The Maynard Spring Issue 2014

Well, here we are again. My trusty editor friends and I have put together another issue of The Maynard with some lovely poems by lovely poets. This is a bigger issue and has a lot more audio goodness than the last one.  Also, a fantastic cover image by Yuka Aoki. Take some time to spend with this collection, and remember that submissions are always open for future issues.

art by yuka aoki


A Peeled Orange

The Maynard is an online poetry magazine that I put together, along with two other fine gentlemen, Mark Hoadley and Ram Randhawa. The three of us were given a chance, by our mutual instructor/mentor Jami MacCarty, to come aboard as the new editorial team. This is our first issue, and I’m quite proud of it. We read a ton of submissions over the summer and the poems we selected are the ones that really shook us awake.  Some of my personal favorites are the strange post-apocalyptic “The Future of Music” by Jen Currin, the acidic snarls of “Testing Testing Is This Thing On” by Russel Swensen, and the haunting dream-poem “Pitcher” by Russell Thornton (recent Governer General Award nominee!). They are all great, though, in their own particular way. You can hear some of them read their poems aloud too.

Maynard Fall 2013
click to read our issue

Aside from all the learning that comes with pouring hundreds of different poetic voices into ones head in a short period of time, this has been a great learning experience for working in a collaborative way with others. Mark and Ram are both thoughtful and considerate editors and it was really interesting to work out our decisions about various aspects of the magazine. I’m looking forward to the new issue which is currently open for submissions.

2 Cities / 5 Poets

2 Cities 5 Poets

This Saturday at People’s Co-op!  I’m really looking forward to this, mostly because the Seattle poets, Don Mee Choi & Melanie Noel, are new to me and it is always exciting reading with, and listening to, new poets. And it’s great to share the stage with my old poet friends Rachel and Renee. Thanks to the host, Jen Currin, for inviting me and generally being an awesome and supportive poet.

And here is a fine interview with Renee Saklikar and Jen Currin in Sad Mag, where they discuss the ‘borderlands’.

Click the poster above (designed by yours truly!) to go to the facebook page for more info about the reading. Hope to see you Vancouver folk and possible Seattle folk there!

After Lydia, the film

The exciting news around here is that a poem of mine is being adapted for a short film by some very talented filmmakers, notably my friend, director Nicholas Bradford-Ewart . They have shot the first scene and are looking for support to make the rest of it. Even more exciting is that they hope to make this film the first in a series of short films based on the work of emerging poets.

Check out the campaign, watch the first scene, read the poem, and toss in some $ if so inspired:

I am super honoured and excited about this as you can imagine, and will probably make the next few posts here related to the film in different ways. I thought I’d start with a little story that in some way, contributed to the origins of the poem.


After Lydia’s Strange Origins

A friend and I were walking across a soccer field towards some kind of commotion by a clump of trees near the youth centre. It was dusk. Emerging out of the blurry shadows were growls and yells and some laughter. Getting closer, we saw a young man, an acquaintance, fiercely attacking a small tree. He was charging at it, tearing at the branches with his bare hands, ripping them apart. He had wide bloodshot eyes and was snarling. Some of his friends were trying to talk to him, coax some reason into him. Repeating his name, asking him to look them in the eye and calm down. Others were laughing, egging him on; “Fuck trees, man. You show that tree who’s boss.” In this quiet sheltered town, it was the kind of incident that makes a night. It was awful and sad, but one couldn’t help be entertained.

 My friend watching beside me, remarked on how, despite being delirious with rage, he didn’t lay a finger on anyone who was coming up to him, trying to talk or get him to stop. It was all directed towards the tree. No one seemed to know what it was about. Maybe he was on drugs, maybe not. Maybe a psychotic episode, maybe not. Someone said his windshield had just been broken by someone, but it was hard to imagine that causing this reaction. Maybe it was about a girl, I thought. The way I was feeling most of the time around that time, heart-raw, kind of crazy, it seemed the most sensible explanation.beachnight1

 I had tried to write a poem very directly about the experience that it didn’t quite ring. But somehow the image of a despairing man attacking a tree fit as a simple opening line in ‘After Lydia’. I don’t remember actually writing the poem, but I remember thinking about some of my friends in my old town. One who, after being dumped, bought a ticket to Jamaica where he mostly stayed in his hotel room doing lines of coke. Another who hit the gym after his breakup; I saw him a few months later and he was huge. I thought about the small, immature and desperate ways I reacted, or wanted to react, after heartbreak.

 It’s kind of a funny poem in a way, despite its subject matter. While Lydia might have been somewhat inspired by a girl or two that I had known back then, I was probably just as much thinking of the archetype of a beautiful dangerous woman. Girl as powerful storm that ravages a town. It was fun to see these young men, like little toy action figures, being tossed around in her wake.

