MARRY, BANG, KILL optioned for film and television rights AND listed in the Globe & Mail Top 100!
Poetry Friday: "Button" by Ali Blythe
Ever been trapped in an elevator?
Of course you haven't. That's the stuff of sitcoms and movie thrillers, not real life. Elevators, in reality, are dull boxes that move up and down at our command.
Until poet Ali Blythe thought about it, that is.
This Poetry Friday, delve into the poetic mystery that is the elevator with Ali Blythe and his lyrical "Button" (from Twoism).
Interview with Ian Weir, author of The Death and Life of Strother Purcell
Out in stores now: The Death and Life of Strother Purcell, the new book by Ian Weir!
Don't miss out on reading the novel Publishers Weekly gave a starred review, calling it "a remarkable, sprawling epic about myth, memory, and what may or may not be the truth in the making of legends."
Ian was kind enough to agree to a quick social media interview with us before he begins the launch of The Death and Life of Strother Purcell in earnest. Check our events page for information on his upcoming appearances!
Order your copy from Goose Lane Editions, Amazon, Chapters/Indigo, or your local independent bookstore.
Poetry Friday: "What September Swallows" by Stewart Cole
September? Already?
It's true. You've run as fast as you could, but time is always quicker, and the ninth month has finally caught up to you and commanded you to get back to work.
So, this Poetry Friday, we bid a fond adieu to August and look into the belly of the beast that is September.
And what better way to look forward than to look back? At least, that's the sense we get from Stewart Coles' haunting, enigmatic, elegiac "What September Swallows" (from Questions in Bed).
Poetry Friday: "August" by George Sipos
Friday, August 31, 2018. The last day of the month, and while it is not technically the last day of summer, it certainly feels like the end of something.
And we hate endings. Particularly the endings of very warm seasons.
So today, this last Poetry Friday of August, feel free to pour yourself a glass of your favourite beverage, head on outside, and say goodbye to the month with George Sipos' "August" (from Anything but the Moon).
August
At 3:00 a.m. you pee, let the cat in,
and realize you've left
the water running in the garden.
Is it worse to have forgotten,
or to know that this late in the summer
it matters little either way?
On hot afternoons years ago
you threw a ball against
the back of the house for hours at a time
till your father yelled to stop or the bricks would come loose and
the wall collapse.
It didn't of course (though
who knows whether the house
still stands) but the point was
that anything, however unlikely,
was thinkable then — the ball
going thunk against brick,
coming back to you.
Above the rows of yellowed pea-vines
droplets rise from the sprinkler,
lose momentum,
fall.
Year
after year
you plant a garden, then lose interest.
Night after night
the cat
scratches at the screen.
you let her in.