A Literary Arts Journal • Un journal artistique et littéraire
Volume 4, Issue 2 : THE ARTISTS volume 4, numéro 2 : LES ARTISTES
DES RÉDACTEURS / FROM THE EDITORS Dans les pages suivantes, vous allez explorer l'art et l'écriture représentant chacun des artistes présentés. Dans la même voie, voici un aperçu sur chacun des membres de l'équipe éditoriale. / In the following pages you will see art and writng that represents its creator in some way. In that spirit, here is a bit abut each of the members of the editorial team. G����� C�������: He gets irritated when asked if he is a writer, he isn't. He's an artiste! He enjoys humour, fine wines and stinky cheeses much to his doctor's lament. L���� C�����: I have been a poet since the age five. Art has always been a part of my life. I have been influenced by Ukrainian culture. N��� N��� M����� E����: I am an artist. I love to draw and paint. As far back as I can remember, I would say the age of 11, I was drawing and painting pictures. I would paint them as close as possible to the original, putting in all the details as I went along. So you see, the perfect picture to me is a very colourful one. S����� M������: J’aime peindre des marchés du Mexique parce qu’ils sont intemporelles, colorés, pleins d’odeurs et de saveurs avec ses fruits, ses fleurs et tous ses gens qui se donnent rendez-vous quotidiennement. F������ M������: Moi, je viens du Bas Saint Laurent. Je suis le huitième du famille de neuf enfants. J'ai une formation en comptabilité. Je demeure à Montréal depuis plus de trois ans. J��� M��������: Hi, Judy Minderman here, 52, lives in Montreal. Member of Forward House for about 12 years. Suffer with depression and anxiety since a very young age. Bullied as a child; art brings me out of my depressions and I also enjoy reading and computers and adore nature. P����� P�������-V������: Je suis une personne sympathique et enjoué. Je veux me débrouiller dans la vie et concrétiser de nouveaux défis. Pour moi, la vie ce n’est pas facile car il y a toujours des obstacles, mais ces contraintes ont toujours une solution èa toute. N��� S����������: Nick is a lover of colour, who enjoys penguin humour (cold venues and all), writing about things that are funny and moving things around so they look good. D��� S�����: Dave is an artist, poet, writer and community activist. He’s interested in helping the community and making his friends happy. C����� Z��������: Celina has been writing poetry since 2005 but she has been writing songs since she was eight and a half.
COVER: Jean-Christophe Tourenne, 2 Buoy l’été 2013
Unfinished Beauty, painting
CONTENU/CONTENTS ÉCRITURE/WRITING
IMAGES/IMAGES Cover
Des rédacteurs / From the Editors Contenu / Contents
Nelly Roffé / Casablanca Bob Mennie / Dots
Sean Cahill / Nature vivante Chris ‘Speed’ Dubiel / My Medication, My Meditation Robert Cuttle / Bi Polar
Howard Freed / To Tell the Truth Lesia Charko / Part of Me Celina Zimmerman / Love Losses
Dana M. Friend / La petite étoile du nord Susana Marquez / sans titre
Cynthia Jean Chukly / Point of View Richard Diraddo / What It’s Francis Marquis / Le jeu de l’amour Nick Serjeantson / Rusty in the Head Ester Cabrita / Holy, Holy, Holy Submissions / Ad / Thanks Bios
2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11
Jean-Christophe Tourenne / Unfinished Beauty
Dave Smaill / Hunting Season Dave Smaill / Serene Winter Scene Al McCorquodale / The Bear
Charmaine Bastien / The Eye Sean Cahill / Masks
12-13 14 15 16 17-18 19 20 21 22-23 24
Robert Cuttle / Pierre E. Trudeau Noel Neil Marlon Evans / The Bowl
Renée Drouin / City Lights Patrice Boyer / Détente intérieure Renée Drouin / Birds at Sunset
25 26-27 28 29 30 31-32 33 34 35 36-37 38-39 40-41 42 43 44
Gilles Chiasson / Anti-Gravity Susana Marquez / sans titre Susana Marquez / Marche dans la nuit
Nick Serjeantson / Flower Power Nick Serjeantson / Monument Time
Judy Minderman / Rhino Sleeping Judy Minderman / Barn Owl on Tree Stump Buoy Summer 2013
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Dave Smaill,
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Hunting Season, ink drawing
