Tuesday, March 25, 2014

Claudia Coutu Radmore

YOU DON’T REMEMBER ME I GUESS


i used to nurse a teabag sit for hours without shame
what does it mean to pay attention to silence

what tree is this that  i  have come across
keeping my eye on the edges of things

the rate at which a body is allowed to change
positions with respect to another

the silence can be filled with dark knives
scroll fragments, scorched

solar particle trapped in the earth’s magnetic field
ghost
orchid

each word of the telling takes away
what little life that still survives

inside the heart
stands as a mere breath






 I AGREE TO DO THREE


closed systems
unusual string dipole-dipole attractions

apophthegms
phenomenologists

potato-shaped mars moons
buzzer-beatings

it’s a gas, gas, gas 
jumping jack flash                  

balaclava raglan cardigans
colandered pastafarians

frowning nights
life sentences wrapped in dustballs
WE ARE A SUBDUED GROUP


            andside
           
    always
      tilly her tea
        that
          while
             tilly
               mum
                 might
                    side
                      said
                        why should i not

a dunnamany brothers and sisters

need
  right
    than
       them

to conifer responsibility
no windows in the lower level

shitshape
sluicide
ptarmigan

the kind of model brat-in-law
who comes flat-packed

no matter how minor the minor members
as if eve were away
doing charity work
while adam ate apple

happy happy happy happy talk

step
   hen
zen




  
DONOVAN CHAMBERS LEARNS
OF HIS IMPENDING DEATH
IN THE NEWSPAPER


now, this is what he calls adventure
(cloud of ironic despair)

how those horrid conservatives will jeer at him!
(what are we to do?)

what to wear: panic
(still want to see her naked in the garden)

a sudden salience on the surface of the psyche
sprinkles cryptic proverbs on the nurture of the moon

(her ming tiffany twisted/ she got the mercedes bends)
way to go eagles will miss you

well, zing! darling, where are your fibulae
a slip of the tongue on new year’s eve

no more thirty more years of this o dawn of ashes
detroit diesel owl city pretty (virtual embrace)




  
CLARA IS NOT AS YOUNG AS SHE USED TO BE


has forgotten Virgil’s latinate
curvo saturni 

lets the cat clean the kitchen
on the roomba

often says
forgive me but

i must milk my camel
and no longer talks of parcels of rogues

bought and sold for english gold
likes to say

backatcha backatcha
her past shadowy establishments

of conspiracy
adrift in that peaceful easy feelin’

shouts of a saturday
give’em a hail mary pass 

and considers not  the true
number of her days

chants parish of rooks
clamour of rooks  unkindness

of ravens storytelling of crows
and word for word:

i will take you by a dear
dirty back way, miss honeychurch



  



IN TRANSLATION



the true number of skies
and the true number of nine

there was a cloak and dagger
there was a caramel brown

anaesthetic yes, i’m the devil
oh, and I don’t care none

there was that steak
you’d rather have than me

there was miss modelo 1959
naked batista’s hand

on her thigh there was
the wind speaking

there was
the extended meditation

on the polished
polish furniture

after the dove
dove into the mistletoe

thicket and there were
crimp-haired angels






A GOOD NUMBER OF PEOPLE THINK
THEY CAN INSTINCTIVELY TELL
WHEN SOMEONE IS LYING


i am not among them
headstones back from the dead

if you think your sense of direction is trued
p j harvey’s words that maketh murder

pinball madness ping buzz
demented insects

ringer wrangler
stronger strangler jetranger

has been given a large brain by mistake
avignon

when i say every day
i have to forget you

snuffles and bellows and squawks
whisper on the wind

do exactly what you would do
if you felt secure says meister eckhart

the window of the floor
leaks two dark feathers

sootfall
heart-felt ido not believe

you do not have the proper permission
for this research


  


A member of Ruby Tuesdays writing group, Claudia Coutu Radmore’s Accidentals, Apt. 9 Press, Ottawa, won the 2011 bpNichol Chapbook Award.  Her submission where language forms was selected by Christian Bök as runner up in the 2010 Banff Centre Bliss Carman Awards, and her poem all saints was shortlisted for the 2012 Malahat’s Open Season Awards. 

Her poems have been published in Prairie Fire, Grain, Arc, The Antigonish Review, CV2, The Bywords Quarterly Journal, Sugarmule, Pith & Wry; Canadian Poetry; Rogue Stimulus: The Stephen Harper Holiday Anthology for a Prorogued Parliament, and Lighting the Global Lantern, The League of Canadian Poets Poetry Month Blog, 2010, 2011,  among other journals and anthologies. Ruth Roach Pearson has accepted a poem in her forthcoming anthology I Found It At the Movies: an anthology of poems about film, Guernica, 2014. In 2008 Claudia won the National Capital Region Canadian Authors’ Poetry Award.

Trade poetry books are Your Hands Discover Me/ Tes mains me découvrent, 2010, Éditions du tanka francophone, Montreal, and a minute or two/ without remembering, 2010, Two Currents Press, Sudbury, listed as a Special Mention in the 2010 Pat Lowther Awards. 


Notes:
 ‘if you think your sense of direction is trued’ from A Room with a View, E.M. Forster.
i will take you by … from Room with a View
curvo saturni: Saturn’s knife
parcel of rogues, from Such a Parcel of Rogues in a Nation, Robert Burns
frowning nights, William Blake

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