Page 1

red notebooks, rob mclennan


The Red Ceilings Press

The Red Ceilings Press MMXI [rcp 15] http://www.redceilings.blogspot.com/ www.theredceilingspress.co.uk


red notebooks, rob mclennan


Who knows ever no one knows to know unlove no forgive Susan Howe, The Nonconformist’s Memorial


coda: notebooks, this may be where new blade reaches skin,

forced into coupling,

no bodys float, swim beachhead of the heart, the howling thing, a break between two walls

, ditch

swells of blood, brain , belly-roll protect yourself, it said or who I was: contained,


coda: notebooks, in slow motion, kissed the envelope

, goodbye if you will

my first visit to lakeshore, we mastered few words the envelope is mad the mailman is insane to freeze by fire, disastrous confession

what trouble, are you asking,

to all the fingers,


coda: notebooks, or, landlocked; finally, the relativity of paper, cheap , perfections (porous) expanse

, a length of tides

the moon pulls & continues, no longer is the moon cast off, castaway , a cast in satin stripes

a thousand ancient winters

the freezing rain; a length of bridge,

the water crosses,


coda: notebooks, in one version, heaven is a heartland village you told me once, you told a thousand times , wrought iron bars through all your useless words,

between the stars, a nightcap

this week a canvas stretched across old memories

, distorting, distant

conspire to perfect irrationality each day with the failure of a kiss, a promise, who said, each man an empty box , inside or heart, a vacant room


coda: notebooks, by complement; a sketchbook, small pleasures fall, yet here a language, foraged dust incised & smeared

blank, as to the point

compete a pressure; above which I may rise, a lined page

, particular within

out of nowhere, houses stand, aloof, the average heart weighs less than a pound,


coda: notebooks, [ a series not of sequence made of gaps ] [ unnatural & calm; the phone extension cord, ] [ am yours; forgive me, we are lost, ] [ then writes for hours, nothing to repeat, ]


coda: notebooks, a glimmer; glimpse, divine

, a spark

no matter what the score, of happiness

, to quantify, impossible

on the surface of this earth we live apart; together, if at all; a tomorrow we once occupied , no longer


coda: notebooks, beauty knows, a truth no more than any,

more bad seasons,

lifted; remain human, despite temptations, to this day I have no use for vindictiveness, for shallow piety, cruel intention

, the universe reflects what we project,

& tenfold; get what you give

, the love you made


deep, dark red, no thing that could repeated be love, I once believed, pursued its own logic beyond the bounds of reason we are prone to our authority, our seriousness a house burns in an empty field reduced from yard a rule of thumb; I put a small poem in a bird, a line I lifted like a guinea pig to text,


coda: notebooks, singularity of tongues break through orions belt,

an aquaduct older now than earths moon,

once was trapped, interior, maps designed not for swiftness but for solar flares clusters of stars that have no taste,

forgot so much of what happened, had

a protest drink made unfamiliar through, through use


coda: notebooks, am disappeared & send back memory,

copious notes: a postcard, yellow stationery,

rarely static;

an empty vast & onwards,

once never thought it natural, an intermittent wind -up wind, September rain knocks leaves straight from the trees,


rain, close to me; a door way closed, ironing, notebook, lounge, last light of headset, see the shake, there pay attention, endless, newborn stand an age of lost roads, supple-soft, a storm would house , to skin


coda: notebooks, once a notebook, poems sound the same, two languages, stick; a sticky note in peril, yellow-bellied, argument of what, deserted,

stop talking; I seek a new planet, one that does not include us,

completely barren, lifeless; populated still the same, the heart a muscle melts right down to stone,

& sinks; deep in the body


coda: notebooks, two lungs like broken wings morning grew; an arc of wind, a pillage; look, 1983: every song I hear, commanding narrows, unused,

archive, dreams & parenthetical,

pure & solemn,


rob mclennan Born in Ottawa, Canada’s glorious capital city, rob mclennan currently lives in Ottawa. The author of more than twenty trade books of poetry, fiction and non-fiction, his most recent titles are the poetry collections Glengarry (Talonbooks, 2011), kate street (Moira, 2011), 52 flowers (or, a perth edge) (Obvious Epiphanies, 2010) and wild horses (2010), and a second novel, missing persons (2009), An editor and publisher, he runs above/ground press, Chaudiere Books (with Jennifer Mulligan), The Garneau Review (ottwater.com/ garneaureview), seventeen seconds: a journal of poetry and poetics (ottawater. com/seventeenseconds) and the Ottawa poetry pdf annual ottawater (ottawater.com). He spent the 2007-8 academic year in Edmonton as writerin-residence at the University of Alberta, and regularly posts reviews, essays, interviews and other notices at robmclennan.blogspot.com


Thunnerplump And so, we say, friendship ends here in a tidal column of cloud that crumples the sky. Today has the saddest eyes, a tick of rain before the thunder swallows us into a house roomed by chance. Raw edges of what might have been scrape my metal fillings. Magpies people the light like an old movie devoid of sound but for a theatrical pianist. We close the book on the last brick of the story as dark paint swathes old weathered wood.

The Red Ceilings Press

MMXI [rcp 15] http://www.redceilings.blogspot.com/ www.theredceilingspress.co.uk

red notebooks,  

by rob mclennan

Read more
Read more
Similar to
Popular now
Just for you