Back in October, 2006 Rattling Books ran a Translation Contest in Iceland. We invited translations of the poem When I Married Halldór Laxness by Newfoundland writer Agnes Walsh. The winning entry, selected by Ingibjörg Haraldsdóttir, was a translation by Adalsteinn Ingolfsson. On this last day of Poetry Month 2007 we are delighted to share it with you here.
ÞEGAR ÉG GIFTIST HALLDÓRI LAXNESS, LJÓÐ EFTIR AGNESI WALSH
Þegar ég giftist Halldóri Laxness (tileinkað Sam B.)
Ég horfði á froðuna skreppa saman og gulan mjöðinn mæta henni til hálfs. Ég hallaði glasinu, það valt um og vökvinn rann yfir ellistirt hné hans. Ég leit undan en baðst ekki forláts. Með fallegum beinaberum fingrum buskaði hann frá sér froðunni í aðskiljanlegum ögnum, sem væri hún kusk séð um síðir fyrir einskæra tilviljun.
Nú veltur ákvörðunin á þér.
Hann neri miðinum inn í buxnaskálmina. Ég varpaði öndinni. Báðir valkostir voru banvænir.
Ætlarðu að dandalast í þessu landi ljósvakans til eilífðarnóns?
Já.
Jafnvel þótt ég hengdi þig upp á hárinu?
Jafnvel þótt ég hellti upp í þig sjóðheitu vatni?
Jafnvel þótt ég gerði þér indjánatjald úr birkihríslum?
Sjáðu mig.
Nei.
Hann lét sig hverfa.
Kvöldið eftir hringdi síminn.
Ég skal hitta þig á mótum Jökulbrúnar og Kompáss. Ég verð að geta treyst á þig.
Ég verð þarna í þrjú kvöld í röð.
Þrjú kvöld í röð var ég á stanslausum en árangurslausum þeytingi milli staða.
Föstudagskvöldið hringdi dyrabjallan. Hann rétti mér tvær bækur eftir Aksel Sandemose. Ég lagði fingur mína á hlý fingraför hans á efri bókinni og lokaði hurðinni. Ég las og beið.
(Í flóðbylgju gekk kona glugga á milli með kerti í hendi meðan hús hennar barst út á flóann. Henni var bjargað í St. Lawrence.)
Þegar þú ert reiðubúin, ef þú verður það nokkurn tímann, skaltu kveikja á eigin kerti.
Tveimur árum síðar hélt ég skjálfandi hendi á eldspýtunni. Hár hans hafði gránað við kollvikin og hann stakk feimnislega við fæti.
To read the original English text of When I Married Halldór Laxness click here.
To hear Agnes Walsh reading the poem in the original English you can purchase a download of In the Old Country of My Heart by Agnes Walsh from Rattling Books online or get the CD from Freds Records.
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Monday, April 30, 2018
Saturday, April 28, 2018
Poem: not man's time from The Grey Islands by John Steffler
not man's time here.
sun's time.
rock's time.
I begin to feel it.
days blink by - light
and cold flowing over - tide
breathing smoothly, evenly, I
slip between half-seconds, flash
light-beam pinball-style, do
ten thousand vanishing things
in a breath.
This poem is from The Grey Islands by John Steffler. Originally published in print form by McClelland and Stewart (1985); Brick Books (2000). The unabridged audiobook edition of The Grey Islands is narrated (in order of appearance) by John Steffler, Frank Holden, Janis Spence, Deidre Gillard-Rowlings and Darryl Hopkins with island soundscapes recorded off the coast of Newfoundland.
You can purchase downloads of Rattling Books audiobooks online or physical CDs from Fred's Records in St. John's, Newfoundland (or by mail order).
sun's time.
rock's time.
I begin to feel it.
days blink by - light
and cold flowing over - tide
breathing smoothly, evenly, I
slip between half-seconds, flash
light-beam pinball-style, do
ten thousand vanishing things
in a breath.
