Wednesday 26 June 2013

The City of Anne Carson

I'm nuts about Anne Carson's Red Doc. If I like it hard enough, I won't have to quit writing because of it. About an hour ago I took a pic.

As you see, it's sideways. But dedicated readers of this blog--hello from the Banff Centre, Uncle Chivas and Aunt Regal--will make the effort. They'll see Carson text in the foreground, what's left of my Trad, and the Bow valley beyond, facing west. Warm if the sun's free of clouds, cool otherwise.
I called a piece The City of Anne Carson because everything I'm writing is. A city.
Much as I'd like to continue this entry, I notice \North By Northwest is on TCM right now.

Tuesday 25 June 2013

Photo Assignment

By noon tomorrow I have to ship 3-5 new photographs to my instructor and be ready to talk about them during a group critique Thursday at noon. She gave me a quick intro to Photoshop. Right away I realized (1) I don't have time to poke at the skin, never mind the deep flesh, of what this software can do, (2) what is the point of eliminating blemishes from photographs? and (3) my photos don't have any blemishes. I think I'm over all three.

Wednesday 19 June 2013


I wish I had a picture but we all know what they look like. This one perched on the new railing of the Hemingway Studio in the Leighton Artists' Colony, Banff Centre. It appeared to bend over and rub its eye in a spot of rainwater. It straightened up; I thought I caught it blinking once or twice. This happened again, same eye.
I'm sure you've guessed by now that the magpie was in fact sipping from the rainwater. Sideways must work best for a beak like that. (I'd call that magpie left-beaked.)
The black cat included in the previous post, fresh from its appearance in a poem in honour of Wilf Perrault's alley work, had just this morning been given the job of screensaver.
As the magpie drank, thought that's not the right word for it (might even take more than one), the cat was staring right at him. But wouldn't turn around.

Saturday 8 June 2013


At a time like this, after another rejection, I want my readers--a hefty good afternoon to you, Aunt Matilda and Uncle Walt-- to pick me up in their arms somehow. To prevent me from becoming nasty in this list of What To Do When Rejected:
1. Call the rejecters gutless.
2. Doubt that they know what they're doing.
3. Pretend not to notice.
4. Carry on with the next thing, assuming I have one.
5. Walk in this rain, leave my umbrella at home.
6. Buy something.
7. Go to sleep.
8. Push this list to 10.
But seriously, seems wrong that they said No to what I proposed.
I select #4 from the list: working on the mind of the alley, maybe in the alley, maybe over. That way I can do #5 also (with umbrella) and avoid #6. Put off #7 until I've accomplished something (for which their saying No is the bummer it is).
I've got this new camera, see, and an hour and a half or so to wander up and down a few alleys.

Thursday 6 June 2013

Why I Visited the Station in Melville

The CN passenger train stops in Melville. A gym for CN workers stands beside the tracks. Passengers stretch their legs. A train both local and through, I figure.
Once I caught the train in Regina bound for Ottawa and, a week later, two years in Papua New Guinea. It was more like a pod: close at hand was anything I'd need--I'd go down to the dining car, that's all. I did then pretty much what I'm doing right now, writing stuff down.
Dad had cried in Calgary when we said good-bye, just the second time I'd seen him like that. I'd already taken too long to establish myself, was how he might have seen it.
I didn't think of any of that at the station in Melville. I saw those passengers stretching their legs, and the run-down condition of the original stationhouse, and (100 years ago) the pastors arriving to turn the sod for the Luther Academy.
From the station out--trajectories repeated thousands of times for newcomers to the southern prairie, once the tracks got there.