THE ENVOY The official newsletter of the
Canada Cuba Literary Alliance I.S.S.N. – 1911‐0693
December, 2023 Issue 126 www.CanadaCubaLiteraryAlliance.org
By Yalily Leyva Sicilia
December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Hello my dear bro, I am sitting at my front door In the total dark no electricity l am a cat in the middle of this ebony star filled night hot … breezeless night, mosquitoes around our ears a continued buzzing buzzing buzzing bothering buzzing, uffff just with my blue face glowing cell phone can I email you…
"Come on Pinkie. Say hi to the nice man. He is going to take a picture of you. Smile for the camera. He has a treat for you, some banana skins that you like so much. You can tell Mommy all about meeting Jorge when we get home. Mommy will be home
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December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
before you go to bed. It is time to go home for your bath." Jorge's friend leaned forward. Whispering in his ear, he said, "Don't you tell my little Pinkie that you ate your Freddie. Pinkie is very sensitive about things like that."
Two photos by Wency Rosales
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December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
by Antony Di Nardo a shroud thick and toxic yellow clouds heavy, heavy with the mettle of CO2 Sulphur gases hot as hell dense intense amounts of heat trapped in a runaway greenhouse effect that only science can explain vapour cannot leave the building Venus hides behind a veil and here on Earth the smoke of fossil fuels
blown into our faces
by Antony Di Nardo Venus like a moon, by now Autumn is back indoors and won’t be seen for a while The frogs in the pond have taken a vow of silence and I see some birds have gone missing One or two leaves, the recalcitrant ones, remain on alert burning a dull flame The same planetary phenomenon that happened last year is happening today
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December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Autumn puts on rose-tinted glasses every time Venus steps on the stage
by Antony Di Nardo At times I trick the scale to get the weight I want Like any star in the big broad band of sky, no two poems can ever be alike I tip the scales to put these words on paper Venus as the yin and yang of twinned imaginations Carefully I measure while I pour identical notes of night and day I count each step I took to get this far, that equal balance of left and right And every time I take a walk around the block I come back a different person I must be getting old
by Antony Di Nardo 1. On Venus the Sun rises in the west and sets in the east What we mean on Earth
when we say “mirror”
Of all the planets the only one
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December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
that spins against the others Masked and visible to the naked eye it wears a face to veil the fire 2.
When Dante went down into Hell, people from all walks of life appeared in fiery imitations of what he thought about them and gave them each a mask to shield his eyes
The horror’s been burnt since then into our collective memory Simply by rubbing two sticks together— Heaven and Hell—he set the world on fire with a 14th century laptop
by Antony Di Nardo I’m thinking words for water words for wet words for not a drop on Venus I’m thinking parched as rain won’t fall clouds of dust and dry as particles of smoke on fire I’ve heard that people die of weather die of thirst die for just a drop of rain
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December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Imagine a city on the banks of Venus
catching fire
Imagine two men rowing a boat through flames one in a gondola three in a tub Imagine the goddess of Beauty rising from the sea
and waving them on
Imagine a jar full of water too precious to put out the fire
by Antony Di Nardo Mozart, when he was still a child,
traveled to a distant constellation and wrote Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star walking along the canals, furthering his education * The sky’s part and parcel of flames and spires, night clouds, absolute desire, eyes on fire, because a second look is never quite enough— Venus wants her name upon your lips * Leonard Cohen spent a night on Venus where he touched a perfect body with his mind 7
December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
by Wency Rosales
by Ann Di Nardo 8
December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
by John B. Lee here in the land of the triggerfish queen a long way from the azure seasons of the sea a young man walks his spotted swine along a sunlit patch of road they pause together to see how sunlight blends two shadows as a simulacrum of the brilliant Cuban heat they seem a creature from a myth of shades a water-stain of man and pig the little gilt seems fascinated like Narcissus at a darkened pool the man smiles down his knowledge holds a line as though above a fallen kite if only pigs could fly he thinks his thoughts float off like caps in wind
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December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
by Miguel Ángel Olivé Iglesias He loves his pig or dig— or should we say pog? We no longer know the difference, except that roast dog is not a Cuban dish; roast pork certainly is! Things have been changing for a long while now, our perspectives of life, our ways to survive, our swift re-assessment of poultry and pig raising, or should I say poultry and pig caring, almost educating, almost pampering—totally sitting and guarding tooth and nail. He proudly strolls showing off his most precious possession. The Gibara man loves his dig/pog, and the walk becomes something more than just a pet sniffing, peeing or pooing: It is the pageant of survival, the exhibit of a lifetime, the fail-safe guarantee of a tradition that, no matter what, will never vanish from our hearts.
By Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández
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December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
The fragrance of flowers fills the air— Spring is Winter´s heir. Spring wafts and drifts and visits every place defrosting Winter´s icy gaze.
Summer spells sweat with hot letters, it brings a high sun with burning fetters. Summer brings too beach, sand and fun: children who play, laugh, jump and run.
(after a bridge over water pic taken by Tai)
Autumn offers its silvery wonder to the artist's lens. Autumn reigns and spreads yonder, mighty and dense. Autumn awes my eyes as I ponder a sight so intense.
Winter unrolls its snow-white mat over land and trees. It takes off its snowman hat and blows its ice-cold breeze.
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December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
de Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández Bajo la opacidad de un farol Yo…. acongojado… Sobre una piedra muda Espero Tú respuesta, Respuesta que va a desabrochar Mi meditación hacia la felicidad. Yo sé que hay caminos con espinas Que dañan el alma Pero extiendo mi mano hacia Ti Para que salga ese fantasma Que quita mi felicidad. Señor, has que ese fantasma Se esfume del espacio que Tú reservas Para los cuerpos escogidos Tu lenguaje va más allá De nuestras palabras Tu mano poderosa y divina Tolera nuestros pecados Aquí estoy a Tu espera Bajo la opacidad de un farol.
by Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández Under the opacity of a lantern I…. upset… On a silent stone I await your answer, Answer that will unbutton My meditation towards happiness. I know that there are paths with thorns That damage the soul But I extend my hand to You So the ghost that takes away my happiness Goes away. Lord, make that ghost Disappear from the space that You reserve For the chosen bodies Your language goes beyond 12
December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Our words Your powerful and divine hand Tolerates our sins Here I am waiting for you Under the opacity of a lantern.
de Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández Casualmente se han encontrado Ellos dos en un solo sitio Los dos en un solo banco Juntos sentados bajo la lluvia Escuchando una bella melodía Se llenan sus ojos con suaves lágrimas que atrapan sus mejillas como una cascada de agua viva… Se abrazan fuertemente Y comienza una nueva vida.
by Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández Coincidentally they found each other The two of them in one place Both on one bench Together sitting under the rain Listening to a beautiful melody Their eyes fill with soft tears that catch their cheeks like a waterfall of living water... They hug each other tightly And a new life begins.
