THE ENVOY The official newsletter of the
Canada Cuba Literary Alliance I.S.S.N. – 1911‐0693
March, 2020 Issue 096 www.CanadaCubaLiteraryAlliance.org
: “A word about …”
SECTION
High-Calibre Poetry by High Park Poets in Toronto MSc Miguel Ángel Olivé Iglesias Associate Professor, Holguín University, Cuba CCLA Cuban President CCLA The Ambassador Editor-in-chief CCLA The Envoy Assistant Editor I want to open my section sharing some of the thoughts I have started to pen specially for a review book a group of CCLA friends are preparing. The words I have poured out aptly describe what is happening with The Envoy as a propitious harbinger of CCLA news, fine poetry, prose and pictures, as a vessel for a communion of spirituality and gathering of resourceful minds from any point of both Cuba and Canada. Our countries have a never-ending appeal to the boundless virtue of the poets who are inspired by them. They sing to and thank their nations for their perpetual beauty. We have been featuring poets from Holguín Province, seat of the CCLA in Cuba, supported by our CCLA founder ―of spirit and vision,‖ – CCLA former VP Manuel Velázquez’s words in The Ambassador 1 – bridge-builder and wholehearted helmsman, Richard Grove (Tai). We have welcomed and written about poets/prosers/artists from many parts of Canada. Among them we give a generous wave to James Deahl, passionate CCLA Editor, who encouraged them to write to me, which they did, and filled The Envoy’s colorful pages – thank you , Editor-in-chief Jorge, for your artistry – with their poetry and my ad hoc comments. The year 2020 brings in a new wave: From The Envoy 095 on, we will be publishing authors, some of which Lisa Makarchuk, CCLA VP and key razor-sharp proofreader, has summoned with their splendid collection of poems, pictures and bios, hers among them. The pages of the newsletter will host a variety of themes, styles, longings and recreations of life and living by the High Park writers, among others, showing how they construe their realities and express their individualities as Canadians. Read them with a sense of siblinghood, as all poets come from the same yet diverse primordial clay of creativity and heart, and partake in the joy of forging poems – as Hugh Hazelton believes – ―…to bite, caress, laugh at, confront, lament, name, envision, remember, invoke, oppose, and reflect.‖
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JANUARY 2020 ENVOY-095 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
photos taken by Miguel Angel and Jorge Alberto
Words by the Editor: Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández The Envoy, CCLA newsletter, continues to be a bridge of friendship between Canada and Cuba. Solidarity activist, Lisa Makarchuk, poet and co-coordinator of the first International Festival of Poetry of Resistance, in Toronto – awarded the Friendship Medal by Cuba’s Council of State at the request of the Cuban Institute for Peoples´ Friendship – is in charge of revising The Envoy issues. We thank her so much for that ―job‖ which she does with impeccable dedication. News, photography, short stories, and poetry that open doors to a world of magic are published in our pages. I am honored to present today submissions by the wonderful High Park Poets. It was Lisa´s sharp idea. The poems we will enjoy pump fresh blood into the hearts of the CCLA poetic mosaic. Thank you, my friends, for contributing so that the bridge stands firmly across distance and endures through stormy days.
painting by María de Los Ángeles Del Campo Osorio photo taken and edited by Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández
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JANUARY 2020 ENVOY-095 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
INTRODUCTION: THE HIGH PARK POETS Joan Sutcliffe Originally from England, Joan has been writing poetry for about 15 years – influenced chiefly by the romantic poets and a love of the mystical. She is Vice-President of The Ontario Poetry Society and has often contributed poems to its magazine, Verse Afire, her last one receiving the ―Most Favourite Poem Award.‖ With two books of poetry published, she has presented her poems at various venues. Now she is also interested in writing short stories and has had several appearing in Buried Horror e-magazine.
photo taken by a friend photograph taken by a friend
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JANUARY 2020 ENVOY-095 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
The Blues By Joan Sutcliffe Brilliant yellow light wraps itself jealously round the writhing body of the lean and sinewy young man twisting with the subtlety of a serpent to the seductive sombre tones of his saxophone Sonorous – deep – melancholy like the plaintive cooing of a mourning dove the alluring melody plays in subtle chase of itself through soul-rending loops of intoxication He is beautiful in peacock blue tights and gold lame vest dark-eyed and svelte an outcast escaped from the ghettos progeny of a long ago slave trade or perhaps─ not so long ago Now a street artiste the midday sun fondly caresses glistening olive skin of a lovely face doomed to grow old before its time A musical prodigy with talent to grace the finest of concert halls but only a perceptive passerby will stop long enough to bestow a patronizing bravo and casually drop a coin at his feet.
