Seasons of Mist: essay fragments for autumn

about my mother [redacted]

about 14 paragraphs of heartache, M Dirda “Then and Now” in The American Scholar  (constructed elegiac, and yet)

about the old, about home-towns, home-town libraries (p.s. this link is not my memory!)

about Ernest Dowson’s Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae” – ridiculous Latin, soppy Dowson, and yet

Memory: scribbling earnest, passionate foolscap, Buchanan E, UBC, 1980’s, in a study cubicle not my own: “…to thee, Cynara”

Memory: Autumn at the University, ocean–and the man who twenty years later, would be my husband

about Conrad, “Youth,” (I avoid Conrad): “…our weary eyes looking still”

about Jamie Reid’s, “A Hard Time for All of Us;” about Patrick Lane’s, “The Far Field“–(cannot stand that it still echoes)

about yesterday, alone on the Skytrain, sun-hot-stink-city, reading Cecily Nicholson’s Triage

about George Bowering‘s “Summer” – heard, not seen. Is there an ideology of Sound? I will make it so.

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