T.L. Morrisey

Showing posts with label Farewell Darkness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Farewell Darkness. Show all posts

Thursday, March 14, 2024

Review of Farewell, Darkness: Selected Poems, by Stephen Morrissey

 



Review by Anne Burke published in December 2023 by the Prairie Journal, online, http://www.prairiejournal.org/reviews.html?fbclid=IwAR20QWzG3s4QbDhU4uRkWFJk6AZKnc2gYKqibJpYjprkD62FbJuJ2nl5zO4

Review of Farewell, Darkness: Selected Poems, by Stephen Morrissey (Victoria, B.C. Ekstasis Editions, 2023) 203 pp. paper.

The epigraph of this full-length poetry collection reads: "What is in me is dark, /Illumine, what is low raise and support [That to the heihth of this great Argument I may assert th’ Eternal Providence, And justifie the wayes of God to men.”] an excerpt from John Milton's "Paradise Lost". Morrissey has proclaimed, “All of my work is a celebration of the Divine and a journey towards the Divine". His "God" poems are composed of silence or absence; his mysticism comes from astrology, Jungian psychology, and the dream-state; the young son's formative trauma of his father's death is haunting and almost consuming. With a failed first marriage, he grieves openly until passion ultimately overtakes him with a new and sustaining love.

The poet adopts an unbroken continuity for arrangement of the selected poems while acknowledging their sources in his previously published books. From an early chapbook Poems of a Period (Montreal: 1971), the poem "A Quebec Evening" finds the poet at nine years of age at a St. Eustache country cottage with his grandmother, aunt, and Uncle Alex. Morrissey's shadow relatives come from generations of his ancestors and he has published online a comprehensive history of his family at: www. morrisseyfamily history.com.

The Trees of Unknowing (VĂ©hicule Press, Montreal, 1978) was his first full-length collection, with traditional poems, experimental concrete and sound poems, and a selection of photographs. The title poem "The Trees of Unknowing" recalls the obverse of The Biblical Tree of Knowledge; it contains the frenetic spelling of "cld" for "could", "wld" for "would", "washt" for "washed" and others; four other poems in this section are titled by using the first line of each poem. "Regard as Sacred" is a concrete or pattern poem.

The long poem from Divisions (Coach House Press, Toronto, 1983) was written over a three-day period as a catharsis, a purging of emotions, when Morrissey was finding his authentic poetic voice. Thus, "the poem becomes a written thing" because—or in spite—of "endless repetition in time/of divisions". Furthermore, "entering spaces / areas of silence/this is poetry". In "The Dead in My Life" the poet ponders "the mouth to come out/as words this language/of flies & the dead". "The Poet's Progress" identifies the moment when "we were actually/proud of our/being hidden/this became the/key to our future". In "Language" "my/ mind has become/a writing machine" and this, apparently, includes "the/ contra/ dictions". "The Secret Meaning of the Alphabet" further explores how "I/want to cut/the alphabet open". Experiments in his early writing were drawn from John Cage, the Dadaists and the Surrealists; William Burroughs, and Brion Gysin's "cut-up" technique produced new texts. For more on this, see: "The Cut-up Technique" in The Green Archetypal Field of Poetry (Ekstasis Editions, 2022).

"Christos's Fence" was inspired by a European conceptual artist, who erected an 18-foot high, 24-mile-long nylon fence along the Californian coast. "The poem was influenced by and celebrates that fence". Another example of silent division, "that has no end &/no beginning/" as a Chinese screen or calligraphy, in the poem "out the back door" dedicated to Canadian poet George Johnston (1913–2004).

From Family Album (Caitlin Press, Vancouver 1989) the long poem "Preludes" in five distinct sections spans the season and anticipating the years, resulting in "a reliquary of/events". "The Middle of a Life" draws its title from a 1973 novel In The Middle of a Life by Canadian author Richard B. Wright" (1937‒ 2017). The poem praises Christmas family reunions, reflects on an apiary on the Morrison Bridge, and, considering the past, the poet ponders: "would I have lived differently"? In "Three Poems on a Single Theme" he meditates on what death is not: "this leaving anger/in a forest of words". His mother's uncle was committed to a mental hospital. Death is "an unfolding/of flowers/smell/of bergamot/lines/in my grandfather's face".

"In Mexico" for Louis Dudek (1918–2001) a Canadian poet who instructed at McGill University, Morrissey observes children playing/as they have/always done". "A Day in 1957" was composed on the occasion of his father's funeral, "when I was a child". In "Aunt Mable in P.E.I." he recalls that the furniture was awkward when her "death came like sleep". In "The Return of Memory" he takes inventory of "what remains of father". Recalling his grandmother and Aunt Mable he believes in: "Not grief or death/but life for life, love for love". "Early June in Malone, New York" is about a painting by Edward Hopper (1882-1967) who was the foremost realist painter of 20th-century America. His work is celebrated in this ekphrastic poem, which is a vivid description of a scene or, more commonly, a work of art. In "July Near Huntingdon" hieroglyphics is not a place for imagination. Instead, "we become our inheritance". In "End Notes" old beliefs are gone, he holds a dead hummingbird, with intimations of "cycles of death". Instead, "new light on old walls" invigorates his spirit.

