Believe Nothing

When did I become a nihilist? I was born this way.

Inner Space is a hinterland of cosmic waste; here, everyone is either a nihilist, a poet, or both.

My defense is suited to one whose motto is "Believe nothing".

Poets used to be referred to as "ground breaking" or "visionary"; now they want to be referred to as "award winning poets", the visionaries are gone. 

I am well known in the territory of Inner Space.

About what am I incredulous? On most days, just about everything.

A whole new cohort of poets has arrived,  they are ambitious, self-conscious, and dedicated to self-promotion; in other words, younger versions of older poets.

The opposition of nihilists to all forms of censorship is famous in the history of Inner Space.

I am not the Pope's nose but I can still smell shit when it's all around me.

As we cross the green archetypal fields of poetry we reach the borders of Inner Space.

I have lived the nihilist's life: anonymous, introverted, and appalled.


Mister, in Inner Space we don't have room for anybody but poets and nihilists, so you'd better high tail it outta here before you're discovered.

Most religious and political beliefs offend my sense of nothingness.

A poet's apprenticeship can never be replaced with sitting in a classroom workshopping someone's poems.

Believing anything makes people stupid.

Photo taken at the Montreal Botanical Gardens, 2009

R.G. Everson's "Everson at Eighty"

R.G. (Ron) Everson was a prominent poet back in the 1950s and 60s, he is also one the founders of the League of Canadian Poets. Like many of the older generation of poets you don't hear much about Everson today. I just read Everson at Eighty (Oberon Press, 1983) which also has an introduction by his friend Al Purdy. Purdy is supposed to have edited this selected poems, but it's a bit confusing if he really did and there are parts of his introduction that are also confusing; for instance, he writes of going on a trip to Newfoundland with the Eversons but also present on this trip was Purdy's wife and her husband, but the husband he is referring to might in fact be Purdy himself, referred to in the third person, or it might be some other man who is married to Purdy's "wife". It just doesn't make sense. Thirty-five years after it was published, Everson at Eighty is still worth reading.

As an aside, in the early 1970s I heard Al Purdy read his work at Loyola College (now the Loyola Campus of Concordia University) and after the reading, in the faculty lounge, I met Everson who had been talking with his friend Al Purdy. Poetry was a small world in the old days but that small world was populated with a pretty talented group of poets.

1983

R.G. Everson, 1903-1992

I've been reading and enjoying R.G. Everson's poetry for many years. Ron Everson (1903 - 1992) was a Montreal poet, he was also a lawyer who never practised law and who spent most of his career in public relations. His extensive literary archives are at McMaster University; he has a voluminous correspondence with other well-known poets, he published more than ten books of poetry, he was published in important periodicals (for instance, in Poetry (Chicago). Al Purdy, Earle Birney, Irving Layton, and Louis Dudek were all his friends, other poets thought highly of his work. His poetry is accessible without being simplistic, and despite all of this he's largely forgotten or ignored. The only missing ingredient, and possible failing, in Everson's body of work is a single (or several) highly impressive poems by which he can be recognized and known. He was a good technician although not a great poet, but still a poet who is enjoyable to read. He published most of his books in his last twenty years, I guess he was trying to catch up on lost time after spending so many years away from the Muse and toiling in the PR business. In 1960 Everson and his wife lived at 4855 Cote St. Luc Road, apt # 608, in Montreal; they spent their winters in Florida.  

1976

1969

1978

1965

1957

R.G. Everson's home in this apartment building,
on Cote St. Luc Road, Montreal

Is F.R. Scott a Major Poet?