Dave Smaill,
Serene Winter Scene, ink drawing
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Al McCorquodale, The Bear, drawing Angel Colours, digital art, by Judy Minderman
NELLY ROFFÉ Casablanca Dans ma ville maritime odeurs d’embrun brume lourde le soir qui monte des plages la nuit une oasis où d’emblée j’entre La Corniche esplanade du bord de mer ma préférée prise de photos en habits traditionnels costumes des années 50 silhouette porteuse de gestes d’un autre âge sur mon film noir et blanc. La Corniche encore : à ma gauche roches sorties du sable falaises de craie dentelée à ma droite rochers immenses en contrebas ou nous nous cachions Régine, Luna Mary et moi pour manger des oursins à l’abri des regards et des dards du soleil Ce sentiment de légèreté! la mer m’enivre son odeur m’exalte jamais nulle part cette réverbération de l’air sur le sol chauffé à blanc paysage de toute ma vie celle des miens port marocain qui m’a mise au monde.
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BOB MENNIE Dots You must look very closely For now I will show you The dots. In that face Of the runny-nosed child crying Blink thousands All in straight straight lines like An army at attention Blackwhitewhite Whiteblackblackblack Blackblackwhiteblackblackblack Blackwhiteblackblackblackblackblack Blackblackblackblackblackblackblackblack From their ranks Emerge the gaping bullet holes White trickling black And that child as pale as a corpse He is clinging to. You must look very closely For all that surrounds you The dots Arranged the dots Random of the dead living Assembled timeless in the patterns Of forever armies like bullet holes spray The random dots across the emptiness patterns Gray.
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Charmaine Bastien,
The Eye, painting
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Sean Cahill, Faces, Pastel Sean Cahill, Masks, oil Oil pastel
SEAN CAHILL Nature vivante Votre prunelle souriante fait rougir mon coeur de fraises et la chute de vos cheveux me précipite à vos lèvres; mais je me retiens et contemple votre paysage. Les fleurs réfléchissent tout haut vos rayons de parfum sur ce gazon tendre. Votre pied caresse la terre, toute brune et toute fraîche et l'enfant tout petit, tout nu, butine à votre sein d'abeille. Que vous êtes belle, vêtue de soleil et d'ombre. Le vent vous enveloppe de ses chauds tissus d'ocre, le chêne habille vos fleurs de ses feuilles et la montagne,couchée, prend votre forme. Effluve du printemps, à la nature vous rendez hommage.
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CHRISTOPHER “SPEED” DUBIEL My Medication, My Meditation I bring my medication everywhere I go Leaves me with a glow. I meditate on it day and night, Bring it to the lord in prayer. Just don’t sit and stare no more Climb up the chain till I’m shackled. Play with fire, bleed another bust. It comes to rust When all the dust settles down. I’ve been this train wreck too many a time. As I have to trust I’ve surrendered to the Heavens Became a member, My name written in the book of life. Sunny is everyday. There’s no more mental anguish, Days spent mulling in strife. I bring my medication everywhere I go Leaves me with a glow. I meditate on it day and night, Bring it to the lord in prayer. I’ve got a message to bring to the world. New songs to sing All year is spring. Take it on a pair of wings and fly. I read the good news all the time Shed tears joyfully every now and then. Jesus breaks my heart, mends it a new Few understand its fair weather A touch of a feather.
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I bring my medication everywhere I go; Leaves me with a glow. I meditate on it day and night, Bring it to the lord in prayer. I fast to give my time to the Lord, I have a blast A whole cast of new friends Now that I’ve put up my mast Sail in heavenly directions. My body’s not my own. Everything in my possession a loan from above. I’m in this world but not of this world Heaven’s my future. I bring my medication everywhere I go Leaves me with a glow. I meditate on it day and night, Bring it to the lord in prayer.