The title poem "Farewell, Darkness" from Family Album has an apostrophe in this ode which contains a double entendre: the past is evoked with simulated dividing lines; there is a full moon so that shadows are cast; there are "last" indications (repeatedly) related to "who I used to be". A title poem from a chapbook The Divining Rod (Greensleeve Editions Edmonton, 1993) deals with the underground river "in a land of darkness" through a series of personifications associated with divination by "a magic wand, /a unicorn's horn, a wizard's staff"; to reveal his unearthed woman who frees him from his darkness of sorrow. This resurrection theme continues in "Asleep in Her Arms" a poem from a chapbook The Beauty of Love (The Poem Factory (Vancouver, 1994) in which a refrain describes his love for her many manifestations in the natural sphere. Three briefer works from The Carolyn Poems (The Poem Factory, Vancouver, 1995) are: "I know when a woman..."; "As much grief..."; and "Dig here...." The first mentioned poem emphasizes a man's sense of emptiness by appropriate metaphors; the second poem a symbol for his passionate and grieving heart; and the last, his dreams buried in a darkened sky.

Morrissey’s “The Shadow Trilogy” is composed of The Compass (Empyreal Press, Montreal, 1993); The Yoni Rocks (Empyreal Press, Montreal, 1995): and The Mystic Beast (Empyreal Press, Montreal, 1997). "The Compass" alludes to the body as a needle describing the new direction of passion. The apple is red and delicious (symbolizing lust). "Two Tales" is divided into "The Well" which he climbs to reach his beloved and "The Amphora", a two-handled storage jar; they were sometimes used as grave markers, as containers for funeral offerings, or human remains. Lovers "transform themselves/ into God and Goddess". In "Some Days" the poet empathizes with zoo animals when he considers how his family has become invisible. "The Clothes of the Dead" are those he received grudgingly and they are now rendered to ashes. "Bitter Fruit" is about his unhappy first marriage; "You are attracted to darkness, she said". The apple core signifies a "millennia of birth and death". In "The Things She Left" a tapestry unravels and walls collapse; so that we exist alone on Planet Earth. "The Edge" is where the poet experiences emptiness, when "not believing in either God/or His Help". The epitaph is from an American poet Howard Nemerov (1921–1991) whose Collected Poems won the National Book Award for Poetry, Pulitzer Prize for Poetry, and Bollingen Prize. "The Dummy" advises that, although his second child was never born, the poet's half-life has been replaced with a renewed desire for living.

"The Yoni Rocks" are said to Increase libido, ease cramps, and balance hormones. A hymn to a woman, the goddess, and all are intended to avoid "dissolution into nothingness", with an allusion to "Winter Evening", a poem by Canadian poet Archibald Lampman (1861–1899) but Morrissey seeks "this presence ending grief". In "Fiddling For Love" the music brings him back to childhood, until "we return to the routine/of daily living". He listens to Irish music on the radio or "Elegy" by the French composer Gabriel FaurĂ© (1845–1924).

"Home" is tempered by the past, with a refrain of "going back", from "this/planet third from the sun", where he feels exiled. The poet takes inventory of his Grandmother's house and her belongings, but "the night is dark"; he is moved by a man's love for his son. "In The River" is a metaphor for this mystical and magical transportation from grief through memory, as in a dream, for his Father and son. "Reincarnation" moves into infinity, to gods and goddesses, "Bardic voices, Druid's potion", when "shadows fall". In "Ghosts" he returns to his former home with black-and-white photographs. He contemplates being separated "as though/the other never existed." "On Woden's Return" alludes to Norse mythology in which the god Odin rides across the sky on a mighty eight-legged horse named "Sleipnir". Although the god "lies across the earth", the dead do not rise from their grief.

From The Mystic Beast, "Under the Shadows Flee" is about the poet's imposing "a gothic silence" before visting his father's grave. "When Father Died" takes a more direct approach and the tone is agoninized grieving, the moreso, because the child must be alone, and the death was "never spoken of again, / no comfort offered". In "Skin" the metaphor of intact flesh is shed and this missing layer functions as a double (or shadow). Ghosts haunt aboveground while the dead are in underground chambers, catacombs. A Shroud of Turin," on which the image of the Crucified Christ was preserved, and a choreography of death" pervade. "Green Eyes" are variable and removable, "as though from another/planet". "The House of Minimal" means a sense of shame and a refrain of "surrender". "World Gone Wrong" is a place of loss for the prisoner. "Lines From Magritte" offers an excerpt "The Forbidden Universe (or Olympia)" on The Forbidden Universe to extol "Every woman/is a Goddess"; in particular, she was the goddess of women and childbirth, marriage, and family.

