Church Bells at St. Thomas on a Sunday Morning

Hear the church bells ringing at St. Thomas Anglican Church in Montreal, October 2016.

English and French Canadian Poetry

On Mount Royal

If English-Canadian poetry is largely narrative and French-Canadian poetry is largely lyrical, then the most interesting French Canadian poets are Émile Nelligan (1879-1941), St-Denys Garneau (1912-1943), and Anne Hébert (1916-2000). There is a dreamlike quality to the work of both Garneau and Hébert and I think the best way to understand their work is to think of their poems as one thinks of dreams, as visits to the unconscious archetypal mind, to be understood as one interprets one's own dreams. They are direct expressions of the poet's psyche and the collective unconscious of the French-Canadian people. I am always interested in what a poet's work says about the soul of the poet, the soul of the nation, the poet's private mythology. These are dark poets that I have listed, they write of the human , they write of the dark side of the Quebec soul, this means the French soul but also in a symbiotic-two solitudes kind of way the English-speaking soul; that is, my soul. We have a spiritual darkness in Quebec that people in the rest of Canada will find difficult to understand; few people want to look at the soul, they are afraid of what they might see.

Honey bees at hydrangea flowers, July 2016

A favourite activity, watching honey bees foraging for nectar and pollen in flowers... here is the latest video on that.

Saying "goodbye" to Robert

Saying "Goodbye" to our friend Robert as he sets off in his Saab for home in Baltimore...

Edmund at Loyola Park

It's July 2, 2016 but feels like an early fall day, windy, grey sky, rain blowing in; cool until the sun comes out. Here is my grandson, Edmund, playing at Loyola Park. "That's fun" he says after coming down the slide...

Chanting at the Buddhist temple

Out walking in Montreal West when I made a detour back to my own neighbourhood, the borough of Notre Dame de Grace. Passing the old Rosedale United Church on Terrebonne, seeing the labyrinth outside of Dewey Hall, and that the Hall is now a Buddhist Temple. Standing outside the temple and listening to the chanting coming from inside...

No Looking Back Now

INTRODUCTION: NO LOOKING BACK NOW

M

ark McCawley, who died suddenly in April 2016, was an Edmonton-based writer, publisher, and critic. Mark published and edited Urban Graffiti, a litzine that has an international reputation for publishing transgressive texts, including short stories, poetry, criticism, in-depth interviews with artists, and reviews of books, visual art, and music.

            Writers, as Margaret Laurence said long ago, are a tribe; we know our own people, we have friends, and friends of friends, around the world—we have a lineage and a history—and as members of this tribe many of us came to be friends with Mark. He was, as Richard Rathwell said, of "the social poet class...", that social class is our tribe.  He was one of us.

            I first became acquainted with Mark McCawley in the early 1990s. He published, with his Greensleeve Editions, chapbooks for both my wife and I; it was Carolyn Zonailo's The Letters of the Alphabet (1992) and my The Divining Rod (1993). In 2008 I published Mark's collection of short stories, Collateral Damage, on Coracle Press's online site. I also taught his short stories in my college-level English literature course; the response to his stories was always positive, the students appreciated his honesty and depiction of "real life". Mark wrote to me, "I think of all my literary experiences, I am most proud of the suite of stories you published, Collateral Damage. Even more so that you used those stories to teach your students." With time, there were other honours that Mark was also proud of, for instance being published in the Evergreen Review.

            It was in the early 1990s that Mark and I began to correspond, first by Canada Post, then E-mail, and for the last few years we also kept in touch on Facebook. Mark asked me to write a column for Urban Graffiti but personal events in my own life prevented me from doing this. Mark also published on Urban Graffiti several essays and fiction I wrote.

            Like many writers Mark was an introvert; my image of Mark is him working in solitude, listening to the music he loved, going out for a coffee, editing and publishing Urban Graffiti, and doing his own writing. Mark also had serious health issues and this is what finally ended his life at age fifty-two; it is much too young to leave this world.

            Mark was a highly intelligent and articulate advocate for literature and the arts. His passion was for transgressive literature but he was also interested in and affirmed the importance of literature in general. Mark and I agreed on many things about Canadian literature; for instance, that creative writing courses and the numerous awards for poetry that now exist have ended up promoting mediocre conservative writing. He was critical of everything fake, false, and hypocritical; Mark's integrity is part of why we valued him so much. One time I wrote to Mark that he was one of the most honest people on Facebook. I wrote, " ... Stay being honest, although I doubt you can do otherwise..."