This poem is from The Grey Islands by John Steffler. Originally published in print form by McClelland and Stewart (1985); Brick Books (2000). The unabridged audiobook edition of The Grey Islands is narrated (in order of appearance) by John Steffler, Frank Holden, Janis Spence, Deidre Gillard-Rowlings and Darryl Hopkins with island soundscapes recorded off the coast of Newfoundland.
You can purchase downloads of Rattling Books audiobooks online or physical CDs from Fred's Records in St. John's, Newfoundland (or by mail order).
Thursday, April 26, 2018
Monday, April 23, 2018
Poem: She loved him with a fierce appetite from Coasting Trade by Robin McGrath
She loved him with a fierce appetite
She loved him with a fierce appetite
Patting and prodding his flesh
Like a reliable, well-trained chef
And once, while they embraced,
She pinched the tender meat behind his hip,
Said “If we were stranded on a desert island,
And I had to eat you,
This is where I would begin.”
Over the years she tasted every part of him,
Sleepily chewed the lobes of his ears
In bed in his arms on cold winter mornings,
Licked the jam from his fingers at breakfast,
Then nibbled the tips to still her hunger,
And often she told him he was so sweet
That she could eat him alive.
When he died she
Feasted for the last time,
Spit up bones and hair like an owl pellet
And slept with it under her pillow for luck.
The above poem is from the audio collection Coasting Trade: a Performance for three voices with soundscapes, from Rattling Books.
Coasting Trade is the product of a collaboration between author Robin McGrath, radio producer Chris Brookes and actors Robert Joy, Rick Boland and Anita Best. It follows the voyage of a Yankee trading schooner, circumnavigating the island of Newfoundland sometime after 1865. As the vessel puts in at various ports, lyrical narratives weave back and forth through a century of change while the 19th century sailing notes adapted from Sailing Directions for the Island of Newfoundland by J.S. Hobbes (1865) remain timeless.
Rattling Books' audiobooks are available online as digital downloads or as CDs instore or mail order from Fred's Records, St. John's, Newfoundland and Labrador.
She loved him with a fierce appetite
Patting and prodding his flesh
Like a reliable, well-trained chef
And once, while they embraced,
She pinched the tender meat behind his hip,
Said “If we were stranded on a desert island,
And I had to eat you,
This is where I would begin.”
Over the years she tasted every part of him,
Sleepily chewed the lobes of his ears
In bed in his arms on cold winter mornings,
Licked the jam from his fingers at breakfast,
Then nibbled the tips to still her hunger,
And often she told him he was so sweet
That she could eat him alive.
When he died she
Feasted for the last time,
Spit up bones and hair like an owl pellet
And slept with it under her pillow for luck.
The above poem is from the audio collection Coasting Trade: a Performance for three voices with soundscapes, from Rattling Books.
Coasting Trade is the product of a collaboration between author Robin McGrath, radio producer Chris Brookes and actors Robert Joy, Rick Boland and Anita Best. It follows the voyage of a Yankee trading schooner, circumnavigating the island of Newfoundland sometime after 1865. As the vessel puts in at various ports, lyrical narratives weave back and forth through a century of change while the 19th century sailing notes adapted from Sailing Directions for the Island of Newfoundland by J.S. Hobbes (1865) remain timeless.
Rattling Books' audiobooks are available online as digital downloads or as CDs instore or mail order from Fred's Records, St. John's, Newfoundland and Labrador.
Tuesday, April 17, 2018
Poem: Making the Fish by Michael Crummey
Making the Fish
Once you'd got the catch pitched up on the stage head, you got down to making the fish. Assembly line. Cutting table, blades of the knives pared almost to nothing by the sharpening stone. Woolen gloves soaked in fish guts, the water running red out of them when you make a fist. The cod passing through your hands llike knots in an unbroken string as long as the sea is wide.
Cut Throat
Get your fingers into the gills of a cod and lift it to the table, 15, 20 pounds some of them and the ache in your arm after three hours like the chill in a church hall on a February morning. Two motions with the knife, across the throat below the gills anad along the bare length of the belly, like a Catholic crossing himself before a meal. Push the fish along the table, the left hand of the man beside you reaching for it, he doesn't even turn his head in your direction.