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December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Four photos by Ann Di Nardo 14
December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
por Tamara Herrera Rosales Qué inexorable es el tiempo, tal parece que fue ayer, Cuando la tuve en mi vientre y le di a luz a las seis. Una mañana añorada, que vislumbraba lejana, Por ser tan larga la noche batallando su llegada. Era feliz a pesar de la álgida madrugada, Porque vería la luz más linda de la alborada, Mi lucerito adorado, mi bella princesa amada, La niñita de mis ojos, con la que tanto soñaba. Cuánto la disfrutaba al tenerla en mi regazo, Su risa, su olor, su gorjeo, Esa manchita en su brazo. Todo pasó tan de prisa que apenas me percaté, Cuando "mamá" me llamaba, cuando se puso de pie, cuando saltaba, bailaba y me contaba hasta el cien. Cuando cantaba afinada su canción en la TV. Cuando tocaba el violín, cuando bailaba flamenco, cuando componía canciones a guitarra con talento, cuando me enorgullecían tantos reconocimientos, Por sus premios, por sus logros, producto de un gran esfuerzo.
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December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Yo solo tengo palabras, de amor y agradecimiento, por haber sido su mami y estar en cada momento. Llegue a ti, mi fuerte abrazo, que el señor sea tu guía, Que tengas feliz cumpleaños, Dios te bendiga hija mía.
by Tamara Herrera Rosales How inexorable time is, it seems like it was yesterday, When I had her in my womb and gave birth to her at six. A longed for morning, that I glimpsed in the distance, Because the night was so long, fighting for her arrival. I was happy despite the peak of dawn, Because I would see the light prettiest of the dawn, My beloved little star, my beautiful beloved princess, The little girl of my eyes, of whom I dreamed so much. How much I enjoyed it holding her on my lap, Her laugh, her smell, her twittering, That little spot on her arm. Everything happened so quickly that I barely noticed, When she called me "momma," when she stood, when she jumped, danced and counted to a hundred for me. When she sang her song in tune on TV. When she played the violin, when she danced flamenco,
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December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
when she composed songs on the guitar with talent, when I was proud of so many recognitions, For her awards, for her successes, product of a great effort. I only have words, of love and gratitude, for having been her mom being in every moment. My strong hug comes to you, that the lord may be your guide, Have a happy birthday, God bless you my daughter.
by Ann Di Nardo 17
December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
por Ruth Yennie Noguer Figueredo Plante mi jardín decore mi propia alma .. y crecieron rosas Promesas y…. Amar sin ser amados Partidas sin un adiós Amores tóxicos Miedo a las distancias Aceptar el dolor es parte de la vida Aprender a sanar heridas es atributos de los grandes ... Te regalo el fruto de mis manos Perseverancia y magia con amor.
by Ruth Yennie Noguer Figueredo Plant my garden decorate my own soul.. and roses grew Promises and… To love without being loved Departures without a goodbye Toxic loves Fear of distances Accepting pain is part of life Learning to heal wounds is an attribute of the great... I give you the fruit of my hands Perseverance and magic with love.
por Ruth Yennie Noguer Figueredo Las palabras vienen en ese momento en forma de poesía me dijiste sueña lindo, piensa en mí, Te respondo y pregunto
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December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
¿Es que importa la distancia cuando miramos el mismo cielo las estrellas y una luna que iluminando el camino baja a las estrellas para guiar tus pasos? No sé adónde van ¿lo sabes tú? Y amanece, sale el sol y damos gracias a Dios por un nuevo día y recibo un besito pequeñito apropiándose del momento. En mis sueños te veía muy agitado triste preocupado no por mí, te decía todo está bien Dios contigo está y antes que se borre mi memoria responde ... no había límites al tiempo y el angel que motiva mis sueños ese el que guía el camino a seguir, nos acompaña día a día recordándome con ternura un último instante y lo mejor de las alegrías.
by Ruth Yennie Noguer Figueredo The words come at that moment in the way of poetry you told me, have a beautiful dream, think of me I answer you and I ask you Does distance matter when we look at the same sky the stars and a moon that illuminating the path descends to the stars to guide your steps? I don't know where they are going, do you know? And at dawn, the sun rises and we thank God for a new day and I receive a tiny kiss appropriating the moment. In my dreams I saw you very agitated sad worried not for me, I told you everything is fine God is with you and before my memory erases I respond...there were no limits to time and the angel that motivates my dreams is the one who guides the path to follow, accompanies us day by day tenderly reminding me one last moment and the best of joys.
por Ruth Yennie Noguer Figueredo Eres real o solo un sueño más Dices ser agradable amable persistente Declarando tus sentimientos y me pregunto...porque ahora Soy tesoro escondido Tus palabras desordenan mis vulnerables pensamientos Y el viento viene y va y se quedan a la espera del que VIVE y REINA ... Lo más grande Lo más hermoso es tu presencia Y ante ti doblo mis rodillas Mirando al cielo infinito pidiéndote perdón 19
December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
No me moveré aquí estoy rendida a tus pies cuida a los valientes decididos cariñosos amables cuidadlos a ellos y a su familia porque tu fidelidad y tu misericordia es grande…. Y los ángeles escuchan en las noches acompañan nuestros sueños hasta el comienzo de un nuevo amanecer y un nuevo día.