Morrissey acknowledged his dreams, individual family members, and his grandmother's flat at 2226 Girouard Avenue as his first home. This place figures so much in "my imaginal and creative life" because it was a place of the soul, "it was my beginng, it was my pychic centre." Sample poems from Girouard Avenue (Coracle Press, Montreal, 2009) contain excerpts from three longer poems. "Girouard Ave Flat" is dedicated to Canadian poet, memoirist, and novelist John Glassco (1909–1981). While Morrissey believes that the City of Montreal was that author's spiritual place and evokes the lost innocence he possessed as a boy, this assessment may be made of Morrissey himself. Glassco's Selected Poems won the Governor General’s Award in 1971. Morrissey's poem was, in part, also inspired by the book title of The Dance is One from F.R. Scott's poem "Dancing". This epitaph is also the inscription on Scott's (and his wife Marion Dale Scott's) headstone in Mount Royal Cemetery. A photo of Morrissey's wife Carolyn Zonailo posing with it was posted by him in his online blog. https:// stephenmorrisseyblog .blogspot.com / 2017/08/fr-scott-dance-is-one.html. Morrissey adopts the mantle of a voice for the souls of the dead. Both Glassco and F.R. Scott were members of The McGill group during the nineteen-twenties, and Morrissey opines, "None of the Montreal Group of poets wrote large bodies of work except for A.M. Klein.

Morrissey praises his Irish working-class roots, "We have come far. we descendents of Irish immigrants to this country; we have come far and achieved much." His poem "Hoolahan's Flat, Oxford Avenue" has an epitaph from "Eighth Elegy, Children's Elegy" by American poet and activist Muriel Rukeyser (1913–1980) whose Elegies was first published by New Directions in 1949. There is a Hawks Nest Workers Memorial and Grave Site. Rukeyser wrote a group of poems The Book of the Dead (1938), documenting the details of the industrial disaster when hundreds of miners died of silicosis. Morrissey's poem links with coal mining and cinders. since it is a historical fact that coal was fed "to fifty furnaces". Harvard and Oxford are streets in Montreal where Morrissey grew up. The poem refers to his father's death with an ode to commemorate him, based on archived papers and diaries. As a function of the poet, "I became an archivist of memory, / an archeologist of the soul". Morrissey posted online photographs, email from an extant neighbour Audrey Keyes, and a link to this poem about Oxford Avenue flats.

There are excerpts from the third long poem "November" with an epigraph from Moby Dick, a novel by American author Herman Melville (1819 ‒ 1891). This month is when the poet feels "closest to the unconscious mind, to dreams, to the ancestors, and to Spirit". He wants to remind the reader there is epiphany, spirituality, and dignity in all people. "An Evening in Old Montreal" is set outside the Centaur Theatre at Sainte Francois-Xavier; and, while walking up to Rue Notre Dame, he recalls a mythological centaur. Chiron, in Greek mythology, was the wisest of all the centaurs and known as the "wounded healer" because of his knowledge of medicine. "An Evening in 1957" takes place after a father's death, when the poet and his brother watched boxcars pass by. In the same manner, these years have left him "dark and cold at night". "The Summing-Up", with an epitaph from Chaucer's "The Knight's Tale", happens in November, when the poet feels his burdens, this love of God is similar to the faith he once had as a child. " Beginning with dreary November days, "The Rock, Or A Short History of The Irish in Montreal" is about the migration from that Island's potato famine to Montreal; ancestors whose burial remains are in mass graves, in darkness, near an abattoir, now closed. There are emblems in "The Colours Of The Irish Flag" which are Green (field, cold dawn), White (sheet of paper, snow and sky) and Orange (orange sunset, darkness). For Morrissey, "it is also a poem about perseverance, not being defeated, and of inner strength".

From A Private Mythology (Ekstasis Editions, Victoria, 2014) "The Poet's Coat" is composed of shadows. "Her Red Duffle Coat" denotes cold, empty, and loneliness without "her". "The Shaman's Coat" is borrowed and has a life of its own. Shamanism is central to Morrissey's journey of the soul; it helped him to understand important life experiences and his concerns in poetry. "The Coat of My Inner Self", although worn since birth. is now wet and old. "The Pillow Coat" portrays a heart beating "as though the earth were a living being". "An Inventory of Coats and Garments" on Chabanel Street" describes a wholesale market in textile, garments, carpet and leather products. Outside that sphere, you may be "wearing last year's dated, worn, and shabby winter coat".

