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    rob mclennan grief notes: 978-1-60964-066-8 "Good grief! mclennan—in elision of subject, omission of object, in suppression of narrative—has rewritten the grammar of love. He jiggers love radically in suspended prepositions. He newly measures it in hesitations and in the innumberable small moments between comma and semi-colon. Those discretions. —Dennis Cooley These poems read like the score of grief, driving the song through its musical rests. What rob mclennan makes “visible by loss,” calls us to consider grief’s odd recessions, obsessions, omissions-- its “notes of replication.” Suffering echoes through its landscapes, turns of phrase and among its machinery. Its lovely, excruciating achievement roams and exceeds the pain that the “body learns only to forget.” This poetry sings the ache “further, / down/ as it is human.” —Lea Graham It’s not a poetry to be safely skimmed. It pivots, sidejogs readily such as “endearments, armed/like trees.” Any given word doesn’t go to expected places. It isn’t dodging from somewhere but over somewhere complex, topographically. It dekes at ground level but it runs understanding the terrain from longer vantage point as a mind at work in “turbulence, approach of water, absence/makes the heart grow//fountain/and its architecture.” There are leaps and abrupt stops that keep the words generating understanding and multiple readings. Can a heart without a water supply be so self-resilient as to build its own infrastructure? It must, musn't it. It's refreshing to see poetry that speaks resilience rather than the romance of sudden lurch papercut endings. Rather than a poetry that descends from a city planner worldview where everything is set in a grid, insistently rolled into a cohesive symbolic whole where meaning reigns, here’s a reflection of the way life admits boulders and pre-existing buildings. It’s not a topdown opinion, so much as a rigorous observing, working with and in non-sequiturs and uncomfortable extensions. For example in grief notes; supplement the poem moves from realizations of the general — the large scene of jackpine lakeshore, the sense of all of humanity scaled down into the natural universe (without explicitly explaining such being implied but giving reader some credit to understand) — to the specific scale of an individual life, “if people disappear/from earth// ,a lover would.” —Pearl Pirie" Born in Ottawa, Canada’s glorious capital city, rob mclennan currently lives in Ottawa. The author of more than twenty books of poetry, fiction and non-fiction, his most recent titles are the poetry collections A (short) history of l. (BuschekBooks, 2011), Glengarry (Talonbooks, 2011), kate street (Moira, 2011), 52 flowers (or, a perth edge) (Obvious Epiphanies, 2010) and wild horses (University of Alberta, 2010), and a second novel, missing persons (2009). An editor and publisher, he runs above/ground press, Chaudiere Books (with Jennifer Mulligan), The Garneau Review (ottawater.com/ garneaureview), seventeen seconds: a journal of poetry and poetics (ottawater.com/seventeenseconds) and the Ottawa poetry pdf annual ottawater (ottawater.com), as well as the semi-annual ottawa small press book fair, which he originally co-founed in fall 1994. In 2009, he edited a special Canadian poetry issue of the Swiss pdf poetry journal Dusie (dusie.org). He spent the 2007-8 academic year in Edmonton as writer-in-residence at the University of Alberta, and regularly posts reviews, essay, interviews and other notices at robmclennan.blogspot.com.