By Ann Di Nardo
By Ann Di Nardo
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December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Five photos by Elizabeth Segura from Indiana
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December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
by Ruth Yennie Noguer Figueredo Are you real or just another dream You say you are nice kind persistent Declaring your feelings and I wonder...why now I am hidden treasure Your words mess up my vulnerable thoughts And the wind comes and goes And they stay waiting for the one who LIVES and REIGNS... The grandest The most beautiful is your presence And before you I bend my knees Looking at the infinite sky asking for forgiveness I will not move here I am surrendered at your feet take care of the brave determined loving kind take care of them and their families because your faithfulness and your mercy is great…. And angels listen in the nights accompany our dreams until the beginning of a new dawn and a new day.
by Ruth Yennie Noguer Figueredo Nos dijimos adiós Inconcluso adiós sin despedidas Un cielo azul Turbios oleajes Enfurecidas porque el Verano acabo y quedo Un amor transparente nítido Divino amor de juventud Desperté de un sueño Abrazaste mis abrazos Lo que pudo ser y no fue Destino o casualidad 22
December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Después de cuarenta y cuatro años es posible recordar ? Reciprocidad y pesares Secretos del corazón Yo tu linda historia anónima Yo y tu musa sentimental Solo recuerdos al detalle Sueños de un inconcluso amor. Tu yo el mar y el cielo Volver el tiempo atrás promesas no cumplidas Lo harías diferente'? cuarenta y cuatro años quince mil seiscientos veinte días Una historia pura sincera y Te alejaste y una huella de amor dejaste, ahora quedan los recuerdos . Juventud e inocencia perdida Seguimos aquí a pesar de los pesares Espera el tiempo de Dios Un pequeñín beso en tu frente Llegamos tarde los dos...
by Ruth Yennie Noguer Figueredo We said goodbye Unfinished goodbye no farewells A blue sky Turbid waves Angry because Summer is over and left A clear transparent love Divine love of youth I woke from a dream You embraced my hugs What could have been and wasn’t Destiny or coincidence After forty-four years is it possible to remember? Reciprocity and regrets Secrets of the heart I your beautiful anonymous story Me and your sentimental muse Only memories in detail
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December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Dreams of an unfinished love. You me the sea and the sky Turn back time unfulfilled promises Would you do it differently? forty four years fifteen thousand six hundred twenty days A pure sincere story and You walked away and left a trace of love, now the memories remain. Youth and innocence lost We are still here despite the sorrows Wait for God's time A little kiss on your forehead We were both late...
por Ruth Yennie Noguer Figueredo La vida mi vida tu vida Momentos en que menos esperas Apareces de la nada donde estabas cuando me sentí rota y vacía lagrimas empañaron mis suspiros que quieres me volví fuerte y valiente acepte mi destino Y aquí estoy Viva sin pausas Decepciones desilusiones Amores dolorosos fallidos daños a terceros Y si volviera a nacer Miraría al cielo en oración pediría No cometer errores Malas decisiones Traen malas consecuencias El tiempo es testigo Volvamos al primer amor. Sabes dónde está? Muéstrame tu voluntad Espero en silencio me habla al oído Susurrando me dice 24
December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Me dejas entrar. aquí estoy Y el pecado acechando desordena mis instintos
by Ruth Yennie Noguer Figueredo Life my life your life Moments when you least expect You appear out of nowhere where were you when I felt broken and empty tears clouded my sighs what do you want I became strong and brave accept my destiny And here I am Live without pauses Disappointments disillusions Failed painful loves damage to third parties And if I were born again I would look to the sky in prayer I would ask Not to make mistakes Bad decisions Bring bad consequences Time is a witness Let's go back to first love. Do you know where it is? Show me your wish I wait in silence he speaks in my ear Whispering he tells me Let me in. here I am And the sin lurking messes up my instincts.
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December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
by John B. Lee when my paternal grandfather was my age he was asked about his life and he said “I don’t get enough work for my health …” and of his sons who were young men then, he said “John has come home from the war and George is dissatisfied” and now they are all gone into the octogenarian ethers, where life walks slow in hospital slippers how many griefs under three grave grass with memory etched on a stone oh, my impossible heart there’s a bloodline that’s lit like a fuse on a crimson horizon come alive in the east and burning away to the west a greeting of darkness with its gift to the stars and the darkness that’s lost to the light while these green hands are working the blue with enough work to do for the health of the ghosts in the ground ... a poem written this morning on my 72nd birthday
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December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
One of the greatest, most impressive literary luminaries of the endless Canadian cultural mosaic has passed away, Donald (Don) Gutteridge. What words, what phrases would best honour him? What attitudes and acts would best pay tribute to an author who could not stop writing and whose legacy is amongst the most fertile, solid ones in Canada? Let´s ponder these questions and find the most fitting answers so we stand up and salute such fine writer and human being. The Envoy team, the Wet Ink Books, QuodSermo Publishing and SandCrab Books publisher, Richard (Tai) Grove—and all of his readers—take their hats off in reverence to Don Gutteridge. We include in The Envoy 126 a comprehensive bio of Don, written by Kim Grove; poems Don wrote and asked Richard to publish in his 2023 book Gilding the Lily; homage poetry and an essay that attempts at summarizing a part of Don´s dedicated life and prolific oeuvre.
The Prince and Shakespeare of Contemporary Canadian Poetry: A Lifetime of Rhymes and Rhythms Miguel Ángel Olivé Iglesias, MSc Associate Professor Holguin University, Cuba Author, Poet, Writer, Editor, Reviewer, Translator
I take great pride today in saying that I have written two previous books of reviews about Don Gutteridge, the bard, the friend. The first, Five Canadian Poets (QuodSermo Publishing, 2021), accompanied by four other luminaries of Canadian poetry; the second one, The Canadian Poet Who Wrote Himself Whole (QuodSermo Publishing, 2022), which was entirely about his life and work. His oeuvre is unstoppable, his pen indefatigable, his commitment eternal, as he confessed to me in an interview for the first book, “Nothing short of a stroke could stop me from writing poetry… I seem to dream poems and wake up writing them... I am very fortunate that the Muse has never let me down.”
