it began as a million soft things

it began as a million soft things,
this particular blue,
this robin’s egg shell
with a whisper of rose
it began as fading light
in a northern sky
willow trees and
that hymn that you sing
when you think you’re alone

it started behind
a rhymer’s moon
you sent me warm socks
and a map of bonnie doon

i gave you bridges.

we wrote long letters
stopped winding two-faced clocks
rowed towards each other in simple wooden boats

our love includes red maples now
and compasses and tides

you ask if you can touch me
what i like
what should be your first move
i hear you plead without voice, without words,
how do you want me to love you?
how can i deliver you there?
(and, oh, i need to know
these things about you, too, sweetheart)

under a harder sky you might
lay me down in a forest, or by the sea
kiss me in a cathedral
or read some sexy sonnet to me

but tonight i say start
with your fingers in my hair
feed me peaches
kiss my shoulders
hum a gentle lover’s prayer
tomorrow show me love so bold, so deep
tonight let me see the softness of your face
just before you fall asleep

 

exploding light

canada day fireworks, edmonton river valley, july 1, 2009

 

visitation

your spirit showed up
in my kitchen today
reminding me of summer
that glorious
first week of freedom
reserved for the cottage,
the canoe
timid skin on burning sand,
georgian bay always too cold
for swimming
even in mid-june
sunburned feet limping down hot, gravel roads
to the concession for pop red & licorice black
cashews & cheese curds
& dipped cones that always melted
before we got back to our towels
i longed for you to rub oil on my back
but was too shy to ask

your laugh slipped under my ball cap today
flying our bikes past the shanty bay station
sandwiches wrapped & knapsacks stuffed
tearing up the asphalt on our wicked purple 10-speeds
& didn’t we just own that road, you and me

your face smiled back from my mirror today
reminding me of pyjama parties & midnight radio
up all night on jenny’s birthday
sneaking canadian club into our seven-up
telling deep, dark secrets, telling grade eleven lies
lighting séance candles and trying not to giggle
holding hands and asking the ouija board
if any of us would ever marry teddy coulson
when all i ever wanted
was to run away with you

your blue shirt slipped off a hanger in my closet today
chased me into the wilsons’ backyard, flashlight tag
bushes dark, shadows mysterious
scaring each other silly & screaming
when bats appeared in the friday night sky
& after, smoking under the maple trees
with garry and reg
truth, dare or consequences
hoping the dare might involve a kiss;
the consequence, a clandestine grope
and me desperately praying no one ever guessed at the truth:
that whenever i kissed one of those boys
i pretended i was kissing you

your dog-eared rubyfruit jungle fell from my bookshelf today
landed right where you passed me that sexy note in english class
almost intercepted by ol’ mister harris
double detention ’cause we wouldn’t give it up
couldn’t risk him cracking our private code
& what was the big deal, we’d both already finished our assignments
& why do you always have booze on your breath sir?
is what we shoulda said

your spirit danced into my heart today
leading me back to 501’s and ralph lauren cologne
sneaking beers in your aunt’s basement
and wearing out the rewind button on her tape deck
carole pope and the parachute club
the soundtrack for our burgeoning yearnings
you know, those ones we never talked about
the kind two girls aren’t supposed to feel
for each other

your warm breath filled my lungs today
reminding me of how, when no one was looking,
we created excuses to touch
play-fighting in mock anger
inventing games that required wrestling, invited contact
exploring each other’s skin with tentative hands
pretending it was accidental, the friction, the heat
your body on mine on yours on mine
gangly limbs entwined

pressed together soft on loud rec-room shag
holding, holding tight
gripping, bold & shy & soft electric
wanting not to ever have to let go
wanting not to ever have to give it a name

your scent spilled into my bed today
‘love’s fresh lemon’ luring me back
to all those things we never allowed ourselves to feel
or say out loud

sweet friend

 

canada day art in the garden

if you’re looking for something to do on canada day that’s a whole lot calmer than fireworks and/or whyte avenue hooning and hurling, consider a stroll through the beautiful devonian botanic garden located just west of edmonton.

lindy's garden, 18x24, laurie macfayden

in addition to live music, entertainment and children’s activities, there will be an art exhibit and sale component to the canada day festivities. art and crafts will be on display at various locations throughout the garden. i’ll be out there for the entire day (10 a.m. to 6 p.m.) with several of my paintings, all of which are available for purchase; feel free to drop by and say hello.

also, diversity 2009 (part of the works festival) continues at the visual arts alberta gallery (3rd floor, harcourt house 10215 112 st.),  through july 18.

