Friday, November 27, 2009


gg night in toronto, babineau dunne drumbolis huisken woods
A night memorializing Gerry Gilbert and with him poetry traditions new and strange of the last 50 years. A very gentle form of past life regression? How does one know when to believe what? When one knows is when one knows. Arriving a bit late and with shoulders and sinews of the workday and heat, stayed outside watching a while. Victor Coleman, at his most gracious in a long while, gave much discussion and reading to the bookstore filling gathering, and was at his best, the subtle mind at work, (thinks so well on his feet, always has). Charlie Huisken stood and spoke and read aloud an essay/memorial. Dwight Chalmers, a jazz trumpetter, performed terrifically Jamie Reid’s “A few facts about Gerry Gilbert” (the hit of the night really, such a good piece and so lively there. Nick Drumbolis came to the front and discussed. He and Jay MillAr had sped off back to his place to gather more books, and gave them out in midst of a really quite conclusive discussion of the unchartable, the unorganizable, the unfathomable endlessness of the productive poet, & the so called THIRDWAVE OF MODERNISM that BLEW THE DOORS OFF (oh to correctly have the exact phrasing… but the whole story of the vast outback of poetry, the almost infinite supplementary. I agree entirely. Consider:

The experience of poetry is open to all. The zenith thrills and joys of poetry consist at least some of the time in content. Which occurs naturally in the world. What aging couple or widow or lifelong single man or woman sitting off the back porch or hill of their most comfortable place ultimately in the world on a friday evening perhaps seeing a particular blend of light isn’t experiencing poetry? How codify or enshrine or footnote such a vast columny of poetry? Multiply that by obsessive poetry hounds chasing poetry all through their 24 hours? And then add caligraphy, graffiti, micropress, giftings and talking out loud? How map or KNOW or partend the diversity?

Wonderful to hear of the third wave of modernism and to gather so sublimely and leave the unknown to be the unknown.

John Barlow

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