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December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
This is so auspiciously true about Gutteridge´s poetic gift. Longevity of body, mind and penmanship has accompanied the bard and made him one of the most prolific, first-class writers of a nationwide generation of fine Canadian contemporary poets. Now inching towards 90, the year 2023 is no exception. He has published A Bumper Crop, a powerful, all-encompassing book of over eighty poems, which retain the freshness, imagery and profound love he has endowed all of poetic works. Richard Grove, publisher at Wet Ink Books asked me to write an essay about this latest book and translate the poems therein. I resort to the words of R. G. Moyles (The University of Alberta, in The Journal of Canadian Poetry) to offer the readers commentaries other than mine. “Literary critics will have much to say about Gutteridge’s uniquely Canadian vision. I am content that his poetry is accessible, unobtrusive, delights the ear, stirs the heart and even enters into the soul. It is the art that mirrors inner life.” Thus, once more I succumbed to the charm of Gutteridge´s words and, journeying across his major leitmotifs and passions, I undertook the laborious but heart-warming tasks of reviewing Don´s new work and the extra challenge of translating it.. A Bumper Crop 1, then, includes forty-one of his latest poems. The second part will be published not too long after this one. As merely a reader, I initially thought Don´s title meant he would regale us with landrelated pieces. This would have been no shocker, as the author has covered throughout his career many themes, naming people, events and places. Moyles speaks of “Gutteridge’s uniquely Canadian vision,” so Don´s poems breathe art. However, when I was asked to read and review and translate, I was immersed in the broad significance of the title and more than eighty poems! That is quite a bumper crop of poetry. As Shakespeare wrote, “So is my love still telling what is told.” But, don´t be misled. The sweetness-vigor and originality continue to be immaculate, luring, outstanding. Behold a portion of the opening poem, “When the Gloaming Lets Go”: There was always something unsettled when the gloaming let go and the dark came down on Monk and Michigan like a shudder, and Mara’s lamp blinked on like a marigold moon, 28
December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
and under its lean light it was ever hide-and-go-seek with the summer humming inside… Monk and Mara, for example, are well-known references in his books. Yet they come to us again in a context which is familiar but does not tarnish the embracing atmosphere the poet succeeds in depicting, nor does it repeat itself in trite lines. The transition from dusk to full nightfall takes hold of the reader, as they might expect “something unsettled.” Then the poet is wise to clear the darkness and say “it was ever hide-and-go-seek.” If there were no praiseworthy quality in Gutteridge´s poetry, which is not the case, I would always defend his adherence, his loyalty to memories that travel as far back as it is possibly human to do. Those memories carry the bonus element of including family, friends, colleagues, acquaintances, events, facts, thoughts about life and death, etc. Don´s capacity to remember the minutest of details is formidable (“Some Names”): … Susan Coote for one: astride her birthday bike on the private preserve of my walk, and there I am: feet splayed, arms akimbo, full of my sevenyear self, blocking her way, and I feel some soaring satisfaction at the fear I prompt in her surprise… The poet was only seven and he could remember place, positions, feelings! A high point in the poem is its already emerging moral aspect. Right upon the very disagreeable act, the little boy sees what he has done, and is fraught with shame. The poet is depicting a rising phenomenon of social implications and condemning it at the same time: … and when she meekly retreats, I am shaken with a shame that suddenly has a name: bully. While utterly given to the endeavor of safeguarding memories, many dear people are memorialized as well. Family are at the forefront, old and more recent friends, colleagues, acquaintances related to sad events, 29
December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
experiences as a growing individual, and thoughts about poetry itself. Particularly poignant is his recollection of the child Effie Free, in the poem “A Nickel´s Worth.” His narration of what happened is heartbreaking. The poet is able to oppose the joyful joie de vivre of a fiveyear-old girl and the tragedy of what occurs to her in a split second. An intensely humane Gutteridge cannot forget the fateful event and eternalizes it: Effie Free, left home for a hop, skip and jump across the road with a nickel in her fist… / … till the day a cruising Cadillac caught her on a bound, and she lay there on the cold pavement… Besides the many reminiscences Gutteridge kindles and shelters in his writing, we realize we are in the presence of a cultivated human being. His erudition easily dances across a hall of allusions chiefly literary in character (Shakespeare, Keats, Dickinson, Wordsworth, John Lee), but his poems also describe parallel cultural events, like opera, rugby, a wedding, and so on: “Prothalamium” For Shahrzad and Tim (with a nod to Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116) Yours will be the marriage of true minds, as the Bard once rhapsodized: two souls seeing a world in the other’s eyes, and no impediment to your livelong love shall be admitted… The echoes of Shakespeare´s Sonnet 116 are obvious and welcome (“Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments…”). Gutteridge stands too as a seasoned chronicler of his times. “Walmart A-Lot” is a vivid example of a socio-cultural singularity being put to poetry. There is something surreal about the Walmart, perched on the late-day pavement, the letters of its calling-card, a bloated alabaster alphabet 30
December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
touting its timely merchandizing arrival… The Shakespeare inspiration in his writing deserves extra analysis. In reading many of his poems, not just “Prothalamium,” I notice that Don has managed to write like a classic poet (classic understood as “judged over a period of time to be of the highest quality” – Concise Oxford English Dictionary; y “definitive, authoritative; outstanding, first-rate, first-class, best, finest, excellent, superior, masterly” – The Concise Oxford Thesaurus). Don Gutteridge ticks all the boxes. This notion goes hand in hand with his superb lyrical prowess, especially in the poems dedicated to Anne. “Come and Lie Beside Me” Come and lie beside me and let the morning alight like a bride’s blush, and I shall hold your hand in mine like a talisman of all we’ve been and done since first we bid our bodies be… Language and syntax, spirit and devotion render these lines a doubtless Shakespearean halo. One cannot avoid being caught in the beautiful simplicity—or the simple beauty—of the proposal and its nostalgic aura. Another lyrical piece is “Bliss-Tinged”: … your fingers finding solace in mine, and the harvest moon cruised above like a gilded galleon in a sluggish sea, and the stars glittered as if the firmament itself were afire… Notice the exquisite use of expressive means to convey emotion and ecstasy: “the harvest moon… like a gilded galleon… / … the stars glittered as if the firmament… were afire.” A simile in “like a gilded galleon,” a metaphor in “the firmament… afire,” tell us of the high poet owner of the subtleties of language to create effects that speak of his passion. Tremble with these closing lines in “February 14”: … on the off-chance I might put the “Oh!” back in “romance,” I bring you a dozen red roses, 31
December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
