You're invited to my book launch on September 10

 

Join me as I launch my sixth collection of poetry SELF-DEFENCE FOR THE BRAVE AND HAPPY and welcome my special musical guests THE DATABATS!

 

 

 

RIP Koko. My poem "Ape" was written in her honour.

Today we woke up to the sad news that Koko the western lowland gorilla has died just shy of her 47th birthday on the 4th of July. I've been fascinated by her remarkable life since I was small child reading about her in the pages of National Geographic, and I have followed the on-going experiment of animal language use conducted by Penny Patterson at the Gorilla Foundation with great interest.

My poem "Ape" from my 2010 collection The Reinvention of the Human Hand was written in honour of Koko and her achievements, and also for Michael, another remarkable language-using gorilla who had been her companion but who died when he was only 26. Today, to mark her passing, I'm posting the poem here.

APE

for Koko, and for Michael

in memoriam

1

Ape born in Frisco, born out of darkness of mountain 

forests, out of rain that doesn’t fall, but hovers. 

Come, Ape, out of bushmeat trade and war zone, out of 

coffee and tea for human need. 

Come out of blood diamond, come out of strip mine, out 

of pit viper and mosquito, out of tick. 

Ape who lives in Woodside, Ape who rides in Honda, 

who wears red sweater. Come speak.

Ape of legend, come. Out of colonial science, out of Bible, 

come monster of Skull Island, of Original Sin, of 

City of Gold, come take this kitten to your breast 

and speak of love unconditional. 

What did the old men make of you, Ape, when they drew 

their Victorian cartoon, when they posed for their 

daguerreotype holding your scalp? Teeth of the 

meat-eater? Murderer’s hands? Bush devil? 

Gargoyle? Proof?

Come Morning Star, come Adversary, daughter of the East. 

Come beast-thing, come witch, child of the Nephilim, 

giant in the Earth, come demonstrate the egg-shell 

gentleness of your strength. 

And what did the young men make of you when they came 

with their machete genocide, radiating smoke? 

They made you Lamb of the wilderness, one animal’s breath 

at the centre of the green and white day. Hush-a-bye, 

hidden, quiet with your kind on the unclimbed slopes. 

There, in shadow, in the hovering rain, the family almost stirs.

2

Ape! Ape! We thought you were gone! We thought you 

were gone into the book. We thought the damp 

black covers of untreated hide had closed around 

you forever. 

Gone into the Book of Sasquatch. There were reports. 

There were sightings. 

Gone into the Book of Yeti. There were such bloodcurdling 

cries in the highlands, footprints that vanished under 

the snow falling in the pass. It left us cold. 

Ape, we thought you were gone. It was aboard the hulking 

wooden ships of Empire that you left us. 

It was locked inside the gilded wagons of the circus, as tin 

calliopes whistled notes of sweltering air, that at last 

you left us.

We thought you were gone into shopping cart, into camera, 

into cake. We thought you were gone, Ape, into a 

discount mall display window for twenty-seven years 

without soil or mountain, without soil or credit. 

Ape, we feared, as the valleys emptied, as the land broke into 

atolls and everything was distant, as the beaches 

crumbled and the sea was left unreachable, Ape, 

we feared the worst.

Stories make things closer. Come now, Ape, and speak. 

There are stories of a boy who, by great misfortune, 

fell into your powerful care, who lived with you 

among the bamboo and lianas, and who learned, 

as well, to be Ape. 

Tell us, Ape. Are the stories true? Was he everything that 

might make us proud? 

Or did he shame us with his nakedness? 

3

Ape of helicopter crash and gunboat, Kalashnikov foundling 

in the burning brush, snatched by crate, smuggled by 

truck, why be silent now? 

Come now, Ape, out of black bazaar, out of bamboo cage on 

meat-stained table, smelling of gasoline in the insect-

heavy air, come hoot the low, open vowel of your 

name. 

Ape of camera crew and cutting room, flickering between 

solid shafts of tree trunk and weightless shafts of 

light, come speak like this: flickering, tree, light, 

and you will conjure the world of Ape. 

We are listening. Across this forest floor darkened by limbs 

crowded with birds, through the colliding sound waves 

of their love songs and alarms, come speak. 

Tell us, Ape, in your own words, why did the young men 

come to the forest?

     Squash meat gorilla. Mouth tooth. 

And how did it sound to Ape? 

     Cry, sharp-noise loud!

And how did they look to Ape? 

     Bad think-trouble look-face.

And what has become of Ape’s mother? 

     Cut/neck, lip (girl) hole.

Come now, Ape, out of landmine and hand grenade, out of 

the smouldering charcoal fires of Virunga. Downriver 

upon the deep arteries of the Congo, upon aluminum 

wings across the sea, come speak to us.