Get your fingers in the gills of a cod and lift it to the table.
Header
The open body, the knife in your right hand. The head taken off clean, as if you were castrating a young bull. The liver scalloped from the chest and pushed into the oil barrel, left there to ferment like fruit going bad. The tangle of guts lifted clear, the cod flesh pulled from beneath, a body freed from a messy accident. Organs and offal dropped through a hole in the cutting table to the salt water beneath the stage.
The gulls screaming outside, fighting over blood.
Splitter
A good splitter could clear his way through 5 or 6 quintals an hour if the fish were a decent size, a full boat load done in three and out to the traps for more. Two cuts down each side of the sound bone, curved keel of the spine pulled clear and the cod splayed like a man about to be crucified. Dropped off the cutting table into the water of the puncheon tub, the next fish in your hands. Two cuts down each side, sound bone pulled clear, splayed cod dropped into the puncheon tub. Two cuts, sound bone pulled clear, cod into the tub. Two cuts, pull, into the tub.
By nine o'clock it is too dark to see properly, eyes as tender as skin soaked too long in salt water. The wicks are lit in bowls of kerosene: oily flame, spiralling spine of black smoke.
Salter
Empty wooden wheelbarrow set beside the puncheon tub, the flat, triangular sheets of fish meat hefted from the elbow-deep water.
Dead weight of the loaded barrow a strain on the shoulders, the bones shifting down in their sockets, the tendons stretching to hold them as the feet shuffle into the store house. A hogshead of salt beside the bins, a handful strown across the white insides of each fish before they're stacked. Weight of the pile squeezing water from the flesh.
Turn with the emptied barrow. Squeak of the wheel, squish of feet soaked inside the rubber boots. Arm fishing into the puncheon tub, elbow numb with the cold.
The Bawn
Wait for a fine day in August. Sweep a stretch of beach clear, put stones down over any patch of grass that might spoil the fish.
The salt cod taken from the bins and washed by hand in puncheon tubs, front and back, like a child about to be presented to royalty, the white scum scrubbed off the dark layer of skin. Carried to the bawn on fish bars and laid out neatly in sunlight, 150 quintals at a time, the length of the shoreline like a well-shingled roof.
Two fine days would finish the job, a week and a half to cure the season's catch. The merchant's ship arriving in September, anchoring off in the Tickle; the cured cod loaded into the boat and ferried out.
What it Made
You could expect $2 a quintal for your trouble, a good season for a crew was 400 quintals. anything more was an act of God. The Skipper took half a voyage, out of which he paid the girl her summer's wage, and squared up with the merchant for supplies taken on credit in the spring. The rest was split three ways. $130 for four months of work, it could cut the heart out of a man to think too much about what he was working for.
This poem appears in the collection Hard Light by Michael Crummey, printed by Brick Books. A selection from the book, 32 Little Stories, of which this poem is a part, was recorded by Rattling Books. Hard Light: 32 Little Stories by Michael Crummey, narrated by the author, Ron Hynes and Deidre Gillard-Rowlings is available as a digital download from Rattling Books.
The audiobook CD is available from Freds Records in St. John's, Newfoundland.
Once you'd got the catch pitched up on the stage head, you got down to making the fish. Assembly line. Cutting table, blades of the knives pared almost to nothing by the sharpening stone. Woolen gloves soaked in fish guts, the water running red out of them when you make a fist. The cod passing through your hands llike knots in an unbroken string as long as the sea is wide.
Cut Throat
Get your fingers into the gills of a cod and lift it to the table, 15, 20 pounds some of them and the ache in your arm after three hours like the chill in a church hall on a February morning. Two motions with the knife, across the throat below the gills anad along the bare length of the belly, like a Catholic crossing himself before a meal. Push the fish along the table, the left hand of the man beside you reaching for it, he doesn't even turn his head in your direction.