A few months ago I made the comment on Facebook that F.R. Scott is a "minor poet". Right away I knew I had committed some kind of Canadian Literature heresy; what? F.R. Scott is a minor poet? This led me to wonder about the criteria for how we categorize poets as "major" and "minor". T.S. Eliot in his essay, "What is Minor Poetry?", writes that the whole of the body of work by a major poet is greater than that same poet's individual poems. The opposite is true of the minor poet; the minor poet has a few really good poems but the majority of the minor poet's body of work is not equal to the excellence of a few individual poems. Eliot says that we need to read all of a major poet's work. All we need to read of a minor poet are the poems that are anthologized, the rest of the body of work is unimportant for the average reader. It is very difficult to categorize a poet as "major" because the criteria for categorizing poets is different for each poet; someone who is a major poet may not be "major" for the same reasons some other poet is considered "major". There is no single set of criteria for identifying a major poet; however, minor poets are easily identified. Returning to Frank Scott, I read The Collected Poems of F.R. Scott Toronto, McCelland and Stewart, 1981); he is a surprisingly original and compassionate poet and worth reading today. I can't bring myself to say that Scott is a major Canadian poet but (despite Eliot) I would suggest reading all of Scott's work, there isn't a lot of it but it's worth reading.

1981

Believe Nothing

I wanted to be a part of something and I thought I was. I thought I was on the great journey of individuation, or that I believed in God, that I was a part of something connecting me with the great ideas and experiences shared by so many people. But, in truth, I wasn't a part of anything. If you "believe nothing" then all of the old constructs of life, the scaffolding that supported your existence, have collapsed. Belief was, in retrospect, nothing real or lasting, it was a pretence or an illusion of belief—mostly it was a pretence, as intellectual assumptions, beliefs, and considered analyses end up being. The doctors are wrong in their diagnoses, the Ivy League educated poets and intellectuals have fooled even themselves with their self-importance, the imams, priests, and gurus are deluded, the politicians are obviously liars, the social workers want to break up families, the teachers are selling a lot of preconceptions based on their idea of what they stand for, the intellectuals are filled with book learning but no wisdom or practical knowledge. There is no satori, no heaven, no hell, no enlightenment, no god, no prophet, there is nothing. I asked myself, what if nothing I believe is true? What if all of my beliefs and assumptions about life are wrong? Very few people are willing to say, "Look! The Emperor has no clothes! He's naked and everything he stood for is a lie and a cheat of belief." I did not decide to believe nothing, I accepted it with difficulty; in fact, it was what I always believed but never admitted to myself. But then, one day, the scaffolding of belief collapses, there is no free will, there is no certainty about anything except that the Emperor has no clothes. Believe what you want after this, but for now, believe nothing.

Date of Death for Leo Kennedy

If you remember (John) Leo Kennedy, one of the McGill Group of poets from the 1920s, and if you check out his bio in Wikipedia you'll see that they don't have a date of death for him. It was fairly easy to find out when he died, just look it up on the Social Security Death Index. Leo Kennedy had three children, two sons from a second marriage, and both sons seem to have disappeared. He also had a son from his first marriage, Peter Kennedy, who as of a year ago was still alive. After Peter Kennedy's parents' marriage ended in divorce Peter distinguished himself by attending Harvard University, becoming a medical doctor, and living in San Marino, CA, one of the most affluent communities in the States. Dr. Kennedy suffered a car accident a few years ago that seems to have ended his medical practise; after the accident Dr. Kennedy wrote a book, Medicine Man: Memoir of a Cancer Physician, and in the Introduction he notes that both of his parents were alcoholics or substance abusers; he's a lot tougher on his father than Patricia Morley was in her bio of Leo Kennedy. Maybe this explains why Leo Kennedy accomplished so little as a poet. Leo Kennedy spent his final years living in a hotel near his son's home until his death at age 93 on 14 December 2000. BTW, Leo Kennedy was born in Liverpool, England, not in Michigan, where he lived for a number of years. 

(When I did this research in February 2018 Wikipedia did not have a date of death for Leo Kennedy; I now see that as of May 2018 someone has corrected this by giving the year but not the day and month of Kennedy's passing.)

Barbara Whitley, RIP

An article about Barbara Whitley in the Montreal Gazette of 04 June 2018. 

My interest in Miss Whitley is because she knew the Morrisey family; Darrell Morrisey is one of the "lost" Beaver Hall artists. I met Miss Whitley at St. James the Apostle Anglican Church, on Ste. Catherine Street in downtown Montreal, when the memorial to F.R. Scott was unveiled there. By chance I asked her if she knew the Morrisey family (no relation to me) and she had known them; she had known Darrell's brother T.S. Morrisey but not Darrell who died in 1930. 