            If Mark had a message for writers it is to be true to one's vision, don't sell out, tell the truth of what you have witnessed. Whenever we think of softening our line, of selling out what we believe, we need only remember Mark McCawley and we will quickly return to our authentic vision, one that is at the core of our inner being.

            The title of this essay, "No looking back now", are Mark's final words taken from his last communication with me. This morning I was thinking of Mark, I wondered: What will we do without him? And then, after some reflection, I remembered what Mark said, that there is "no looking back now." I realized that this is what we must do, move on to the future, get on with life; that is what he would have said and what he would have wanted us to do.  

                                                                        Stephen Morrissey

                                                                        Montreal, June 2016

Revised: 19/06/2016

Here is the full text at Internet Archive: 

Review of Sylvia Brinton Perera's Queen Maeve and Her Lovers: A Celtic Archetype of Ecstasy, Addiction, and Healing.

Review of Sylvia Brinton Perera's Queen Maeve and Her 

Lovers: A Celtic Archetype of Ecstasy, Addiction, and 

Healing. Carrowmare Books, New York, 1999, 490 pages. 

By Stephen Morrissey

Before reading Sylvia Brinton Perera's Queen Maeve and Her Lovers, I thought religiosity in my family was mainly found in three prominent and well known priests who were part of my Montreal-Irish family. My great-great-uncle, Father Martin Callaghan, was the first Montreal-born pastor of St. Patrick's Basilica, serving there from 1875 to 1908. His younger brother, Father Luke Callaghan, was the pastor at St. Michael's Church, which was built in the Byzantine style, after Hagia Sophia. Father Luke was largely responsible for raising the funding and overseeing the construction of this church. Their other brother, Father James Callaghan, served at several Montreal churches as well as being the pastor at Hotel Dieu Hospital and The Royal Victoria Hospital. All three of these priests came from a humble immigrant background, were educated at the College de Montreal, and served the community with distinction. Surely they are the kind of men who are models for the spiritual life. But there was also a darker side to my family tree, including some relatives who were alcoholics.

With this background I found Sylvia Brinton Perera's Queen Maeve and her Lovers insightful and provocative. In this book, Perera's thesis is "that modern addictions represent debased forms of ancient rituals." Of course, she is not the first writer to make the connection between alcoholism and a Dionysian-like spirituality. C.G. Jung was influential in helping the founder of Alcoholics Anonymous formulate a spiritual approach to addiction. In a letter to Bill Wilson, AA's co-founder, Jung pointed out that "alcohol in Latin is spiritus, the same word [used] for the highest religious experience." For Perera, addiction is a corrupted manifestation of the old divine energy that was, in its original form, ecstatic and life-affirming. But we have little place for the old gods, such as Queen Maeve, whom Perera refers to as "one of the grandest figures in Celtic lore." Maeve represents the life-energy, the multiplicity and abundance of life, the sacred force lying behind growth, fertility, and abundance.

It is not possible to return to the ancient gods, even if we wanted to. Maeve represents, for Perera, the psychological and spiritual need for wholeness and oneness with the divine, or with what Jung called the Self. For some people, this is a part of the process of individuation. Addiction, in its many forms, is only a shadow of a spiritual experience. Intoxication in itself is not a spiritual experience, it is merely being intoxicated. Within the context of Celtic society, Queen Maeve and other Celtic deities and the myths about them, provided a very deep sense of spirituality that permeated every aspect of Irish life. Perera writes,

The spirits of the dead revisited the homes of the living after dark and on the festivals marking the open cracks in the agricultural year, especially at Samhain and Beltane when the new winter and summer cycles beganŠcaves, mounds, trees and water [were] places where the veil between this world and the next [were] felt to be easily permeable.

This expression of numinosity in daily Irish life was eventually lost. Perera writes, "As the old ways trickled down through the millennia, they became secularized: rites became revels, gods became 'little people', and sacred wine became intoxicating booze. A similar fate happens to the old gods in each of us."

