Martyrology Book 5
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Martyrology Book 5

bp Nichol

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eBook - ePub

Martyrology Book 5

bp Nichol

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About This Book

'All of Nichol's work is stamped by his desire to create texts that are engaging in themselves as well as in context, and to use indirect structural and textual devices to carry meaning. In The Martyrology different ways of speaking testify to a journey through different ways of being. Language is both the poet's instructor and, through its various permutations, the dominant 'image' of the poem. The [nine] books of The Martyrology document a poet's quest for insight into himself and his writing through scrupulous attention to the messages hidden in the morphology of his own speech.' ā€“ Frank Davey

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Information

Year
1994
ISBN
9781770561366

1

a road
a rod
a walk along
a long day
a dying night
an art
a log
a journal that is right
here
ere i begin2
among the streets & houses stand around me
How Land over the bridge
(du pont) to Davenā€™s Port
& in between a sea (mer)
Wal
full tragedies are played
accornedies
points of view: St George & St Clair
never meet
(he goes to College & becomes Beverly)
fits together in its own sense
St George to separate
Admiral & Huron history
i shouldā€™ve traced
race
against race
against
time
rimes of
coincidence
(sense arrived at in
a later reading
latter writing
related rewrite of
tone
note
placement of
St Ick or Ylus in
the hierarchy
St Iff if if fits
(alternate spellings
suggested by
George Pal in
Dr Omicā€™s St Andard Dictionary))
SWITCH
i live on Brunā€™s wick
so namedā€™ cause it stuck out
thick as his legendary stick
into that wal of water flowed
around the foot of Casa Loma
licked its way between
the hill that castle stands on &
Russellā€™s Hill
or south
stretching round the ruins of what was
Harbored
Harbour D
(a harmony)
only puns someone says
i says glimpses of another truth
ā€™nother story worth the tell
ā€™ll do as well as Mag Mell
Olympus or
Shanghalla
all the old bars the saintsā€™d gather at
this new one comes into our ken
image
i ā€˜understandā€™ all i didnā€™t see before
connect these fact zones
create fictions
as someone (Brun?) did before me
if i read the map aright
ā€˜Brunā€™s wick kenā€™d al[1]ā€™3
set ablaze by light
it was the light!
a candle
(Kendal)
burning
hierarchies suggested in a reading
Wal Merā€™s pa Dina Madiā€™[s] son
(her one &
only) images of
ancient lineages
St Orm the saint of ships & seas
was he Wal Merā€™s father
Dina Madiā€™s son
& if the one
then all these names could be
nicknames
for claimd similur things
(Wal Mer stretches south
into the bluer strait
streets
houses lived in in my time
short tho itā€™s been
one-third gone
still learning
trying to move on)
more than the grand gestures aspired to
actions give the truth to speech
content of a daily life
our struggle
(ideals arrayed against the actual i deals) each morning
step out that door
onto this wick forms part of the shore
head north for the bridge
rise early
get to work before the sky turns grey with smoke
worlds of dreams & felt feelings
memories evoked of childhood despair
lost loves & lustres in this present world they are too present in
struggle to return them to the past again
archaeo logically
walked today west thru snow across Dupont
frozen streets/seas thot then of Kit James
dead this past year
caught myself (briefly) wondering
ā€˜whatā€™s Kit doing?ā€™
but he is done
one takes so long accepting
the death of friends/
/relationships
new twists your life takes
ā€˜in the inner circle of communication
the poet is opposed on two sides of thoughtā€™
& i am mourning his passing
caught up in the snow
Spadina
a dirt road
trucks rumbling north for the subwayā€™s construction
underground
underworld
under wal
mermur
murmer
mer made memories
white world of whispered presences
(Kit?)
deathā€™s deedā€™s done
d
Image
athā€™s deadā€™s d
Image
ne
dā€™athā€™s dā€™adā€™s dā€™n
& gone
ā€˜gin agā€™in thā€™n
on
as snowā€™s gone
springā€™s come
changes toneā€™s tune
my foots moved on
the poem accumulates its clarity
its imprecisions
decision:
lift my foot
in march
out the snow
fresh fallen
set it down in april
when the flow
resumes
it is
enough
i would be
done
with all this
dying
would wake my friends
from
their dreadful sleeps of
false
reason
reason enough to mourn
reason enough to rail against a world
no use getting hung up on a word
no use not speaking
say it
& then
(moving this very spring
north to Warren Road
above Russellā€™s Hill & Poplar Plains
above the port that Daven named
the ford where St George laid his bed
hoping to woo St Clair there
she lies north of me instead
impervious to his need
between Poplar Plains & Russellā€™s Hill
some evidence of war &
wha...

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