 

diversity 2009

the summer solstice is just around the corner, and that means that Diversity, the annual visual arts alberta (vaa) exhibition, is about to kick off.

Rotorua, 16x20, acrylic on canvas, laurie macfayden, 2009

the juried show and sale, held in conjunction with The Works art & design festival,
is a fund-raising event so many of the pieces will be available for purchase, including this fairly new piece of mine, titled Rotorua.

the show opens this thursday, june 18 with a reception from 6 to 9:30 p.m.
at harcourt house, 3rd floor,
10215 – 112 street, edmonton.
the exhibit continues through july 18.

gallery hours are from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m., monday through friday and saturdays noon to 4 p.m. (closed july 1).

also, my art webpage has just been updated with 18 new images added. most of them are available for purchase.
check them out at www.lauriemacfayden.com

 

things you need to know before you give your heart to a poet

she will want to stay out late. sometimes later than next morning.
pretend to be okay with this.

she will frequently be drawn to smoky bars and badly lit stages.

there will be writhing.

when she wants to acquire a beret — and she WILL want to acquire a beret — humour her.

she will pull billy collins and carol ann duffy from your shelf.
she will not put them back in the proper order. you, who are so alphabetical, need to accept this.
one night while drunk or jealous she will knock over the entire bookcase. the next day she will clumsily attempt to rebuild. insist that she leave it, and make her a grilled cheese sandwich.

she will buy notebooks. lovely, high-end, chi-chi, fabulous, rhinestone-studded notebooks.
these will remain pristine / chaste / unopened.
she will do her “real” writing in coil-bound hilroy exercise books
(the kind you used in grade school), and on the backs
of napkins and envelopes; and on your skin, where it is the most sensitive.
she will engrave kisses on your pericardium.
they will smoulder there, and gently sting,
indefinitely.

some days she will swagger home with roses.
some days she will stagger home with thorns.
some days will turn into nights and you will suspect she’s
run off. three mornings later she will return
with croissants, a foreign newspaper, a borrowed, oversized striped shirt;
and her freckles will be even more endearing.
she will bounce on the bed and kiss you.
you will kiss her back and demand that she leave.

(she has already broken your heart a hundred times,
and there’s still the matter of the shattered
bookcase.) you will demand that she leave
even as you put the kettle on
to make her another cup of twinings chamomile and
limeflowers, her latest obsession.

you will kiss her and you will cry.
she will cry. you will demand that she leave
a note next time.
her notes are like a salve
(or is it salt)
on your wounds.

your poet will get you drunk on sea water
and brandish her oxford dictionary like a weapon.
she will show you how to extract joy from bridges,
corduroy and high-bush cranberry.
she will take you flying.
sometimes you will have to steer.
sometimes you will have to keep her tethered to the ground
and cradle her in your arms all night.

poems will happen on the way to airports
and in paris cemeteries.
she will teach you to appreciate old slang
and the most vulgar of obscure swears.
sometimes there will be no money for rent
and she will pay you in rhyme.
(make sure that you keep your word.)
under her bed, be prepared to find cardboard boxes
stuffed with old metaphors. moonbeams.
broken ladders. wool socks. turquoise. your baby pictures,
some of them creased or torn.

give her pleated trousers; give her
sturdy boots with solid heels.
she will need lots of light, even though she will do most of her scribbling
in the dark.

feed your poet bread and barley soup.
asparagus with butter and lemon.
supply her with cigarillos. (she hates the thought of smoking, but deep down
will always believe it looks
cool.)

she will go through your things like a detective.
she will take what’s precious, not from your jewelry box
but from your mucous membranes.

oh, yes, sweetheart, this is visceral.

she will write poems about other lovers and find ways
to make you believe they are about you.
she will infuriate you.
she will wear you down.
she will fuck you. hard. against the wall. in your parents’ kitchen.
in the backseat of a borrowed car. then she will write a poem
about your cat.

your poet will send flowers to your workplace and sign the card: for always, bluebird.
she will lose your prize cufflinks, the ones your father gave you when you were 14.
she will fill you with longing and she will empty your coffee tin,
the one in which you hid the movie money.
she will leave a trail of breadcrumbs
leading back to her flannel sheets.
she will think she has covered her tracks.
she will dance with you behind the full moon.
she will use all the hot water.
she will deliver sweetness
and touch you in places you thought could never be reached.
she will teach you the whole truth about salvation
and the rhyming scheme of fingers.

you will find pieces of yourself in her journals.
you will find fragments of marilyn hacker and jackie kay in her front left pocket.
she will fall in love with the word darling
and the word softness
and overuse the word cherish.
she will fold your clothes. she will tuck e.e. cummings
(such small hands) into your underwear drawer.

she will shove you off a cliff.
she won’t always catch you on the way down.