Morrissey believes deeply Poetry Must be Authentic to Psyche ("Visits from Psyche"); she was the goddess of the soul in ancient Greek and Roman mythology. Born a mortal woman, her beauty rivaled that of Aphrodite (Venus) and inspired the love of Aphrodite's son, Eros, god of desire. She visited the poet in "water the depth of dream and memory"; in a second dream, then the third. "Standing Outside The Cedars" is where he lived under the Perseids meteor showers. Given that the first wife was unimaginable, he wrote poems alone. "The Journey Is Complete" provides alternate routes his father may have taken to ask for help from heart specialists at Peter Bent Brigham Hospital, in 1956, when he was close to dying. This occasion is the 47th anniversary of his Father's death. "Waking My Love" occcurs in an almost completely darkened room. In "The Room of Love", there is playing some Radio Classique from Ile Ste. Helene where God is silent. "Something Happened" at their not so sweet parting, in the underground parking lot. "That Moment that destroys/everything we have lived for." Cars can be repaired ("A Blue 1954 Chevy") unlike people who are broken and defeated. "A Saturday Afternoon" details the geography of Morgan's Department Store, Philip's Square, downtown Montreal; Woolworth's basement, Ste. Catherine's Street, then Eaton's and Simpson's.

"A Drive in the Country, 1960" describes the Oka Road, the moon, the Francoeur girl near the Trappist monastery; that memorable drive into the darkness, a farmer's market. These fragments are about being contained in the car "with my family, my father dead, [and] what was left of us". "Visitng Girouard Avenue" involves his Grandmother's flat, being in a parked car; Christmas Eve, the poet as a man and as a child. In "Christmas 1970" the poet confesses that he was never a young Icarus, who, in Greek mythology, flew too close to the sun; or as in "Landscape with the Fall of Icarus" a painting by Pieter Breughel the Elder (1525–1569). The poet asks himself, "Did I know then/ that I was on my soul's journey? / Sitting writing poems,/ did I know this was the source / of my redemption, my vision?" In "Waking at 4 a.m." he is in darkness, silence, waiting for morning. It is the architecture of darkness, "this is when the poem/of morning is created;/ we are workers in the darkness, / early risers, busy with/the enterprise of light." The poem "Hanging by a Thread" pertains to how the family hangs on, attached to memory and duty, so that into darkness we fall. The poem pulses with an apostrophe to "Oh thread, oh broken strings".

From Everything Must Have an End (Coracle Press, Montreal, 2021) the poem with this title has an epitaph from Glassco's "The Death of Don Quixote". The poet confesses, "I was born on an island", the soul's great journey is on the rivers of the world. It is about memory and salvation, like the author of the Christian allegory The Pilgrim's Progress, the Puritan preacher John Bunyan (1628–1688). As a poet, "I collected the minutiae of daily life...." His neighbourhood resembles the "Edward Hopper House"; singing of "Me and My Shadow"; expressing the futile attachment to things. Though Hopper also worked in etching and watercolor, he is best known for his oil paintings, which often convey a sense of melancholy or isolation. As in an earlier poem "Late June in Malone, New York", the poet has apparently stepped into an Edward Hopper painting, since the dated decor has been unchanged since 1955.

To conclude, what ultimately matters most is "The Great Reconfiguration" when his existence uderwent a radical reorganization due to a single event, that being the premature death of his father. For Morrissey, he found the single myth to define his life for years. Instead of "The Trees Unknowing", the Biblical story of the Garden myth was the fall from innocence into William Blackean experience. "It was the birth of my soul as a poet; it was the beginning of my journey as a poet".

Anne Burke

Thursday, March 7, 2024

Farewell, Darkness, Selected Poems, review by Cynthia Coristine

 


Farewell, Darkness

   Selected Poems

by Stephen Morrissey

Ekstasis Editions, 2023

Review by Cynthia Coristine

I found my voice in poetry when I was able to turn the darkness of my life experiences into poems; I affirmed what I had seen and I said, “thank you, darkness” and “farewell, darkness”; and that is the birth of the poet.
                                            - Stephen Morrissey

In Farewell, Darkness, Montreal poet Stephen Morrissey presents a selection of some eighty of his poems written between 1971 and 2021. These poems have been selected from his nine earlier published books of poetry, and from six of his eight chapbooks.

Morrissey’s poems have, as he writes in the preface to the book, consistently focussed on the themes which have been central to his life, namely "the transience of life, family, grief at losing close family members, and romantic love”.  Having been written in the shadow of a mountain, (Mount Royal), his poems resonate with Morrissey’s sense of himself as a Montreal poet.

Stephen Morrissey’s personal experience with the transience, and fragility, of life began early: in November, 1956, when Morrissey was six years old, his 44-year-old father died following heart surgery in a Boston hospital.

As he was later to write, “My father died, and the light went out”. Compounding the darkness of the loss, was the fact that his father was never spoken about in the immediate family again, and his unmarked grave (at Montreal's Notre Dame des Neiges Cemetery), never visited.  This failure to address what had happened in any meaningful way set the stage for the lack of resolution and the unexpressed grief which affected Morrissey as child, and which followed him into later life. He felt “damaged” in some indefinable way which was beyond his ability to express: “I was all alone / just a bone without flesh / or face, just / a hollow sound / a ball bearing / rattling in an empty can.” (From “When Father Died”).

Morrissey realized that the remnants his father’s life which had been left behind, were a poor substitute for what he could now, never, come to know about him.