fresh from the garden of my heart, where you, O mistress mine, have always been my Valentine. A few lines before, I spoke of the chronicler, the keeper of memories, the photographer. Gutteridge has done more than that: he has taken his poetry to the next level. In reference to a Canadian icon, Al Purdy, Michael Ondaatje stated that Purdy performed, according to him, “two of the most crucial duties of a poet: to map and to name…” (taken from The Ambassador, volume 015). A reading of Gutteridge´s plentiful poetry, including of course A Bumper Crop, I cannot fail to notice that Gutteridge has played his influential part in doing this too. His place of origin, the little town where was raised, places he went, locations that became symbols in his life for professional or personal reasons, and so many other names he rescues from oblivion and reaffirms on the Canadian map, are listed along his forty-three books! This “Purdian” legacy enriches Don´s own heritage. It must be pointed out that Gutteridge not only maps spatially but also temporarily, as he adds dates, especially years, to his poems. I have praised Gutteridge´s exquisite language, flowing syntax — the way he fondles them and lays them down on the blank piece of paper “dressing [them] new,” as Shakespeare said and did! Yet, the poet also explores and exploits, masterly, colloquial language that complements description, context, register, locality, norm, moods or age. A quick example would be his Gran´s utterance in “Long Before,” where he introduces “haveta” to represent accurately the language being used: … Gran would give me her best grandma-grin, as if to say, “You just haveta have the knack.” But his alchemy does not stop at a harmoniously-knitting, wondrous literary vocabulary with colloquial expressions to color the scene he is “painting.” Don is also the humorous-critical being, who has suffered, has lost much; but rises above his pain and finds solace in bits of humor he sprinkles with noticeable ability and irony (also in “Long Before”): … my gran began whacking them with a webbedwire weapon some unreformed Nazi might condone…
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We see witty, mischievous humor in “Drummer” (I won´t quote the end lines here, also clever and funny, not to spoil the readers´ enjoyment of the whole poem), and also in “A Good Hug”:
“Drummer” Shirley sets the stage for her drum majorette’s vignette with a high-stepping strut that shows the gathered gawkers a shimmer of thigh and lots of girly crotch… In my six years studying Canadian poetry, I have been able to outline some of the characteristics of the poets I have read. These can be summarized as follows. A deep connection to the land, seen in their descriptions of what surrounds them, whatever the season, and the impressive magnificence of their country. Identification with nature, evidenced in their detailed, admirable descriptions of outdoor life. Rooted sense of belonging to Canadian geography. A feeling of proud nationality/nationhood. Freshness and versatility in the use of expressive means and images. These features are part and parcel; they are DNA, in many Canadian poets. Either explicitly or implicitly, veiled or openly exposed, they visit their land, their contexts, their all-kind experiences, their memories, and return to their blank papers, or PC screens, to forge poetry. I have commented in earlier works that element, and exemplified with other poets. Don Gutteridge is no stranger to these features. I invite the readers to an act of reflection when they read, turning their reading into a meta-cognitive process (meta-reading – analyzing what is read), and explore/discover these aspects in Gutteridge´s oeuvre in its entirety. I include lines from the poem “Haze,” which is an example par excellence of feature number 5. Please read the fragment and close your eyes: you will have to sigh: In my harried octogenarian haze, when my days pass by in a mock-opera dither, I yearn for the clarity you brought when love bloomed between us like a rose resurrected 33
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in leavening light, ruthlessly radiant and blood-lovely… This is the wistful man, the bereaved husband, the aging poet, who recalls—with unlimited love and sensitivity, with unsurpassable lyricism—his dearest wife, and talks to her in a touching conversation I feel is actually happening; because for him it is! The intimate dialogue seems real to us inasmuch as it is real for the poet. We read a poet at the cusp of his emotion and nostalgia, finding an escape to his pain writing tear-provoking lines. Many readers may have wondered at the title of my essay. John B. Lee, whom Don honours in one of his poems, said: “… the poems that visit my desk and flow through my pen. I am simply a vessel, and I am thankful when the muses visit,” and Don himself told me that he was very fortunate the Muse had never let him down. This is so true. Muses, inspiration, events, losses, gains, people, places, remain in Don´s work as durable and vibrant as when he started writing. What remains an undisputable fact is that, whether in A Bumper Crop or in the totality of his lifetime’s astonishing work, Don has been loyal to his style, which is elegant, poised, refined (familiar when needs be), leaving an imprint on paper and on Canadian letters that will be hard to emulate. His gracefulness and sizable contribution to poetry and literature, to Canadian culture throughout decades of tireless writing and deserved publishing, motivated Richard Grove to call him The Prince of contemporary Canadian Poetry. I second that. As to why I called him a contemporary Shakespeare, I have been revealing that throughout the essay. Nevertheless, I insist in my proposal of reading closely through his A Bumper Crop and the rest of his oeuvre. Those acquainted with Shakespeare and his style will be lucky to sense a connection between them, a convergence of manner and technique, and that magic that is invisible but travels from 1616 to 2023 nourishing Gutteridge´s own penmanship and pulses, universal, in his poetics. Of course, I cannot finish my essay without offering a categorical illustration of that Shakespearean radiance in Don’s work. Let´s read extracts from Shakespeare´s Sonnet 18 first: “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate… / … But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st, Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st, So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.” 34
December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Now, let´s be back with our Prince, our Shakespeare. The Bards overlap temporarily and leave us their splendid pieces. Gutteridge has lived long and given to the readership a lifetime of rhymes and rhythms. I have modestly tried to explore and reveal the why of my title in this essay but above all, the greatness of a humble Point Edward kid who grew into a giant, fertile sculptor of contemporary Canadian poetry. I conclude my essay then with Don´s “Ever Enough”: Be still, my love, upon your silken pillow, and let the moonlight gild us in its ghostly glow, for this is the hour we are most alive: our thawed bodies but a breath’s effort apart, beyond the dark’s erotic reach, and we can feel the kneading beat of the other’s heart…
by Kimberley Grove Don Gutteridge started his writing career when he was confined to his bed for nine months with rheumatic fever when he should have been enjoying Grade 2. Don was never lazy so he read enough books to fill his imagination and learn the craft of writing. When he returned to school in Grade 3 he wrote a story for his teacher Miss McDonald. She praised it so much that he realized he was on to something. And he has been writing ever since. He has published 45 poetry books, 13 novels, 12 mysteries and 11 non-fiction books, as well as numerous articles. In his own words he talks about the thrill of his first published poem in a respected literary magazine, The Fiddlehead. “In the Fall of 1960, my wife Anne and I, both starting to teach that month in the Elmira High School, and decided to live in the nearby village of Elora. We moved into the servants’ quarters of the old George Drew homestead and began our married life. I now made a life-changing decision. Having had poems published in Western’s literary magazine, I decided I would start sending the few new short lyrics I was writing to The Fiddlehead poetry magazine, edited by Professor Fred Cogswell. Tucking several poems into my case, I walked, to the local post office (there was no mail delivery in the village) and, both thrilled and fearful, I mailed the poems to be judged, not by student editors,