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    rob mclennan grief notes: 978-1-60964-066-8 "Good grief! mclennan—in elision of subject, omission of object, in suppression of narrative—has rewritten the grammar of love. He jiggers love radically in suspended prepositions. He newly measures it in hesitations and in the innumberable small moments between comma and semi-colon. Those discretions. —Dennis Cooley These poems read like the score of grief, driving the song through its musical rests. What rob mclennan makes “visible by loss,” calls us to consider grief’s odd recessions, obsessions, omissions-- its “notes of replication.” Suffering echoes through its landscapes, turns of phrase and among its machinery. Its lovely, excruciating achievement roams and exceeds the pain that the “body learns only to forget.” This poetry sings the ache “further, / down/ as it is human.” —Lea Graham It’s not a poetry to be safely skimmed. It pivots, sidejogs readily such as “endearments, armed/like trees.” Any given word doesn’t go to expected places. It isn’t dodging from somewhere but over somewhere complex, topographically. It dekes at ground level but it runs understanding the terrain from longer vantage point as a mind at work in “turbulence, approach of water, absence/makes the heart grow//fountain/and its architecture.” There are leaps and abrupt stops that keep the words generating understanding and multiple readings. Can a heart without a water supply be so self-resilient as to build its own infrastructure? It must, musn't it. It's refreshing to see poetry that speaks resilience rather than the romance of sudden lurch papercut endings. Rather than a poetry that descends from a city planner worldview where everything is set in a grid, insistently rolled into a cohesive symbolic whole where meaning reigns, here’s a reflection of the way life admits boulders and pre-existing buildings. It’s not a topdown opinion, so much as a rigorous observing, working with and in non-sequiturs and uncomfortable extensions. For example in grief notes; supplement the poem moves from realizations of the general — the large scene of jackpine lakeshore, the sense of all of humanity scaled down into the natural universe (without explicitly explaining such being implied but giving reader some credit to understand) — to the specific scale of an individual life, “if people disappear/from earth// ,a lover would.” —Pearl Pirie" Born in Ottawa, Canada’s glorious capital city, rob mclennan currently lives in Ottawa. The author of more than twenty books of poetry, fiction and non-fiction, his most recent titles are the poetry collections A (short) history of l. (BuschekBooks, 2011), Glengarry (Talonbooks, 2011), kate street (Moira, 2011), 52 flowers (or, a perth edge) (Obvious Epiphanies, 2010) and wild horses (University of Alberta, 2010), and a second novel, missing persons (2009). An editor and publisher, he runs above/ground press, Chaudiere Books (with Jennifer Mulligan), The Garneau Review (ottawater.com/ garneaureview), seventeen seconds: a journal of poetry and poetics (ottawater.com/seventeenseconds) and the Ottawa poetry pdf annual ottawater (ottawater.com), as well as the semi-annual ottawa small press book fair, which he originally co-founed in fall 1994. In 2009, he edited a special Canadian poetry issue of the Swiss pdf poetry journal Dusie (dusie.org). He spent the 2007-8 academic year in Edmonton as writer-in-residence at the University of Alberta, and regularly posts reviews, essay, interviews and other notices at robmclennan.blogspot.com.

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    425 vistas12 páginas

    Grief Notes by Rob Mclennan Book Preview

    Cargado por

    BlazeVOX [books]
    rob mclennan grief notes: 978-1-60964-066-8 "Good grief! mclennan—in elision of subject, omission of object, in suppression of narrative—has rewritten the grammar of love. He jiggers love radically in suspended prepositions. He newly measures it in hesitations and in the innumberable small moments between comma and semi-colon. Those discretions. —Dennis Cooley These poems read like the score of grief, driving the song through its musical rests. What rob mclennan makes “visible by loss,” calls us to consider grief’s odd recessions, obsessions, omissions-- its “notes of replication.” Suffering echoes through its landscapes, turns of phrase and among its machinery. Its lovely, excruciating achievement roams and exceeds the pain that the “body learns only to forget.” This poetry sings the ache “further, / down/ as it is human.” —Lea Graham It’s not a poetry to be safely skimmed. It pivots, sidejogs readily such as “endearments, armed/like trees.” Any given word doesn’t go to expected places. It isn’t dodging from somewhere but over somewhere complex, topographically. It dekes at ground level but it runs understanding the terrain from longer vantage point as a mind at work in “turbulence, approach of water, absence/makes the heart grow//fountain/and its architecture.” There are leaps and abrupt stops that keep the words generating understanding and multiple readings. Can a heart without a water supply be so self-resilient as to build its own infrastructure? It must, musn't it. It's refreshing to see poetry that speaks resilience rather than the romance of sudden lurch papercut endings. Rather than a poetry that descends from a city planner worldview where everything is set in a grid, insistently rolled into a cohesive symbolic whole where meaning reigns, here’s a reflection of the way life admits boulders and pre-existing buildings. It’s not a topdown opinion, so much as a rigorous observing, working with and in non-sequiturs and uncomfortable extensions. For example in grief notes; supplement the poem moves from realizations of the general — the large scene of jackpine lakeshore, the sense of all of humanity scaled down into the natural universe (without explicitly explaining such being implied but giving reader some credit to understand) — to the specific scale of an individual life, “if people disappear/from earth// ,a lover would.” —Pearl Pirie" Born in Ottawa, Canada’s glorious capital city, rob mclennan currently lives in Ottawa. The author of more than twenty books of poetry, fiction and non-fiction, his most recent titles are the poetry collections A (short) history of l. (BuschekBooks, 2011), Glengarry (Talonbooks, 2011), kate street (Moira, 2011), 52 flowers (or, a perth edge) (Obvious Epiphanies, 2010) and wild horses (University of Alberta, 2010), and a second novel, missing persons (2009). An editor and publisher, he runs above/ground press, Chaudiere Books (with Jennifer Mulligan), The Garneau Review (ottawater.com/ garneaureview), seventeen seconds: a journal of poetry and poetics (ottawater.com/seventeenseconds) and the Ottawa poetry pdf annual ottawater (ottawater.com), as well as the semi-annual ottawa small press book fair, which he originally co-founed in fall 1994. In 2009, he edited a special Canadian poetry issue of the Swiss pdf poetry journal Dusie (dusie.org). He spent the 2007-8 academic year in Edmonton as writer-in-residence at the University of Alberta, and regularly posts reviews, essay, interviews and other notices at robmclennan.blogspot.com.