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ROBERT CUTTLE Bi Polar Bi polar has its ups and downs But through it all, creativity I found I’ve been an artist all my life Creating paintings to end my strife, I’ve seen the worst and the best, I guess You can say I’ve been put to the test. Interesting people I have met The rich, the poor, I seem to get. Throughout my life I’ve had some blues Music and art always got me through. Being a Libra I’ve found joy, Spreading my talent given to me as a boy. Without my meds I do become high. It’s a mystery in my brain but why? Research has improved my meds And I’ve learned to cope with the side effects they’ve lead All in all I’ve tried my best When Bi polar put me to the test.
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Robert Cuttle, Pierre E. Trudeau, painting
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Noel Neil Marlon Evans,
Church Doors, photograph, by Judy Minderman
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The Bowl, painting
HOWARD FREED To Tell the Truth Ring. “Hello?” “Bobby?” “Yeah.” “It’s Mark. I just spotted two plainclothes cops with three Satan’s Choice members wheeling their choppers. I think they’re headed your way.” “Thanks” Bobby said, and replaced the receiver and faced his guests. One was missing. “Where’s Max?” “I think he’s in the bathroom,” Don, Max’s younger brother said. Max was indeed in the bathroom. He went over to the sink which was filthy with hair. He rinsed his hands anyway and returned to the living room. Company “We’ve got to get out of here. There are a couple of cops and some Choice members on their way here.” The reason for their haste was that Bobby had three keys of hash wrapped in muslin: one stamped with three crowns, one with three dragons, and a third with three lions. Bobby wasn’t worried about the bikers. He knew them and preferred them to the f’n cops. There was a third guest in Bobby’s apartment, and that was Don’s friend Dennis Shore. Satan’s Choice Max thought it was no wonder they were Satan’s Choice. They were the best the city had to offer, and the only real rebels in town. He too preferred
them to the cops. Max also knew that Satan’s wouldn’t get them. This, for the reason that, unbeknownst to most bikers, “From the time of John the Baptist until now, (and it’s still now), the Kingdom of Heaven allows violence. The violent take it by force.”
“The reason for their haste was that Bobby had three keys of hash wrapped in muslin…” Fortunately you don’t need to know you are taking the Kingdom of Heaven by force. You simply must be sufficiently violent and sufficiently righteous to do so. You take the Kingdom of Heaven by force while in this world, and not in the grave, or up in the sky. A Heavy Oak Door There was neither time, nor whereabouts, to hide the hash, so the four of them left Bobby’s place and closed the heavy, solid oak door, three inches thick, behind them. The door couldn’t be forced and, unless the cops had a search warrant, which was highly unlikely, the hash was safe. They found themselves on ground level behind the three story building just around the corner from Buoy Summer 2013
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an alley leading out to the street. The heart of Montreal is the mountain: Mount Royal. Some Montrealers believe the top of the mountain is the illuminated cross. Some believe it is the CBC antenna. In fact, it is neither. It is the pump house. This is logical in as much as the pump house, the highest point in the city, pumps water up from the nearby reservoir and lets gravity feed it to the whole city. Bobby’s place was on a direct line with the pump house. If there wasn’t a ‘Pumphouse Gang,’ there should be.