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but by some literary man or woman of taste, 2000 miles away. Every morning for two months, I walked into the village square to check my mail. I watched the leaves go gold and crimson and finally fall and drift. There was no response to my maiden gambit. I felt crestfallen and began to regret announcing to Anne that I was planning to become a published poet. Sometime in the chill of November, there was a letter for me, my own self-addressed envelope. I let it sit on the kitchen table awhile and, when Anne was abroad, found the courage to open it. One of my poems had been accepted, a six-line fragment I had been debating sending, but with it a short note in Professor Cogswell’s scrawl, to say the poem would be published in the Spring edition of the magazine. I was a published poet on my first try. And thus began a fifty-year relationship with Fred Cogswell, a luminary of our literary world. Within three years, he would publish three of the mid-length narrative poems I had begun to write and, in 1968, my first published book, Riel. I was no longer an apprentice. That Autumn of 1960 was one of the seminal experiences of my life.” The Riel book was such a masterpiece that CBC picked up on the genius of the writing and did a radio drama of it. There were quite a few stories in Don’s own history that prove the saying, “Life is stranger than fiction.” His maternal grandmother, Lilly Smith, met his grandfather in Detroit. She had been married once before. “When she was sixteen, her father wagered her in a craps game, lost and handed his daughter over to a William Campbell, whom she was forced to marry.” Campbell abandoned her when Roy Campbell was born, so she divorced him. “My maternal grandfather (John Mc Watters, a resident of Sarnia, Ontario) worked as a carpenter until he retired in the Spring of 1939. He worked at odd jobs, and one day after finishing a job and being paid, he headed straight to his regular bootleggers, where he partied with friends well into the night. Sometime towards morning he stepped onto the porch of the house for a smoke and was struck viciously from behind. Unconscious, he collapsed face-down in the garden. Too inebriated to move his head, he suffocated and died there. The inquest, written up in lurid detail in The Sania Observer, concluded that my grandfather was murdered by a person or persons unknown. The coroner said he had never heard such lying in a courtroom.” In addition to Don’s mother, Grace, Don’s Uncle George was born into the Mc Watters’ family. “Uncle George was a brilliant man. At age twenty-five he was CEO of a Detroit bakery. Unfortunately, he had the Mc Watters gambling instinct. While working in Detroit he got tangled up with the local mob. Nothing happened until a few years later, when he had married and returned to Sarnia, and raised two sons. He began working for the Sarnia City Bus Company as a bus driver. He was given the Point Edward route and while waiting at the terminal two blocks from my home, he would ask me to get on, feed me peanuts, drive around the block and let me off. Within a short time, he became president of the company. At the same time, he got into the debt of the Detroit mob, who threatened to break his legs if he did not pay up. Desperate, he embezzled the money from the company, paid the mob, but was caught when the books were examined. They thought so highly of him, that he was not charged, merely let go. He vowed never to gamble again, but as gambling was all he had left, he set up a gambling den (illegal at that time) above the Cozy Café in Sarnia, dealt the cards (to the higher ups in the Refinery and Polymer plant and other respectable bigwigs) and took five per cent of the pot. His wife, my Aunt Grace, made and served the sandwiches. I heard about Aunt Grace but never saw her in those days because, ill with some mysterious ailment (depression likely), she 36
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took to her bed for two years and never left it. I finally met her in the 1960s when she and Uncle George came to London to visit my mother.” Uncle George who married a Grace, the same name as his sister, had a son Dick when they were living in Detroit, but they moved to Canada shortly after but never mentioned to their son that he was born in the United States. One night in 1951 when Dick was in Port Huron, Michigan, enjoying the night life, he was stopped at the border by Customs and told that his draft number had come up and he was sent immediately to Korea. “Dick served in Korea for a year and a half in the thick of the fighting. When he returned he was a changed man. He never married.” Some of these stories made it into Don’s writing with some poetic license. In addition, he used his father figure for the main character of his first novel, Bus-Ride. His father (William Ernest Charles Gutteridge) was an excellent hockey player, well- known in Southern Ontario, and scouted by the Detroit Red Wings. However, in those early days of hockey, the players weren’t paid like they are today and instead of playing hockey for a living, he signed up with the Royal Canadian Air Force (RCAF). During some of his years of service, the family lived in an apartment above the grandparents in Point Edward (a village near Sarnia) just across the border from the United States. If a person can fall in love with a place, then Don did just that. Much of his writing was based in Point Edward and the people he knew there. His father had moved the family away from the village to Sarnia’s Township when he finished his time in the RCAF. “The move into the lonely countryside, away from my home village, was devastating for me. For two years my brother and I, every second week, walked to the train station and caught the bus to Point Edward, where we stayed with Gran and Gramps, and tried to keep up the fraying friendships that had been so much a part of my life.” The other hardship of his life was his disconnect with his father. “We had a difficult time bonding: he was a superb athlete, I wasn’t.” His father was away so much that eventually he left the family and moved to Calgary where he got work as a taxidermist. His parents divorced and his father also started to drink heavily which eventually killed him. The main character of Don’s first apprentice novel was based on his father. He sent his book to Jack McClelland who liked it, but was concerned that the entire book had not one word of dialogue. He went on to learn that aspect of his craft when Alice Munro explained that dialogue comes naturally from the creation of strong characters put in the same room. Don’s Dad then moved the family to Chatham, Ontario. After studying at Chatham Collegiate Institute, he was accepted in 1956 to the University of Western Ontario where he received an Honours Degree in English Language and Literature. Following that, he had the opportunity to teach English to students at the Grades 11, 12 and 13 level at Elmira District High School. In addition to realizing that he had found a profession that he loved, he also met the woman of his dreams, Margaret Anne Barnett, the Home Economics teacher. “I proposed on a snowy night in February 1961 in Anne’s new Volkswagon. We were married by a judge in Guelph and attended a small reception for us by school friends and my mother and brother. We rented the back half (servant’s quarters) of a big house (the old Drew homestead) and began our married life, driving each day from Elora to Elmira District High School. Many weekends we drove to Toronto for musicals and plays at the O’Keefe Centre. It was a wonderful winter and spring. Over 85% of my Grade 13 students passed their provincial English exam.”