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JANUARY 2020 ENVOY-095 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Lisa Makarchuk Lisa co-coordinated the First and Third International Festivals of Poetry of Resistance. She has published a chapter in a collection of essays in Cuba Solidarity in Canada. Her issue-oriented poetry is found in Bottom of the Wine Jar published by Hidden Brook Press, anthologies Things That Matter, Roll Call; Buried Horror e-magazine, and other publications.
For Cuba – 2017 By Lisa Makarchuk This poem was written after a celebration of the founding of the Calixto García Hospital in Havana and a subsequent trip to Gibara, Holguin, to meet with CCLA members there. we entered into celebration a hundred and twenty-five years since its creation the Calixto Garcia hospital on a hill mounted with doctors and others surgeons and nurses according unstinting affection patients their prime dedication Cuba and Cubans the caress of persons who’ve bonded overlapped in caring auras as they salsa and samba to Gibara’s call we responded more coverlets of warmth from persons connected which caused us to ponder where is wariness suspicion, mistrust making us wonder in other human bonds what is the cost?
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JANUARY 2020 ENVOY-095 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Cuba of unabashed giving with comradeship running deep ensconced in our hearts it’s ours to nurture and keep a return to Toronto enhanced and enraptured renewed and refreshed our hearts fully captured by that sweet clasp of humanity aware of our firm commonality
Lisa, Jimi and Ivan at Jorge´s Canopy during a book launch Photo taken by Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández
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JANUARY 2020 ENVOY-095 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Lyrical Lilt by Lisa Makarchuk the lyrical lilt of musical notes in flight to the end of memory enhancing tonality but lost in a maze of disjointed sound out of which new songs are born issuing from a nexus of gravitas to a joyful counterpoint of pitch welded into interlocking harmonies soaring with random abandon lifting hearts out of despair restoring profound repair to the ragged splints of reality piercing our lives
photo taken and edited by Jorge Alberto
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JANUARY 2020 ENVOY-095 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
OUR BATTLE: YOUR BATTLE To Lisa Makarchuk by Miguel Ángel Olivé Iglesias Lisa knows Cuba so well – and loves it, Rhythms everywhere She has been around since before I was born, knows how to march in our militia how to load a rifle earn her stripes (Jim, don’t forget who’s in charge!!!) Her Spanish keeps you warm her English gives you the certainty that words and poetry can make a difference I tease Lisa over dinner; she laughs, Miguel, you’re so bad (bad a sweet mélange of meanings) with her angel face and winning smile. Lisa knows the Cuban Five fought for them with her hand and her pen and her poems and her heart and her mind will Lady Justice prevail? The eagle flies off the shield for a while to peck at today´s Prometheus; but the damn eagle had to crawl back and hide. Lisa clipped his wings. Eventually justice did prevail. Lisa, the prisoners are back. We won the battle for the Five. Lady Justice came to U.S. courts led by your patriot hand.
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JANUARY 2020 ENVOY-095 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Barrie Zwicker Barry Zwicker’s non-fiction book Towers of Deception: The Media Cover-up of 9/11, won Gold in the current events category of the International Independent Publisher Book Awards in 2007. There were 2,690 entries from 18 countries. He also writes creative nonfiction. His earlier books include The News: Inside the Canadian Media, co-authored with Dick MacDonald. Zwicker, 85, is writing his (completely non-fiction) memoirs.