Perera describes the archetype of Queen Maeve, how Maeve provided a way to experience religious ecstasy that had a socially acceptable place in society. This was a part of the process of individuation for certain people at that time. Perera describes the Tara tests that were administered by the druids to the high king, and some of the points raised by this test are still of value to us today. Perera tells us "they describe what happens to confirm us when we are on our destined path." Although in today's society, we aren't high kings and we aren't druids, the tests are and can still be of value to us. Four points are made: We might ask ourselves if we are "traveling towards a goal that the Self supports?" Is there "a fit between the purposes of ego and Self or destiny?" Can we identify a "primeval unity" existing behind apparent opposites, a kind of yin and yang of daily life? The final test is whether one has entered a stage of authority in one's life. If one has, then "it conveys the deep sense of entitlement and charisma that others intuit and cooperate to support."

So far, I have dealt with Perera's description of the positive experience suggested by a belief in Queen Maeve and I have only touched on the negative consequences. Many people who know intoxication do not experience individuation. The book' discussion and description of the psychology of addiction is disturbing. Perera, who is a New York-trained Jungian psychoanalyst, has worked with many addicts and has an intimate knowledge of the psychology of addiction. Anyone wanting to know more about addiction, the behaviour and psychology of addicts, whether it is to alcohol, drugs, sex, or gambling, should read what Perera has to say. However, this is distressing material, as Perera describes manipulative behaviour and a psychology that is probably beyond the ability to be dealt with by anyone but a specialist.

This is an over-long book that would have been well served by the work of an editor. Perhaps there are two shorter books here, one on Queen Maeve as a Celtic archetype with some importance for people today; and a second book on addiction. The book grew out of Perera's insight that "the archetypal form patterns supporting the myths still resonate in deep and embodied layers of the human psyche and affect our modern response." With this in mind we see expressions of spirituality, whether truncated by addiction or in those who have done the work of individuation, all around us. This book helps us to understand more deeply this important aspect of life today; as well as what our ancestors might have experienced; and of the life of some of those we love, who struggle with addiction.

Published: The C.G. Jung Society of Montreal Newsletter, August 2002.

I'll take a "bad poem" over a "fake poem" any day...

Some thoughts on bad poems and fake poems:

Fake poems are contrived, pretending to be the real thing.

But a bad poem is just what it is, naive, a failed attempt by someone who is trying to write a poem, someone who is sincere.

A fake poem is a pretense that even deceives the author of the fake poem. They think they've created something, they've pulled the wool over our eyes and their own eyes. But it isn't a real poem they've written, it is a fake poem.

A bad poem lacks depth; a fake poem has depth but it's a lie, it's trying to fool the reader into believing it has depth. A fake poem will always be fake, contrived, pretentious. A bad poem is an effort that didn't work; a fake poem is a lie.

We all know a bad poem when we read it, but people don't want to admit that the Emperor has no clothes, they'll sit and admire the fake poem.

Happy New Year! 2016!

Another year of living in one of the best countries in the world. Canada.

Girouard Avenue (2009) now at the Internet Archive

2226 Girouard Avenue is the door on the right
leading to the upstairs flat

A few years ago I decided to digitize my out-of-print books and make them available as free downloads online. Only recently have I begun this project, it's long term and I'm slow at getting it off the ground...

I know doing this seems counter-intuitive to most people (especially poets), giving away the books, but I feel it is only common sense. Poetry has a very limited and ever-diminishing audience and "popularity". Copies of my books that I have left, hard copies, are doing nothing sitting in our basement in cardboard boxes.

Putting these books online (as is my plan) gives them a second life. It might even find a few readers for them.

So, here is a link to Girouard Avenue (2009), one of my favourite of my books. It got a lot of positive reaction from people who could relate to the content and I liked this very much. Someone living in Arizona told me it is a "holy" book, and that is how I feel about it. When I was preparing this book to put it online, digitizing it, I realized that it is some of my better work. It is the work I did during the late 1990s and 2000s, my first book since my Selected Poems in 1998. It is poetry inspired by my extensive family history work. There is also an essay that came out of writing this book, "Remembering Girouard Avenue" (also available at archive dot org) that explains something of the importance to me of Girouard Avenue.

