Jessica Moore’s debut collection of poetry Everything, now (Brick Books, 2012) is part lyric, part memoir, and describes the untimely death of Moore’s lover in a bicycle accident, and the journey of going on alone. Moore’s book is more than a factual account of the accident, but a moving testament of how she has managed to gracefully counterbalance the emotions of a remarkable love story ending so suddenly and in the blink of an eye the process of grieving begins.
Moore is a writer and translator living in Toronto, Ontario. Her poems and translations have appeared in many literary journals including Arc, CV2, The Antigonish Review, Cenizo and The Literary Review. Her translation of Jean-Francois Beauchemin’s Turkana Boy was published in the spring of 2012 by Talonbooks. She also writes songs and plays the banjo in her band, Charms, whose self-titled album was released in 2010.
The official launch for Everything, now will take place on October 11, 2012 at the Monarch Tavern (12 Clinton Street) in Toronto at 7 pm.
Poetry from Jessica Moore’s Everything, now -
Seabirds
“Were the mornings moored to sparrowhawks?”
You came with me first to Tulum, green sea,
the cabana we rented was a thin forest, sun landing
on the sand floor between brown branches of walls
and the palm leaves dry overhead,
the bed sprung full and hard,
mosquitoes at night.
Afternoons we loved best,
we loved.
A woman spied us
from outside, through the gaps.
I hung up a blanket and
came back to you.
Everything, now, becomes a letter to you.
The sun on this spider’s web,
the mornings moored to seabirds.
West
It is a lull, your death,
a hush
unholy, holy,
horrifying.
I can’t just begin again.
A voice tells me to move,
just keep moving,
so I’ve come to the west
and here, far away, long hot days,
I can begin to believe you are waiting for me -
and imagine the small tender things I’ll say
when I get back.
I’ll tell you
about the phosphorescence, how the sea
was like the sky, when I’m cradled
again
between your chest and your arm
in the soft crook
of your shoulder
Red devil
I am climbing this dark
mountain -
all its edges call
for me to fall and keep falling.
That red devil death
scuttles close behind.
I hear the clatter of his papier-mache skeleton
jostling, like hooves on hollow rock!
Then suddenly – up ahead (how
does he do it, that devil?) -
he vaults from atop a rock
slinging his limbs and grinning at me
(that ghastly painted grin),
I seize his leg and swing – so hard!
His glue-and-paper head smashes on the ground
again and again -
but I cannot break him.
I cannot kill that devil death.
If you could see me, you would laugh, not unkind,
at me with such determination creasing my brow.
Laugh-lines I loved fanning from the edges of your eyes.
“Were the mornings moored to sparrowhawks?”
You came with me first to Tulum, green sea,
the cabana we rented was a thin forest, sun landing
on the sand floor between brown branches of walls
and the palm leaves dry overhead,
the bed sprung full and hard,
mosquitoes at night.
Afternoons we loved best,
we loved.
A woman spied us
from outside, through the gaps.
I hung up a blanket and
came back to you.
Everything, now, becomes a letter to you.
The sun on this spider’s web,
the mornings moored to seabirds.
West
It is a lull, your death,
a hush
unholy, holy,
horrifying.
I can’t just begin again.
A voice tells me to move,
just keep moving,
so I’ve come to the west
and here, far away, long hot days,
I can begin to believe you are waiting for me -
and imagine the small tender things I’ll say
when I get back.
I’ll tell you
about the phosphorescence, how the sea
was like the sky, when I’m cradled
again
between your chest and your arm
in the soft crook
of your shoulder
Red devil
I am climbing this dark
mountain -
all its edges call
for me to fall and keep falling.
That red devil death
scuttles close behind.
I hear the clatter of his papier-mache skeleton
jostling, like hooves on hollow rock!
Then suddenly – up ahead (how
does he do it, that devil?) -
he vaults from atop a rock
slinging his limbs and grinning at me
(that ghastly painted grin),
I seize his leg and swing – so hard!
His glue-and-paper head smashes on the ground
again and again -
but I cannot break him.
I cannot kill that devil death.
If you could see me, you would laugh, not unkind,
at me with such determination creasing my brow.
Laugh-lines I loved fanning from the edges of your eyes.
TTQ – Everything, now (Brick Books, 2012) describes the untimely death of
your lover, Galen and your journey of going on alone. In reading the book, I
gathered that you were in many ways apprehensive about writing Everything,
now, so at what point in time did you decide to write the book and did it prove to be at all cathartic or therapeutic for you?
Jessica Moore – In some ways the writing of Everything, now didn't feel like a decision - I was compelled to write (although I did resist it) and keep writing what was, in many ways, a letter to Galen all along. It began the moment I opened my writing book on the day after he died. Writing was one way of continuing to be in communion with him.
Many of the pieces were inspired when I began to translate Turkana Boy as part of my Master's thesis. Then I had the skeleton of another work around which to structure my pieces, and also the deadlines of my program; then I was propelled by another force outside of myself and my own loss. I was so moved by Jean-François Beauchemin's work, and so inspired by the wonder contained in the story and the marvelous questions - which gained a new sparkle for me in translation - that I was inspired to write in response. Once the thesis was finished, I really began to see the two works - Turkana Boy and Everything, now - as needing to have distinct destinies. And the work that has become Everything, now began to take shape.