We didn’t stick around to see what happened to the young man. He probably calmed down eventually, smoked a joint with a friend, wept maybe, or some tough guy equivalent. Maybe the next morning he wouldn’t remember anything. Whatever it was about, I hope the experience gave him some resolve. That squinting in the light of the new day, with cuts in his arms, leaves in his hair, he was ready to move on to his next chapter.

New Poem in Forget Magazine

Forget Magazine

Here is a new poem and it’s called Dear Liza

Thanks to Nick Thran, contributing editor, for requesting that I send him some work for their newest issue. A long time ago Nick sent me a little note saying that he liked my poems in the Bronwen Wallace Award chapbook. At the time, I was all, neat, some dude on facebook likes my poems! Then I promptly forgot about it. Some time later at the Vancouver Poetry Conference, I saw this young poet read his poems and talk about poetry with a kind of nervous charm. I went up to him to tell him how much I liked his work. And he was all, “Oh, you’re Raoul right?, I sent you a message on facebook.”

I like that these connections happen. And I’m happy that he asked me to be part of this issue which seems to be an act of strengthening connections, forming associations. It’s humbling to be among the poets included in this issue and I recommend that you spend some time reading each of their fine poems.

Flocks, countours

“I tend to like art that does more than what’s necessary, goes further, exceeds; but that keeps its contours sharp, holds its shape. I think of the way huge flocks of pigeons reverse and catch the light in a synchrony that doesn’t eradicate the oneness of each particular bird. This isn’t to say that I can’t turn it down for a slow jam when I feel it, or that I can’t build a poem around a single gesture rather than a whole array of them. I can and have. But I’m a relatively excitable person by nature, and when I try to write calm, tranquil poems, I usually feel more or less like an impostor, like I’m assuming someone else’s sensibility, or worse, like I’m trying to modify my work to make it behave more sensibly, or generically — to make it appeal to as many palettes as possible.”

– Timothy Donnelly, author of  “The Cloud Corporation”

read the rest of the”6 Questions” interview here.

Oscillate, swing, etc.

“I’m associative by nature, so it’s inevitable that many of my poems will oscillate on both large and small scales, swing from one thing to another around a core that is often not articulated until later in the poem. Probably a lot of my poems are records of me discovering why a particular set of stimuli hold my attention. But the process itself, the process of making, really any process of making, because it leads to some kind of output, will convey a sense of order. What I like about poems is they can also carry a feeling of the disorder that leads to order, or leads to a desire for order.”

-Bob Hicok, from an interview with The Believer magazine, read the rest here

Reggie Watts

If you were to ask me who is my favourite poet this week, I’d probably say Reggie Watts, who is not a poet but an improv comedian/musician. If you haven’t heard of him, there are a few things he does in his act: One is layering loops of his own beatboxy rhythms, vocal bits and soulful improvisational singing / rapping. He is really really good at this. Another is a wry deadpan standup routine that plays with meaninglessness (but delivered as if it were meaningful). He code-switches, sometimes mid-sentence, into a few different voices and languages. If he only did one of these things, it would be cool and impressive, but somehow the combination of these things with no clear transition from one to the other, makes it profound and artful, to me. And super hilarious. I kind of feel new patterns forming my brain as I watch him. He also seems like a totally decent and wonderful human being. Check him out.

Birds of Skagit River

(it’s ridiculously late to be posting this, and a bit long, but wanted it for the archive, and also for Elee, cuz she asked and we missed her there)


Driving in to a sleepy quiet flower-print sort of town with my poet friend Adrienne.  Have lunch in a cafe. Jericho Brown wanders in and we invite him to sit with us. When I tell him where I’m staying he goes “You’re sleeping in a tent?” His laugh has enough energy to power all the flowers of this town.


Don’t have a ticket for the “Poet’s Dinner” event so I drink a beer in a bar overlooking the water and write some  sentences.


Sleep that night in the aforementioned tent on a beautiful waterfront lawn at Rachel Rose‘s folks place. Kind and intelligent people. First night alone in a long long while. Miss my baby and wife. A bit of a sleepless night, birdsong in the morning.


At my volunteer shift, hand out program guides to chattery high-schoolers coming in to see the morning’s school-only events. All the poets do well at not talking down to the kids and even amp up the edginess. I introduce myself to Tony Hoagland who is bemused at the ‘squareness’ of the town.  In the following `Taking Humor Seriously` panel, he makes a good comparison of poetry to jokes while suggesting  how a funny poem can still have complexity and sadness  folded into it.


Checked out the “Going Public with Private Feelings” panel (Carolyn Forche, Marie Howe, and Kurtis Lamkin). Each of them spoke openly and beautifully.  There was moving discussion when a young girl talked about signing her poem ‘Anonymous’ in a Chapbook anthology because she didn’t want her parents to worry about her. Because of this panel and witnessing the tendency towards more personal and narrative themes in the festival, I start rethinking my tendency to avoid writing about my life directly. More on this later.