Get your fingers in the gills of a cod and lift it to the table.
Header
The open body, the knife in your right hand. The head taken off clean, as if you were castrating a young bull. The liver scalloped from the chest and pushed into the oil barrel, left there to ferment like fruit going bad. The tangle of guts lifted clear, the cod flesh pulled from beneath, a body freed from a messy accident. Organs and offal dropped through a hole in the cutting table to the salt water beneath the stage.
The gulls screaming outside, fighting over blood.
Splitter
A good splitter could clear his way through 5 or 6 quintals an hour if the fish were a decent size, a full boat load done in three and out to the traps for more. Two cuts down each side of the sound bone, curved keel of the spine pulled clear and the cod splayed like a man about to be crucified. Dropped off the cutting table into the water of the puncheon tub, the next fish in your hands. Two cuts down each side, sound bone pulled clear, splayed cod dropped into the puncheon tub. Two cuts, sound bone pulled clear, cod into the tub. Two cuts, pull, into the tub.
By nine o'clock it is too dark to see properly, eyes as tender as skin soaked too long in salt water. The wicks are lit in bowls of kerosene: oily flame, spiralling spine of black smoke.
Salter
Empty wooden wheelbarrow set beside the puncheon tub, the flat, triangular sheets of fish meat hefted from the elbow-deep water.
Dead weight of the loaded barrow a strain on the shoulders, the bones shifting down in their sockets, the tendons stretching to hold them as the feet shuffle into the store house. A hogshead of salt beside the bins, a handful strown across the white insides of each fish before they're stacked. Weight of the pile squeezing water from the flesh.
Turn with the emptied barrow. Squeak of the wheel, squish of feet soaked inside the rubber boots. Arm fishing into the puncheon tub, elbow numb with the cold.
The Bawn
Wait for a fine day in August. Sweep a stretch of beach clear, put stones down over any patch of grass that might spoil the fish.
The salt cod taken from the bins and washed by hand in puncheon tubs, front and back, like a child about to be presented to royalty, the white scum scrubbed off the dark layer of skin. Carried to the bawn on fish bars and laid out neatly in sunlight, 150 quintals at a time, the length of the shoreline like a well-shingled roof.
Two fine days would finish the job, a week and a half to cure the season's catch. The merchant's ship arriving in September, anchoring off in the Tickle; the cured cod loaded into the boat and ferried out.
What it Made
You could expect $2 a quintal for your trouble, a good season for a crew was 400 quintals. anything more was an act of God. The Skipper took half a voyage, out of which he paid the girl her summer's wage, and squared up with the merchant for supplies taken on credit in the spring. The rest was split three ways. $130 for four months of work, it could cut the heart out of a man to think too much about what he was working for.
This poem appears in the collection Hard Light by Michael Crummey, printed by Brick Books. A selection from the book, 32 Little Stories, of which this poem is a part, was recorded by Rattling Books. Hard Light: 32 Little Stories by Michael Crummey, narrated by the author, Ron Hynes and Deidre Gillard-Rowlings is available as a digital download from Rattling Books.
The audiobook CD is available from Freds Records in St. John's, Newfoundland.
Sunday, April 08, 2018
Poem: Close-up on a Sharp-Shinned Hawk by Don McKay
CLOSE-UP ON A SHARP-SHINNED HAWK
Concentrate upon her attributes:
the accipiter's short
roundish wings, streaked breast, talons fine
and slender as the x-ray of a baby's hand.
The eyes (yellow in this hatchling
later deepening to orange then
blood red) can spot
a sparrow at four hundred metres and impose
silence like an overwhelming noise
to which you must not listen.
Suddenly, if you're not careful, everything
goes celluloid and slow
and threatens to burn through and you
must focus quickly on the simple metal band around her leg
by which she's married to our need to know.
This poem is among those selected by Don McKay for his audiobook release with Rattling Books: Songs for the Songs of Birds.
Presently the digital download is 30% off for Poetry Month.