 

rangitoto island

 

her sky awakens me

 

raving mad

raving, the raving poets’ online magazine, is up and yours for the viewing at www.ravingpoets.com/magazine/

the 24 poems featured were performed during the ‘born to write’ fall 2008 series at edmonton’s funky kasbar lounge, and yours truly has a piece called ‘before the next conversation’ on page 1.

percussionist gordon mcrae
has done a bang-up job
with the presentation. 

also, the call has gone out for submissions for the second edition of raving. so if you wove any of your spoken-word magic during the most recent series, sofa king, between april 21 and may 27, you are eligible. deadline for poems and visuals is aug. 1, 2009.

raving. check it out. then kiss a poet.

 

oot and aboot / from the kiwi road less travelled

three reasons why i’ll never be a travel writer:

3.) you need to have an attention span; i had mine surgically removed some years back.

2.) you need to make careful observances about regional landmarks and scenic things, and take lots of notes. i am unable to do those things when i travel. i eat what’s in season, and i drink what’s on tap at the local pub, and i take pictures of visually appealing meals that are plunked down in front of me, and i stare at these most amazing clouds, and i forget the names of almost everything that is shown to me, so that later, when it comes time to write about these things, i can’t remember a thing.

1.) you need to capture the essence of place in your writing, in a way that is compelling and interesting for the reader. being totally self-absorbed, and constantly in search of comfort foods, i tend to capture little but the essence of what’s on the end of my fork at any given time.

that said, what follows is the sum total of the woefully inadequate jottings from my upside-down travel journal, new zealand, 2009.

january 16: finish packing. tidy computer desk. clean basement. leave for auckland, 4 p.m. flight

jan. 17: the lost day

jan. 18: arrived in auckland 5 a.m. it took half an hour to get our bags and another 30 minutes to get through various customs checks. a security beagle sniffed out my cashews, which were missed (ha!) by the spaniel.

lindy’s friend claire met us at the airport and drove us to blockhouse bay road. had coffee/tea and chatted a bit, then went for groceries (to two stores, and still forgot some things, which meant another trip out later in the day.) i slept from 10:30 a.m. to 1:30 p.m. while lindy and claire went out walking. ate lunch around 2 p.m. — bread, cheese, tomatoes and a nice hummus with jalapeno and lime and even coriander (which was, mercifully, disguised by the jalapeno).

took my camera for a walk for about an hour, and then sat on the back step and stared at claire’s clothesline and garden. dinner was pasta with artichokes, olives, rocket, preserved lemon and haloumi. yummy.

claire and lindy at galbraith's alehouse, formerly a library

jan. 19: woke around 5 a.m. after seven straight hours of sleep. got up at 6 and made coffee. there’s a bit of rain but also lots of blue sky above. to get: coffee. claire took us on a literary tour of auckland / ponsonby / devonport (lunch).

jan 21: gannet colony (takapu refuge) and muriwai beach.

jan. 22: vector arena. leonard cohen concert. 7:30 p.m. awesome. 26 songs, including seven during three encores. (when cohen sang the line, “democracy is coming … to the u.s.a.” — this being two days after barack obama’s inauguration — the entire place erupted.)

jan. 23: women’s weekend at whatipu lodge.

jan. 24: walked two hours up big hill overlooking the water. (ed’s note: see what i mean about lack of attention span? details, macfayden. grab some freakin’ details.)

jan. 25: sick. sore throat and flu-ish. left whatipu (pronouced fa-ti-poo) around 2. stopped for lozenges on the way home. (thank you, claire.)

