“I live my life a person of African descent 24/7, 365.”
“Voices started to shout, ‘Preach it!’ ‘Testify!’ ‘You’re home now!’”
My double visage suits my double tongue—
“That summer — 1975 — I started to write songs. I wrote four songs a day and I did that for two or three years.”
Nearsighted, the moose swam toward us.
Halfway across it saw us, blinked, and turned around.
Henceforth, no one in Canada may pretend that white settler poetry is somehow “neutral” or unmarked, or that our colonial history may be simply resumed in a tale of two founding nations.
One has the sense of entering into a poetry kaleidoscope, where images cycle and shift with the author’s own triggered associations; as he enters the same manly roles his father modelled, the whole male dynamic swirls into varied imagery, emotions, commentary, memories.