“Just then, the cops and the bikers rounded the corner. One of the detectives led the pack. The other, holding a flashlight, brought up the rear.” Just then, the cops and the bikers rounded the corner. One of the detectives led the pack. The other, holding a flashlight, brought up the rear. “What’s your name?” he asked each of them in turn. The Choice members had already been questioned. “Max Cohen.” “Don Cohen.” “Dennis Shore.” “Robert Mackeral.” The detective then turned his attention to the heavy mat in front of the door for no apparent reason, perhaps checking for a key. Instead he found a hash pipe with a small
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soapstone bowl and a long bamboo stem. Once again, the cop asked each of them, in turn, if the pipe was theirs. Each said no. “Then I guess it’s mine. I’m going to put it on my mantelpiece.” “May I see some identification?” Max asked the cop, and the cop gave it to him. “William Lisacheck.” Max said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “William Lisak.” The cop corrected him. Max looked down at the card again. “It says here William Lisacheck.” The cop shut up and Max returned his ID. The Green Bike Now the cop turned his attention to the green girl’s bicycle with its black leather saddlebag parked nearby. “Who’s bike is this?” There was a long tense silence. “It’s mine,” Max said finally. “Are we under arrest?” “No.” “Then why are you detaining us?” Max demanded. “We’re not detaining you,” said the cop with the flashlight. “Then we are free to go?” “You’re free to go,” the same cop said, and with that, they walked away. The remaining seven headed back up the alley too, Max and the senior biker in the lead. “Is this really your bike?” the Choice member asked Max. “No. It belongs to a sister. I said it was mine in case somebody stashed something on it. I didn’t want her to get into any trouble.” The biker slapped him on the back. “You’re all right Cohen.”
LESIA CHARKO Part of Me My hair My beauty Its age is starting to show Oh no! Those greys need to go The colour I choose Is the colour I feel Rapture How cool My long hair blowing in the wind Good hair day? Bad hair day? Let it be Show your hair What it could be Before there is no more of it to be
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CELINA ZIMMERMAN Love Losses I’ve had love losses, Friends – 2 close friends – one to death – and other friendship, and a parent – my mom – due to death, also. Love losses Love losses Too many losses, One after another Too many losses, almost more than I can bear. But a shining star saved me. This star continuously helps me This star is my love gain. Love losses, love losses Love gain One took the place of many One shining star.
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CENTRE: Patrice Boyer,
Détente intérieure, huile
Drouin, City Lights, acylic PowerRenĂŠe and Light, digital art, by Judy Minderman
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Renée Drouin,
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Birds at Sunset, acylic
DANA M. FRIEND La petite étoile du Nord Petite étoile du Nord, tu vois la vie et la mort toute seule sans gueule ni voix, et qu’est-ce-que tu en penses, …des souffrances et les ames en pénitence? Tu as certainement du chagrin! mais tu n’as pas de mains, et qu’est-ce-que tu peux faire? La vie, tu nous l’éclaire!
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SUSANA MARQUEZ sans titre Avec mes gènes communs aux Amérindiens, ma peau est cuivrée, dorée par le soleil de mon enfance. J’ai l’esprit libre comme l’air des montagnes que j’ai escaladées avec mon oncle Armando. Cet homme juste, que j'admire, m’a montré la droiture au milieu de l’iniquité dans un monde en chaos. Comme Don Quijote de la Manche, une grande partie de ma vie, j’ai poursuivi un idéal fou : mériter d’être aimée par toi maman! La peur de vivre mon chemin sans ta main, m’a fait croire que je suis restée l’enfant fragile et sans défense de ces temps-là. Alors, je me retire loin de celle que j’aime, parce que je sens le mal qui l’habite. Je suis confuse, je crois que c’est de ma faute, j’ai honte de moi, et je souffre! Je crois mériter toutes les peines! J’ai peur de toi, de moi, de la vie! Je me déteste! Je me dis que c'est écrit dans ma destinée: je ne mérite pas d’être aimée! Loin de mes bourreaux, en terre généreuse, comme immigrée je m’épanouis. En m'amusant avec l’argile, où tous les éléments de la nature interviennent : la terre, l’eau, le vent et le feu. Je me sens en harmonie et sereine pour la première fois de ma triste vie. Je sens que la terre m’accepte. Je me laisse aller, je me sens en sécurité et confiante. Plus tard, quand je joue à imiter les couleurs des reflets de la lumière irisée, que j’expérimente diverses techniques, textures et couleurs appliquées sur la toile, la peinture se montre à moi majestueuse. Elle me permet de créer le lien entre mon conscient et mon subconscient. Elle illumine mon âme, je me sens bénie, graciée. Elle m’apprend la patience, à observer, à m’aventurer, à avoir du courage, à être humble, à réfléchir, à respecter la matière, à être honnête et rester vraie. A être moi. C’est le seul temps où je me sens bien dans mon corps, lucide dans mon esprit. Je suis persuadée que j’ai une place ici sur terre et que j’ai un lien avec l’univers. A l’époque de mon enfance, l’éducation était plus sévère. Heureusement que les temps changent et que la société évolue. Maintenant, pouvoir m’exprimer par les mots me fait découvrir une partie en moi qui est puissante, qui est quasiment sacrée : mon cœur d’enfant, qui me permet de m’aimer et de m’accepter telle que je suis. De m'ouvrir à mes semblables, d’aimer ma vie, mes enfants, mes ami(e)s, mes chats, ma famille qui est au loin. Je suis vraiment reconnaissante du cosmos.
