Author: James McNally

Force Feedings, Part 1

FORCE FEEDINGS FROM THE POETRY ARCHIVES, PART 1:

the cruellest month

the august trees were already
leaving by september
when I autumned into love with you.

I pictured you in green
slipping through the forest
hiding among the oaks
like a frightened deer
or escaping into the woods
with your secrets
climbing into the longrooted branches.

wintering in this cold country

I picked icicles like fruit
looking for a sign of you.
when spring came, my icicles

turned and ran

through my fingers
and my torn hands healed.

the forest in green
ran me through, living
while my small love died.

(1993)

Real Writing

Just as I was reading this post over at Michael’s site, I was reminded of what I was doing last night. John Franklin was one of my most beloved teachers when I attended a small Bible college in the mid-1980s. He taught philosophy and has always one of the most well-read men I’ve known. He’s also a huge supporter of the arts. Recently, we’ve been talking about some web design work I might be able to do for the non-profit arts group he now heads up. So, he invited Brooke and I to he and his wife’s home on Saturday. They were hosting a monthly meeting of a group for Christian artists as well as inviting some other people to hear a storytelling group. This group, the Great Wooden Trio, are actually four guys, three of whom play songs and one who tells stories. They sort of play off each other and it made for a very entertaining evening. We even found some time to discuss what it is about storytelling that makes it so universal. Along with Michael’s entry, it got me thinking about writing again. Not the blog blather of the past few months, but real writing, the sort I haven’t done for far too long. I’m ashamed. And I’m hoping to change that. I love the immediacy of posting with Blogger, but I also want to craft something once in a while. Credit the Eric Gill biography, too, I suppose. I just want to make something that isn’t completely disposable. So bear with me, if I get all ponderous occasionally. It looks like Michael is going through this as well. Maybe you’ll find something good in the midst of the rubble. Something that will connect to your own story. And that would make me happy.

Is That Bob Pollard?

Oh yeah, funny story from last night. Earlier, Britt had told me that Guided By Voices were still in town and might drop by to see Spoon’s show. So they were rehearsing some GBV songs in case Bob Pollard wanted to come up on stage and sing with them. If you know GBV, you’ll know that Bob Pollard always gets really really drunk before and during their shows. So, when a drunk guy insisted on coming up on stage during Spoon’s set, they let him come up and they just played one of their songs while he wailed something or other. My first thought was, hey, is that Bob Pollard?!

Good Times

Good times. I’ve spent the last two nights seeing my favourite band in the world. I’m talking, of course, about Spoon. They opened for Guided By Voices on Wednesday night, and headlined their own show last night at the venerable Horseshoe Tavern here in Toronto. I was able to arrange an interview with chief utensil Britt Daniel last night and hope to have something put together soon to put up on the site. Jim Eno, drummer supreme, was kind enough to provide me with his setlists both nights and they’ll be finding their way onto the setlists page as soon as possible. Pardon my boundless enthusiasm, but if you’re still in the dark about this amazing band, you need to see the light. You can scoop up many free and legal MP3s here and here and here and here. Oh, and all you lucky people who own one of my Compilation Champs CDs, their new stuff is even better than what you’ve already heard.

Despite the unemployment, a nice couple of days. And both my Leafs and Raptors won last night, too!

Eric Gill

I was at the library yesterday and am now completely engrossed in Fiona MacCarthy’s biography of Eric Gill. Sadly, the book itself is now out of print. Eric Gill, font designer (Gill Sans), author (An Essay on Typography) and sculptor, was a fascinating man of contradictions. A man of immense skill and breadth of knowledge and a devout Catholic convert, he was the founder of several communes in the early part of this century. His ideal was to bring work and art and home life all together. Sadly, he was also a bit of a sexual oddity, pursuing incestuous relationships with his sisters and possibly even his own daughters. What a fascinating read, though. I mean, all of us are people of contradictions, too, but not all of us in such bold strokes. I especially liked this quote from his own autobiography:

“It is thus: we human beings are all in the same difficulty. We are all torn asunder, all of us, by this disintegration of our flesh and spirit. And so if in this book I am appearing more spiritual than credible to some of those I have loved, let them examine their own consciences. I think they will discover, as I have done, that they also are torn asunder and that they also have desired to be made whole.”

The biography’s title, by the way, for anyone who wants to try tracking it down at the library or whatever, is Eric Gill: A Lover’s Quest for Art and God, by Fiona MacCarthy (New York: Dutton, 1989).