Here is my essay on Darrell Morrisey:
https://archive.org/details/DARRELLMORRISEYAForgottenBeaverHallArtistByStephenMorrissey

St. James the Apostle Anglican Church, 1890

Life Stories: Barbara Whitley had an eye 

for penmanship and philanthropy

Whitley spent decades as a volunteer with the Montreal General Hospital, one of many places she touched

SALIM VALJI, SPECIAL TO MONTREAL GAZETTE

Updated: June 4, 2018

Barbara Whitley felt that writing was sacred.

With an eye for detail, she adored the graceful and elegant italic penmanship style she grew up learning. Whitley, who died in May at the age of 100, went to school at The Study, a private all-girls school in Westmount, graduating in 1936. Even after her studies, Whitley remained deeply involved in the school as a volunteer.

In a world increasingly reliant on technology, Whitley wanted to preserve the art of penmanship. At one point she approached the school’s headmistress, Katharine Lamont, about rewarding students for outstanding penmanship. Two years later, the Barbara Whitley Handwriting Prize was created.

“She decided to donate this prize to the school one day on a whim, thinking that the art of handwriting was lost,” said Pattie Edwards, director of Alumnae Relations at The Study. “She didn’t think it would become a tradition, but we’ve been carrying on that tradition for a very long time.”

In 1973, Whitley helped create The Study School Foundation to help enhance the education of its students. Decades later, its endowment stands at more than $5 million.

“She was a really amazing, amazing woman,” Edwards said.

Whitley completed her undergraduate studies at McGill University. McGill’s Schulich School of Music held a special place in Whitley’s heart, and in the early 2000s she financially supported the creation of the Gertrude Whitley Performance Library, named in memory of her mother. The library now has more than 5,500 ensemble scores and parts in its collection. It also provides all the music material to the McGill Symphony Orchestra, the University Chorus and the Jazz Orchestra. She also gave frequent gifts to the MUHC and other parts of the school.

In her youth, Whitley was a stage actor and worked with famed humorist Stephen Leacock. She even joined him on his radio broadcasts. Whitley was heavily involved in the Centaur Theatre and Geordie Productions. One of her final stage roles was as a poisonous sister in the production of the thriller Arsenic and Old Lace.

“She was a really great artist,” Edwards said.

For Whitley, giving back to the community was almost instinctual. Her father, Ernest, had experienced eye problems when she was growing up. Later on, she supported causes related to vision and service dogs.

“Eye health was very close to her heart,” Edwards said. “She was just one of those people who just believed that if something needed to be done, she would do it. And she would get it done, and make it beautiful and special.”

Whitley was also known to help individuals, rarely taking credit for the work she did. Eventually, her trophy shelf became filled with honours from the Governor General (Caring Canadian Award in 2004), Queen Elizabeth (Diamond Jubilee Medal in 2013) and MUHC (Lifetime Achievement Award in 2016).

“When I sent out the notice for her death, there were a number of people writing back to tell me about how they spent time with Miss Whitley, about how Miss Whitley got her their first job, about how Miss Whitley touched their lives in some way or another,” Edwards said.

Beyond her philanthropy, Whitley was a riveting storyteller. She’d often hold court in her Westmount apartment, telling tales of Montreal’s good old days.

“Stories about the history that we didn’t know existed,” Edwards said. “The community, Montreal, people in fundraising, and everybody’s brother, sister, cousin. She knew everybody. You could listen to her talk all day long.”

A month before she died, Whitley celebrated her 100th birthday. It was a grand occasion, taking place at the Atwater Club, and dozens of relatives from Ontario made the trip to toast Whitley. It would be the last time many of them saw her, but she won’t soon be forgotten.

“Our slogan at the school is, ‘The world needs great women,’ ” Edwards said.

“She really was a formidable woman.”

