Happy Father's Day

I am remembering my own father who died suddenly in 1977.

He was determined to remain strong, drove to distant places to hold a job, insisted that I organize parties for his grandchildren because he thought the joy would be greater for the toddlers than my fatigue, never let us know he suffered from ill health or pain of any kind, took an interest in the larger world, travelled, made lots of jokes and told stories all the time. He chose to love life, good food, laughter and was loyal to his friends.

I have inherited some of his habits and bombastic personality, but most of all he taught me to be engaged in the world, to participate and to be myself.  

Unfortunately he never learned to reveal his sensitive self and so I didn't get to know him well. He didn't take care of his health and never appeared to be vulnerable. He believed that being a father was about protecting your family, being a fortress, and I would have loved him better if I'd seen more of his true feelings.  It seems that men are taught to be strong all the time, always winning and never losing, but I think we lose our authentic selves when the emphasis is on the role.

Today I think he would have loved to see his grand-children grow up, get married and have their own children. But he didn't have that opportunity.  He died of a heart attack in his late fifties.

Wishing fathers all over this planet, a day where their relationship to those who depend upon them, tells them they do not have to be in control - no matter how much they love their children.

Evolution

Whitman, Emerson and Thoreau

died in America.

Four boys escaped Lejac and froze

to death on the lake near home.

The army in Uzbekistan executed children

as an example.

We are not really toilet trained.

We are trained to believe we are.

I have learned how to scream

with my mouth closed.

(from Infinite Power, Ekstasis 2016)

He calls me an intellectual

He calls me an intellectual

but I know it’s code—meaning
my mind wanders aimlessly through the forest
while he replaces the filter to the UV lamp
or pulls weeds between shrubs
notices the lapsed club membership
leafs through cookbooks for a chicken recipe
scans the Internet for flights to Toronto
sees cobwebs on the skylight which he must keep
to himself, as if


I would never notice webs created by
one or more of the seven hundred spider species
of British Columbia and search the Internet myself
for its name which accidentally takes me
to a strange image of a rat-like creature
who has a tail coming out of its chest and wonder
if it might be a lab-test rat or an entirely
new species, and whether something should be done
about that


like further research
to be informed, to have knowledge
the scientific proof, to know the facts
that escape as soon as I try to pin them down
fearing he will ask
are you sure about that
and I must confess
I am never sure about anything.

(from Infinite Power, Ekstasis 2016. Cover painting is from Paul Grignon http://www.paulgrignon.com)

Song of Praise

iv.

O garden of mosses and wave petunias

flaunty japonica in brilliant auras

O wooden bench on painted deck

occasional fleck of a resettled petal

O gardener checking tomatoes in pots

digging up lots for next year’s crops

O sunless day in September before the turning

red burning of green leaves

O socks and shoes and fleeting epochs

hydrangea bushes and bird-feather blues

everything everything O so morning

the unnamed tree with its rabbit ears

the cedars, the grasses, the finger marked glasses,

the rusty shears and later years

the melted candle on window sill

O happy pill and polymer painted palisade fractal.

(from Infinite Power, Eskasis 2016)

Old Man in the Corner

In the dark corner of the bar 

an old man crumpled in his seat

can barely lift his glass

—each pint gets heavier

each day takes more to numb the pain.

He has given up trying to understand the source

of his grief, the reason for his expulsion

from a place, like joy, peace, or belonging.

He knows like blood coursing through his veins 
he was robbed.

Of what? His manliness? His hope?

His tribe. He has lost his tribe.

He has lost his job. And someone

has to pay.

Yes he knows about NAFTA

and the jobs that went to India

and the slick talkers in suits

cutting him loose from the plant

and he knows like the knife

in his stomach that they can’t

be hurt, can’t be touched

by anything he does.

And he can’t tell his buddies

they have cut off his balls.

So when he screams

get rid of all the others,

he means those who are not like him

and throughout his years

of becoming a man

he has become the foreigner

to his own heart.

(Infinite Power, Janet Vickers. Ekstasis 2016)

Just because the mind moves in spirals

it doesn’t mean there is no progress

it depends on how far down the spiral goes

the extent of our denial of our part and where

we look for answers

when we accuse, when we judge, when we

lift the other and by doing lift ourselves

and when we fall from the tree

how we roll after gravity has had its way

we are more complex than apples, 
and this is why the spiral

is levitation—collective will whispering

across the prairie, over the pines, across the ocean

the argument between options before the flesh

breaks open filling the rivers with blood

this is the light that opens the window

to breathe beyond our own breath

our own anxieties.

(from Infinite Power, (Ekstasis 2016) Cover painting by Paul Grignon)

The Heart Will Not Be Managed

That is what they told me as I strolled through

their territory. They said you can cut us all down

but our roots will find a way over or under

other roots. They say look at how we shield

the thinnest branches and the softest leaves

without telling how or where to grow.

We house birds of all kinds no matter

how they live or what they believe.

We don’t ask for love from mice

or loyalty from snakes. We have not created

by-laws here, demanding that neighbours sign

before entering. We don’t judge. When something

invades our sky and we cannot reach the light

we grow in a different direction.

They ask me to look at my own ancestors

for the proof, put your gears in reverse and look

at where you came from as you ventured slowly

out of the ocean with new found legs looking

for something to eat. Then look at the first mother

and the first father how they laughed and how they cried

never questioning the authenticity of their tears.

Look at you they say. Look at how you survived

your first breath, learned how to walk, how to speak,

how to hold the next generation inside

until they are ready to be born.

All we ask is that you remember these thoughts

when you are locked in a concrete cell

when you are tortured by your own confessions

or sent back to the sea in a coffin.

The heart knows who you are

and will be with you until you die.