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Susana Marquez,
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Susana Marquez,
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Marche dans la nuit, peinture
CYNTHIA JEAN CHUKLY Point of View Between the sunset And the sunrise The sky above The ground below Trapped inside of me Many expressions Smiles and frowns Another day, no dollar For a cup of coffee For some hopeless soul, No home to go to No friend to turn to Angel, where have you gone? Why do you ignore my pain? For help, here in this place, Of lost souls seeking help Often lost and misunderstood by others. Outside the colourful leaves have fallen Leaving barren branches on blackened trees. Soon there will be a slight dusting of snow on the ground. The wind is approaching us; our breath gasping. Miracles are waiting beneath the snowy ground. The moon is shining its dimming light, Heading our way over the pathways To our hidden souls. The city lights sparkle like diamonds. Spread out below us,
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And the darkness, turns into light. A brand new day is dawning; A new beginning, perhaps? The emptiness I feel overwhelms me inside, time after time. But I will discover a new path, just waiting For me, outside of this place To overcome my indifference And confusion, forming circles in my brain.
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RICHARD DIRADDO What It’s Is it because Inside out everywhere Everyone is it And then, Know what you need Want everything No one is here Before you Is it what you, did it? Ask why, who is it? Don't question it Need. Fall into place Silence speaks sounds Shapes fall to the ground Funny, Laughing, laughter At it all Thinking all the while Silence.
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FRANCIS MARQUIS Le jeu de l'amour Le jeu de l'amour se dévoile à l'attrait de tout son aspect à ce qui en détour Le jeu de la séduction se fascine au contexte de tout son prétexte à ce qui en disposition Le jeu de la jalousie se prédomine à l'enviabilité de tout son objectivité à ce qui en frénésie Le jeu du flirt se présente en convivialité de tout son irréductibilité à ce qui en précepte Le jeu de la sexualité se distingue de l'originalité de toute sa sociabilité à ce qui en priorité
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Nick Serjeantson,
Buoyphoto Summer 2013 Flower Power,
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NICK SERJEANTSON Rusty in the Head I’m a little rusty in the head, my friend sitting beside me said. I raised an eyebrow, I turned my eye, to observe her head and wonder why, rust was in there, why her brain was rusty since actually it’s always been pretty trusty, that rust does not in a head reside; since iron in the brain is not in abundance. Unless of course my friend had overdone her iron, had overdone her supplements, taking too many, taking too much, filling herself with iron and such. My friend eyed me, she eyed me back, and smiled as if she could see the track of my thoughts as they moved through my mind about the rust she had mentioned the rust she had talked of, inside her head, upon her brain, rusty red, inside her head. Then she gave me a hug, and jogged off to the Y,
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and so I sat and imagined a scene from the wizard of oz where rust could really be the cause of the phrase my friend had said I’m a little rusty in the head! I’m a little rusty in the head the Tinman to the lion said, as they meandered down the yellow brick road toward the Tinman’s tin abode; in the Emerald city, in the green metropolis, in the place from which Dorothy followed said yellow road, toward a witches' dark abode, through a dark forest, through spooky trees, filled with lions and tigers and bears, oh my, lions and tigers and bears, oh my.
