ELLEN JAFFE

VIET NAM , August 11, 1966    

11 people die, 187 are wounded

it is a tragedy

because

they are civilian

11 people die, 187 are wounded

it is a victory

because

they are the enemy

11 people die, 187 are wounded

it is an atrocity

because

they are ours

skin off the labels,

taste the darkness beneath

ask a leg if it is civilian

an arm if it is the enemy

an eye if it is ours

Ellen S. Jaffe, published in Crossing Lines: Poets Who Came to Canada in the Vietnam War Era.  Ed. Allan Briesmaster and Steven Michael Berzensky, Seraphim Editions: Hamilton, 2008.

Ellen and Steven talked to Steve Paikin of TVO’s The Agenda about this book in February 2011 as a webcast feature. You can watch the interview, in which Ellen reads this poem, at http://bit.ly/gwR83k

ALBERTO MAGSUCI

A Poem for my son, Aldi

I hold you in my arms

hug you close to my breast

my inner voice whispers

to love you with all of my heart,

this moment of joy I feel

I know it will last.

I've enjoyed life,

I can write prose to a beautiful rose;

paint in canvas with greens and blues

something is missing - a father's longing

for the smile of an innocent

love is  purest at infancy.

Time quickly passes

my hair is now grey

I ask for something

to find the joy that lasts

in what remains of my life

God is great!  

the gift of life

Aldi my son, enters my life

my happiness knows no boundries

bright like the stars shining in the night

the best gift I ever have,

the gift of life with Aldi..

I am old,perhaps I will not see the

day of his maturity

everyday the innocent smile

of my son I always see

which brings out the best in me,

This poem I write

shows the inside of my heart

I will always love him

this happinekss will last till the end of my life.

by: Alberto Magsuci

Nov. 11, 2013

Bahrain

Editor's note: Alberto and his wife live in Bahrain along with their little son Aldi. Here is a picture of their little son.

WILMA SEVILLE

Deported                                                                         

Fifteen years of waiting, living in suspense  

my freedom about to be dashed

the day has arrived – the day I dread

Forced to leave the only home I know

Pounding at the front door vibrates in my head

echoes in my ears, jerks me awake – afraid!

In her sleep, Maadar cries out in Farsi

The banging continues, it will not stop

I cling to my pillow as  a life raft

I am in the sea, surrounded by sharks.

I force my legs to move - to answer the door

Immigration barges in, Maadar awakes,

shrieks and cowers -  terrified –  memories vivid

of Evin Prison in Tehran - torture

Stern faces gaze at us, show no mercy

here to escort us to the plane

shipped back to a country I don’t know

my education in English – not equipped for life

in a country with foreign ways and  tongue.

©WilmaSeville2013

DONNA DESMARTEAUX-GIRARD

 Crossroads

I stumble along, unsteady and unsure, weaving from side to side. Looking back, my footprints mimic the map of some crazy new dance step in the loose dirt covering the unpaved road. The sun beats down, hot and steady, and my shadow weighs a ton. In my left hand I clutch the smooth neck of the near empty bottle, remnants of last night’s mind numbing session. My right hand is empty, consequent of a subtle but progressive tremor. My scattered thoughts are as blurred and woolly as my head feels.

My foot hits cement, jarring my unfocused brain into reaction as I pitch forward, slamming into a brick wall. The Town Hall. As formidable and unyielding as the brick wall surrounding it. It was the first building you happened upon entering this shithole of a town at the end of the dirt road. Clever and insightful planning by the town forefathers and founders. A dead end.

With my back to the wall I slowly, painfully turn my head, looking right. A few steps away, loud slurred voices emanated through the open door of the local pub. Pounding music merged with the sounds of a drunken heated argument, making an indistinguishable cacophony of noise. The stale smell of a thousand cigarettes mingled with the sour stench of unwashed bodies drifted my way, marring the sweet scented breath of wind ruffling my hair. In a rush, my rank cotton-dry mouth watered, craving the liquid relief a cold one would bring.

Suddenly my head snaps to the left at the sound of a car horn blaring down the street. Tall majestic maples line both sides of the street, shading clipped green lawns from the early morning sun. The faint echo of children’s high spirited play floats from the direction of the local park, filling me with a half buried longing. The subtle odor of  bacon cooking tickles my nostrils, stirrings unfamiliar pangs in the pit of my stomach.