The Return of Memory

returning to the basement in mother's house

my father's business papers once stored

in my cupboard as a child

are still wrapped in brown file folders

it seems no time has intervened

that it is still possible for him to return

and return to these papers ...

what remains of father

expense accounts, business letters to strangers

in daily life we show no more

than these letters reveal…

Determined to preserve, at least, the events of his own life, beginning at the age of 14, Morrissey began to keep a daily diary. He also meticulously chronicled the lives of his extended family members, including those of (unmarried) great aunts and uncles, to ensure that their lives would not be “lost”.  He would also go on to capture something of their lives in his poetry.

Three Poems on a Single Theme

…my mother's uncle

who lived his last forty years

in a mental hospital

for the poor

left there by his brothers

after their mother died

he took with him

what he owned

breath gone   memories

dispersed

seagulls over the grey sky...

Home

I return to Grandmother's

flat although she's dead

almost thirty years,

walk up the grey front stairs

feel the door knob turn

in my hand and smell the

dusty stairwell leading to

the flat's entrance: a large

lace-covered table, a sideboard

and gramophone player broken

many years. I sit with her in silence,

childhood's timeless years,

hours spent staring out a window

at passing streetcars, or playing

with toy cars on a glass-topped

tea wagon.

...off the kitchen is where

her aged father slept; later

it became a junk room, a red

cardboard carton of Cokes

always by a bureau for visitors,

and Auntie Mable returning home

with lemon squares from Woolworth's

downtown. Or Saturday night hockey

on black and white television.

Morrissey found that writing poems was a way – in fact, the only way – in which he was able to find his “voice”. "Scribble down your nakedness" Allen Ginsburg had advised in a 1967 interview read by the seventeen-year-old Morrissey. "Be prepared to stand naked because most often it is this nakedness of the soul that the reader finds most interesting." After reading Ginsburg’s words, Morrissey's course as a poet was set:  rather than censor what he wrote, his poems would instead cut to the emotional core of life as he experienced it. This is a path from which Morrissey has never deviated, and one which gives his poems their emotional resonance: to a greater or lesser degree, we have all been there.

The Things She Left

The things she left are not many,

furniture divided, years of photographs

sorted through, freezer and piano

rolled into the back of a truck.

A coincidence: the movers were the same men

who moved us here, ten years older,

they are fat and nervous.

Days unwind, a tapestry with threads

cut from a tangled mass of colour

and pulled across a year of leaving.

A thread breaks and the whole

tapestry unravels, becomes a new image:

my wife and son, dog in the back seat,

drive away – her final kiss, but for what?

That I made it easy for her to leave, didn't argue?

Behind me a half-empty house,

no diversions possible in the echoes

of a summer afternoon…

Morrissey's poems are also an affirmation of life, and of the things which sustain it. The sentiments expressed in The Divining Rod and in Reincarnation are recognizable to anyone who has ever survived a bad marriage, and then been “reborn” into a good one.  Rescued by it.

The Divining Rod

...With her I left behind

my old life, with her

I left a dark place

of   sleep and endurance,

with her I stopped being

a monk to a dying religion,

my prayers whispered

as I slept as though dead,

vapour, mist, a body

animated by silence and sorrow…

Reincarnation

We meet again, again flesh

and blood, again bone, tendon

and memory. Events of old lives,

clothes divested as I divested

the past in meeting you,

in meeting you again

and again and again

into infinity.

Forty years of waiting for you,

a dark delirium of the soul;

we met apparently for the first time

but home is where we are together

in this room, this house,

the two square feet we occupy

in a single embrace

…With you I have

returned home, not to a place

where walls enclose silence,

but soul meeting soul

in the ancient movement of time.

The pared down simplicity of the exquisite Her Red Duffle Coat are emblematic of Morrissey’s work.

Her Red Duffle Coat

Her red duffle coat

lies on a hall bench;

the coat is a pile of cloth

without the presence

of her body in the coat.

Her red duffle coat is cold

without her animating

spirit. It is a limp

rag, less each

day without her

wearing the coat

to give it

reason to exist,

to  give the coat

a life force

which is love.

The coat’s sleeve

hang by its side,

no embrace

from this red coat;

without her wearing it

it’s an empty shell.

The coat

is a prisoner

of her love, when

she wears the coat

it is not

any coat.

but hers.

Morrissey’s poems pair the elegiac with the life-affirming, two of the elements which constitute his “signature” as a poet.  This is reflected in Everything Must Have an End,  which is also the last poem in the book.

Everything Must have an End

What is not possible is greater than what is possible

that’s what you know about life when you’re older

than sixty or seventy years; the limits of existence…

And in the end, what is it you remember?

Thirty-five years teaching?  Adult children

gone off to make their own lives? Investments

and the mortgage paid off?  Great art and poetry?

Books you’ve read?  Friends you’ve had?

Or the one you loved, the one who breathed life

into your once young body and soul, that person

you still love in the land and geography of old age.

"Poetry is nothing if not passionate”, as Morrissey writes in the preface to Farewell, Darkness. "Passion, not the intellect, not fashion, not popularity, not what other people are doing defines poetry."