Saturday Morning, August 24th By Barry Zwicker Sorry for the cliché, it was déjà vu all over again. Jaymes Bee on Toronto’s Jazz FM91 Pitching, the morning of Saturday, August 24th An international jazz safari. Just as he did one Saturday morning in April, For a jazz safari to Portugal. I went. And whadda ―went‖ it was. Jamie Cullum you callum, he of the BBC international jazz program, He and his band, two hours and 20 minutes without a pause, From barrel house boogie to touching traditional, like ―What a Difference a Day Made (Twenty-Four Little Hours).‖ photo taken by Lisa Diana Krall, playing piano like fine embroidery, her voice the colour of love. Tom Jones at 79 bringing his teenage energy to raunchy rock and roll, With sexy moving graphics to match. Now, the morning of August 24th, I’m listening to Jaymes Bee on Jazz FM91 Pitching another jazz safari. This one to Cuba, Cooba, this Novembah. What’s nice, besides the price? Well, take the first time—the first time I went to Cuba: A week in Varadero, sun and sand, a great house band. Gave my knapsack to our server; her son didn’t have one. Second week: Havana Jazz Festival, Get there on a bus so crowded I have to stand on the lower outer step, Hanging on with one hand, wind in my face, best way to go place to place. Now it’s bands. Jane Bunnett’s with fans in both lands, Canada and Cuba holding hands. Comes Arturo Sandoval—noted for high notes above high notes. On our return, we catch Arturo at a local club. There’s a personality, of note, at the next table. I was able To note her reaction to the musical action. When Sandoval started to play she looked at her partner in near dismay, Her face a mixture of disbelief, envy and resignation. Nothing like this in our nation.
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JANUARY 2020 ENVOY-095 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Yes I’ll go on another jazz safari. I call the station. A few spots left. I’ll return to the little island I admire, not least for its politics, For standing up to the most bullying imperial superpower that ever existed. The little island that could, that has, endured, Has, so far, insured, that the human spirit can withstand Decades of unfair, unlawful, awful sanctions, across its land, Multiple attempts to assassinate its leader, An ongoing cultural/political/propaganda blitz, Every dirty trick in the book and then some, The site of the near oblivion of the world during the so-called Cuban Missile Crisis Induced by the most bullying imperial superpower that ever existed In other words a made-in-USA ―Norteamericano‖ Missile Crisis The power that continues to bully , That sends out bombers and warships to anywhere in the world, any time, At all times, really—to ―counter‖ what the poor little USA, Like a giant trapped in a bottle, sees as ―a threat‖ to its ―national security.‖ Sheep herders in the Andes could qualify as ―threats.‖ Probably have. As if the state with 900 military bases around our fragile globe Headed by a head case, who’s more symptom than cause Is not the culprit of culprits as we’re led, Under skies smoky from the fires burning in the lungs of the planet, Down the path to extinction. Back to sunny prospects. Comes to mind Lisa Makarchuk, in-de-fatigable friend of Cuba and Cubans And the Canadian-Cuban Friendship Association, The doer of more good deeds, of more effective actions, Of more sympathetic thoughts, of more understandings, Than you can count, but you can count on her Having heart and soul to spare and does not spare her heart and soul. So I signed up, deja vu all over again, the morning of Saturday, August 24th For an International Jazz Safari to Cuba
photo taken and edited by Jorge Alberto
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JANUARY 2020 ENVOY-095 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Mario Pietrantoni Mario came to Canada in December, 1966, from Italy. He attended a vocational school and held numerous jobs, learning to read and write in English at age 30. Having published numerous books, winning an American award in poetry, and engaging in painting lessons, in 1993, he was recognized at the Toronto Star as an artist and authored articles for newspapers. He read his poetry at a Writers' Festival in Vancouver and joined the League of Canadian Poets, appearing on television, CFTO-TV, channel 47. Presently, he belongs to groups of writers in the High Park community and in the theatre arts. He sings in a choir performing across Ontario, continues his art and writing in English and Italian at his lakeside co-op where he resides.
Chasing Dreams By Mario Pietrantoni I sit and look at the teacher all I hear is a voice projecting. I feel my excitement to sing and I realize that my dream has come to life as I listen to all present; all contribute with one voice. Our challenge is to see and feel. I listen to the new song: where is my breath? where is the sound coming from? Everyone enjoying what we sing, happy faces showing so much joy in the room. Yet all I think is, the teacher has her work cut out- so much on her plate. But we are getting it done. Each song forever is about one note singing as tho' chasing a dream.
