T.L. Morrisey

Monday, December 25, 2023

Christmas Day 2023

 Plus 5C, like a fall day, priceless!






"the measure of a man . . ."

 



the measure of a man

are in his acts

of generosity, kindness,

and compassion--no other

measure exists, not accolades,

not wealth, not achievements;

only in what kindness

a man or woman

shows fellow humans,

animals, and the natural

world do we measure 

the value and meaning

of a person's life.

Thursday, December 21, 2023

"Montreal Lane Vision" by Tom Konyves

 

Tom Konyves, at his AM Productions in Vancouver, 1992

Tom Konyves and Stephen Morrissey, at a poetry reading in
Vancouver, 1991



A couple of clothespins later

another creak

the cat looks up

in heat: a sunbather looks down

in between the leafy branches

where the sparrow turns and spies its mate.


And it's these sparrows

who repeat all our thoughts

in their infernal dialogues

their gossip not meant for us

watching rainbuckets mirror

the stately Versailles. 


Published in Bite, volume 1, number 4;

Vancouver, 1988.

Tuesday, December 19, 2023

"Into the Mystic" by Van Morrison

 

From the Champlain Bridge, 2011




We were born before the windAlso, younger than the sun'Ere the bonnie boat was wonAs we sailed into the mystic
Hark now, hear the sailors crySmell the sea and feel the skyLet your soul and spirit flyInto the mystic
Yeah, when that fog horn blowsI will be coming homeYeah, when that fog horn blowsI wanna hear itI don't have to fear it
And I wanna rock your gypsy soulJust like way back in the days of oldThen magnificently we will floatInto the mystic
When that fog horn blowsYou know I will be coming homeYeah, when that fog horn whistle blowsI gotta hear itI don't have to fear it
And I wanna rock your gypsy soulJust like way back in the days of oldAnd together we will floatInto the mystic
Come on, girl
Too late to stop now

Sunday, December 17, 2023

"Rave on, John Donne" by Van Morrison

 

John Donne, 1572 - 1631


Rave on John Donne, rave on thy Holy fool
Down through the weeks of ages
In the moss borne dark dank pools


Rave on, down through the industrial revolution
Empiricism, atomic and nuclear age
Rave on down through time and space down through the corridors
Rave on words on printed page


Rave on, you left us infinity
And well pressed pages torn to fade
Drive on with wild abandon
Uptempo, frenzied heels


Rave on, Walt Whitman, nose down in wet grass
Rave on fill the senses
On nature's bright green shady path


Rave on Omar Khayyam, Rave on Kahlil Gibran
Oh, what sweet wine we drinketh

The celebration will be held
We will partake the wine and break the Holy bread

Rave on let a man come out of Ireland
Rave on Mr. Yeats,
Rave on down through the Holy Rosey Cross
Rave on down through theosophy, and the Golden Dawn
Rave on through the writing of "A Vision"
Rave on, Rave on, Rave on, Rave on, Rave on, Rave on

Rave on John Donne, rave on thy Holy fool
Down through the weeks of ages
In the moss borne dark dank pools
Rave on, down though the industrial revolution
Empiricism, atomic and nuclear age
Rave on words on printed page

Wednesday, December 13, 2023

The state of Canada is not good

 

Average Canadians regretting what the country has become

Canada today is not what it used to be; we know that all is not well. Justin Trudeau seems to think everything is great, but just look around you and what do you see? In every city and town there are encampments of homeless people on roadsides and in city parks; food banks can't keep up with the number of people visiting them, even the employed visit food banks; average people can no longer afford to buy a home, some cannot afford to rent an apartment; the country is not united, Quebec inches closer to independence and Alberta has its own complaints about the federal government; hospitals are collapsing, we don’t have enough doctors or nurses; Justin has spent us into the highest national debt in our history, it’s in the hundreds of billions of dollars; immigration is at an all-time high (500K immigrants per year in 2021, 2022, and 2023) at a time when Canadian citizens can’t afford groceries or a place to live, many don’t have family doctors, and even the immigrants are leaving; what is going on? This is not the Canada in which I grew up, it is not even the Canada of 2014, the year before Justin was first elected. 

My family have always been Liberals and we've had several Members of Parliament in the family, all Liberals, and elected in Northumberland Riding, in New Brunswick; there was John Vereker Morrissy and his son Charles Morrissy, both were prominent local politicians in Newcastle (now Miramichi) who moved up to the Federal level. We were always supporters of the Liberal Party of Canada, and we were always social liberals, as are most Canadians. We were never conservatives; I listened to the liberal CBC, I voted Liberal, I loved Canada. That has ended since Justin Trudeau came to office.

When Justin was elected prime minister things began to deteriorate; it began in 2015 around the time when the CBC's woke bias became more apparent. But it turned out that Trudeau is a man with no moral compass for whom appearance is more important than intelligence, culture, or tradition; he has no culture, no traditions, no great intelligence and little education.This has been shown on many occasions; he's clever, he’s verbally clever, and he has money and influence behind him, he knows how to exploit a situation for his own benefit.

The state of Canada is not good; the old Canada is gone, and we're stuck with the mess that Justin has inflicted on the country. He is working to destroy our sense of being Canadians and our national unity, he doesn't believe in Canada, he doesn’t like Canada, he wants to throw out the old Canada, his allegiance is to diversity, gender, and wokeness, not to the needs and concerns of average Canadians. His aim is to replace traditions, our culture, our belief in who we are and our future, all for unproved politically correct ideas that will inevitably fail. Personally, I am doubtful we will ever recover from these years of Justin Trudeau; so far, he has worked to destroy the country. Is it any wonder that he is one of  the least popular prime ministers in Canada’s history? The only “sunny ways” Justin has left are in his imagination.