Morrissey's own refusal to tailor his writing to "fashion" is what gives his poems their resonance and their emotional accessibility: by affirming a shared human experience, they  can be read again and again, with the unabated pleasure of a first reading.

--January 8th, 2024

About the reviewer:  A native of Montreal, Cynthia Coristine is the co-author, with Ian Browness, of From Griffintown to the Square Mile: The Life of James Coristine.


Friday, March 1, 2024

Nellie McClung's visual art

Some poets are also visual artists, bill bissett comes to mind and he is the foremost Canadian poet who is also a visual artist. Ken Norris's Vishyun (Ekstasis Editions, 2023) featured cover art by bill bissett. Nellie McClung was a poet and also a visual artist. Despite mental illness Nellie embraced life with imagination and love, she had a sophisticated sense of humour, was both highly intelligent and really funny in conversation, and her satirical poems are more humour than satire. I first met Nellie in 1991 and later visited her home, which she named Casa Contenta, in the late 1990s; she stored her paintings in a room by the front door and my wife and I both bought paintings from her. Nellie's grandmother was the famous Nellie McClung, feminist and author; her brother was Judge John McClung. Nellie died in 2009.


Come Dance With me in Ireland (Ekstasis Editions, 2011), Nellie McClung's
selected poems edited and published by Richard Olafson. Introduction
by Carolyn Zonailo





"Sailboats in  Kitsilano", by Nellie McClung. This is the painting (on left) that I bought 
from Nellie and that I used on the cover of my selected poems, she gave us the smaller 
painting on the right and I hung them together, as pictured. 



Here is Nellie McClung's painting on the cover of my recent book,
Farewell, Darkness, Selected Poems (Ekstasis Editions), 2023.



"Red Cat and Dandelions" by Nellie McClung, from a series of cat paintings. Undated, probably 1980s.



"Aspen's Quiver" by Nellie McClung, around 1994. A different title
is on the back, but it is difficult to read. Aspen refers to Aspen, Colorado, 
"home of the Pawnees". 




Reverse of previous painting. 
                                                       



Two portraits by Nellie McClung. 

                 

A typical phone call from Nellie, her message left on the answering machine: "Carolyn, answer the phone, answer the phone, answer the god damn phone; I have plans and I want you and Stephen involved with them. We'll fly to New York and see David Letterman, be on his show, discuss Marilyn Monroe, then we'll fly to London and visit the prime minister at his home, we'll discuss anti-vivisection and get him onboard for working towards a better world. Carolyn, Carolyn, answer the god damn phone." We weren't the saints that Richard Olafson was regarding Nellie McClung's phone calls, he talked with her everyday. 

Monday, February 19, 2024

Interview in The Artisanal Writer

I was recently interviewed by Sabyasachi Nag, the author of Hands Like Trees (Ronsdale Press, 2023), and the interview was published in The Artisanal Writer on 18 February 2024; see below:

ekstasis editionsGirouard Avenuej krishnamurtiMapping the SoulSelected Poems 1978-1998

Sabyasachi Nag (SN): In this collection, (it seems to me) you have selected more poems from your latter works than from your earlier works. Is that a fair conclusion? What were the considerations at play in the selection process? How did you choose to leave out the work that you ended up leaving out? When you went back to poems that you wrote 30 or 40 years ago how did you know which poems to select (or rather, what were the considerations that informed your choices)

Stephen Morrissey (SM): Some of the early poems in Farewell, Darkness, Selected Poems were published in my first selected poems, Mapping the Soul, Selected Poems 1978-1998 (1998). The poems published after 1998 are taken from Girouard Avenue (2009), A Private Mythology (2014), and several chapbooks. I included poems that were thematically consistent with the other poems in the book. Unlike most selected poems, there are no chapters or dates indicating which book the poems were taken from or when they were first published, it is a single body of work, it is one long book made up of poems written and published over a fifty year period that represents what I have done in poetry.

SN: In your long, illustrious, and extremely productive career that includes nine books of poetry, several chapbooks and two volumes on poetics what has been the most challenging work for you to write? Why?

SM: I began writing poetry in 1965 but I didn’t feel that what I was writing really expressed what I wanted to say. My first “real” poems were written in the early 1970s, when I was in my early twenties; for instance, “there are seashells and cats” and other poems that were in my first book, The Trees of Unknowing (1978); my apprenticeship as a poet was from when I began writing poems in 1965 to when I wrote what I felt were poems I could stand behind from around 1974. A second experience of writing a “real poem”, a long poem that was significant to me, was in April 1976 when I wrote “Divisions”; it was an achievement to write this long poem, it was cathartic and confessional.

SN: In the preface of this collection you say, “My experience is that where we begin as poets is where we end.” Can you elaborate?

SM: What concerned me in my writing, themes that were present from when I began writing poems, are still present in what I am writing now. Something like the transience of life is a universal theme, all of my themes are universal and timeless. I didn’t invent these themes, I discovered them as I wrote new poems; you don’t always decide what you want to write, the writing comes to you.