jan. 26: *mail birthday card to shelley. 7:30 a.m. train to palmerston north — 10 hours. met by maree at 5:30 p.m., then about a half-hour drive to tangimoana. still feel sick. ate supper at 9 p.m. — zucchini soup, potatoes and beans, pasta with zucchini and beets. sabine made me thyme tea with honey for my throat. (thank you, sabine.)

sand dunes at tangimoana

jan. 27: toast and honey for breakfast. walked with lindy to what we thought was the sea, but was in fact the mouth of a very large river. took lots of pictures. had soup for lunch. sabine made a thai curry for supper. still sick.

jan. 28: throat worse. (like i swallowed razorblades.) sabine & maree insisted i see a doctor in palmerston north before we boarded the bus for wellington. am now on penicillin (it’s probably strep). 4 p.m., checked into cambridge hotel, wellington. paid $17.50 for two beers at a bar down the street. had dinner at an indian restaurant.

jan. 29: $2 breakfast special (egg and toast) at the hostel cafe, and another $6.50 for tea and coffee. $4 for a takeaway coffee at a cafe and $2.50 for a lemon-thyme flavoured chocolate for lindy. picked up groceries: almond butter, hummus, yogurt, juice, tea, milk. te papa national museum / shopping for merino wool items on cuba street / willis street / indian supper on courtenay.

pumpkin coconut soup at leafee cafe, wellington

jan. 30: rode the “iconic” wellington cable car to hector’s observatory and the botanical garden. lunch (pumpkin/coconut/curry soup) at leafee on T. road, then more tramping around the botanic garden. supper at one red dog cafe (pasta, salad, beer).

jan. 31: still in wellington. lindy made penne pasta & veg. stirfry for supper in the hostel kitchen, which took over an hour on the world’s most inefficient stovetop.

random notes: wellington has a nifty writers walk along the harbourfront. te papa museum is amazing. went there twice and still didn’t come close to seeing everything. the botanic garden is huge, full of many paths with unclear signage that became very irritating by late afternoon. saw some cool installation art (e.g., white lace and red ribbons on trees) and many more mutant hydrangeas in lovely light blue and lavender colours.

feb. 2: 8:25 a.m. ferry to picton (south island). rough crossing. walked from ferry dock to sequoia hostel on nelson square. then walked back into town to check out cafes, stores, eco-tours, etc. had supper in an indian restaurant. found a nice red pinot noir — mill road hawkes bay 2006. and i generally don’t even like pinot noir, but this one was something to write home about.

feb. 3: this hostel serves free breakfast (toast & jam, coffee, tea) in the mornings and hot chocolate pudding with ice cream every night at 8 p.m. for lunch we cooked penne with swiss chard (called silver beet down here) and garlic. in the afternoon we went on a four-hour eco-tour to the motuara island sanctuary; along the way we saw diving gannets, spotted shags (cormorants), a rare “king” shag, hector’s dolphins and fur seals. on the island we saw a blue penguin chick (in a nesting box). supper was beer and very tasty greek pizza at the slip inn restaurant, where the power kept going off.

feb. 4: (happy birthday shelley b. and kathy s.) rainy day, too wet for another boat tour, so we played scrabble and watched LOTR, part 2, in which the dialogue sucked but the scenery was stunning.

feb. 5: 1 p.m train to kaikoura. quenched our thirst with a monteith’s original on tap, then found a thai restaurant for supper. excellent green curry and veg. pad thai (spelled “pud” thai on the menu). receptionist at dolphin hostel huffy, stuffy and downright rude. toilets are co-ed and smell like pee. room so small we can barely move around the bed; no place to hang clothes or stow our backpacks. we’ll remember this when it comes time to fill out the “backpackers hostel rankings” survey.

Sperm whale tail, Kaikoura

feb. 6: waitangi day / mario’s birthday. train to christchurch didn’t leave til 3:30 p.m. so we had time to go on a mid-day whale-watching tour. saw three sperm whales and a pod of dusky dolphins. took about 300 pictures (culled down to 50). guy on the boat sitting next to me got seasick and puked his guts out. arrived christchurch in early evening. women’s guesthouse has a nice herb garden, spring water, and lots of places for hanging clothes — a concept that is lost on many hostel operators.

feb. 7: christchurch market; mailed postcard to sarah (who has a thing about christchurch).

