Many Tributes to Robert Kroetsch

Many writers lost a friend yesterday when Robert Kroetsch died.

I met Kroetsch at the Sage Hill Writing Experience in 2002. I was taking the Introduction to Fiction and Poetry; he was teaching the Novel Colloquium. His great generosity and memory were equaled by his courtesy and charm, and whenever I saw him after that (at the Saskatchewan Book Awards, or Moose Jaw's Festival of Words, or the Saskatchewan Writers Guild AGM), he remembered me and offered a hug and encouraging words for my work. We all need inspiration and encouragement; Kroetsch understood this. I'm glad I knew him, sad that he has gone.

• Gerry Hill has a touching post and poem today on his blog, Poet Shoes, about Kroetsch. 
• Ariel Gordon on the Jane Day Reader remembers Kroetsch.
• rob mclennan's blog also has a tribute to Kroetsch.
• Alone on a Boreal Stage offers thanks to our friend, Robert Kroetsch.

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Earlier in this blog, I touched a little on a little of Robert Kroetsch's influence on me.*

inside cover page

Kroetsch was a panelist at the Talking Fresh writing conference here in Regina in 2006. During a discussion about the drive and courage it takes to be a writer, to keep creating and submitting work against all odds, his matter-of-fact approach was stressed by himself and other panelists: As a writer, you just have to keep going; you have to keep stepping into the River of No. 

Scary? Yes. 

True? Yes.

Source? I'm sure there are many. Mine, for that phrase, "the river of no" is The Hornbooks of Rita K, by Robert Kroetsch, University of Alberta Press. (A book I bought at Sage Hill, in 2002.)

* (links are weird; this reference falls at the end of the linked post)

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The following montage was produced by the University of Alberta when Robert Kroetsch won the U of A's distinguished Alumni Award in 2003: 

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Because the blogroll (at right) lists post titles from rotating featured blogs, LatitudeDrifts started triggering Google hits early this morning for Robert Kroetsch. If you're here looking for details or more stories about how he touched writers' lives, the links above are a good place to start. 

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My New Writing Hero: Madge Macbeth

The great thing about outdoor art exhibitions is that passers-by stumble across people and pieces they might otherwise never see. So it was that when I was in Ottawa last week I learned about the woman who is my new writing hero: Madge Macbeth.

Madge Macbeth, ca 1900  

This portrait is part of the National Portrait Gallery`s 2011 exhibition in Ottawa — Portraits in the Street: Political Culture — and it's hanging on an outdoor wall in the city's market area (hence the weird play of light across it). According to a blurb with the picture, Macbeth was one of the few women in early 20th Century Canada to make her living entirely by her pen; she wrote several volumes of thinly veiled satire about the Capital, its politicians and its politics. 

That short street-side entry may have caught my attention, but it doesn't come close to capturing the essence of Madge Macbeth. 

In a 2008 post, the blog Women in Ottawa says Macbeth was also a writer of first-wave feminist fiction, with novels and short stories to her credit. Originally from Philadelphia, she moved to Ottawa with her engineer husband near the turn of the century. A founding member of the Canadian Authors Association, she  chose writing as an occupation that would let her stay home with her children after her husband died.   

And a 2006 Ottawa Citizen story, The Unshackling of Madge Macbeth, calls her bold and innovative, gutsy, successful, controversial, brave, talented and "skilled beyond measure in the art of self-promotion"  —  and then continues:

"Today, she is virtually unknown."

I feel a project coming on...

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Shelley Banks in CV2: Wedding Ring Flambé

Surprise! I checked the mail tonight and found a copy of CV2, vol 33/4 (Poetry Only) — with my poem, Wedding Ring Flambé!

And yes, I know there is a current mail stoppage in Canada, and therefore this lovely magazine must have been in my entryway for several days. But I don't notice things like that, and besides, tonight I found my issue, and I'm happy!

I want, want, want (really want) to share the cover from CV2's website to post here, but they're still showing a past issue. So I will try to understand the concept of advance copies... Not to mention, patience...

Or... Why wait! I'll try to photograph it!

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G says: "I still don't understand why you never look at your mail."

I say: "Yes, I know I'm weird!"

And for those who don't read literary journals, CV2 = "Contemporary Verse 2, the Canadian Journal of Poetry and Critical Writing."

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Rainbow over Regina, SK: Before the Storm

Storm clouds battered the east side of Regina as I drove home, dark cumulonimbus swirling high in lightning and rain, rolling through the sunlight towards me.

And then, a rainbow. Low on the eastern horizon, seen here above Pasqua Street at the north end of the city, where Regina grinds down through box stores to factories to fields.

Rainbow. 5:30 p.m., Regina. © SB

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Wascana Creek Rises in June Rain

Once the dry land, Saskatchewan is waterlogged. After heavy snow melt, rain. Highways closed, basements flooded, river banks breached. Emergencies declared. The ground is saturated. When the sky leaks, drops can only flow. The creek looks thick, slick, congealed. Impenetrable. Murky. An illusion.  

Rain swollen, foam skimmed Wascana Creek. © SB 

Rain. 

The river darkens.

Chocolate,
coffee,
whipping cream. 

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But oh, how lovely walking by the creek at noon! 

Wild roses

Pink roses softly scent the air.

Red winged blackbird cry and fly at predators, competitors — or mates?

Pelicans flaunt wingspans beside the tumbling weir.

Pelicans, east of Regina's Albert Street Bridge

And in the evening, storm clouds, rain.

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Maman: Louise Bourgeois — Ottawa Spider

Foreground: Louise Bourgeois's spider;
Background: Canada's Parliament Buildings   © SB

Lurching across the courtyard of Ottawa's National Gallery, Louise Bourgeois's stainless steel, bronze and marble spider extends more than 30 feet high, its legs almost too spindly to hold its monstrous body and massive egg sac.

Created in 1999, cast in 2003, it was bought by the National Gallery in 2004. Other versions perch at galleries around the world — Morgan has seen the steel original at London's Tate Modern, and a copy in Paris.

Maman: Mother. 

Nurturing, protective 

symbol of fertility

motherhood, 

shelter, home 

Monumental 

terrifying 

betrays maternal trust

incites curiosity

fear. 

—  extracted from the Gallery's descriptive plaque. 

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I was also delighted to tour an exhibit of Bourgeois's other work at the Gallery last week — her carved Personages, drawings, large wire cage, and fabric works.

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Art Feeds the Soul - and Stomach?

In advance of the new Caravaggio exhibit in Ottawa this summer, a sidewalk artist in the market area pleads for understanding of the role of art: Food for the soul, yes — but artists also need to eat!

Art feeds the soul... may it feed my stomach as well!! 

L'Art nourrit l'esprit... et que ça nourrisse ma bédaine!! 

The artist, right, collects coins, helped by his assistant

Close-up of the art and artist at work

Bright sunshine mixed with heavy rain. To protect this amazing reproduction-in-progress, he had a tarp to stretch over it when clouds loomed near.

(And yes, I donated.)

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