Monday, December 11, 2023

First big snowfall of December

Today, heavy wet snow that sticks to the snow shovel, it takes some of us two shifts to get rid of this snow; begin at 7:30, take a rest, finish later this morning; but milder weather is forecast for later this week. It’s a monochromatic world out there, gone the flowers of summer, gone the garden of 2023.

Photographs taken on 4 December 2023. 









Sunday, December 10, 2023

Of winter days to come

It was -6 C and felt like -12 when I took these photographs on November 24, it wasn't even winter, it was a first taste of winter but without snow. As you get older you wonder if you can take another winter; it will be like this, and colder, all of December, January, February, March, and the first days of April. Too much, too long, too cold.  

It is what we, in Canada, must endure.








Friday, December 8, 2023

"Wedged" by Joan Thornton

Hand/Grenade by Joan Thornton

                             


6   am

damp

in darkness

North Sea

slapping

on the rump

of 

Europe


In

Montreal

not 

so  far

we cannot

feel

that strain

as

Real

riot-

ous   im-

mediate

as

the States

whose sharp Spring

tremor

like 

subterran-

ean

shiver

-- shifts

our centres

of

atten-

tion

        NOW  -far

out along

dark

borders

where

for miles

un-

easy

    migrants

perch

the ragged

edges

of

a storm


Thornton, Joan. Hand Grenade. Ottawa, The Golden Dog Press, 1973


Thursday, December 7, 2023

"The Darkling Thrush" by Thomas Hardy

 



I leant upon a coppice gate
      When Frost was spectre-grey,
And Winter's dregs made desolate
      The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
      Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
      Had sought their household fires.

The land's sharp features seemed to be
      The Century's corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
      The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
      Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
      Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among
      The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
      Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
      In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
      Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings
      Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
      Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
      His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
      And I was unaware.

Wednesday, December 6, 2023

"I like to sit and write . . . "

 

20 January 2016, Blvd de Maisonneuve, Montreal

I like to sit and write, I like to put words on a page and form sentences, paragraphs, statements, poems, inconsequential scribblings, or meaningful insights, body, coherence, expressions of what I think and feel, or where something is uncovered or something unfolds out of apparent nothingness, something is born to awareness or something is created where there was nothing, and slowly something meaningful is written down, slowly I uncover who I am with words, words that are ink, squiggles, scribbles, sentences, shapes, and shadows on a sheet of lined white paper, and this is done in this room where I am alone, and the room is a place of solitude, (writers must love solitude, must love the physical act of writing), and something new is created as this writing forms a single entity, and I am no longer alone, there is also this new entity, it is this writing that seems to have come out of nowhere. And that is how a poem or this paragraph are written.

Sunday, December 3, 2023

Preface, Farewell, Darkness, Selected Poems







Preface

 What in one is dark Illumine, what is low raise and support

                            —John Milton

 

T

his selection of poems is taken from books and chapbooks I published from 1971 to 2021. When I began writing poetry my themes were the transience of life, family, grief at losing close family members, and romantic love. These many years later I am still writing about the transience of life, family, grief at losing close family members, and romantic love, but giving more emphasis to some and less to others. My experience is that where we begin as poets is where we end. What is our journey as poets? It is the great theme of literature; it is the journey to self-awareness.


1

These poems are presented here without section breaks; this is the model Ken Norris suggested to me, found in Robert Creeley's Selected Poems (1991). The text of Creeley's book has a continuity that is unbroken by titles of books and dates published, as one finds in most selected poems, and I've used the same approach in presenting the poems in this book; it is the book of poems of my life. Of course, bibliographical information is still available in both the Books Published page and the Contents page.


 2

We learn something from every poet we read. In 1967 I read Allen Ginsberg's statement, "Scribble down your nakedness. Be prepared to stand naked because most often it is this nakedness of the soul that the reader finds most interesting"; it was an important insight for me and has influenced my writing to this day. But other poets were also important; these include William Blake; the Romantic poets; Walt Whitman; the Beats; Charles Olson; Louis Dudek; and George Johnston.


3

Poetry isn't antiseptic, it's passion for life. Poetry is love and death and tears of joy and tears of sorrow. It's messy, it's stuff we don't want to talk about, it's betrayal and jealousy, it's love and sex and tenderness and grief and regret and awe and divine inspiration; it's the shadow falling across one's life. Poetry is nothing if not passionate; passion, not the intellect, not fashion, not popularity, not what other people are doing, defines poetry.


4

We all experience darkness in our lives: some of us have descended to the underworld; some have been lost in a dark forest; and some of us have had to begin life again in middle age—we lost everything—for nothing was as we believed. But darkness can be place of creativity, of self-awareness, of meaning, and of rebirth. 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.


5

My wife, the poet Carolyn Zonailo, is always in my thoughts and heart; to her my thanks, my love, and my deepest appreciation for our over thirty years together. I want to thank Richard Olafson for his commitment to publishing—the year 2022 was Ekstasis Editions' fortieth anniversary—he has made an important contribution to our national literary life; he has helped many creative people realize their potential and their dream.

 

                                           Stephen Morrissey

                                           Montreal, Quebec

                                           20 November 2022


Morrissey, Stephen. Farewell, Darkness: Selected Poems. Ekstasis Editions, Victoria, 2023.

Saturday, December 2, 2023

Before the snow

 Snow expected tomorrow; today, rain, 1 degree C. And here is what it’s like outside a few minutes ago.