Month: November 2014

It can’t be an accident that modern busses are so bloody awful. It has to be by design, but who’s behind it and why does the TTC buy these bone-jarring rattletraps? I can never get through a ride without bruises. The whole interior is pipes and poles and hard-cornered seat frames. Knee-banger seat backs work well with the cramped legroom.
Lowrise floors are supposed to ease entry at the front, but at the back you have to climb on top of the back wheels, up two steep, steel-edged steps. Want to see if there’s another bus behind, now that yours is being short-turned? Gotcha! The back window is blacked out!
I just learned that TTC is an acronym for Trying To Conceive. Google it, you’ll see. It doesn’t stand for Toronto Transit Commission anymore. We’re supposed to feel screwed.

Regrettably, we lost track of dear old Dad somewhere along the line, but that’s another story. This one is about a young constable, not even finished training at RCMP headquarters in Regina. Probably 1940. I like to think that Dad is the least scary looking one. That’s him, on the right.
I found this in an album while looking for something else. A previously unknown “Helen Andersen” has been discovered and I was researching it. Constable Bob, above, was Helen’s first husband and my father.
More about the found artwork, later.

Literally a peek inside the new artists collaboration at 1475 Gerrard Street East. It wasn’t open when I pressed my camera to the glass.
The Space looks a little less spacious than the previous location a couple of blocks west, at least in width, but it seems perfectly serviceable for gallery hangings and it’s definitely spiffier. I’ll return when there’s someone there and learn what’s new. The Gerrard India Bazaar strip is revitalizing and the new stores are not all Indian or Pakistani. Don’t worry, though. The subcontinental restaurants, kitchenware, fabric and food stores are all still there.

The advantages of ignoring the commercial product known as TV and Radio “News” are many. I have been avoiding the hype for a couple of weeks and I like it.
There was a time when keeping up with the news was a responsible thing to do, but in today’s saturated environment, it’s almost impossible NOT to hear every message that is fired at us. If I can actually avoid a message, friends are happy to find someone that they can tell about it.

Here, for no particular reason, is a comparison of the maple leaf colours of trees in our yard. The red-leafed tree in the front yard is still a skinny little thing. In the back yard, the yellow-leafed tree is probably as old as I am.
The leaves are just as the scanner saw them … no colour adjustments.

Come Rain, Come Shine
The Last Poems of Raymond Souster
Donna Dunlop, Editor
Contact Press
Printed in Canada by Asquith Press, 2014
Email contact: donna.dunlop@utoronto.ca

 
Naturally, there are many poems about death and loss and poor health and medical treatment. These are interspersed with sensitive, beautiful pieces about small pleasures and deep loves.
Is the “she”, whom he adores, one particular woman? I think so. His tender appreciations of her touch and her affection are moving. When he contemplates how her loss would destroy him, I am convinced. But “she” is universal, too, because the feelings Souster conveys are recognizable to any man.
The collection is not all profound themes and hard-won wisdom, though. There are some fine jabs at politicians in general and at the Ford brothers in particular. Human stupidity gets some knocks. Working class causes are defended and honoured.
Most of all, this very good collection builds a picture of an end-of-life seesaw that arcs through despair, resignation, opinion, recollection and love, pivoting on the poet’s courage to face oblivion without giving in to it before time is up. Raymond Souster dictated his last poem on October 5th, 2012. He died on the 19th at the age of 91.