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photo taken by Lisa
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JANUARY 2020 ENVOY-095 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Capturing The One By Mario Pietrantoni the one who tells stories when there is no ending has a simple idea to create a change that falls to a new soul, where life intertwines with a love story, its dreams evoked to do quantum leaps. And this is what I believe until you show me something that can stop this story, which for centuries has repeated itself. What a mystery there is to days gone by as we find new ways to look at the past, listen to all the songs that sang about romance. It is the heart that travels millions of miles just to reach this passion as it roils exploring a new world, coming into being to share new ways in a life so diverse within the desire we expect from this complex world.
photo taken and edited by Jorge Alberto
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JANUARY 2020 ENVOY-095 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Don Stabler Call me Donnie. I live and write in Toronto. I like clam chowder, chicken and to smoke.
Open Window By Don Stabler Through those years we were Robbed of it by a mistake and Knew it. You had to in all you did The razor cut in elation A dull notification. A tin drum snaps the snares And derelict we still try.
selfie
photograph taken and edited by Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández
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JANUARY 2020 ENVOY-095 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Vicki Eileen Laker
West Coast born and raised (Vancouver, B.C.)
photo taken by a friend
Education: Art History at Alberta College of Art... German Studies, Goethe Institut, Toronto... BA Hon. German Studies and English Literature, University of Toronto... Post-graduate program, Critical Theory and Comparative Literature, University of Toronto. Writing poetry began in early teens with mentorship from First Nations poet, Mary Bruce and inspiration from Pauline Johnson, Chief Dan George, and Leonard Cohen.
Arks of Triumph by Vicky Eileen Laker Sneaking under fences slipping around soffits redefining concrete as its opposite while ignoring signs bluntly stating "No Unauthorized Entry" claiming for themselves our unnatural enterprises Nature's entities triumph.
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JANUARY 2020 ENVOY-095 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Question's Core by Vicki Eileen Laker Not exactly needed nor wanted we were never invited -but here we are at the question's core of what function we perform to parallel even that of plankton or whether we -as gracious guests do -bring along something of merit to offer whoever's hosting -in this case that uncritical indifferent all-pervading presence we personify as "Gaia" accommodating us for now -how long is "now"?
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JANUARY 2020 ENVOY-095 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Honey Novick photo taken by a friend
Honey Novick is a singer/songwriter/voice teacher/poet. She served on the executive of the Canadian Cuban Friendship Association and sang the Himno Nacional de Cuba every year for 21 years at Toronto's City Hall marking Canada Cuba Friendship Day. She has been to Cuba four times, the last time, as a cultural worker, for the Worker to Worker Conference. She loves to sing and write poetry and make new friends. VIVA CUBA!
Two book reviews by Honey Novick The first review was published in Amistad, a publication of the Canadian-Cuban Friendship Association (CCFA)in its June 10, 2007 issue. Two U.S. writers wrote of their love of Cuba and the Cuban people. The first, surprisingly, was Christopher Kennedy Lawford in his book, ―Symptoms of Withdrawal‖. Lawford is the son of actor Peter Lawford and JFK’s sister, Patricia Kennedy. He wrote this book as a journey of drug-addiction recovery and self-development. After becoming a lawyer and doing many odd jobs, he discovered his acting and writing skills. I found his story and storytelling ability enthralling, especially his experience with Cuba. He writes: ―...When I signed up to play a real life navy flyer in the film Thirteen Days – a dramatic recreation in the Kennedy White House during the Cuban Missile Crisis- I had no idea that the experience would transform me politically and change the way I saw the world...The movie turned out to be something I was proud to be a part of... My family was less than thrilled. Kevin Costner was invited to travel to Cuba and screen Thirteen Days for Fidel Castro and the Cuban People. I called the producers and asked if I could come along. They agreed. Having a Kennedy along probably wouldn’t hurt...I, like my family, like most Americans, viewed Cuba as a totalitarian dictatorship, isolated from the world, stubbornly clinging to the defeated Communist ideology, for years a real threat but now just an irritant to American liberty. What I found in Havana was not dissimilar to what I have grown to cherish in my recovery, a sense of interdependence and a reliance on something bigger than the individual...‖ I enjoyed this autobiography and memoir of a time in history that parallels my own. As Norman Mailer said on the jacket ―...possession of a naturally good style. Three cheers!‖ The second book I read recently that has the heart of the Cuban spirit is Alice Walker’s We Are The Ones We Have Been Waiting For. It is a series of her speeches, poems, meditations and essays. The eighth item, Now That You Are With Me Like My People and the Dignity of the World (Letters of Love and Hope—The Story of the Cuban Five)
