and explosive loneliness in unsafe bars;

To case the Louvre with raw, North Preston gluttony in your eyes;

To let vitamin deficiencies cripple beauty queens in their beds;

To dream of Halifax and its collapsing houses of 1917

(Blizzard and fire in ten thousand living rooms in one day);

To stagger a dirt road that leads to an exploded piano and bad sermons;

To plumb a well that taps rice wine springing up from China;

To okay the miracle of a split length of wood supporting a clothesline;

To cakewalk into prison as if you were parading into Heaven;

To recognize Beauty when you see it and to not be afraid.

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Cyclops Review, The
Excerpt

The Most Spontaneous Thing

Adrienne Ho

Walking toward Bank Street in winter, cold showing in our breaths. You leapt

pressed my back down against what would have been a raised flowerbed in summer, your mouth planting kisses.

The whole few seconds, I was thinking: what if someone's looking, what if in my backpack I carried some blown glass ornament you didn't know about?

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Post-Prairie

Post-Prairie

An Anthology of New Poetry
edition:Paperback
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The Moosehead Anthology 9

The Moosehead Anthology 9

Career Suicide!: Contemporary Literary Humour
edition:Paperback
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