SN: If one may attempt to summarise the main themes in this collection being (awareness) and belonging (loss) seem to have been important drivers for your poetry. Your father’s early death had a profound influence and the past is a recurring theme. You point out in the preface “When I began writing poetry my themes were the transience of life, family, grief at losing close family members and romantic love…many years later I am still writing about the (same) but giving more emphasis to some and less to others.” What made you stay close to these themes particularly? What do you make of the changes in emphasis?

SM: I wrote about “The Great Reconfiguration” in The Green Archetypal Field of Poetry (2022), it is when an event causes one’s life to change radically. One’s life changes from one minute to the next; for instance, I was born into a middle-class family, we rented a large flat in Montreal and we had a country home, we had a car, we were a family of two parents and two children, we had many relatives, we were a 1950s family. And then my father died and everything changed—his death was the “great reconfiguration” of my life—with his death, we became a single-parent family, we were two sons raised by a single mother; my mother had to find employment and my brother, who was only ten years old, helped her keep track of the family expenses, he also worked washing floors in an apartment building. For me, even as a six-year-old child, it was a descent into grief, death, guilt, and remorse. But this was also the descent into the underground, into the darkness where one suffers at one level but at another level, one may also discover a richer and more significant life, as I did with poetry; it is a new life deepened by what you have learned about life. In Greek mythology this is the myth of Hades, of Persephone’s journey to the underworld; and while the descent to Hades is a journey to darkness, it can also be the discovery of one’s authentic and meaningful life. There is a second myth that represents my psychological or spiritual journey, it is the Garden Myth, the fall from innocence into experience; and, as we read in William Blake’s poems, there is a higher innocence after the fall; the higher innocence is a meaningful life.  

SN: You started writing in the early seventies, right after the post-war avant-garde movement and about when the Beat generation (Ginsberg and Kerouac) and the New York School (Frank O’Hara, Kenneth Koch, Ashberry) and the Black Mountain poets (Robert Creeley, Denise Levertov) were working feverishly down south. There is an aspect of confessionalism and existential angst in your poetry through those years that seems to be similar to some of Robert Creeley’s work but at odds with the works of the Beat Generation poets and say the NY school and the post-modern work of other Black Mountain poets. And you say, “The great theme of literature is the journey of self-awareness.” Was this choice to situate your poetry among family and grief and love a conscious defiance of the ‘trends’ or something else?

SM: By “confessional” I mean writing poems that deal with aspects of one’s life that are usually kept private. Up to the mid-1950s, with W.D. Snodgrass, Robert Lowell and Sylvia Plath, most poets weren’t overly confessional. Confessional poetry refers to expressing the darker experiences in one’s life and even T.S. Eliot was confessional in some of his poetry however much he deplored the self in poetry. John Keats, in 1819, referred to the world as a place of “soul-making”; confessional poetry is also an aspect of soul-making, it emphasizes the journey to self-awareness. What confessional poetry has always aimed to do is bring to awareness the “human shadow”, that area of consciousness we are either not aware of or that we keep hidden; and this is the journey of self-awareness.  

SN: How conscious have you been about modernity in your poetry? What poets, trends or movements have impacted your work the most? As a teacher of poetics, how important is ‘modernity’ as an ideal for a young poet?

SM: All I can suggest is what I have learned from experience. Young poets need to read widely, this includes poets from the Modern Period, poets who rose to prominence from approximately 1915 to 1945; for instance, T.S. Eliot, Ezra Pound, HD, and William Carlos Williams. But, as well, young poets should know something of what is being written today; I did concrete/visual poetry, cut-ups, sound poetry, visual collages, and other experiments in poetry that were current at the time. It is also important to meet and be friends with other poets, to talk about poetry, to lay the foundation of being a poet. Poets need to listen to their inner voice, that is where creativity is discovered; creativity has nothing to do with what is fashionable.

SN: Through this collection, you seem to be aware of your poetics– “poetry/creating areas of silence” pg. 38; “only poetry justifies language/and when poetry ceases there’s disharmony” p39; “we should let the poem grow” pg. 41; “Poetry is only the modification of the old” pg. 53; “I am sick to death of these old poems that wear blank expressions” pg. 54 etc.? Can you say a few words about your career-long curiosity about poetics and how it evolved?

SM: I am curious about the mechanics of writing poetry, remembering that a poet sometimes discovers what he or she wants to say in the act of writing. But I also felt, when I was young, that the actual act of writing was somehow special and if this is so then it is special because it is the voice of one’s soul. This is a shamanic approach to poetry, an approach that includes the ancestors and significant dreams.

SN: At one point in the collection, you say “emancipating my being…was always the point…the single point of education” pg. 34 and a few pages earlier (in what seems like one of the early attempts at concrete poetry) the line “Regard as sacred the disorder of my mind” repeats through the page in various motifs, lengths, and degrees of clarity. When you juxtapose the two ideas – poetry as the process of awareness of the psyche (the current state of affairs in the mind, such as disorder) and as also the saviour, the emancipator (if you will) – do these ideas look counterpoised in any way, or are they the same thing – you become aware and hence you are saved?