Bob Hicok and Lorraine Healy at Poems as “Prayer: Poems as Weapons” both shrug off the idea of poems being weapons, but approach it from a social justice perspective. Hicok reads beautifully. I remark to him how his poems aren’t prayers for personal needs, but go out toward or on behalf of others, sort of like grace before a meal. This leads to good conversation.


Evening closes with Tony Hoagland, Patrick Lane, Carolyn Forche, and Vancouver band, The Fugitives. Hoagland goes sharp, Lane goes heavy, and Forche seems to possess the power to levitate everyone in the room. She also does a funny imitation of her friend, poet Ilya Kaminksy. The Fugitives are great and dynamic, and their energy is a much needed relief from the heavy stuff.


Sleep better the next night. Fish jumping in the morning. A birdcall I later understand is a mourning dove. Still miss my baby like crazy. Then to see Nikki Giovanni, Tony Hoagland, and Patrick Lane at the “What Man has Made Of Man” reading. They speak of their coming into writing and how it was desperately necessary to them as young people. Also go into what it might mean to be a young writer in this time. Really lovely. Giovanni rambles off topic quite a bit but makes a good point about needing to audio/video archive these talks/readings. She said it enough at different times at the festival, I’m sure it will be on the agenda for next year.


Poetry, Music and the Visual Arts with Lorraine Healy, Rachel Rose and Mark Schafer. Poems turned into opera, into rock, Poems in dialogue with photographs, poems as words hanging from a tree. All good ways to see the possibilities outside the book. I mention my poetry phonebooth idea to Schafer who seems excited enough about it to maybe make it real.


Gathering of Poets! Every poet at the festival reads for a minute. I had misgivings about this one, thought it would be too rapidfire and channel-changey. But it was actually very good. I was pretty overwhelmed by the end but in a good way. Rachel and I go for a nice walk to clear our minds after, sit and write at a cafe. See someone with a birdcage backpack (with a real bird inside it).


Rachel is sweet enough to take me as her guest to the dinner with the poets. Feel very honored and a bit weird, like a kid who sneaked backstage. Talk a bit with Simon Ortiz, Elizabeth Austen and Kurtis Lamkin.  Tasty tacos and good wine.


Final reading has Giovanni, Hicok, and Howe throw down. Don`t think much of Giovanni`s poetry but boy can she work a room. The poems seem almost incidental to her freewheeling stand-up routine. Marie Howe is good but maybe a bit too straightforward for me. Bob Hicok owns the room in a powerful and quiet way. He is wearing a red t-shirt in front of red curtains which makes him seem to be half disappearing. But yes, easily the most powerful reading I witnessed, and I heard from a number of people that he was their best discovery at the festival. I talk with him a little after and suggest we meet up when he visits Vancouver in a couple weeks. This happens.


Not over yet! Jericho Brown has graciously invited poets and friends to come over to the magical little bed and breakfast he wis staying in, so I go with Rachel and a few others and sit around in the living room with pretty exhausted but glowing writers. People take turns reading. I feel bad that I didn`t bring any writing with me, so I attempt to read something from memory (that loopy Saturn poem) which I have never done before. I can barely remember haiku I have written! Surprisingly, it works, and goes over well. I have this moment of feeling a little less like a fan-boy, and more like one of the writers in the room.


Next morning a workshop with Tony Hoagland that I won`t get into now, because this has been too long a post. and Elee, I should save something to talk about over coffee. Which we should do soon, yes?

Hope all is well and thrumming in your world.

Poetic Wax

Oh boy, it feels like there hasn’t been time for even a tweet, let alone a blog entry. But I will try and catch up, though not in a very linear sort of way. The most significant poetry-related thing recently was my experience at the Skagit Poetry Festival, but I will save that blog entry for a time when I’m not at work on my dinner-break and dopey from pollen allergies.

Something easier to post for now – my first time on the radio! I was invited to Wax Poetic on Co-Op Radio to read poems and talk about stuff. It was fun and I was ridiculously nervous (but fairly good at hiding the nervousness, I think?). I was totally stumped when I was asked “What does the ocean teach us about love?” and sorta fumbled with abstract thoughts about love and my baby and ended up sounding like a big hippie. Though the question should have been “What does an elephant at the bottom of the ocean teach us about love?” to be more clearly referencing the poem. That would have been much easier to answer! Anyway, it was good experience and much thanks to RC Weslowski and Pam Bentley for making me feel at home and giving me a chance to share my poems with listeners. And thanks Pam for the thrilling ride home on your scooter.

You can listen to it/download the 30min show here. Wax Poetic airs every Wednesday at 2pm on Co-Op Radio 102.7 where there’s a new guest almost every week. Follow their blog here: