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Constellations of Connection: Best-of-2014

By Ariel Gordon
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My second book of poetry, Stowaways, was published by Palimpsest Press this year and so I find myself approaching the year-end Best-of-2014 lists with some trepidation. What if my book doesn't get Best-ed? Does that mean my work isn't worthy? Does it mean I'm not worthy? Instead of following this rage/shame spiral down (down/down/down), I've decided to create my own Best-of-2014 list, but this one will do something a little different, in that it will be composed of the books by writers who prop me up, who support me, who form my diffuse but essential community. I'm a working writer. These are working writers. And we all, I think, write out of community. So this isn't about belonging to a particular school of writing, or living in a particular place: it's about the constellations of connection, the interstitial bits between writers that help make books possible. And I'm proud of all of these writers. So I wanted to talk about them.
In the Tiger Park

In the Tiger Park

edition:Paperback
also available: eBook
tagged : canadian
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Why it's on the list ...
Winnipeg writer Alison Calder is everything you want in a poet/prof: in her second collection, she thinks and feels her way through poems that are all about place, this place, but also find themselves in China and Germany and basking under the light of a perverse moon. ("Fuck off, moon! Get out of my poems / Every time I look up / a word, the dictionary says see moon.") She's also a member of my writing group, the Plastered Hams. And I appreciate her good eyes on my poems every goddamn time. Also, her wry commentary on the writing life is nearly as good as the cookies/cake/slanket we make sure to have at meetings.
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Asking
Why it's on the list ...
Edmonton writer Shawna Lemay is a peach. She creates such a fragile beauty in her work and in her life, publishing poetry, creative non-fiction, and experimental fiction, taking photos, and curating the Canadian Poetries site. I haven't spent much in-person time with Shawna, but everything about her writing and her life tells me that she's a kindred spirit and THAT'S what makes her a fully-fledged member of my cadre. I fell in love with Shawna's book of essays Calm Things, and Asking advances those ideas in ways that are, well, illuminating.
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As if a Raven
Why it's on the list ...
In the busily anxious year leading up to the release of our books with Palimpsest Press, Victoria writer Yvonne Blomer and I chatted nearly every day. It helped immensely. IMMENSELY. Yvonne is sweet & calm on the one hand and smart & ambitious on the other. She's the antidote to self-pity and the best commiserator you'll ever find. When not writing, Yvonne teaches creative writing and has been the driving force behind Planet Earth Poetry, the weekly open mic series in Victoria. But her poems. Oh! her poems! Playful and serious and smart.
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Red Curls
Excerpt

He has yet to speak, fingers in my hair, gathers me in to his chest. My right cheek chafes on his cloak as he tries to keep me in the left palm of this squared space. My knees ache with the strain of staying, so I let go. An index finger uncurls, one arm braced for the worst. He pushes his right hand, polite against my left shoulder, just enough tenderness to move me.
Tobacco-stained fingers, dry from years of paint scratched underneath the surface, catch thin strands in a delicate snare. He told me once he loved the taste of red hair on his lips late in the evening, like the tang of kirsch lingering long after sipping. I brushed those fine curls one hundred strokes every morning.
Maybe the fault is mine for settling. I look down at the jagged pink dress, the bottom frayed from washing, my bare feet callused from months of walking the blunt edge of rumour. They say I'm no better than his whore, the pornographer's muse, yet I weathered tiny rooms, hunger, endless poses, the cold skin of strangers, and the town's insults to be with him. I carried fruit hidden in my slip, suffered his seeded bind in the child gravity pulled from my womb. How he mourned what was unborn, grief a corsage splashed on the front of a dark suit as he stood on the threshold with his new wife. They watched from the doorway as I folded the placenta into an old sheet, tried to bury my devotion in the same grave.
He breathes now in long gasps, a sleepwalker in the fist of a dream, stirs a few stray wisps of hair. I look out the window beside the door, sun's sharpness slicing through the panes. The day grazes off the back of a black lacquered chair, puddles white onto the ground of what continues to connect us, there, just off centre.

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Why it's on the list ...
Regina writer Tracy Hamon has been run off her feet the last few years, helping to organize the active Saskatchewan literary community. We met years via northern SK poet Brenda Schmidt and since that time we've toured the prairies together in various frocks. I could drive to Tracy's house in my sleep. Tracy's latest collection, her third, uses ekphrasis and voice poems to talk about art-making, love, and desire...
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small things left behind
Why it's on the list ...
Edmonton writer Ella Zeltserman and I have been writing back and forth for months but when we met for tea in Toronto this fall, we recognized each other in our talk about writing poetry and, also, creating community around it. (We also talked about preserving pears, which is a bit of a thing with me...) In her debut, Ella writes about her Jewish family's history in Russia, about emigrating to Canada, about home. And the poems are illuminated with the Ella's irrepressible energy, her enthusiasm for the world.
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orient

orient

edition:Paperback
also available: eBook
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Why it's on the list ...
I met Prince George writer Gillian Wigmore at the Banff Centre ten years ago. When we needed a break from poetry/writing/talk, she would pull out a guitar and start to sing. And, somehow, that aaaaaaaaaah feeling has persisted in the years since. She has been writing heaps the last few years, despite full-time work and children, and her work is earthy and rich, always skimming close to the bone.
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