Speak to us, Ape, in research-centre sanctuaries with hoseable 

linoleum floors. Come speak to us from government-

funded genome projects, on glass slides of blood, from 

the ancient common darkness inside cells, come speak 

to us, please, in the language of Ape. 

Come quick. Come now. The family is gathering. 

My copy of the October 1978 issue of National Geographic featuring a cover story about Koko. 

Praise from Mark Mothersbaugh for Self-Defence for the Brave and Happy

"Self-Defence for the Brave and Happy has arrived, and not a moment too soon! Nothing less than a manual for navigating the current landscape of booby-traps and hidden unravelling. An invaluable aid in this time of troubled spirits, muddled truths, and convoluted thinking. Paul Vermeersch has created a template to help us all traverse the highways and bi-ways of an increasingly confused and confusing world full of misinformationalism and bald-faced lies."

— สมัครคาสิโนออนไลน์Mark Mothersbaugh

COMING THIS SEPTEMBER 



สมัครคาสิโนออนไลน์CLICK HERE TO PRE-ORDER

Self-Defence for the Brave and Happy, my sixth book of poems, will be published this fall by ECW Press

Coming Fall 2018

from ECW Press

Four poems in The /Temz/ Review

I'm really honoured to have four new poems in the second issue of The /Temz/ Review from London, Ontario. As a Western alum, it's good see so much literary energy and renewal in the Forest City!

สมัครคาสิโนออนไลน์Click here to read the poems.

Books I've been editing for spring 2018

I happy to share the cover designs for the novels and poetry collections I've been editing for Wolsak and Wynn's spring 2018 season. Click on the images to learn more about the books.

Ten-Headed Alien
by David James Brock
Poetry

Listen Before Transmit
by Dani Couture
Poetry

In Search of the Perfect Singing Flamingo
by Claire Tacon
Novel

Adjacentland
by Rabindranath Maharaj
Novel

Designs for Ten-Headed Alien and Adjacentland by สมัครคาสิโนออนไลน์Ingrid Paulson.
Design for Listen Before Transmit by สมัครคาสิโนออนไลน์Natalie Olsen of Kisscut Design.
Design In Search of the Perfect Singing Flamingo by Michel Vrana.

Featured grad!

Recently, I was the "สมัครคาสิโนออนไลน์featured grad" on the University of Guelph's MFA program in creative writing website. They asked me to say a few words about my experience in the program and how it has shaped my writing career. I value the time I spent studying at Guelph, so I am happy to share this.

Click here to read the whole feature.

A poem for Giorgio Moroder

For the West End Phoenix launch party last night, I was invited to select a song that was in the charts during the week of November 23, 1977 and write a poem in response to it. Other writers chose songs from 1947 to 2007 and did the same. I chose Donna Summer's "I Feel Love," the ground breaking disco hit penned by the great Giorgio Moroder. Here is the poem I wrote (with apologies to Milton Acorn).

I Feel Love: Hi-NRG

for Giorgio Moroder

I feel love in the Dolomites where the spark that drives the oscillator was composed into the system.
I feel love in the chase scene from Berlin to Eternity in shimmering photonic cars.
I feel love in the vision of a prison break by way of the full nelson face buster.
I feel love where Hi-NRG equals mass times the speed of light squared.
I feel love when I feel love, I feel love, I feel love, I feel love, I feel love, I feel love.
I feel love in the repetition.
I feel love in the repetition of pop songs.
I feel love in the digital pilgrimage across the stars to a shining planet known as Earth.
I feel love in the dial tone that matches the anticipation of your voice.
I feel love in the unthinkable life choices of were panthers.
I feel love in the gynoid Maria, the Maschinenmensch reborn in glowing rings, an echo of the love
          that will wreak havoc on Metropolis. 
I feel love in collaboration—finish this sentence: 
I feel love _______________________________________________________.
I feel love for the story that loops back on itself, that is told anew, that sees its heroes transformed and
          its goddess renamed.
I feel love in the repetition.
I feel love in the repetition of mythology.
I feel love with my last breath as I advance into the Danger Zone.
I feel love in the contest of strength that is too much to bear.
I feel love in the contest of nations where heroes fall and are reborn.
I feel love in the Countach.
I feel love in the click track.
I feel love in the yellow taxi.  
I feel love in the luck dragon.
I feel love in the F-14 Tomcat.
I feel love in the drug-addled snakebite.
I feel love in the neon grid that stretches to a vanishing point behind the silhouette of black
          mountains.
I feel love in the subculture of airwaves.
I feel love in the intelligence of the artificial life form.
I feel love in the repetition.
I feel love in the repetition of the repetition.
I feel love for the story that loops back on itself, that is told anew, that sees its heroes transformed and
          its goddess renamed again.