The Audiobook CD is available from Fred's Records in St. John's, Newfoundland.
Concentrate upon her attributes:
the accipiter's short
roundish wings, streaked breast, talons fine
and slender as the x-ray of a baby's hand.
The eyes (yellow in this hatchling
later deepening to orange then
blood red) can spot
a sparrow at four hundred metres and impose
silence like an overwhelming noise
to which you must not listen.
Suddenly, if you're not careful, everything
goes celluloid and slow
and threatens to burn through and youmust focus quickly on the simple metal band around her leg
by which she's married to our need to know.
This poem is among those selected by Don McKay for his audiobook release with Rattling Books: Songs for the Songs of Birds.
Presently the digital download is 30% off for Poetry Month.
The Audiobook CD is available from Fred's Records in St. John's, Newfoundland.
Thursday, April 05, 2018
Newfoundland Poems for Poetry Month : Percy Janes Boarding the Bus by Agnes Walsh
Percy Janes Boarding the Bus
a poem by Agnes Walsh
I was going to the Mall for a kettle
waiting on the number five,
when the number something-or-other
pulled up.
I was looking past it for mine,
when I saw him, an arm raised,
running softly.
I jumped to life, beat on the bus door,
siad to the driver: "Mr. Janes.
Mr. Percy Janes wants to get on."
He raised a "So what?" eyebrow.
Mr. Janes straightened his astrakhan hat,
mumbled thank you and stepped up.
As the bus rumbled on
I continued under my breath:
"Ladies and gentleman, Mr. Percy Janes,
Newfoundland writer, poet,
just boarded the number something-or-other."
If this was Portugal,
a plaque would be placed
over the seat where he sat.
As it is, you have me
mumbling in the street
like a tourist in my own country.
This poem appears in the audiobook poetry collection produced by Rattling Books entitled In the Old Country of My Heart by Agnes Walsh. Available online as a digital download and 30% off during April, National Poetry Month. Also available as a hard copy CD from Fred's Records, St. John's Newfoundland.
Tuesday, April 03, 2018
Poem: Yet by Mary Dalton, from Merrybegot
YetMoll doll his chin;
Her hair birch-
Broom-in-the-fits;
Chalk and cheese, they said;
Cradle and grave,
They said;
Yet-
You could smell
The smouldering, sparry,
Whenever they met.
This poem appears in the collection of poems by Mary Dalton entitled Merrybegot. The audiobook edition of Merrybegot published by Rattling Books in 2005 is performed by Anita Best with Patrick Boyle on trumpet and flugelhorn.
The audiobook digital download is available from Rattling Books online.
The audiobook CD is available from Fred's Records in St. John's, NL.
Monday, February 12, 2018
Hear Deidre Gillard-Rowlings read a love poem to Jiggs' Dinner by Michael Crummey
Hear Deidre Gillard-Rowlings reading Jiggs' Dinner by Michael Crummey from his Rattling Books CD Hard Light: 32 Little Stories, narrated by Michael Crummey, Ron Hynes and Deidre Gillard-Rowlings.
Tuesday, January 30, 2018
SoundCloud Listening Clip of Carm's dementia from The Grey Islands by John Steffler
The following listening clip from The Grey Islands by John Steffler is in the voice of Carm, narrated by Frank Holden.
Carm is an old man who lived on the Grey Islands into his presumed dementia and eventual removal to an institution. His stories haunt Steffler's main character, a mainlander seeking solitude.
The Grey Islands by John Steffler is published in print by Brick Books. The unabridged audio edition from Rattling Books, narrated by John Steffler, Frank Holden, Deidre Gillard-Rowlings, Janis Spence and Darryl Hopkins will be released in March, 2007.
Tuesday, January 23, 2018
Kite, from Hard Light: 32 Little Stories by Michael Crummey
Kite
I was crooked as a rainbow when I was a boy, I'll admit it. Stabbed Hollis with a pocket knife down on the Labrador. Swung at him with a berry can and split his head open. He'd have beat the snot out of me on more than one occasion if I wasn't the faster runner.