TTQ – Talk a bit about Galen. What was he like as a person and what was he most passionate about in life? At what point did the love end and grief begin for you or are they one in the same thing when one is faced with losing a lover so suddenly?
Jessica Moore – Galen was a quiet man who was not afraid to speak his mind; a calm soul fuelled by great bursts of inspiration - every time he exclaimed, "I have an idea!" that spark shone through. His work and his art was photography. He delighted in seeing and framing 'ordinary' things in a particular way that often allowed absurdity to come to the surface. He had great patience, and loved to enter into long conversations about ideas and art; he was game for most any occasion or invitation (and was also quite clear about when it was time to leave). I had never met anyone else who was so grounded within himself. He had within him a deep well of focus and intent.
But he was not, by any means, all seriousness! The appreciation of absurdity found its way into his humour and play, and he loved to play - he had an amazing gang of friends who were drawn together, I think, because of this shared love of creating and laughing and being absurd in this wild life we come to. Together they built amazing structures and evenings around music, good food, dancing, bicycles, and beer; and were, it seems, as much at home in the quiet woods as in the city.
Perhaps to speak to the last part of the question, I'll cite a passage from the book: “Many nights I lay awake willing that joy to enter me, and finally it would come: warm knowing tingling through my blood like stars. In those moments I was wild with happiness – but even the time it takes to write that sentence makes this not wholly true, because the very moment I felt it flood through me I was rocked by a sadness just as deep, and it became such that the sadness was the vessel, the ocean floor, and the love was the water that filled it.”
My love and my grief for Galen certainly became deeply intertwined after I lost him.
TTQ – What things have you learned about yourself after experiencing such a horrible tragedy and then writing about it in, Everything, now?
Jessica Moore – I suppose I've learned that I am a slow creator... and I'm continually learning to be okay with that. Seven years ago in Montreal I made a friend who calls himself "l'éditeur lent" - the slow editor - and I couldn't at first understand why you might profess this trait proudly, but it resonates with me more now, and perhaps resonates with the kind of good living I seek - a pace that's slow enough to allow me to absorb these moments of being.
I could say, too, that through the experience of losing Galen, and through the writing of this book, I've learned (or affirmed) that I am not one to close the door on deep feeling.
TTQ – Your translation of Jean-Francois Beauchemin's Turkana Boy was published in the spring of 2012 by Talonbooks. Portions of his poetry can also be found throughout Everything, now. How much of an influence has Beauchemin’s poetry been on your own writing and how difficult was the process of translating his work? Will you be translating more of his work in the future?
Jessica Moore – I began searching for a book I loved enough to translate when I was in my second year of the Master's program, just over a year after Galen died. The grieving was still very strong and I was drawn immediately to Turkana Boy - because it contains such wonder in the midst of sadness. Questions so evocative of spirit. The surreal metaphors and images, the elusive concepts - these were challenging to translate, certainly, but in a deeply satisfying way - a deeply poetic way. The struggle was enjoyable because it wakened my poetic sensibility, as well as another part of my mind - the part that loves puzzles, and fitting things, words, together just so - or arranging them, as I used to love to arrange the spices in my mum's cupboard.
The first of the phrases that sang to me in Turkana Boy ("Was the soul, then, a sky tangled in every person?") was a clear spark for me to respond. Other passages followed easily. And threads of Turkana Boy are all the way through Everything, now, because I was working on them simultaneously. So the influence was tremendous, and both translating and responding were deeply creative acts for me.
Jean-François has eight other works in print, none of which have been translated; I would particularly love to translate his recent book, La fabrication de l'aube, which is an autobiographical text about his close encounter with death in 2006.
TTQ – Not only are you a poet, but you also play the banjo in a band called, Charms, releasing an album in 2010. When did you start playing music and writing songs, and how similar has the process of writing lyrics to writing poetry been for you? Would you consider yourself to be a musician first and is that what you're most passionate about?
Jessica Moore – Yes, Charms (my duo with Gabe Levine) released a self-titled album in 2010; and I'm in the exciting final stages of mixing for my first solo album right now. I played the piano as a child, and learned guitar in high school, which is when I started to write songs; then when I lived inMontreal
The process of writing songs is quite different for me from the process of writing poems, though I could say that both often begin with a rhythm - a thought rhythm, or a felt rhythm, such as when I'm traveling by train. The shape of a song is quite different from the shape of a poem for me - more tied to rhyme, and sometimes more simple or direct.
I would never be able to choose, I feel, between being a musician and being a writer. And so far, fortunately, I haven't had to.
Jessica Moore – In some ways the writing of Everything, now didn't feel like a decision - I was compelled to write (although I did resist it) and keep writing what was, in many ways, a letter to Galen all along. It began the moment I opened my writing book on the day after he died. Writing was one way of continuing to be in communion with him.
