Luna Moth

IMAG1023_1Every once in a while I get an idea for a book that takes way too long to make, but I am stubborn, so I decide to make it anyway.

I was gifted (thank you Terry Ann Carter) a stack of odd-sized tissue-like paper and it has been simmering in my mind for a few years. My commercial printer could not print on it, so if it would be a book one day, it was up to me to print the pages on my home printer.

I am glad that I began five months before the conference in Schenectady where it was to be on the book table.

There are not many pages; it meant putting each of five sheets of paper into the printer twice. I won’t bore with the whole tale, but some of the lowlights were having the printer jam several hundred times even though I only made 17 copies of Luna Moth. I ran out of ink, and had to print a couple of pages twice (four passes x 17 pages through the printer) because I found errors and wanted perfect books. Besides that, each time I printed a page, I had to print it as a single copy. If I could have demanded that my printer simple print say, 10 copies, that would have been much too easy. Trying this was not clever as ten or twenty pages would stick to each other, bound and determined to go through the printer together. So for each pass-through, I had to give the system four separate commands. That would be, let’s see, about eight hundred individually printed pages, or 3200 commands. I may be exaggerating, but only slightly.

Then I assembled and sewed the pages with my sewing machine, which wasn’t too pleased with working on paper and retaliated by not ever giving me a perfect tension. Three rows of stitches for each book, leaving the threads long, in a kind of tassle effect. The I was ready to insert dried fake bamboo touched up with gold paint through the sewn channels, so that I could put gold ‘thread’ hangers on these hang-up books. A couple of turquoise beads to anchor the threads. A snap.

But the grasses didn’t all fit through the sewn channels (I had to hunt for some more svelte members of the fake bamboo clan), the threads were finicky when I was fitting the end loops over the grasses, the beads were upset at being stuck down with a glue gun…they kept jumping from my fingers in revenge, arranging for said fingers to get burned by the hot glue while I fumbled. But the results are worth it. Here are some poems from Luna Moth:

tangerines/bursting/ with/ themselves

after rain/ a rinsed light, over the hills

milkweed blossom monarchs fold into each other

earthbound luna moth/ its rain-soaked/ transparent wings


on her skin he writes
invisible love letters
each word
a little warmer
than the next

i remember/ the moon/ in shades of raw silk/ and everywhere/ the music of water

Now I embark on another of the same kind of mission. I’ll use the same transparent paper. It will jam the printer. But I’ll feel great winning a few battles with my technology. Won’t I?



Poetry with nine and ten year olds

Although I have been in the teaching profession all my life, it’s been a while now since I’ve been in a classroom. I love teaching though, so when asked, I said yes, I’d teach poetry to an elementary school class. While waiting for the class to start I began writing words from ‘Jabberwocky’ on the whiteboard. MIMSY  BRILLIG FRUMIOUS VORPAL MANXOME MOME SLITHY… and as I printed, I could hear the students sounding them out, curious.

I began the session by reading ‘How to Paint a Donkey’ by Naomi Shihab Nye. The discussion became a bit warm as to whether a real donkey was being painted, or whether it was about a painting of a donkey. If we’d had time, we might have written that second version together. But they’d all been put down some time in their short life, and they empathized with the child speaking in the poem.

I’d made booklets up with poems about supernovas, the teeth of a shark, the first bright spark; we talked about rhyming and where rhymes might be in a poem, about the look of a poem and the sounds in poems, about what a poem could be about. Once we’d studied the words on the whiteboard, imagined what they might mean, I read Jabberwocky to them, brought up that they could even make up words if they wanted to.

We had more fun with a poem I wrote called ‘ode to the land down under’. Once we pinned down that it was about Australia and an interesting true vocabulary that Australians habitually use, I read them a poem full of place names like ‘woolloomooloo’, ‘toowoomba’, and ‘wahroonga’, phrases like ‘in the land of the barking frog’, and ‘pozzies, mozzies and cozzies’, but the sections they liked most were:

in the evening the macropods come out
tree kangaroos


where a cackleberry means an egg
for your brekkie
there could be a chook on the barbie
and if you’re sitting on your acre
you’re sitting on your own backside
well you’d have to get up
at sparrowfart mate to find anything else like it
this purler of a place
a true ridgy didge

They all wanted a chance to read a poem, so some got read twice. I had to drag out my notes on supernovas so they would believe the part about us all coming from stardust. I could hear the exhaled awe on that idea, which pleased them a lot.