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In 1963 his work on a M.A. was halted because he realized that he needed to obtain employment to support his newborn son, William John Barnett Gutteridge. His daughter, Catherine Anne Gutteridge, was born in 1966. Family life was a blessing as it gave him the opportunity to see a lot of Canada as they enjoyed family outings and camping. He returned to his passion of teaching at Beck Collegiate in London. This work led to his teaching English Methods to prospective High School teachers for 25 years at Althouse, which became a Faculty of Education at University of Western Ontario. It is easy to see that his love of teaching benefited his students, too, as he still is in contact with some of them today. He also wrote 10 academic books that will undoubtedly help others that share his love of teaching. Bored with retirement, he wrote a twelve-volume mystery series, The Marc Edwards Mysteries, with four publishers over a twelve-year period (2003-2015). This engaged him with his other favourite subject, History, as these books creatively cover the story of an ensign, Marc Edwards, from 1836-1841. They describe Canada in a way that is easy to digest for anyone interested in that period of our country’s history, as he did a great deal of research to get the facts correct about the times, although his main character is fictional. When Don talks about the special moments in his life, he refers to his children’s births and the wonderful marriage he shared with Anne. His joy extends from his grandparents to his six grandchildren. This book is dedicated to Tom, the grandchild that lived with him and Anne for six years and dedicated a large amount of time to reading and talking about his grandfather’s works. Tom created several podcasts (https://thereandthen.podbean.com/) in which the public can learn more about Don’s thought process when writing. You can hear the enjoyment Don had in doing the interviews. At some points, you hear his laughter when talking about his characters, as though he gets as much enjoyment from them as his reader will.
Poetry:
– Riel: A Poem For Voices, Fiddlehead Poetry Books: Fredericton, 1968; and Van No strand Reinhold: Toronto, 1972 – The Village Within, Fiddlehead: Fredericton, 1970 – Death At Quebec and Other Poems, Fiddlehead: Fredericton, 1971 – Perspectives: Poems Toward a Biography, Pennywise Press, London, Ontario, 1971 – Saying Grace: An Elegy, Fiddlehead: Fredericton, 1972 – Coppermine: The Quest For North, Oberon: Ottawa, 1973 – Borderlands, Oberon: Ottawa, 1975 – Tecumseh, Oberon: Ottawa, 1976 – A True History of Lambton County, Oberon: Ottawa, 1977 – God’s Geography, Brick Books: London, 1982 – The Exiled Heart; Selected Narratives, Oberon: Ottawa, 1986 – Love in the Wintertime, Oberon: Ottawa, 1990 – Flute Music in the Cello’s Belly, Moonstone: Goderich, 1997 – Bloodlines, Oberon: Ottawa, 2001 – Something More Miraculous, Oberon: Ottawa, 2004 – Still Magical, Oberon: Ottawa, 2007 – Coming Home, Oberon: Ottawa, 2011 – The Way It Was, Friesen Press: Vancouver, 2014 38
December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
– Tidings, Black Moss Press: Windsor, 2015 – Peripheries, (ebook) First Choice Books: Victoria, 2016 – Inundations, Hidden Brook Press: Brighton, 2016 – The Blue Flow Below, Black Moss Press: Windsor, 2017 – The Sands of Canatara, (ebook) First Choice Books: Victoria, 2017 – Inklings, Black Moss Press: Windsor, 2017 – The Village Within ,(re-issue, ebook) First Choice Books: Victoria, 2017 – Cameron Lake, (ebook) First Choice Books: Victoria, 2018 – Home Ground, Hidden Brook Press: Brighton, 2018 – Two Dozen for Anne, First Choice books, Victoria, 2018 – Bereft: Poems for my Beloved, First Choice Books, Victoria, 2018 – Another Poem For Anne,” First Choice Books, Victoria, 2018 – “Days’ Worth the Telling, Black Moss Press, Windsor, 2018 – “The Breath of My Being, First Choice Books, Victoria, 2018 – “Foster’s Pond,” Borealis, Ottawa, 2019 – “The Star-Brushed Horizon, Hidden Brook Press: Brighton, 2019 – Mara’s Lamp, Black Moss Press: Windsor, 2019 – Impious Whims: Selected Poems, Borealis Press, 2019 – “In the Rarefied Regions of the Heart, Hidden Brook Press: Brighton, 2020 – “Point Taken: Collected Poems 2014-2020, Hidden Brook Press: Brighton, 2020 – By and By, With John B. Lee. Hidden Brook Press: Brighton, 2020 – The Derelict Heart, Hidden Brook Press: Brighton, 2020 – Invincible Ink, Hidden Brook Press: Brighton, 2020 – Into the Milkweed Meadow, Hidden Brook Press: Brighton, 2021 – Where Rivers Run Deep, Hidden Brook Press: Brighton, 2001 – More Boding Than Blood, Hidden Brook Press: Brighton, 2021 – The Ardent Dark, Hidden Brook Press: Brighton, 2021
Fiction:
– Bus-Ride, Nairn publishing: Nairn, 1974 – All in Good Time, Black Moss Press: Windsor, 1980 – St. Vitus Dance, Drumlin: London, 1986 – Shaman’s Ground, Drumlin: London, 1988 – How the World Began, Moonstone: Goderich, 1991 – Summer’s Idyll, Oberon: Ottawa, 1993 – Winter’s Descent, Oberon: Ottawa, 1996 – Bewilderment, Borealis: Ottawa, 2000 – The Perilous Journey of Gavin the Great, Borealis Press: Ottawa, 2010 – The Rebellion Mysteries, Simon and Schuster: Toronto, 2012 – Lily’s Story,(e-book). Bev Editions: Toronto, 2013 (Print edition 2014) – Constable Garrett and the Dead Ringer, Tell well: Victoria, 2016 – Lily Fairchild, Tablo publications, 2019 Marc Edwards Mysteries: – Turncoat, McClelland and Stewart: Toronto, 2003 – Solemn Vows, McClelland and Stewart: Toronto, 2003 – Vital Secrets, Trinity: Saint John, 2007 39
