I’d forgotten how deeply I was influenced by the poetry of Alden Nowlan until I bought a copy of his collected poems for myself a year or so ago. My shelf is so extensive it’s taken me until this year to start reading it. It is a doorstopper. When asked what Canadian poets influenced me early on I would say Margaret Atwood, Susan Musgrave.
Nowlan’s writing is conversational I guess I didn’t think of him as someone to mention. He didn’t write capital P poetry. I’d read others like Milton Acorn, Al Purdy but they didn’t stick to me the way Nowlan did.
In reading this collection I recognize that my usually conversational style come directly from him. He wrote about ordinary things, cows in a field, the smell of a hospital bed and fashion them into powerful moments. He was also a master of the end line, as I tend to be, that turns what one has just read, on its head to reframe everything.
I also have his CBC recording Alden Nowlan’s Maritimes – in which he reads some of his poetry one one side, the other side is a radio play based on one his short stories. I did meet him once when I was at the University of New Brunswick summer writing workshop. He didn’t lead any workshops but some of us were invited to his home to talk about our poetry. He was most encouraging.
Next to Dylan Thomas there is no greater influence I can think of on my poetic vision.
Arachnologic Romance
what’s that word
you know the one
that you call a kiss
that feels like walking
into a dew jewelled spider web
on a sunny day
while looking in the basement
for that lost sock
you know that word
that kiss
that slip of the tongue
that tip of the tail
wagging excitedly
yet with a vague damp unease
at the same time
wanting to give in
yet feeling it’s all too sudden
too stuck on your face
while one hand reaches up
to brush the spider web off
the other wants to fondle the spider
what is that word
I have to get the right word
for that sensational sensation
also a word for that rapidly
elusive need for the right word
I have to tell you all this
in exactly the right tone of voice
if I don’t
it may never happen again
I may never find that sock
I’ll have to go with one foot bare
on this chilled concrete floor
while other in snug in a sock
trying to balance that tightrope
of grit under one foot
and comfy protection on the other
when did I lose that sock
when did I do laundry last
don’t I have another pair
upstairs in a safe room
in neat rows in a drawer
no it has to be these socks
the ones you like to pull off my feet
with your teeth
you like to undress me
kiss each bared part
my outline in your silver silva
draws me into that web
the bad at the centre
where we devour each other
without a second thought
what about the the other sock
the word has escape me
I thought I had it trapped
like your tongue
held firmly in my grasp
as it slips slides
elusive fleshy fragments
tender mysteries
and all I can think about
is the tender shock of
cobweb on my face
don’t want it to get into my eyes
bad enough
it has caressed my lips
it has a dusty sooty taste
is it hygienic
can I catch insect infection
eating a cobweb
one hand darts up to brush it away
but stops when I see
the spider scuttle away
back into the dark
shocked by the size of this catch
not ready to crawl across my shoulders
the way you do so well
not ready to take the seed
and play it into new shapes
along my stomach
each breath slithering cool trails
laughing at the moment
turning over in the bed
looking for our clothe
time for clean socks
the other must be in the laundry
I’ll be right back
only I’m stuck here
caught in a loss for words
looking for a definition
that will wind you around me forever
every Tuesday 2019
June – Capturing Fire 2019 – Washington D.C. 
capfireslam.org
August 2-13: getting back to my roots in Cape Breton 
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Hey! Or you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy coffee in Washington at 2020’s capfireslam.org – sweet, eh? paypal.me/TOpoet
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