He read something about Marconi's kites one summer and made one for himself out of brown paper and scrap wood; it had a tail ten feet long with bits of coloured rag tied every foot. He worked on it for a week in the old shed, and I chased him out into the meadow garden when he finished it. A perfect day for a kite, a brisk easterly and mostly clear. Helped him get it up and stood beside him as he let out yard after yard of string, the kite pulling taut like an anchored boat in a tide, the narrow wake of the tail snaking behind it. And I'm tugging at Hollis' sleeve, wanting to hold it myself; he's leaning back to keep it high in the wind and telling me no, no way, fuck off, it's my kite, no.
Crooked as a rainbow, like I said. I stomped off toward the house, wishing him dead. When I reached the edge of the garden the kite caught a downdraft, arcing to the ground like a hawk after a rabbit, as if my contrariness had sucked the very wind out of the sky behind me. It landed nose first ten feet in front of where I stood. Hollis was running in my direction, yelling something I couldn't hear over the sound of the wind and I wouldn't have listened anyway. So angry by then I wanted to do something unforgivable. Put both my feet through the kite where it lay and then I ran like hell.
Now he's gone I wish he'd caught up to me that day. Maybe he would have given me something to remember him by, the mark of his hand on my body somewhere. The thin line of a scar I could hold him with a while longer, before the sky carried him off for good.
Hard Light by Michael Crummey is published by Brick Books.
Hard Light: 32 Little Stories by Michael Crummey, narrated by Michael Crummey, Ron Hynes and Diedre Gillard-Rowlings is published by Rattling Books.
Monday, January 15, 2018
Review of Merrybegot by Mary Dalton, audiobook edition
"...Best has a lovely smooth reading voice, and does a little bit of singing on “The Water Man” (mp3 1.38 MB). After first reading the poem, she then sings it beautifully as a soft lullaby. Patrick Boyle fills the space between readings with improvised bits of what I can only describe as a combination of traditional east coast music and jazz. He really caught my attention on “Burn” (mp3 256 KB), the three-part story of a salter interspersed with Boyle’s mournful sea longing trumpet. The music is an inventive blend of styles that works well with the collection...
... sure to become a classic in Canadian poetry."
Read the rest of this review by Melanie Maddix of Mary Dalton's Merrybegot (performed by Anita Best and Patrick Boyle)
Sunday, January 14, 2018
Winter Coal, a poem from Merrybegot by Mary Dalton
WINTER COAL
They trotted right up to the foot of the lane,
Cart piled with coal for the light-keeper's shack.
But the cousins said no, no crossing their land
So they turned round the horse and headed on back
For the boat, loaded her up for the Point.
Jam-packed to the gunnels, she rode low in the water.
A stiff wind from the west and over she went -
Over she toppled, tossed them out in dark water.
One of them got fast to the boat,
Held six hours to the side of her,
His fingernails tore off of him;
His brother's luck broke -
She flipped him in first
And the coal down on top of him.
The unabridged audio edition of Merrybegot by Mary Dalton published by Rattling Books in 2005 is performed by Anita Best with Patrick Boyle on trumpet and flugelhorn. For more information or to buy it visit rattlingbooks.com
Thursday, December 28, 2017
Janneying, a Christmas poem by Mary Dalton from Merrybegot
Janneying
(by Mary Dalton from Merrybegot)
Every winter it was the same racket.
A hint of the janneying, our mother'd
Have copper kittens, but after a bit
She'd give in to us, say yes we could go.
We'd rig ourselves up in any old fit-out,
Pillows and nets, cotton drawers on our heads.
The boys let out squeaks, the girls spoke all gruff -
One fellow missing a finger made up a
False one so he couldn't be guessed.
Once we'd get in, we'd kick up the mats,
Fire up the accordion, dance the whole night -
The floor-boards'd shiver, the funnel turn red.
First light of the sun, off we'd head home,
Bellies rumbling and we ready
To eat the leg off the Lamb of God.
