As I type these words the Weather Network is forecasting -21 degrees overnight and -25 degrees tomorrow morning. When I step out of my door there is snow and ice everywhere and frostbite is just around the corner if I am not bundled up from head to toe.

As with every winter, we have been through long, cold days tied to strange and tantalizing warm spells that only served to fuel the coming of a vast and frozen landscape as temperatures dropped again to painful lows. These are the sorts of things that lend credence to the idea that February is the longest month of the year for people.

So it is with no small amount of gratitude that I notice the calendar and have determined that, despite all appearances outside to the contrary, we are, in fact, in the month of spring. While it does not feel like it and certainly it does not look like it, one cannot deny that this is the month that contains the first day of spring – a mere two plus weeks away.

This fact, alongside the coming of my personal favourite day of the year (Saint Patrick’s Day), goes a long way toward warming me up. It is a reminder that despite a season of cold and darkness (can you tell that winter is not my favourite), despite days of treacherous roads and vast mountains of discarded coats and boots and scarves and mitts and snow pants and toques, ad infinitum, ad nauseum…spring is on the way.

It cannot be stopped.

There will once again be sunlight and warm breezes. Convertibles and classic cars will hit the roads again and the bike can come out of the basement. The boys of summer will begin stretching and prepping for a new season of baseball (surely the most hopeful of sports) and the lake will call and all that goes with it. Kids and foolish adults begin prepping their skate boards and planning the new moves they will learn at the Skate Plaza while golf clubs everywhere start getting hauled from storage.

See that, you feel warm already don’t you? That’s the power of a sure thing; the power of a certain hope.

If these coming days seem long and the sun seems paler than it should just look at the calendar and note the promise of things to come. Before you know it you will be barbecuing on your deck and enjoying a few choice beverages with friends and nary a parka to be seen.

I guarantee it.

 

I am notoriously poor at picking the winners for the academy awards (which is my way of providing a loophole should I choose poorly again this year). I have been watching the Oscars pretty much every year since Platoon won best pic and director in 1986 (aka this is my 25th anniversary watching the show…I am that old).

I really don’t know why I enjoy the show so much. There are a myriad of potential reasons including the fact that I am a rabid pop culture junkie; I, like so many others, desperately seek ways to escape from the periodic bleakness of the world and movies are definitely a good one, etc.

So with that as an introduction I will endeavor to make my picks here:

Writing (Original Screenplay) – The King’s Speech *

Writing (Adapted Screenplay) – The Social Network *

Visual Effects – Inception *

Sound Mixing – The King’s Speech

Sound Editing – True Grit

Short Film (Live Action) – The Confession

Short Film (Animated) – Day & Night

Music (Original Song) – If I Rise

Music (Original Score) – The Social Network (Just cuz it would be cool to see Trent Reznor win an Oscar) *

Makeup – The Wolfman *

Foreign Language Film – Incendies (How could I choose otherwise?)

Film Editing – The Social Network *

Documentary (Short Subject) – Killing In the Name

Documentary (Feature) – Exit through the Gift Shop

Costume Design – Alice In Wonderland *

Cinematography – Black Swan

Art Direction – The King’s Speech

Animated Feature Film – How To Train Your Dragon (Ok…I am almost certain that Toy Story 3 will win but I have to go with HTTYD)

Supporting Actress – Hailee Steinfeld (because the Academy loves young actresses)

Leading Actress – Natalie Portman *

Supporting Actor – Geoffrey Rush

Leading Actor – Colin Firth *

Best Picture – The Social Network (BTW Academy – having 10 nominees is STUUUUPID)

Directing – The Social Network

So you want to be something
something other than who you are
my friend
well how will you do it
will you put on another’s skin
in the end
take all that you’ve been
and all that you’ll be and see
that you can’t escape yourself
can’t take your things and flee

you
you are who you’re meant to be
rooted in the aching goodness
of the one who’s cries are pleas
take solace in the ever-burning sun
the feeling of its warmth is the key

that you,
you are who you’re meant to be

I thought I would class up the place with a great poem by Robert Frost called Fire and Ice:

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

A quote often attributed to famed psychoanalyst Sigmund Freud is “sometimes a cigar is just a cigar”. While there is no evidence that he actually said this the quote serves a purpose nonetheless.

What it means is that, while there is often depth and multi-layered meanings to virtually everything in the world, especially people and their words and actions – sometimes things are exactly as they seem.

I would adapt this quote and say that sometimes a poem is just a poem. Or more specifically sometimes a poem about light is a poem about light; sometimes a poem about snow is a poem about snow…etc. You get the point.

The thing about writing poetry is you get used to being psychoanalyzed through it. People assume a poem about night means your life must be dark and a poem about winter means you are emotionally cold and a poem about the sea means you are drowning somehow. Of course poets know that most of what they write has nothing to do with what people generally think but the mystique and mystery of it all keeps the reader coming back so why fight it.