SM: That was my premise; my intuition was that if I could write about something then I could resolve that issue, I could express it, make sense of it; from an early age I was concerned with expressing my inner self, with  “emancipating my being”. I had a lot to work on; for instance, I was always an outsider; my father died when I was six and my stepfather died when I was nineteen; I was the youngest of a large extended family and the older members, aunts and uncles and grandparents, were all dying over a several year period; I failed twice at school and this certainly makes one an outsider, children can be cruel about anyone they can make fun of. What made these events worse, for me, is that nothing was ever discussed, my father died, and he was rarely, if ever, mentioned again until we were all much older. I did not come from a demonstrably loving family, I resigned myself to this life. No wonder, in the mid-1960s, I turned to both writing poetry and writing a diary as a way to express myself, as a way to understand my life; no wonder I became a confessional poet without having heard of this type of poetry. Human consciousness has a natural intelligence and a desire for wholeness and love; consciousness has an innate proclivity to move towards wholeness and love. It was J. Krishnamurti’s books that helped me the most, and hearing Krishnamurti speak at Saanen in Switzerland, at Ojai in California, and in New York City. And in all of this, my focus was poetry not because I wanted to be a poet, but because it was my path in life, it was my calling.

SN: Can we talk a bit about the formal choices in these selected works? Nearly all the poems are unpunctuated (or sparsely punctuated), the lines are short (two/three/four words mostly), the language crystal clear and the breaks are startling at times yet devoid of any showiness; sometimes empty spaces denote the pauses in breath; the tone is confessional, and the voice carries an aspect of endearing vulnerability that makes the reader trust it. How did you arrive at this form? In so much that most of the titles included in this collection are formally similar, what made you stick to the forms that you started with?

SM: Punctuation, line breaks, length of lines or fragments of lines, like themes, this is all discovered in the act of writing. And to write directly, honestly, authentically, and without artifice, you have to be brave to write something—to enter the unknown—even though your desire is to censor what you are writing. The main thing is to have the courage to write without censoring yourself, it is the truth-telling function of poetry, of consciousness. I wanted to be as direct and simple in my writing as possible, the line breaks indicate how the poem is to be read, the length of lines is direct and simple but this is a lot more difficult to do than one might expect, it requires a lot of editing, of living with the poem and working on it until you feel you have said exactly what you need to say. 

SN: In reading this book it is impossible to walk away without experiencing a strong undercurrent of a cyclical worldview as we encounter in Zen and Hindu philosophies (“the whole earth is a movement of waves and stones” pg.18; The Secret Meaning of the Alphabet…discover/…becoming/ the rain running/ down the windowpanes. p..g 52; “death/is not the closing of doors; pg. 65; “I divested/the past in meeting you,/and meeting you again/and again and again/into infinity.” pg. 118. In some places “the emancipation of the being” leaps out of the page and through the clear, unambiguous, enormously vulnerable voice brings an awareness in the reader that is available mostly in the reading of philosophy. Could you talk a bit more about it?

SM: When I was young, in the late 1960s, I used to visit my brother, who was a student at MIT, in Cambridge, Massachusetts; I remember visiting the Harvard Coop and buying V.K. Chari’s Whitman in the Light of Vedantic Mysticism (1964), a book I still own. I read Colin Wilson’s Poetry and Mysticism (1969) and W.T. Staces’ The Teaching of the Mystics (1969), and later I wrote several essays on R.M. Bucke’s Cosmic Consciousness; Bucke was a friend of Walt Whitman and wrote about Whitman’s cosmic vision. There were other books that made an impression on me, for instance, books by John Cage and D.T. Suzuki, and others. But after I began reading Krishnamurti’s books in the early 1970s I knew that no organized set of beliefs, no organized religion, was really of interest to me. Krishnamurti was, for me, the great teacher of exploring the psyche, more so than C.G. Jung. Late one night about twenty years ago I took a taxi from the Vancouver airport to where I was staying; I asked the Indian taxi driver, “Who do you think is the greatest Indian of the Twentieth Century?” His answer, which shouldn’t have surprised me, was Krishnamurti. For Krishnamurti freedom is a pathless journey, it is a journey to awareness.  

SN: Has there been a relationship (in your writing life, that you are aware of) between your writing practice and how your writing has been more or less of a spiritual activity integrated or interdependent on the community around you?

About the Author

Stephen Morrissey was born in Montreal, the city where he still lives. He was educated at McGill University; while at McGill Morrissey won the Peterson Poetry Award. He has published ten books of poetry, several chapbooks, and two volumes on poetry and poetics; Farewell, Darkness, Selected Poems (2023), which collects poems that were published from 1971 to 2021.

The Stephen Morrissey Fonds, 1963 – 2014, are housed at Rare Books and Special Collections of the McLennan Library of McGill University. Visit the poet at http://www.stephenmorrissey.ca