December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
– Dubious Allegiance, Simon and Schuster: Toronto, 2012 – Bloody Relations, Simon and Schuster: Toronto, 2013 – Death of a Patriot, Simon and Schuster: Toronto, 2014 – The Bishop’s Pawn, Tablo Publishing: Melbourne, 2021 – Desperate Acts, Tablo Publishing: Melbourne, 2021 – Unholy Alliance, Tablo Publishing: Melbourne, 2021 – Mnor Corruption, Tablo Publishing: Melbourne, 2021 – Governing Passion, Tablo Publishing: Melbourne, 2021 – The Widow’s Demise, Tablo Publishing: Melbourne, 2021 _ The six mysteries above were also published as eBooks by Bev Editions in 2015
Non-Fiction:
– Rhetoric: A Unified Approach to Literary Curricula, OISE: Toronto, 1970 (contributor ) – Language and Expression, McClelland and Stewart: Toronto, 1970 – The Country of the Young, The Althouse Press: London, 1978 – Mountain and Plain, Anthology. McClelland and Stewart: Toronto, 1978 – Rites of Passage, Anthology. McClelland and Stewart: Toronto, 1979 – Brave Season, The Althouse Press: London, 1983 – Incredible Journeys, The Althouse Press: London, 1986 and 1990 – The Dimension of Delight, The Althouse Press: London, 1988 – Stubborn Pilgrimage, Our Schools/Our Selves: Toronto, 1994 – Teaching English, Lorimer: Toronto, 2000 – The Myth Alive: Essays in Canadian Literature and Poetics, First Choice Books: Victoria, 2015
… love is again begun and olden souls reborn... Don Gutteridge … and make you mine again. Don Gutteridge To Donald (Don) Gutteridge, in memoriam December 5, 2023 Death did not take you, Don: You decided to cross the threshold towards the place where Anne had been waiting for you all these past years. You never ceased to regale her with showers of poems; you never stopped letting your readers know how much you loved her, 40
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how much you missed her. Death has been conquered instead, the romance has been kept alive and metaphors have pulsed eternally ablaze… Now, you decided it was time to read Anne your poems face to face, show her—lost in her blue eyes—all the passion and the loyalty you professed as the moment to be reunited finally arrived. Death did not take you, Don: you simply chose to go. Your faithful readers bid you farewell celebrating your renewed journey besides Anne.
Poems by Don Gutteridge (taken from Gilding the Lily, Wet Ink Books, 2023)
February, 1961 I might’ve said ‘I love you’ the night of my rose-wrapt proposal; I must have done because I’d rehearsed it like a distracted actor, frightened of the stage, but as I recall you didn’t return the favour (your answer lay in the amorous ambit of your glance), but in the long years of our parallel, caring lives, those loveladen words remained, in whole or part, were they mattered most: in the heart.
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December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
(a sort of sonnet) If I were the Bard of Avon I should compare thee to a summer’s day and sing you a goodly sonnet with a closing couplet that rhymes with love or roses, but my bourgeoning verse bubbles up from no Pierian Spring, nor does it dance to a faux-Shakespearean tune, but I’d bring down the moon and the harboring stars and put them in a poem of my own making that plumbs your loveliness and brims your beauty, and leaves no trace of Arden’s bard or a summer’s day.
For Anne in fond memory If I were one of the good gods controlling the cosmos, I’d enshrine you as a star in a far-flung, filigreed curve of the firmament or as a moon, lit by its own self-rinsing glow, but I am just a word-starved bard who has not luster enough to limn your loveliness or beatify your beauty, but wherever you be, in the star-fractured dark or harbouring the newborn illume of a moon, I’ll send you my love and embark on the next body-bruising cruise to your inner-galactic grotto and make you mine again.
by Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández
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December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Be still, my love, upon your silken pillow, and let the moonlight gild us in its ghostly glow, for this is the hour we are most alive: our thawed bodies but a breath’s effort apart, beyond the dark’s erotic reach, and we can feel the kneading beat of the other’s heart, and all thought of the day now done, with its fits and starts, is ebbed and moot, and we are free to dream as we will, certain that under anyone’s sun, love is ever enough.
Come and lie beside me and let the morning alight like a bride’s blush, and I shall hold your hand in mine like a talisman of all we’ve been and done since first we bid our bodies be, and plumbed their blithe bedight, and in the hush of this day’s praise, love is again begun and olden souls reborn.
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December 2023 THE ENVOY-126 – EDITOR- Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández – joyphccla@gmail.com
Jorge Alberto Pérez Hernández, CCLA Ambassador, Editor Miguel Ángel Olivé Iglesias, CCLA Cuban President, Assistant Editor Katharine Beeman, Reviewing Editor Miriam Estrella Vera Delgado, CCLA Cuban Poet Laureate, Reviewing Editor Wency Rosales, Cuban Photography Curator Lisa Makarchuk our Canadian VP as (former) Reviewing Editor
joyph@nauta.cu joyphccla@gmail.com
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