Nick Serjeantson,
Monument Time, photo
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ESTER CABRITA Holy, Holy, Holy Getting ready for your First Communion requires much preparation. It seemed to me the most important part was confessing my worst mortal sins. Doing such would surely prepare me to receive the body of Christ. Broken tables With that in mind I asked my parents how many times I had broken the living room coffee table. It wasn’t very sturdy at the best of times and the legs had been glued many times. Breaking the table required my dizzily running around the living room using up some of my never ending energy.
“The fellow I was paired with was not impressed with me … when I was all dressed up he was impressed. So, … I had my revenge and told him it was too little too late.”
shoes, white stockings, a white hat and veil, white gloves and the piece de resistance my white dress. Unimpressed boy We had Communion Day practice a few times with the girls on one side and the boys on the other. The fellow I was paired with was not impressed with me at all and didn’t find me pretty. On Communion Sunday when I was all dressed up he was impressed. So, at this point I had my revenge and told him it was too little too late. After the ceremony was over we were invited to the basement hall where there was chocolate milk and cookies for everyone. It was a good day.
Communion gift A few weeks later would be our Confirmation. Even though we were only six years old with our Confirmation we were reaffirming the vows that we had at baptism. We were true Christians and Catholics and responsible for all that entailed. My parents bought me a beautiful prayer book as a Communion gift and I still have it to this day. I truly I would also have to remember how treasure it. many times I had not gone to Sunday I was very happy to be a Catholic. Mass. A big part of First Communion also required beautiful clothes. On Lent bed making payday Saturdays Mama would take As the season of Lent began we were me to the specialty store and would told at school that it would be good buy some part of my costume. I to either do something for Lent or remember coming back with white give up something that we liked.
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Personally, I hated making my bed in the morning. This was not an easy thing for me at all. I made a schedule on which I would make a check mark in the morning after having done the “dastardly deed”. My mother noticed that I was making my bed and she was happy. I’m sure that she thought religion was doing me good. Unfortunately, after Lent I went back to my old habit of no bed making. But now, I always make my bed in the morning. There is nothing quite as bad as going to bed at night in an unmade bed. Mary The month of May is the time to honour Mary, the mother of Jesus. I had a strong feeling for Mary. The month of May is also my birth month. During the month of May I would make a decorative altar to Mary. Since there were May flowers at this time of year I would adorn Mother Mary’s altar with seasonal flowers. Religion class During elementary school we had a religion class where we would learn about all things holy and moral. In Grade 6 I had the highest mark in religion for the year. At the PTA meeting at the end of the year I was to go up on the stage with the other prize winners and receive my prize for Religion. It was the priest who gave me my gift and I remember thinking that he must remember my confessions. He must certainly know what a sinner and impostor I was. Nonetheless, the religious statue I received was treasured for quite a
while. It became part of my rotation of altars. A new coat? During a winter confession I told the priest of not going to Sunday Mass. He told me that now that I had a nice warm coat there was no reason to miss Sunday Mass. I realized that he must be mistaking me for another girl. I never had a problem with inappropriate clothes. My mother made sure that I was always nattily and weather appropriately dressed. Unworthy choir girl During the time that I was part of the choir all the choir girls went to receive Communion during Mass. I would never go to receive communion as I felt unworthy to receive the body of Christ. When I explained, she said that none of the other girls were better than I . I felt consoled.