In sum, the physical location called Girouard Avenue in Montreal became a spiritual place for me, it is my psychic center. As I wrote elsewhere, "This memoir ("Remembering Girouard Avenue") is an addendum to my book of poems, Girouard Avenue (2009). This is my psychic center, this is where I began in life and where I often return in dreams, poems, and memories." 

November 2015 visit to Thomas D'Arcy McGee's mausoleum

Proverb quoted by Chinua Achebe

                    Until the lions have their own historians,

                    the history of the hunt will always glorify

                    the hunter.

                                   —Proverb quoted by Chinua Achebe

John Cage, "Autobiographical Statement", 1990

I once asked Aragon, the historian, how history was written.

He said, "You have to invent it." When I wish as now to tell

of critical incidents, persons, and events that have influenced

my life and work, the true answer is all of the incidents were

critical, all of the people influenced me, everything that

happened and that is still happening influences me.

                                    —John Cage, "Autobiographical Statement", 1990

A Place of Contemplation in Loyola Park

Soccer, baseball, exercise machines, wading pools for children, these and other activities are available at Loyola Park just a few blocks from where I live. But, also, the City has created some areas for contemplation and quiet, for instance this quadrangle entered through one of four gates. There was also an attempt to restore a small pond from the lost underground St. Pierre River that runs through the park to Wentworth Golf Course. Plants suitable for an aquatic "garden" were planted. The pond failed but the vestiges of it are still present near the baseball diamond. Acknowledging that not everyone is interested in physical exercise is important; it allows for a greater diversity of activities at Loyola Park and other places in Montreal.

In a store window on Westminster Avenue

In a store window on Westminster Avenue this morning...

Morning walk in Montreal West

As of spring 2019 the Orchid Dry Cleaner (above) on Westminster Avenue has closed.

The platform at Montreal West train station.

Rowan tree.

 A November walk in Montreal West... the train station, Westminster Avenue.

Poems are reports from inner space

Squirrels screwing

I will have to copy the essay here. Meanwhile, 

Thank you to Mark McCawley for publishing this minimalist essay, "Poems are reports from inner space."

http://urbgraffiti.com/writing/poems-are-reports-from-inner-space-by-stephen-morrissey/#more-6185

This is what is seriously wrong with online publishing.  There is no permanence online and what was originally published can be changed, deleted, altered, rewritten, gone. I will repost this essay.

Online publishing is worth about 10% of hard copy publishing. 

SM

11/05/2018

Poems of a Period, 1971 chapbook

For a long time I have felt that some of us poets might be better served if we made our work available, online, and free. Of course, as long as a book is in print we have an obligation to the publisher to promote the book, sell copies, and do all we can to make the book a success (that's an obligation to both publisher and to ourselves). But I have books that have been out of print for the last thirty and more years, they are on library shelves but otherwise unavailable to anyone who might be interested in the work. It seems to me that it would be practical to put the book online and give access to the book without cost. It's also possible to digitize and sell the book on Amazon, but my purpose is more to find readers than to make money through meager sales... A new paradigm exists for selling music and something similar is true of publishing poetry. So, there it is, this is my plan and I'm going to stick with it.

Here is my first chapbook, published in August 1971.

Patrick Morrissy and Mary Phelan, some of their descendants and relatives in Canada

This is Beaubear Island, just off Newcastle and Chatham, NB; 
Patrick Morrissy and some other members of the family worked here
when they first arrived in the Colony of New Brunswick,
Beaubear Island was the site of ship building.

This is a history of the descendants, and some of the descendants' relatives, of Patrick Morrissy and his wife Mary Phelan. Patrick and Mary and their family moved to New Brunswick around 1837 from County Tipperary, Ireland. I have placed particular emphasis on the descendants of their son Laurence Morrissey, my great great grandfather, who moved to Montreal from New Brunswick in the early 1840s. The generations this history deals with are Patrick Morrissy and Mary Phelan who emigrated to New Brunswick; their son Laurence Morrissey and his wife Johannah Meany who moved from New Brunswick to Montreal; Laurence and Johannah's son Thomas Morrissey who married Mary Callaghan; Thomas and Mary's son John Martin Morrissey who married Edith Sweeney; Martin and Edith's son Edgar Morrissey who married Hilda Parker; and then a brief discussion of their two sons, John and Stephen Morrissey.