Barbara Whitley

Born: April 8, 1918

Died: May 18, 2018

Barbara Whitley, 1918-2018

The Pond at Westmount Park, 1916, Notman photograph

I met Barbara Jane Whitley by chance, it was in October 2011 at the memorial service for F.R. Scott at St. James the Apostle Anglican Church in downtown Montreal. I was researching one of the "lost" Beaver Hall artists, Darrell Morrisey (no relation), and although Miss Whitley never met Darrell she had been a friend of other members of Darrell's family. Now Barbara Whitley is gone and gone as well are her memories of Stephen Leacock and other writers and artists of a long passed era. Barbara Whitley was two years younger than my mother, and it was my mother who told me that a Colonel Morrisey had phoned her in 1940 asking if we were related to their family and also looking for family history information. None of the dots were connected until Evelyn Walters contacted me in 2010 regarding Darrell, who I had never heard of, but I realized that Colonel Morrisey was the older brother of Darrell. Sounds complicated but it really isn't. A lot of coincidences came together; it was a celebration of art, history, and synchronicity! The essay, "Darrell Morrisey, A forgotten Beaver Hall artist", is online at archive dot org. 

Updated on 31 August 2022: It was October 2011 when I was at St. James the Apostle Anglican Church for the F.R. Scott event; not sure if I had seen T.S. Morrisey's name on a plaque at the church at this point, which is when I met, by chance, Barbara Whitley; just on a hunch I asked her if she knew T.S. Morrisey who was also, at one time, a parishioner at this church and she replied that she had known him. I asked her about his younger sister, Darrell, but she didn't remember ever meeting her. She suggested going to Knolton to find, if possible, the lost painting by Darrell; Miss Whitley's attitude re. Darrell was pragmatic, if her paintings were all "lost" then maybe she wasn't that good an artist. 

Here is the obituary as published in the Montreal Gazette:

BARBARA JANE WHITLEY

1918-2018

Following a life of extraordinary involvement, generosity and devotion to her family and community, Barbara Jane Whitley quietly passed away at home on Friday, May 18th, in her 101st year.

Barbara, the only child of Ernest Whitley and Gertrude McGill, was a lifelong Montrealer. She attended The Study and went on to earn a degree at McGill University. Here she attracted the attention of famed humourist Stephen Leacock, who invited her to join him on his popular radio broadcasts. This experience ignited her lifelong love for theatre and her talent as a thespian. This passion carried on though her decades-long involvement with the Centaur Theatre and with Geordie Productions. Who could forget one of her final roles, as one of the poisonous sisters in ?Arsenic and Old Lace?? All who were fortunate enough to have known Barbara will also remember her as a captivating story teller and great orator.

Barbara's enduring legacy is her steadfast support of numerous Montreal institutions, both as a volunteer and as a philanthropist. Her community involvement began in the Second World War, when she served with the Canadian Red Cross. She then took on leadership roles within the Women?s Canadian Club and the Junior League.

As a philanthropist, Barbara supported numerous causes, including St. James the Apostle Church and McGill University. In honor of her father, she established the Whitearn Foundation, which supports research of diseases of the eye. She was a devoted ?old girl? and loyal supporter of The Study, co-establishing the school?s Foundation in 1973. 

Barbara's most notable contribution was her 70 plus years of service to the Montreal General Hospital, where she served as president of the Auxiliary and was the first woman ever to serve on the hospital's executive committee. In recognition of her incredible service, she was awarded a Lifetime Achievement Award from the MUHC in 2016. 

Barbara never sought recognition for her generosity. However, her long list of honors and awards cannot be overlooked. Most notably, in 1992 she received an honorary doctorate from McGill University, in 2004 the Governor General's Caring Canadian Award, and in 2013 the prestigious Queen Elizabeth II Diamond Jubilee Medal for her outstanding contribution to the community.

Barbara left a lasting impression on all who came to know her. She will be deeply missed by her adoring family and friends, many of whom gathered to celebrate her 100th birthday on April 8. Her family extends a special thank you to Dr. David Mulder, for his care and friendship.

"The most truly generous persons are those who give silently without hope of praise or reward." (Carol Ryrie Brink)

Funeral services will be held at Mount Royal Cemetery Complex (1297 Chemin de la Foret) entrance only possible through the Outremont Gate due to closing of Camillien-Houde) on Saturday June 9th at 11 am. In lieu of flowers, donations can be made in memory of Barbara Whitley to the Montreal General Hospital Foundation. Donate online: http://www.mghfoundation.com/en/donate-now/give-in-honour, call (514) 934-8230 or mail your donation to the MGH Foundation, 1650 Cedar Avenue, E6-129, Montreal, Quebec, H3G 1A4.