“If we … feel more for those who inhabit this world with us we just might find that ‘he ain’t heavy, he’s my brother.’” Looking back now at my religious upbringing I realize how the times were so different from today. It was an innocent and simple time. If we tried today to feel more for those who inhabit this world with us we just might find that `he ain`t heavy, he`s my brother. ‘ Buoy Summer 2013
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Appel aux soumissions VOLUME 5, NUMERO 1: LE BIEN-ÊTRE QU'EST CE QUE BUOY? Pour Maureen Dugan, une collaboratrice du numéro initial de Buoy, la créativité agit comme un gilet de sauvetage. De ses très belles peintures à ce sujet, nous en avons tiré le nom du journal. Depuis le premier numéro, Buoy est devenu une forme d’exutoire artistique pour de nombreuses personnes, leur permettant de partager leurs chemins créatifs tout en explorant un thème précis. QUE VOULONS-NOUS? Être bien ou ne pas être bien? Là est la question! La thématique du septième numéro de Buoy est le bien-être. Nous sommes à la recherche de vos nobles explorations du royaume de ce qui vous plaît ou vous fait souffrir. Qu’est ce qui vous libère et vous aide à garder votre équilibre? Est-ce Fido ou la phyllo (phyllo comme pâte feuilleté en pâtisserie ou philo comme pour philosophie?)?Est-ce d’écrire de la fiction fantaisiste pour ce numéro? Ou plutôt faire de l’art ou jouer de la musique? Qu’est-ce qui vous garde en forme mentalement et physiquement? Faites-nous en part à travers vos dessins, bandes dessinés, essais littéraires, proses courtes, recettes, rap, poésie et tableaux. POUR SOUMETTRE: Pour contribuer : Contactez Vanessa Sparks par téléphone au 514-4889119 ou par courriel à forwardhouse.education@gmail.com. Veuillez soumettre du contenu éléctronique dans la langue de votre choix et vos coordonnées. Visitez www.maisonlesetapes.org pour plus d’information DATE LIMITE: 7 OCTOBRE, 2013
A Call for Submissions VOLUME 5, ISSUE 1: WELL BEING WHAT’S BUOY? For Maureen Dugan, a contributor to the inaugural issue of Buoy, creativity is a life jacket, and because of her beautiful paintings of that subject, we decided to adopt Buoy as the name for our journal. Since that first issue, Buoy has become a creative outlet for many people, allowing them to share their creative pursuits while exploring a specific theme. WHAT DO WE WANT? Well, to be well, or not to be well, that is the question. The theme for the seventh issue of Buoy is Well Being, and we are looking for your noble explorations into the realm of that which makes you feel good or torments you. What liberates you and keeps you balanced? Is it Fido or phyllo? Is it writing fantasy fiction for this issue of Buoy? Is it art or playing music? What keeps you physically and mentally healthy? Let us know through your drawings, comics, creative non fiction, photography, short prose, recipes, raps, poetry, and painting. TO SUBMIT: To Submit: Contact Vanessa Sparks by telephone at 514-488-9119 or email at forwardhouse.education@gmail.com. Please submit electronically, if possible, in the language of your choice. Please include your contact information. Visit www.forwardhouse.org for more details. DEADLINE: October 7th, 2013
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Buoy l’été 2013
Previous Editions of Buoy You can find all previous copies of Buoy on the Internet at the Issuu website (go to the Issuu website and type in ‘Buoy’). The last three editions of Buoy are still available in paper form; get them while you still can. Call 514.488.9119 or e-mail forwardhouse.education@gmail.com to find out how.
Thank-yous The Buoy Editorial team wishes to thank Forward House for their unflagging support. We especially want to thank Paul Aubin and Chris McFadden, but also the all great Forward House workers who encourage their clients to submit work and who have volunteered their time and talents in support of Buoy. A huge thank you for the support we have received from the mental health community, especially the Montreal Walks For Mental Health Board. Our thanks also to the team at Rubik’s who always make our printing process go sooo smoothly. Kudos as well to our contributors, we love getting your work, and to our readers who continue to ‘read’ us. Nearly lastly special thanks to Nick Serjeantson, for his wonderful layout work, and to Vanessa Sparks, for encouraging and managing this project. Finally, Buoy owes its existence to Francis Cropas, who woke up one day and said “we should make a magazine!”