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    rob mclennan

    BlazeVOX [books]
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    grief notes: by rob mclennan Copyright 2012 Published by BlazeVOX [books] All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without the publishers written permission, except for brief quotations in reviews. Printed in the United States of America Book design by Geoffrey Gatza First Edition ISBN: 978-1-60964-066-8 Library of Congress Control Number: 2011940640 BlazeVOX [books] 76 Inwood Place Buffalo, NY 14209 Editor@blazevox.org

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    grief notes: echo, says, dont sit there; technicolour, trace cold & carbon skin at the edge of pain, life happens no recollection of ordinary things, a silence poured mercury-deep, grew constant, more confused what is but the whiteness , moon, increasing tear, made visible by loss,

    13

    grief notes: trace, a far & constant symmetry, gesticulated, a memory , at having left so help me; tell me that the earth is flat, & crumbles thin, the edge avoid falling, falling; mouth is always wrong, answers speech out, certain words red eyes, the middle of a mid-step, night straight, in their surroundings

    14

    grief notes: drenches, held, to my attraction; halfway through the recipe, the sweethearts of the tables offering heard her say the possibilities of trust, miles past & borders; dream, these larger rooms, these trenches, legs wet, above our knees, cry out spontaneity; a call of parting, parts no matter what, we know we know we matter no matter what gets said, because dialogue no longer exists, oppresses;

    15

    grief notes: glass, cold, I reach down suddenly; what hope through bars, a two-way traffic, sentences, fill with ice, the last room down a corridor; echo out less serious remarks; a language marked with snarks, & sneers ; what matters? whats the (even) point? sky turns black; the dishes come to forefront, broke,

    16

    grief notes: trance, the past tense, journeying this forth-and-back useless; candlelight, the ship was prone to sink another piece of good advice; stay quiet, keep to small; a pot with holes, on purpose

    17

    grief notes: influence, the broad lines of a house in vanier, wept close enough to sorrow constructing to expand, gone beyond those dull lights, full & even; by day the balding lake, by night a slip of limbs drift back into seclusion surface parched & smooth a dream of depth, a coating, it formed; a rain of splattered hearts, limp bodies,

    18

    grief notes: withdrawn, a cartoon mouse, the brick, the cartoon cat, the moon is filled with iron ore & jade made up from my tongue; thin smoke as flat as a (precisely) page or headache, numbers; words, she says, another youtube link, cinematic scenes to code, unending, heartbreak songs, dont matter, says, matter, do you,

    19

    grief notes: insurgence, we add a drawer to shock, embellish, on, & on the redness of eyes; a caution, sand & soup & severance, says, cant live in a shell what takes it? marked the edges with the skin of a lion, string robed in rose gardens: empty, insect hopes

    20

    grief notes: wooden hearts, in sleet & rain, concordance; robed, in bed with nothing, count the holes in his head sleep draws deepest, smoke pomegranate green; a slate of flying backwards a rounding up, the wind-up pitch, a vowel makes no constant sound spread north; said,

    21

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