(from Infinite Power, Ekstasis 2016)

The Begat of Gratitude

cover painting by Paul Grignon

To those who gave birth to my ancestors

who told me stories of the world

who showed me how to love it.

To all those who by accident and brief encounter

brought me to some truth I did not want to know.

To those who, not knowing my name

helped when I needed help

and who received mine when they needed it.

To those who by commitment of their will

have learned to write, sing, dance or paint

the message we most need to learn.

To all those who have the courage to put their skill

on the public stage to serve

as doctor, lawyer, minister, teacher, publisher,

scientist or social worker.

To those whose names I may never learn

who clean the office, drive the bus, do the laundry

pick the fruit and stack the shelves.

To those who have listened to another 

when they needed to be heard.

To all who embrace their vulnerability

and who enter into compassion.

For you are the names and the faces

of my gratitude.

(from Infinite Power, Ekstasis 2016)

The Heart Will Not Be Managed

painting by Paul Grignon

That is what they told me as I strolled through

their territory. They said you can cut us all down

but our roots will find a way over or under

other roots. They say look at how we shield

the thinnest branches and the softest leaves

without telling how or where to grow.

We house birds of all kinds no matter

how they live or what they believe. 

We don’t ask for love from mice

or loyalty from snakes. We have not created

by-laws here, demanding that neighbours sign

before entering. We don’t judge. When something

invades our sky and we cannot reach the light

we grow in a different direction.

They ask me to look at my own ancestors

for the proof, put your gears in reverse and look 

at where you came from as you ventured slowly

out of the ocean with new found legs looking 

for something to eat. Then look at the first mother 

and the first father how they laughed and how they cried 

never questioning the authenticity of their tears. 

Look at you they say. Look at how you survived 

your first breath, learned how to walk, how to speak,

how to hold the next generation inside

until they are ready to be born.

All we ask is that you remember these thoughts

when you are locked in a concrete cell

when you are tortured by your own confessions

or sent back to the sea in a coffin.

The heart knows who you are

and will be with you until you die.

(Infinite Power, Ekstasis 2016)

Strategic Plan

Strategic Plan

painting by Paul Grignon

Love everyone
Hate no-one
Move to the edge

(Infinite Power, Ekstasis 2016)

National Poetry Month

Apology

Power is an obsession in the Fourth Estate.
What does it mean anyway in terms of your life?
In how we talk to each other?

What will it save you from?
The military, government, knowledge, love?
Each decade tells us what we think we need
is out of date.

Are we prisoners laying bricks for new prisons
trapped by words with limited definitions?
Shall we throw up our hands and say
that’s life isn’t it?

Even if we agree the problem is not our nature
but the way language keeps us from feeling and so
we declare war.

Against what? Hegemony?

Seems no matter what we choose
the rules of engagement have found a way
to win forever and we could endure oppression if it was fair ...

The word will not leave us or set us free.

We are thin sticks holding the ocean’s waves
in our small hands and our large conceit.
Strike out at anything, small or large,
and we strike against our willingness to surrender
to the infinite power we can’t control.

But what if I dared invent new words
like ‘thought-birds’ and ‘quest-frack’
and my multiple selves took care of the ‘I’ in the common ‘we’.

Eventually the hyphen might disappear and I might say:

compassion, empathy, analysis, or nurture 

and return the power to my heart.

Am I ready for such a radical departure?

(from Infinite Power, Ekstasis 2016)

For more information on National Poetry Month click here

And the word was Life

Let the ‘L’ gently come from the tongue
as it touches the upper gum of your tender mouth
let the ‘I’ fly lightly toward the fricative ‘F’
and let ‘E’ be the silent witness.
‘Life’. It’s easy to say.

Authentic and yet unassuming, non-judgmental.
It precedes ideology and makes every assumption
a conceit.

Say ‘Maisha’ like the mothers of Africa.
Say ‘Shxweli’ like the people of the river.

(from Infinite Power, Ekstasis 2016)

Infinite Power - a book of poems

Image: Heroic Journey by Paul Grignon Infinite Power, in Vickers eyes “is not a zero sum game  but a journey / a stone thrown in a lake / circular ripples emanating outward” and the danger of our age is that we have lost contact with that power, made it something to possess  like a personal bank account. In writing these poems she  hopes for a reconnection to that sacred universal relationship. Janet Vickers’s book of poetry, entitled Infinite Power,  has such an accurate title for this is an important, brave and,  indeed, powerful gathering of poems. She is on a search, a  compelling search, that draws the reader along with her as  she questions accepted concepts, ploughs through mankind’s  inhumanity and even tears nature apart in her quest for a core of hope amidst despair. “The distant bird singing,” as she puts it. This need to give reason for continuance is evidenced in  Vickers startling fresh and demanding metaphors and her  piercing questions. Hope comes in the last few words—“love  everyone, hate no-one, move to the edge.” It takes profound insight to come to such a seemingly innocent answer. ~ Naomi Beth Wakan, inaugural Poet Laureate of Nanaimo These poems are at turns thought-provoking, accusatory, or playful in their exploration of topics such as climate change, extinctions, greed or incidents from her own past. The thread always running throughout Janet's work is her commitment to honouring all that’s sacred, whether that might be in the world of nature or in the realm of the human heart.

~ Heidi Greco

This is Janet Vickers’s second trade book of poems. Her first book, Impermanence was published in 2012, also by Ekstasis. Her poems have appeared in anthologies in Canada (Down in the Valley, Ekstasis 2004) and the UK (Refugees Welcome and The Poet’s Quest for God, Eyewear 2016), in literary journals and online magazines. Janet is active in the community on Gabriola Island where she lives with Tony, her husband of 46 years.

To order go to Ekstasis Editions