In the which the author digs into the archives for prairie dirt and northern lights
First, some recent book reviews in other places:
Duck Eats Yeast, Quacks, Explodes; Man Loses an Eye (2023) by Gary Barwin and Lillian Nećakov (in Miramichi Reader)
Chasing Paradise: A Hitchhiker’s Search for Home in a World at War with Itself (2023) by Chris Benjamin (in Atlantic Books)
Second, I’ve put this post in ART. Not sure about that, though. As poems, they fit there, but they seem very LIFE, too. They are from the era of my life in Saskatoon (1992-94), though not confessional (much). More journalistic in impression. Telling it like it is, unembellished. Almost Zen.
no reason to believe
any of this means more than it does
Is there something about the prairies that attracts this line of thinking? Or was it more, that’s where I was at during that time? I was definitely into the idea of trying to put down something solid, unambiguous, undeniable, though images of relatively are there, too.
I’m not saying these are any good, but they intrigue me, seeing them again after so many years. I didn’t do any hockey playing in Saskatchewan, so this one’s totally made up!
Amigos: a favorite hangout.
Prairie winters are a phenomena unto themselves.
Aurora borealis, not a phenomenon I experience growing up in Toronto. Little signifies the mysteries and beauty of the universe more.
Something about Lloydminster sparked my imagination, a town half in one province and half in another, an easily torqued metaphor.
Take it away Neil.