Many of the pieces were inspired when I began to translate Turkana Boy as part of my Master's thesis. Then I had the skeleton of another work around which to structure my pieces, and also the deadlines of my program; then I was propelled by another force outside of myself and my own loss. I was so moved by Jean-François Beauchemin's work, and so inspired by the wonder contained in the story and the marvelous questions - which gained a new sparkle for me in translation - that I was inspired to write in response. Once the thesis was finished, I really began to see the two works - Turkana Boy and Everything, now - as needing to have distinct destinies. And the work that has become Everything, now began to take shape.
TTQ – Talk a bit about Galen. What was he like as a person and what was he most passionate about in life? At what point did the love end and grief begin for you or are they one in the same thing when one is faced with losing a lover so suddenly?
Jessica Moore – Galen was a quiet man who was not afraid to speak his mind; a calm soul fuelled by great bursts of inspiration - every time he exclaimed, "I have an idea!" that spark shone through. His work and his art was photography. He delighted in seeing and framing 'ordinary' things in a particular way that often allowed absurdity to come to the surface. He had great patience, and loved to enter into long conversations about ideas and art; he was game for most any occasion or invitation (and was also quite clear about when it was time to leave). I had never met anyone else who was so grounded within himself. He had within him a deep well of focus and intent.
But he was not, by any means, all seriousness! The appreciation of absurdity found its way into his humour and play, and he loved to play - he had an amazing gang of friends who were drawn together, I think, because of this shared love of creating and laughing and being absurd in this wild life we come to. Together they built amazing structures and evenings around music, good food, dancing, bicycles, and beer; and were, it seems, as much at home in the quiet woods as in the city.
Perhaps to speak to the last part of the question, I'll cite a passage from the book: “Many nights I lay awake willing that joy to enter me, and finally it would come: warm knowing tingling through my blood like stars. In those moments I was wild with happiness – but even the time it takes to write that sentence makes this not wholly true, because the very moment I felt it flood through me I was rocked by a sadness just as deep, and it became such that the sadness was the vessel, the ocean floor, and the love was the water that filled it.”
My love and my grief for Galen certainly became deeply intertwined after I lost him.
TTQ – What things have you learned about yourself after experiencing such a horrible tragedy and then writing about it in, Everything, now?
Jessica Moore – I suppose I've learned that I am a slow creator... and I'm continually learning to be okay with that. Seven years ago in Montreal I made a friend who calls himself "l'éditeur lent" - the slow editor - and I couldn't at first understand why you might profess this trait proudly, but it resonates with me more now, and perhaps resonates with the kind of good living I seek - a pace that's slow enough to allow me to absorb these moments of being.
I could say, too, that through the experience of losing Galen, and through the writing of this book, I've learned (or affirmed) that I am not one to close the door on deep feeling.
TTQ – Your translation of Jean-Francois Beauchemin's Turkana Boy was published in the spring of 2012 by Talonbooks. Portions of his poetry can also be found throughout Everything, now. How much of an influence has Beauchemin’s poetry been on your own writing and how difficult was the process of translating his work? Will you be translating more of his work in the future?
Jessica Moore – I began searching for a book I loved enough to translate when I was in my second year of the Master's program, just over a year after Galen died. The grieving was still very strong and I was drawn immediately to Turkana Boy - because it contains such wonder in the midst of sadness. Questions so evocative of spirit. The surreal metaphors and images, the elusive concepts - these were challenging to translate, certainly, but in a deeply satisfying way - a deeply poetic way. The struggle was enjoyable because it wakened my poetic sensibility, as well as another part of my mind - the part that loves puzzles, and fitting things, words, together just so - or arranging them, as I used to love to arrange the spices in my mum's cupboard.
The first of the phrases that sang to me in Turkana Boy ("Was the soul, then, a sky tangled in every person?") was a clear spark for me to respond. Other passages followed easily. And threads of Turkana Boy are all the way through Everything, now, because I was working on them simultaneously. So the influence was tremendous, and both translating and responding were deeply creative acts for me.
Jean-François has eight other works in print, none of which have been translated; I would particularly love to translate his recent book, La fabrication de l'aube, which is an autobiographical text about his close encounter with death in 2006.
TTQ – Not only are you a poet, but you also play the banjo in a band called, Charms, releasing an album in 2010. When did you start playing music and writing songs, and how similar has the process of writing lyrics to writing poetry been for you? Would you consider yourself to be a musician first and is that what you're most passionate about?
Jessica Moore – Yes, Charms (my duo with Gabe Levine) released a self-titled album in 2010; and I'm in the exciting final stages of mixing for my first solo album right now. I played the piano as a child, and learned guitar in high school, which is when I started to write songs; then when I lived in
The process of writing songs is quite different for me from the process of writing poems, though I could say that both often begin with a rhythm - a thought rhythm, or a felt rhythm, such as when I'm traveling by train. The shape of a song is quite different from the shape of a poem for me - more tied to rhyme, and sometimes more simple or direct.
I would never be able to choose, I feel, between being a musician and being a writer. And so far, fortunately, I haven't had to.
2 comments:
Don't worry about the speed. "I cannot kill that devil death" is a good line.
That's the best book title in quite some time....
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