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JANUARY 2020 ENVOY-095 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Walker starts this chapter as follows: ― The story of the Cuban Five is one of courage, great sacrifice and love...‖ She then goes on to tell the history of this story. Walker had read the book, Letters of Love and Hope, a compilation of literary works by the Cuban Five and continues: ―…What floated up to consciousness for me as I read these letters back and forth between incarcerated fathers, sons, husbands and wives, children, and mothers attempting desperately to reconnect, was a realization of how old this story really is...‖ And thus for me, her ruminations connected history, personal experience, spiritual encounters, connectedness and a great love of understanding the human element that makes people great and enlightened or mean-spirited and short-sighted. This is a wonderful book by a great thinker who is an advocate for women’s dignity as well as the integrity of humankind.
NOTHING SO BEAUTIFUL AS THE SETTING SUN By Honey Novick palms of my hands press together, in gentle, eternal gratitude as my heart fills with warm joy the ocean swallows the setting sun in its embrace engulfing the light, completely at dawn, hope, friendship and familial bonds illuminate the looming day another sun will set another Cuban day will be warm, noisy, busy again I will be poised to watch the sinking sun, this global orb shimmering gold, flaming red, hazy orange passionate as it readies its appearance over the ocean’s horizon then sinks slowly luxuriously into the evening over Cuba
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The situation: November 2000, Havana, Cuba While people in the U.S.A. were counting chads and preparing to elect an unethical president, I was with approximately 4,500 people from 111 countries attending the 2nd World Conference of Friendship & Solidarity I was one of many representing Canada. It was awesome. I am a cultural worker, a vocalist. I have sung the Cuban national anthem, as well as the Canadian national anthem during the Cuban flag-raising ceremony at Toronto’s City Hall over twenty-one times, celebrating friendship between Canada and Cuba. I have had the privilege of singing the anthems while dignitaries including the Cuban Ambassador, the Mayor and others were in attendance on the platform I sing as the Canadian flag flies, and the Cuban flag is raised. Hence, while in Cuba, I was invited to a meeting of the Cuban National Union of Writers and Artists. Being so deeply moved by the generosity, simplicity, respect and intelligence of the Cuban people, I wrote the following words:
I Sang For Fidel I stood for four hours or more listening to him speak. I wasn't yet 50 and he over 70 and he could speak and engage one's attention. He was passionate and sincere. Not once did he demean anyone. He spoke of the milk program for children. Free, of course. He spoke of the history of Cuba and how proud the people were of accomplishments in the David vs Goliath challenge they endured. He spoke of the mean-spirited blockade/embargo fomented by the Goliath to the north of the island. Not once was he disrespectful, ugly, fear-mongering, war-mongering, hateful. I sang for Fidel. He was a great man. Each one of us comes to their own opinions, own perspectives from where we each come. It is like that movie Rashomon or the tale of the blind men and the elephant.* Each person sees a different part of a whole. I sang for Fidel. Yes, history will absolve him and use him as an example of a "mensch", a real human being. He cared. Those that seek to demean him and pretend to speak for us all, do they really care? *One blind man saw a hard curve, another a very big tall wall, a third, a tiny curly rope. In Rashomon, witnesses to a crime each saw the same incident differently November 30, 2016 The Envoy 095
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JANUARY 2020 ENVOY-095 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Naomi Hendrickje Laufer/Black Rose Naomi Hendrickje Laufer was born in Toronto and has travelled much of Europe in search of her various roots. She studied various disciplines focusing on the arts as a means of communication and expression. Poetry, dance, visual and wearable art are her main foci which include good causes, healing through the arts and giving voice to those neglected in society. She comes from a family of artists and has spent time in Switzerland as an au pair and in the south of France for printmaking. Naomi tries to see the ―melody‖ carried by individuals with the hope of learning from one anothers’ differences and evolve through to a revolution of empathy.