- 2 -

My hazy vision catches the vague, distant shadow of a figure walking towards me. I step forward. A flash of recognition momentarily lifts me from my stupor as I focus on the sultry parted lips lifted in an unconsciously sensuous smile. I had forgotten how beautiful he was. I walk towards him, last night’s remedy slipping from my hand and smashing on the cement sidewalk. He clasps my trembling hand in his and pulls me alongside of him, never breaking stride. We walk past the brick wall, where, moments before I had stood rooted in indecision.

We enter the dim, smoke-filled bar, together.



(c)copyrightdonnadesmarteaux-girard 2005


Editor's note:  Donna and her family live in the Laurentian Mountains in the province of Quebec. She is originally from Montreal.

Donna Desmarteaux-Girard

ELLEN S. JAFFE

THE SUMMER THE CAT

The summer before the cat died,

she clumped up and down the stairs,

an old woman with arthritis,

and gave long, longing looks

into the garden.  We took her outside,

let her brush against iris and daffodil,

snooze on the unmowed grass, let her dream

of chasing birds again, and climbing trees.

Then she woke up startled, needing to be loved.

We gave her cheesecake for her birthday,

chicken hearts, and vitamins.

All that summer, we remembered her as a kitten,

the colour of freestone peaches.

We didn’t know she’d live with us for years,

familiar and strange.

Next summer Peaches was dying,

though for months she ate sunshine and rain.

Ellen S. Jaffe

published in Water Children. Hamilton: Mini Mocho Press, 2002.

DUNDAS ART WALK - CARNEGIE GALLERY AND TOWER POETRY SOCIETY

In September, Tower poets were invited to go out to Dundas to pick a picture to write a poem about.  I participated and picked out a lovely picture and wrote a poem.

We got there early enough to go on the art walk which began at 1 p.m.  Jeff Seffinga and Fran Figge were the leaders on this walk and at each store that had exhibited the work, they stopped and read the poetry aloud.  It was very nice indeed to have it read so well.

After the art walk, we all went into the Carnegie Gallery which is now wheelchair accessible with a new elevator. 

Our eyes fell on pottery, jewellery, felt work and art on the walls as we entered this lovely spot.  There was a tea table set up  with several types of tea provided by a local tea shop.   The lady was very gracious as she served this elegant beverage in delicate English tea cups.  The name of the company which provided the tea is Coco Tea, and it is on 63 Main Street in Dundas, Ontario.  Their telephone number is 905-627-7322.

People were encouraged to partake of the light refreshments provided by the Gallery - different types of cheeses, a fruit platter and different types of sweets including shortbread cookies.

The readings started shortly after 2 p.m.

Jeff reading a poet's work on King Street.   Photo credit  Ed Woods

Fran Figge - co-leader of walk    Photo credit Ed Woods

Carnegie Gallery - across the street.   Photo Credit Ed Woods

Art Walk - Jeff reading.  Photo credit Ed Woods

Gaiyle Connally

Valerie Nielsen - past President of Tower

Wilma Seville - past secretary of Tower

Jennifer Tan 

Soraya Erian

Marianne Vespry

Ellen Ryan

Fran Figge

Jeff Seffinga

Jim Tomkins

Ed Woods

The refreshment table - observe the wonderful flowers

WILMA SEVILLE (ArtWalk - Dundas, Ontario)

No artist name was on the picture unfortunately

This picture spoke to me as I love being near the water and just observing nature.

Here is the poem I wrote for this occasion.

Solitude                                                           

Sun rays shimmer on calm waters

cane in hand, I tap my way

walking gingerly down windy pathway

towards the empty wharf and chair

which beacons me to solitude

Setting sun spells peace, harmony

the cry of loons on the lake

eases me, I drink in beauty

Birds rise up, fly in formation

I feel their freedom, unity

as they wing their way and caw

their sound drifting off - they leave

The ghosts of my past come gently

husband, children and  hound dog

all present in my memory

Shouts of long ago resound

my little ones jump off wharf

hound dog follows close after

their father, ever watchful - near

Alone now, husband long dead

grown up children, with children

in other places - far away

solitary, I sit with memories

©copyrightwilmaseville2013      Art Walk Dundas.