Summer Poem Anthology

by Elijah Ackerly

qMAS Summer Interpretive Guide

For the summer edition of the qMAS newsletter I have chosen to share a selection of poems from our archives. The likeness these poems share, are the poets’ incredible ability to use letters to dust off the noise and haste which can blinds us to the beauty of the summer season.

Further, all of the poets chosen have spent some of their lives in the qathet region, whether for a short period of time or many years. The poets write with an incredible warmth on themes of nature, life, beauty, love and the human experience.

In reading and selecting the poems to share, I was ruminating on how these poets in the past were also privy to the mural-like sunsets we have the gift of seeing each evening. Particularly, Wilma’s poem, “Malaspina Skyfire” , which assuredly was written against the backdrop of a cotton-candy sunset of a warm summer’s night.

I encourage all readers to take a few moments out of your day and read the words of those who came before us. To ask ourselves what can we learn from them? Upon realising we are really no different than people in the past we can read their words wholly, and digest the wisdom they offer.

The works I have highlighted are by : Wilma Mary Mitchell, Olive Devaud, and Mary Anderson.

Wilma grew up in Powell River by Cranberry Lake. In 1995 she won many awards for her poetry from the National Library of Poetry.

Malaspina Skyfire

Sitting, by the ocean shore watching the ships sail by, Sundown, sets on the strait raging, fire be-sets the sky.

Earthly, object erase colour shadowing ebon silhouettes, Spreading, gathered prism hues feeding, flames to the sunset.

Clouds, roll along a fiery, horizon blown out, on a warm, western breeze exploding, spectacular, blazing hues in Malaspina’s drama with the sea.

Nature, displays, her finest array waves, spark, alive and, aflame, Twinkling, billion of diamonds no, artist’s brush, could explain.

The weary, sun, sets to rest on the very, last ocean crest, smoldering, away, spark of day bidding final, farewell west.

by Wilma Mary Mitchell

Olive, in her own words:

“ …Wishing to see the great Pacific / Her love, for which, became terrific; / This wonderful world of lakes and hills, / Not too hot and no winter chills, / Is kinder, means more in a friendly way; / Kindness so great, she decided to stay. / Then a Swiss, with a name beginning with, ‘D’ , / Took her under his wing, so she could be / A home-loving wife… it’s forty years / Since she came to Powell River; the outlook clears, / The place and the people are dearer yet, / Most other years she will soon forget” .

Mary (1882- 1980) was a local poet who began writing in her 80’s. She published more than a hundred poems many of which are available in her book, “Progress of Madness, Saltspring Island, My Mulligatawny and Unpublished Poems” .

Peace

The world at peace, is the sight one sees

When the world is white with snow. Look over the mountains, over the trees;

There seems to be peace in the sunlight glow.

Look out to sea, and the lazy waves Scarcely sound as they lap the shore. The sea-gulls flying pass lazy days, They seem to have plenty, yet have no store.

The ships come to drifting peacefully down, They seem to be part of the ocean too. Why should they hurry to reach the town, While travelling’s good and the skies are blue?

When skies are serene and the world is white, How peaceful is everything then! The splendour of nature is spread in the sight Of observant children of men.

The land is fair, and the world’s at peace, Our noisy traffic is made to hush. Look up to the hills, let your labour cease;

You will gain far more than if you rush.

In silent places, alone with your thoughts, Drink deeply of nature, observe her ways; Thus peace may into your soul be wrought, To stay with you all the rest of your days.

by Olive Devaud

We Love Thee for Thy Beauty

Old moon! Old moon which wanderest forever in our sky; No snow to crown thy mountain speaks, no stream to sally by –art thou of moulten lava shaped, from earth’s volcanic side, or flotsam from that boundlessness where God and time betide? From whence thy mighty strength to lift these oceans from their floor and circumscribe their boundry line along the rocky shore. Oh! lovely aura of the nightsymbolic of the ties and sweet subjectiveness beneath infinitudes of skies. Oh! worthy monator on highdear lofty minded moon –we have loved for thy beauty and not just for that alone!

Resurrection

Faith, by dint of veiled futurity, the stuff of man’s infinitude could beto live again, to see and to be seenor black, or white, or something in between.

by Mary Anderson