One thing I wanted to talk about was that some of the biggest places were inside of them, that their imaginations were the biggest of all, so I asked about big places, what they could think of, and got castles, and the Canadian Tire Centre and space, galaxies… and then one quiet little redheaded girl put up her hand and literally breathed out the word ‘heart’…Well that was making my morning.

I had four haiku at the end of the booklet. What were these poems. None had heard of a haiku, which was wonderful, because I could start them off the right way, not counting syllables. I explained what many people thought, that a haiku meant 5 – 7 – 5, but told them about the difference between languages. I told them about living in a country where our word ‘piano’ meant nothing to them as most people there had never seen one. In Bislama, they called a piano wan-samting-blong-waet-man-we-i-gat-waet-tut-mo-blak-tut-mo-taem-you-kilim-hem-hemi-criaot-olsem-wan-puskat (which means ‘something that belongs to a white person that has white teeth and black teeth and when you hit it, it cries out like a cat). They seemed to get the idea of poems in seventeen Japanese syllables needing fewer words in English.

They were interested in the idea that haiku usually had a season word. We looked at the four poems in the book so they could get an idea of what that meant. The fun for me was that when I said we sometimes called haiku one-breath-poems, they all had to try that out. I could see them saying poems to themselves, seeing if that was true.

The haiku I presented were these:

November skies/ jellyfish hide/ inside themselves

singing night/ into day/ blackbirds

in the throat of the lily/ a spider/ wraps a fly


They wanted to know why they were poems, and what the one about plum blossoms meant. We acted that one out, the pink flowers falling onto those that were already on the ground. I am very glad I left these haiku to the last, because once we got on the theme of jellyfish, that was the end of everything else.  Jellyfish and Mexico, stingrays and swimming with jellyfish. We could have gone on for hours.

This was all part of Arts days, a two day happening in St. Mary’s Catholic School in Carleton Place. Artists, dancers, and writers came in for these artistic culture enrichment days. My thanks to Arts Carleton Place for asking me to be part of the fun. I’d certainly do it again. Thank you Inara Jackson for organizing this two-day experience, and to the school and its staff who were wonderful hosts, and the students were bright and simply terrific.



I came across this word again in The Poetics of Space by Gaston Bachelard (1958, 1994 edition, Beacon Press, Boston). ‘Anacoluthon’: a syntactical inconsistency, usually in a sentence, but often used as a technique in poems. (I loved the variations, from ‘anacolutha’ as one of its plurals, to ‘anacoluthically’ as an adjective…) It made me think of the correlation between certain styles of poetry, and collage.

A few years ago I made a set of twelve small collages, almost miniature, 4″ x 5″, containing, along with images, both phrases and puzzle pieces. I’ll be putting them on the table at the upcoming Arts Carleton Place Art Show and Sale on November 28th.

This is a ‘found’ poem based on one of the collages, using the words, and descriptions of some of the images, anacoluthically…

four stages

four girls holding hands
cut from newsprint

your slotted spoon
begins its new career
Tuesday, July 29th

while pondering all this, you might consider the following:
the wrong shoe

When does
an ordinary
a work of art?





remove this label
before using

he glares at the word ‘naked’

and then each morning
I would say
Is this the birthday party day?

A collage is something anyone can make, but it’s the decisions involved, a use of humour, imagination and poetic sense, as well as a pleasing visual arrangement that attracts me to the form. Finding a poem afterwards among these juxtapositions is the icing.

Making very small, you could say cluttered, pieces, is an opportunity to portray the immense in the small. Underlying the words about a work of art is a particular time. There is a date that might suggest questions about ‘why’. Words and images thrown together encourage us to imagine connections between them. They are put together in the spirit of fun, but accidents happen. Everything is connected.

I’ll be posting more anacolutha in the next few days before they leave home and go out into the wide scary world..



in the days after

On Friday the 13th, my sister and I were driving in heavy rain along the 417. We just wanted to get home and be safe. As we’ve seen, some places are not safe.  When we found out what had happened in Paris, we were stunned.

This morning, it’s cold and clear. I hear the sound of crows dimly through window glass. Soon we’ll be entering the festive season in various cultures.  And while I’m not religious in any formal sense, the face of this choir boy speaks of the innocence of so many in our troubled world.

This is a small woodcut I made years ago. The woodcut is about 4″ x 5″.  I was learning how to make prints in the traditional Japanese manner, using a different block for each colour.

morning light

through new jars

of wild grape jelly