Multicultural, modern, historical, diverse, the city of Montreal is a writer's paradise. Infused with the heady aromas of the Mediterranean, Asia and the Middle East, the colorful and vibrant outdoor markets and restaurants with that native ambiance exacerbate my fixation on the culinary arts when I should be paying attention to the soul of the city, her people. Always stimulated by the Musee d'Art Contemporain, Christine Davis and her multimedia installation of choreographer Loie Fuller, an 1800s modern dancer who attempted to patent her use of the elements - electricity and fire -in dance is juxtaposed with Mallarme's poetry and Euclid's geometry. True genius. Betty Goodwin's retrospective was amazing - her abstractions on tarpaulins, tracing paper, vellum, steel...puts the expressionism in art.
Do the thing
or don't.
Why do we have to
pave the way
for that vast wasteland
we feel desperate to reclaim.
Now do we?
race as in color as in speed
as in constitutional elections
or...The End. no one's really
racing toward it, only searching
for the plateau. a sigh, a shelf,
content to know that everything lines up.
well, almost everything. this place, this
race, this love, this unexpected pleasure,
the unexpected fall. what do we call it?
inevitable, incomprehensible? unbelievable
or too believable? all we know is the race
to the finish and that's where we leave off.
no one ever thought what it's like to arrive
there. no one ever thought...
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