The chorus in a jar by Naomi Hendrickje Laufer/Black Rose Choir In a Jar The jar holds a choir of infant Muses And outside a brothel festers where melody uses The king of love has lost his momentum And reason quiets his ascension in a quest to recompense good intention Outside is like inside and temperament hides under his drawl Of speechless speech twisted with the vines that carry the fruit that falls Where life unmasked is translucent and percolates memories that drop From the sky And ominous roses grow and fly In and around where whispers lie
photograph taken and edited by Jorge Alberto
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Love amorphous by Naomi Hendrickje Laufer/Black Rose I've swallowed love again and the taste is amorphous Grief has been trapped in the labyrinth with her Minotaur And the surface of the stars plagiarize light with disparaging wonder But I wander where love abides And follow her scent when she tries to hide Welding her blossoms to my time. She is mute but speaks She is invisible but peeks Insatiable reticence gone awry wrenches her shadow out loud And her tears tear hearts like the anguish of a dove Precipitation wears a cloud; the atmosphere in a triptych hides.
Only a Breath Away by Naomi Hendrickje Laufer/Black Rose In a dream I swallow vapors and long to reach your Angel face which vanishes in the mist only one breath away. It seems air is not enough to make me float but the wind whispers lullabies under a torn synapse and you break the thread and bask in the sun instead wearing your hair immersed in wine while blood-like resin trickles off the grapevine and I am in a hue, loved then forgotten as untouchable as fire extinguished in the morning dew.
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photo taken by a friend
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The gangrene kiss by Naomi Hendrickje Laufer/Black Rose
Like a subcutaneous whisper He captures me in vacuum lips that bleed Passion's hands wander but the unloved kiss wants to whisper in remorse whilst Plagiarizing breath in a petal's axis As it molts shadows.
The Well by Naomi Hendrickje Laufer/Black Rose Down the deepest darkest Well I fell And in the bottom I found broken stars that drowned And now bathed in stardust I awaken to find Myself on a scarlet hill frozen I close my eyes and a one-winged dove flew over me I grasped her delicate wing and floated with her And slept with her on the horizon where there was breath Like a cherub without an eye I could see the dawn as through a telescope and the gates closed.
One of the Largest Natural Wells in Cuba (note the people on the edge of the cliff)
photograph taken and edited by Jorge Alberto
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Charles Taylor Charles was born and raised in Saskatchewan, and received a BA in English literature at the University of Saskatchewan. Since 1987 he has lived in Toronto. Over the years his poems have appeared in various anthologies and journals. He published his first book of poems in 2017.
Vampires By Charles Taylor I walk by scores of them on the street every day. Even in the middle of the afternoon, their pale skin shamelessly exposed to the sun. Or in nightclubs, in the evening, looking beautiful and youthful dressed to kill. They don’t look like the vampires of yore: no fangs, red eyes, long fingernails. They do wear sunglasses often, though, so you can’t readily see their all-consuming eyes. Be careful, if you stare too deeply into their pupils, you’ll be hypnotized, rendered powerless. You will be sucked in, and then they will suck you dry. It might be to lend them some money, do them a favor, look after them. Or, especially, give them the adulation they so desperately crave. And then you will feel drained, lifeless, like a pint of blood has mysteriously been siphoned from your body. Forget the folklore you have heard. They are not repelled by crosses. Some even wear them as a ruse, but they care nothing for the dead-on-the-cross Jesus who came to save mankind. Nor are they shy of mirrors. Many times I have seen them preening in front of the glass, admiring themselves, combing their hair, adjusting their expensive clothing. You must protect yourself from them. Don’t listen to their charming stories. And never let them into your house, because they are very hard to get rid of. By comparison, vampires of myth are much easier to dispatch with a wooden stake driven through their predatory, soulless hearts.
