eBook - ePub
Stray
About this book
Allison LaSorda's Stray shows the formation of a considerable poetic talent. These poems are sun-bleached, at once gritty, raw, and playful. LaSorda can conjure childhood memories of beaches and ice cream, ponder the elemental force of the ocean, and plumb the depth of loss in a coal mine disaster. Bringing to mind the poetry of Robert Hass and Louise Glück, LaSorda presents the messiness of daily life with emotional honesty and humour.
Stray examines intimacy, memory, and decay, often betraying existential bewilderment. Deft word play and musical sense underscore the absurdity these poems explore, while surprising rhymes and unexpected images resound in deeply personal narratives. In this dazzling debut, LaSorda both disarms her readers and breathes fresh life into Canadian poetry.
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Please note we cannot support devices running on iOS 13 and Android 7 or earlier. Learn more about using the app.
Yes, you can access Stray by Allison LaSorda in PDF and/or ePUB format, as well as other popular books in Literature & Canadian Poetry. We have over one million books available in our catalogue for you to explore.
Information
BIRD
The First One’s Always Free
If you were still mine,
my sweet Jubilee, I’d bother
to come up with sap to spew.
I can’t name a specific thing
I’d do for you, but maybe
knowing is better than doing.
Who in their right mind
doesn’t want to be defined
by each person they’ve left?
Jubilee, remember our meet-cute?
Can you see beyond prophecy
and follow the interstate away
from a house of ill repute?
I can’t, so tell me to cool it
or refill me with the oh yous
you do so well, uncultured
ten-month pearls, words
clip-on gold for want of praise.
Sweet, when you left I broke down
from the upside, lurching past
the space within a barren cleft.
If we’d rather deal in dialects
or muck around in sludge
we sling to share, why bother?
Out of the Chorus
My barynya is just extraordinary.
I beat my body like a drum. Sarafans
swirl until vermilion embroidery blurs
to great frenetic effect for a wannabe tsar.
I would rather have been a ballerina,
but I inherited the folksy costume.
The audience gathers theatre side.
Years of sad salt buildup
crusted around my eyes, fusing
with gold leaf for an alarming mask.
I was born in the eyelashes of a hurricane:
it rained dog pelts, relieving my mother
from the sounds of pulsing monitors.
She knew my dancer’s destiny.
I’d squatted and leapt in utero, charting
the records broken in every test.
We out-Cossack the Cossacks, my partners say.
Arm-flapping, toe-tapping Lezgi eagles and swans,
hordes of one-trick ponies — we’re disciples
of attention, raised and kept solely to perform.
I can’t speak. My body spells out lockup for me.
Weather
The weather vane on the coop behind our house
always points south. The joint is rusted.
No forecasts worthy to report.
Our school bus cir...
Table of contents
- FISH
- BIRD
- MEAT
- Acknowledgements