Merrybegot, a collection of poems by Mary Dalton was originally published in 2003 by Véhicule Press. It is available as an unabridged audio recording from Rattling Books. The audiobook edition of Merrybegot is performed by Anita Best and Patrick Boyle.
Wednesday, December 20, 2017
Excerpt: Mat, a poem by Mary Dalton from Merrybegot (with reference to Christmas)
MAT
Some of them could go fast as the wind -
Nell now - and she was a great hand at it,
Scrolls and squares and dogs and roses
And one time a red punt on the water.
And then the scrubbing -
Dragging mats down to the cove in summer.
We beat them against the beach rocks,
And the salt water gave back their colour.
And come Christmas
Out we went mummering,
Out in the fools, happy as kings.
Mat rags sewed into our clothes.
Merrybegot, a collection of poems by Mary Dalton was originally published in 2003 by Véhicule Press. It is available as an unabridged audio recording from Rattling Books performed by Anita Best and Patrick Boyle.
Saturday, December 16, 2017
Canadian audiobook suggested snack of the day: This Way Out by Carmine Starnino
This Way Out was originally published by Gaspereau Press.
The audiobook edition of This Way Out by Carmine Starnino with sound by Chantal Dumas is available for purchase from Rattling Books online.
Friday, December 15, 2017
Canadian audiobook snack for the day: The Grey Islands by John Steffler
The Grey Islands by John StefflerToday's suggested Canadian audiobook snack for the day from Rattling Books will keep you going for about 2 1/2 hours. The Grey Islands by John Steffler is narrated by a cast of characters against a backdrop of island soundscape recordings.
The author John Steffler known to many as Parliamentary Poet Laureate of Canada from 2006 to 2008 is joined in this audiobook recording by (in order of appearance) Frank Holden, Janis Spence, Deidre Gillard-Rowlings and Darryl Hopkins.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Rattling Books' Poetry Collection By Mark Callanan
April is National Poetry Month, and Rattling Books has published an audio collection of poetry by one of Canada's youngest and best poets, Mark Callanan, just in time to get in on the fun.
Sea Legend, Callanan's award-winning chapbook (Frog Hollow Press, 2010, Audiobook Rattling Books, 2011).
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Rattling Books publishes fine poetry by some of the most gifted Canadian poets, available as audio CDs and MP3 downloads, or MP3 downloads only.
Sea Legend, Callanan's award-winning chapbook (Frog Hollow Press, 2010, Audiobook Rattling Books, 2011).
***************
Rattling Books publishes fine poetry by some of the most gifted Canadian poets, available as audio CDs and MP3 downloads, or MP3 downloads only.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Valentine's Day 2011: War And Love
Listen to e.e. cummings' poem "My Sweet Old Etcetera," in which the author muses upon war and love.
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Click here to listen to excerpts from some of Canada's finest poets musing upon various things. Rattling Books' poetry audio books are available as audio CDs or MP3 CDs, and MP3 downloads.
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Click here to listen to excerpts from some of Canada's finest poets musing upon various things. Rattling Books' poetry audio books are available as audio CDs or MP3 CDs, and MP3 downloads.
Monday, January 17, 2011
TNQ's Nick Blatchford Poetry Contest
It's that time of year again: almost-deadline time for Canadian literary journal The New Quarterly's annual Nick Blatchford poetry contest. The contest is for "poems written in response to an occasion, personal or public - poems of gratitude or grief, poems that celebrate or berate, poems that make of something an occasion or simply mark one."
For details about the contest, click on the TNQ cover image.
To read Amanda Jernigan's charming essay on poems and occasions, click here.
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Listen to excerpts from the poetry of some of Canada's best poets, presented to you by Rattling Books. Available as audio book CDs and MP3 digital downloads.
For details about the contest, click on the TNQ cover image.
To read Amanda Jernigan's charming essay on poems and occasions, click here.
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Listen to excerpts from the poetry of some of Canada's best poets, presented to you by Rattling Books. Available as audio book CDs and MP3 digital downloads.
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