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photo taken by a friend
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Evelyn Marrast Evelyn Marrast is an immigrant from Grenada in the Caribbean. She fell in love with poetry at a very early age and has been writing poetry since she was a young teenager. She has a PhD in English literature and is a former faculty member at York University and a writing instructor at the University of Toronto.
Making but not Doing by Evelyn Marrast They made me a cleaver A back room where hope stops Drop the notebooks and the eyes Leave poetry and prose behind Begin to make the students clever Here I’m happiness and success Maker-- Il miglior fabbro I’ll be the teacher while they become the stars Let this time be theirs I’ll not become the ranting maker of cantos
Taboo by Evelyn Marrast (For Edgar Mittelholzer)
Best, I like the suicides Their stories stuffed with shame You burned yourself in a field in England Free of hope and free of home. Poor Edgar, longing for a new papa The ones you made were gods...not loving. Precious, crushing narcissists who could not love a boy Death finally made you the child to be rescued In that burned field we could then love you As you lay down your armour, the burning breeze insinuating... Palms turned upward, inviting the pity and shame that was bound to come. Only your kind knows this edge, this falling off the precipice Simmons, St. Omer, Van Gogh, Woolf, Plath, The Envoy 095
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The list of aching souls is long which took to water, gas, knife, goblet, chalice Did no one love you Edgar? Dear thing of darkness no one acknowledged you There is no place for the unhappy, mad, ―failures‖... You did not like your life; they did not like your death Really, Edgar, a writer from a place like that? What were you thinking? Father, whip, boy; fire, body, father Boy sears body; father loves boy In the field at last—god, father, love
Thelma Wheatley Thelma Wheatley, grand-daughter of a Welsh coal-miner, is the author of three books: My Sad Is All Gone: A Family's Triumph Over Violent Autism (Lucky Press,U.S.A.,2004), about raising her autistic son; and Neither Have I Wings To Fly: Labelled and Locked Up in Canada's Oldest Institution (Inanna Publications, Canada, 2013), which was short-listed for the Wales Book of the Year Award, 2014, and winner of the Bronze Medal for non-fiction, Independent Publishers of America. Her first novel, TAMARIND SKY, was first published in Sri Lanka in 2017, by Vijitha Yapa Publications. It is to be published by Inanna Publications in Canada, in spring, 2020. Thelma is also a naturalist and paints water-colours,
SAHARA By Thelma Wheatley I can’t get Africa out of me, Eucalyptus and boa tree And the rains beating the night sudden flash torrents on the corrugated tin roof, the savannah wide and spreading to forever. You can never know when the rains cease as suddenly as they came, And come morning early fresh as a flower in the long grasses dry and brittle bright You would never know the night and what the rains did; For I can’t get Africa out of me, The Envoy 095
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JANUARY 2020 ENVOY-095 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
thrum of far drums beyond sand and stars, Night is velvet purring and like a knife. they draw back her thighs and the female screams break Swift slice the night. The furtive women whisper men turn away blood is dark, throbs velvet I can’t get out of me. I can’t get Africa out of me, Bleat of morning goat tethered to the thorn tree where the old slave wall crumples in the burning sand and the savannah sways to Timbukto and the fetish man is hidden. and his magic is mighty all over the savannah; And the savannah sways and the female child is ready the goat’s blood shed, belly slit in the rejoicing. Oh, I can’t get Africa out of me, Its brilliant evening sweating under the hurricane lamp, and the cockroaches slip deep in the tunnels of life; Death stalks the savannah waving golden And the tears are not such as we shed, the tears of Africa; All golden and turquoise and shimmering snake, Can’t get them out of me, I can’t get Africa out of me Ever.
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JANUARY 2020 ENVOY-095 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Thelma Wheatley
E-mails: joyph@nauta.cu joyphccla@gmail.com jorgealbertoph@infomed.sld.cu CANADA CUBA LITERARY ALLIANCE FROM THE EDITOR: IN OUR UPCOMING ISSUES, WE WOULD LIKE SUBMISSIONS FROM EVERY CCLA MEMBER SO WE ARE NURTURED BY YOU! IF YOU HAVE BOOKS COMING OUT, A POETRY EVENT, JUST LET US KNOW !!!!!
The Envoy 095
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