Dispatch from Newfoundland

   Earlier this summer I had the good fortune to attend the Writing East Conference at Memorial University in St. John's. The first instalment of what I hope will become an annual (and circulating) conference, Writing East is comparable to the AAUEC's, but dedicated to solely to poetry, fiction, and creative non-fiction. Over the course of two days, I was exposed to a few of the Next Big Things in Atlantic Canadian writing, and I'll give you some of their names now. Make note: you'll probably be hearing them again a little later.

    It should come as no surprise that Scott Heffernan works in the MUN archives. Just like an archive, Heffernan's thesis is a labyrinthine work, full of extra-textual curiosity pieces: carefully-crafted dedications, a never-ending stream of movie references, footnotes from an especially judgemental and derisive editor rebutted by the fictional memoirist himself. “Aka: The Novel” is a step-by-step clinic in post-modern craft, a memoir narrated in the future by a fictional character, which nevertheless references Heffernan's own life. He's damned good, and I'm hoping he'll give me an opportunity to read the thing in full one of these days.

     Mary Germaine is a natural performer. Every line is a come on: she nods her head back, raises her eyebrows like a confidence man, assuring her listeners she wants to do “the least-cruel thing possible.” Her phrasing is familiar but ethereal, falling somewhere between Anne Simpson and Ardath Whynacht, but even better than her performances is the poetry itself. Her poems are dry, witty, but careful and guileless. I tried, pleaded, begged for a copy of her chapbook; “I only printed three copies,” she told me. That was the most-cruel thing possible.

     As a spoken-word poet, she is in good company with Stephan Walke, the lone representative of Grenfell Campus. Walke is a slam classicist, obviously-memorized poetry rolling out of him in perfectly balanced cadences, the sound patiently churning into thoughtful considerations of everything from the Cree language to oil money. He is too self-aware to verge into polemic or self-aggrandizement or moralism. It is a relief to see socially-minded poetry that empathizes, rather than demands, especially when it is this exciting.

    My travel companion was Rebecca Salazar. She comes to UNB from Sudbury. Her poems are delicate, as intricate as the history of her family, which came to Canada from Colombia by way of a half-dozen European countries, and her words have all the evocative energy one would expect of a synesthete. I've known Rebecca close to a year now, but had never heard her poetry. It was well worth the wait.

    If I feel a kinship, a similarity of style and approach in my own writing with any other poet this weekend, or if I envy anyone's ability and style, it is Hannah Weber. Her poems are natural, quiet, carefully knitted together. She has, judging by a couple of her poems, an ear for deep-linguistics, an understanding of how to use the precise meaning of a word to her advantage. This is something I admire very much, for it is hard to do without sounding clinical. Weber resists, or avoids, such sterility: there were times in her reading it seemed like her voice might crack and she was about to cry. She knows better than anyone I saw the emotional power of a single word.

    I have gone a bit backwards. On the first night of the conference, Iain McCurdy presented an excerpt from his non-fiction piece (the only non-fiction work presented this year), {((S)(K)(I)(N))}. It is a testament to McCurdy's insight and ability to recognize the deeper ramifications of something so mundane and ubiquitous. Beginning with an anecdote about the surprisingly-pervasive, surprisingly-dangerous skin condition psoriasis, McCurdy expands his consideration of skin as an object and an experience, commenting on everything from medicine, to cosmetics, to cultural colonialism. McCurdy, who has already perfected the look of a hip young English prof, is wry, humorous, even when wringing big ideas out of common experiences.

    These were merely personal favourites of mine; I cannot neglect the work of all contributors: Eva Crocker, Katie Vatour, Nolan Pike, Claire MacMaster, Pearl Chan, Shannon Page, Sarah Campbell and Amanda Ellis. I congratulate and commend them all.

    Also on that first night was a presentation from some local publishers/poets. The standout was undoubtedly Marnie Parsons, the printer of Running the Goat Press, a small art press run out of tiny Tors Cove on the Southern Shore. Her work with the book-as-object is absolutely beautiful and thrillingly creative, inspired by everything from boardgames to accordions to animal pelts. For anyone who appreciates books not just as vessels for literature, but as works of art in themselves, I strongly encourage you to take a look at the work being done in Tors Cove.

    We closed out the conference at the local student pub, where we were treated to readings by Ed Kavanagh and Michael Crummey, and by the sight of a Governor-General Award nominated poet and novelist bussing tables.

    I'd like to congratulate and thank Alexandra Gilbert and STU alumna Amanda Ellis, the MUN PhD and Graduate students who organized this event. Let's hope the success of the Writing East Conference encourages a second edition this time next year.