Who’s Who The Buoy Editorial Team is Gilles Chiasson, Judy Minderman, Nick Serjeantson, Susana Marquez, Noel Neil Marlon Evans, Celina Zimmerman, Francis Marquis, Pascal Peladeau-Voisine, Dave Smaill and Lesia Charko. The Editorial Advisor is Vanessa Sparks. Design was handled by Nick Serjeantson using PagePlus with input from the editorial team. Fonts used in this edition of Buoy were Constantia for content, and Impact and Zurich Xblk BT for headings and such. Buoy Summer 2013
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BIOS C�������� B������: I took some oil painting classes in 2003. I painted 67 paintings and sold 11 of them for $400 each. P������ B����: La création est une façon de réalisers les rêves. E���� C������: Ester is an anglophile who is known for her dry wit and distinctive laugh. She makes Montreal her home. S��� C�����: Sean finds that pastel drawing has always been an outlet to his inner self. The poetry included in this issue was written when he was a teenager; he hopes to take it up again. C������ J��� C�����: I was only five years old when I started writing poetry. My first poem was entitled Bluejay. R����� C�����: I, Robert E. Cuttle have had an interest in artwork, poetry and photography since I was very young. It allows me to concentrate on the things of beauty and takes me away from the things that are negative. Preserving nature, fresh air and clean water for future generations is my main goal in life. And to share kindness wherever I can, bring a smile to someone’s face R������ D������: Richard started writing at an early age by scribbling profanity in his sisters Dr Seuss books. After completing film school he took up painting all the while playing guitar in various punk bands. He is a strong proponent of all creatures with four legs and a long time contributor to Buoy. R���� D�����: RD has many talents and two of these talents have enabled her to paint pictures for a long time and to write loads of poetry. She currently resides in NDG. C���������� "S����" D����� H����� F����: Howard’s secular age is 66, but his spirit age is 44 and 6 months. He is a writer and has completed a collection of short stories called Figs and a novel entitled Driven as well as a number of shorter pieces. He works six days a week, Sunday through Friday. D��� M. F�����: I once had a dream that I was the angel of the North Star. It was a very vivid and spiritual experience and that’s why I wrote the poem. A� M�C���������: I’ve always loved animals, as a small child my favourite books were wild life depicting jungle animals. Today engineers have accomplished many wonders, but they can never achieve the wonders of GOD’S creative powers as illustrated in the varieties of wild life! B�� M�����: The poem ' dots ' was written in the year 1970 by Bob Mennie. Perhaps some of you remember ' Roy Rodgers and Dale Evans, The Friendly Giant, The Lone Ranger, Uncle Chichamous, or Champ Champagne and the launching of the Ottawa channel CJOH. And don't forget the favourite ' Maman Fonfon'… All the best,---bob N���� R����: Nelly Roffé est née à Casablanca au Maroc. Elle habite Montréal depuis 1967. Elle se dédie à présent à la traduction littéraire. Elle travaille sur son premier livre de poésies et collabore à différentes revues littéraires du Québec, de France,de Belgique et d'Espagne. J���-C��������� T�������: Jean-Christophe Tourenne est né à Boulogne-Billancourt, en banlieue de Paris (France). Il a commencé à dessiner et à jouer avec les couleurs depuis son plus jeune âge. Il s’est par la suite intéressé à la peinture. Il a immigré au Canada à l’âge de 30 ans, où il a développé son goût pour les arts visuels. Autodidacte et ayant le souci du détail, son travail se définit plutôt par un style moderne et réaliste.
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Buoy l’été 2013
BACK COVER: Judy Minderman, Barn Owl on Tree Stump, coloured pencil
Judy Minderman,
Sleeping Rhino, pastel sketch
Buoy Summer 2013
43
FEATURING / EN VEDETTE Nelly Roffé- Gilles Chiasson - Dana M. Friend Cynthia Jean Chukly - Richard Diraddo - Renée Drouin Dave Smaill - Judy Minderman - Celina Zimmerman - Sean Cahill Patrice Boyer - Noel Neil Marlon Evans - Bob Mennie - Ester Cabrita Charmaine Bastien - Robert Cuttle - Lesia Charko Jean-Christophe Tourenne - Nick Serjeantson Al McCorquodale - Howard Freed Susana Marquez - Francis Marquis Christopher “Speed” Dubiel