feb. 8: 8:15 a.m. train to greymouth. global village backpackers hostel = nice, clean, cheery. took their bikes out for a walk. (lindy felt uncomfortable riding on the sidewalk, even though it was sunday afternoon and the place was a ghost town.) 4 p.m. tour of monteith’s brewery. our guide paul was very generous with the pour when it came to sampling the six varieties. 6 p.m. laurie’s now-infamous hostile/hostel meltdown (unsuitable content removed by moderator).

feb. 9: 2 p.m. shuttle van tour to punakaiki / pancake rocks and unco-operative blow hole. walked the truman track through rainforest. took lots of photos. very humid.

feb. 10: train back to christchurch. ate hummus & sprouts sandwiches for lunch on the train; supper was nuts and rice crackers and lots of WINE at the women’s guesthouse. light rain in evening. there are two guineapig mascots at this hostel, named princess and duchess.

feb. 11: laundry day at the guesthouse. while lindy toured yet another museum — or was it another botanic garden? — laurie visited the casino and won $2200 NZ. thank you, pink panther slot machine.

feb. 12: rain. women’s guesthouse overbooked, so we moved a few blocks away to foley towers (NOT fawlty towers). met sabine at the art gallery and took her to lunch at the lotus heart. then went to the paua shell house exhibit at canterbury museum. hilarious kitsch. pizza for supper at the bohemian cafe.

Stones from Birdlings Flat, on the way to Akaroa

feb. 13: 8:40 a.m. bus to akaroa for harbour cruise. cruise ended up being cancelled due to rough seas, so we had lunch (pizza, beer) and stocked up on more merino wool apparel (lindy bought a scarf and gloves and longjohns, and put ALL of them on, because it was so cold that day); laurie got attacked by a flock of vicous red-beaked seagulls.

feb. 14: lunch at the twisted hop; nice pub grub (couscous, roasted vegs) and an outstanding beer sampler. caught a matinee performance of la cage au folles, followed by happy hour (marlborough wine, cheap like borscht!) at a cafe next to the art gallery, followed by valentine’s day supper at lotus heart, followed by email check at an internet cafe. a good heart day.

feb. 15: 7 a.m. train to picton, then 1:10 p.m. ferry to wellington. staying two nights at downtown packpackers hostel.

feb. 16: viewed outstanding “monet and the impressionists” exhibit at te papa. (this was the reason we changed our itinerary and made room for two more nights in wellington. well, that and another lunch at the backbenchers’ pub, home of the best french fries and aioli in the freakin’ salty snack universe!)

feb. 17: 7:25 a.m. train to marton. lunch at the mothered goose cafe in bulls. pasta supper at laura’s (another friend from the gardening email list).

feb.18: 10:25 a.m. train to auckland. arrived at britomart station at 8:30 p.m., one hour late. bumped into claire on the way up from the train at avondale.

feb. 19: auckland. a day of laundry and email.

feb. 20: RAIN. all day. sick (again). claire drove us to thames (”tims”) tonight. we’re spending the weekend at julie and steve’s B&B.

Lunch in the Coromandel at Driving Creek Cafe

feb. 21: still SICK. cold, flu. (bah.) thames market / coromandel town. lunch at the driving creek cafe. rainforest, kauri grove …

feb. 22: lunch at SOLA (voted best cafe in the region). still sick. stopped at bird refuge on the way back to auckland.

feb. 24: bus to rotorua. lunch at the fat dog cafe, home of the world’s most unique veggie burger. after supper (and poking around steaming stinky sulphur holes), had a lovely soak at the polynesian spa (hot springs). sat outside under the stars at the funky green voyageur hostel and ate brie and drank white wine. lots of white wine.

feb. 25: shuttle tour to lady knox geyser, mud pools, various other places full of of geo-thermal wonders whose names i cannot recall. (ed. says: wai-o-tapu, waimangu, you idiot.)

Laurie on the boat to Motuihe Island

feb. 26: bus back to auckland.

feb. 27: claire’s birthday. small celebration with cake at home, then out to dinner at an indian restaurant.

feb. 28: were supposed to go to mangawhai but will now stay in auckland. (nice to stay in one place and just hang out, after so much travelling about.)

march 4: buy tim tams. pack. afternoon boat cruise to motuihe island, to take part in a special release of 18 kakariki (red-crowned parakeets) into the wild. fabulous way to spend our final day in auckland.

march 5: 7:30 p.m. return flight to edmonton, via san francisco.

(at this rate i should have the paris trip bloggage posted by august.)