Barbara Whitley

Published in the Montereal Gazette:.http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/montrealgazette/obituary.aspx?n=barbara-jane-whitley&pid=189093990

Poems are Reports from Inner Space

   Yew Tree Inn, 1 Beardwood, Blackburn, Lancs,
owned by my great great grandfather Thomas Parker, 1881 

There is no consensus of intelligence anymore, but there is Inner Space.

The first experience we have of Inner Space: our dreams.

Of course, if we censor our reports from Inner Space we end up with poetry that lacks authenticity.

I come from a dark place—I know that it will always be dark—I have spent too long in Inner Space.

Poetry has its own archaeology: it's what we excavate in Inner Space.

Did you follow your vision? Did you hear the voice calling you from Inner Space?

We fear the unconscious; it is a portal to Inner Space.

It was not a part of my repertoire of emotions; I was trapped in Inner Space.

Poems are reports from Inner Space.

November is "Inner Space Month".

Artifacts and the detritus of Inner Space wash up on the shores of consciousness.

One day everything you said from Inner Space will be used against you.

All artists are nihilists; they destroy the old in the act of reporting from Inner Space.  

The poet's journey in Inner Space is the shaman's journey. 

I live at the inn of Inner Space, the inn on the road through a forest; few come this way, few visit the inn, the Yew Tree Inn.

Where we live, those outposts of Inner Space.

I am sending out probes into Inner Space.

Someone emerges, one born from the genetic debris of Inner Space.

                                                                                                            2015

First Published: Urban Graffitti, http://urbgraffiti.com/writing/poems-are-reports-from-inner-space-by-stephen-morrissey/#more-6185, Edmonton, November 2015.

NOTE: A year after this was published I posted it on this blog, today I see that it is no longer online where it was originally published at Urban Graffitti. This is what is seriously wrong with online publishing and digital archives, they are subject to change without the author's notice: they can be deleted, altered, rewritten, removed, gone... Mark McCawley published this essay in good faith that it would stay online; after his passing his web zine, Urban Graffitti, was eventually taken offline. Losing UG we lost all the graphics, short stories, essays, etc., that were online. If Mark had these archived at LAC then I stand corrected.  

SM

11/05/2018

Guy Birchard's "Aggregate :Retrospective"

Cover, Aggregate :Retrospective by Guy Birchard

Congratulations to my old friend Guy Birchard on his new book, Aggregate :Retrospective, published by Shearsman Books, Bristol, UK. This book brings together four of Guy's chapbooks published over the last thirty years. I think this is one of Guy's best books and a great introduction to his work. I bought my copy from the "Book Depository", they pay the shipping and they're efficient and dedicated to small press publishing. Guy and Artie Gold were friends and Guy introduced me to Artie back in the spring of 1973, happy days 45 years ago!
trospective=, published by Shearsman Books, Bristol, UK. This book brings together four of Guy's chapbooks published over the last thirty years. I think this is one of Guy's best books and a great introduction to his work. I bought my copy from the "Book Depository", they pay the shipping and they're efficient and dedicated to small press publishing. Guy and Artie Gold were friends and Guy introduced me to Artie back in the spring of 1973, happy days 45 years ago!

Vehicule Days, part two

More of my photographs of "Vehicule Days", exhibition and reading, on the evening of April 26, 2018 at McGill University's Rare Books and Special Collections.

John McAuley and Tom Konyves

Endre Farkas and Carolyn-Marie Souaid

Adrian King-Edwards and Donna Jean-Louis

Chris Lyons

That's me.

Tom Konyves

Vehicule Days at McGill University

Here is my group photo of the Vehicule Poets from our reading on the evening of April 26, 2018 at McGill University's Rare Books and Special Collections. From left: Endre Farkas, Tom Konyves, John McAuley, Claudia Lapp, and Stephen Morrissey. Missing: Ken Norris.

Claudia Lapp at Blue Met Literary Festival

Claudia Lapp, one of the Vehicule Poets, reads her poem "Shivasana", at Hotel 10 in downtown Montreal, as part of the Blue Met Literary Festival, on April 28, 2018.