I took a poetry workshop in university. 15 students were selected by a local published poet to participate based upon a portfolio of recent work submitted. One of the things I loved about the class was listening to the other participants tell me what my poems were about. They would go on and on in great detail about the level of emotion and thematic devices used to draw out the reader’s pathos. I never had the heart to tell them they were wrong – always. I never had the heart to say that the poem about the tree was actually a poem about a tree. It seemed like I would rob them of some revelation they had and that this would be bad sportsmanship on my part.

The reality is that poems are not so much a reflection of the writer as they are mirrors held up to the faces of the readers. This is the brilliance of poetry – it draws out meaning from within the audience…it does not give the audience a portrait of the author as so many hope.

This reality is the hardest part about being a poet. That you have to send your creations out into the world to fend for themselves. They are bastard children taken in and redefined by the masses while the father sits and watches helplessly as they are twisted into something other than what was intended. This is the price of creation…the loss of control; the loss of ownership. But it is a price worth paying and cannot be helped really.

I do not write for others, I write only for myself just as a parent does not choose to have a child for the sake of the people around them. The act of creation is first and foremost a selfish act (and this does not mean it is a bad thing). Just like a parent the poet is proud of his children and sends them into the world dressed in their Sunday finest for all to see, but once they step out that door he loses all control and they no longer belong to him. The difference is children usually come back but once the poem is seen by other eyes, and consumed by other minds they are gone forever.

This is why the poet must always write, to fill the void of lost children consumed by a world that cannot help but ravage them and redefine them. They are sacrifices laid upon the alter of insight.

the beauty of it all –
it overwhelms
while amphorus light like liquid
spills in, over and around
till heart would burst in joy
if not for walls of surrounding surprise

why this fast-paced beat,
this incautious happiness
when this day is no different
from a thousand preceding?

so today is a good day
and if
as they say
we see through a glass darkly
this is good
otherwise we would be blind

better to lose sight in the glare
than in deep dark despair

The blog has been a little all over the place lately and I hate leaving it with a down note so I thought another post was in order.

I am rereading Dracula write now and am really enjoying it. The last 10 years has been thoroughly soaked in non-fiction reading and while I enjoy non-fiction I don’t find it nearly as inspiring fiction. There is something about works of the human imagination that never fails to inspire me.

Now for all you naysayers out there who think “DRACULA!?! What the heck man?? Why would you read such things?” I can only respond by saying that your image of the book is likely shaped by a century of unfortunate adaptations designed primarily to frighten, and if all else fails, gross you out.

Like most works of imagination from the 19th century Dracula was written with ulterior motives in mind. A deep look into psychology, sexuality and faith (yes faith), Dracula is a wonderful work of literature. I find it a bit of an enigma having been written by an Irish clerk who was known more for his administrative sense than his skill as an author, Dracula is unlike anything written before it and anything since (despite the number of variations on the theme).

I suspect its isolation in literature has its anchor in the persona of Bram Stoker and I am guessing one can learn a lot about the book by reading a biography of the author. I wonder if one exists? (PAUSE WHILST I CHECK)…

Well after a brief search of Amazon there seems to be a new biography that might be worth reading (despite its cover. http://www.amazon.ca/Bram-Stoker-Carol-Senf/dp/0708323065/ref=sr_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1297830201&sr=1-4

At any rate the read is enjoyable and far better than most give it credit for. If there are any Stoker enthusiasts out there leave a comment about his life or your interest.

No, I said Sisyphus…geez.

Anyhow. Lately I have been feeling like Sisyphus and this does not bode well. Do you know the myth of Sisyphus (apologies to those with a lisp)? Here, let me tell it:

Greek mythology tells the story of the king Sisyphus who was punished for various and sundry deeds, not worth mentioning here, by being forced to push an enormous boulder up a steep hill in the underworld only to have him slip from his grasp near the top and roll back down. The catch is he is forced to do this for all eternity, motivated by the promise that if he succeeds he can be free.

It does not matter that somewhere inside he knows he will never be free, the faint hope that the next push will lead to elusive success keeps him going…which is the point of the whole torture.

Anyhow, lately I have been feeling a lot like Sisyphus and this bothers me because it is essentially a symptom of a loss of hope…something I am not fond of losing frankly. I suppose the feeling also reminds me of how paper thin my optimism has been lately and how easy it is for someone to take it, crumple it up in their hands and throw it back in my face.

Well, enough of that. Sisyphus is a myth and so are some forms of pain…besides – I have boulders to push.

What is truth?

Is it the end of all things
or the beginning

too often it is
what we make of it
it is injustice
made to feel righteous
it is the coming cut
before the threat appears
done, it is said
for the sake of being prepared

what is truth?

it is pain for pain
and eye for eye
tooth for tooth

truth is a puppet
on a string
made to dance
to our desires

truth is not truth
when it is our mistress
only
when it is our master

There is a warm wind blowing and the ice is melting everywhere. The sun is warmer than ever and bright in the big, blue sky while I ponder making cake and pizza tonight. I can sit here in my home and look out the big window next to my door and see the world as my small window garden ‘crops up’.

I am blessed.