Alta Vista, south

by | Feb 23, 2015 | Poetry

There are neither openings nor doorways.

Angela Carr, Here in There

Traffic, trestle, tensile. Penetrate the interior. Principles of rural, carved. Layered, stripped of something. Carved, and antiseptic: curved. Hard rock, scaled and blushing. This old shed. The bureaucratic forms of ego, death, communities. Drafts of replicant houses. Speculate, discarded glasswear. Entropic colour prints. Companion hedge, the lengthened driveway. Immediate exceptions. Blue, dawn. Dusk. The sameness of trees promotes diversity: we cut them down. The mating rituals of robins, feldspar. 1950s dream. To make a meaning surface, meaning. Distance, which is not a pause. I would update my profile: please connect.

Photo By: James Jordan

About The Author

Rob McLennan

Born in Ottawa, Canada’s glorious capital city, rob mclennan currently lives in Ottawa with his brilliantly talented wife, the poet, editor and bookbinder Christine McNair, and their daughter, Rose. The author of nearly thirty trade books of poetry, fiction and non-fiction, he won the John Newlove Poetry Award in 2010, the Council for the Arts in Ottawa Mid-Career Award in 2014, and was longlisted for the CBC Poetry Prize in 2012. His most recent titles include notes and dispatches: essays (Insomniac press, 2014), The Uncertainty Principle: stories, (Chaudiere Books, 2014) and the poetry collection If suppose we are a fragment (BuschekBooks, 2014). An editor and publisher, he runs above/ground press, Chaudiere Books (with Christine McNair), seventeen seconds: a journal of poetry and poetics, Touch the Donkey and the Ottawa poetry pdf annual ottawater. He also curates the weekly “Tuesday poem” series at the dusie blog, and the “On Writing” series at the ottawa poetry newsletter. He spent the 2007-8 academic year in Edmonton as writer-in-residence at the University of Alberta, and regularly posts reviews, essays, interviews and other notices at robmclennan.blogspot.com. He currently spends his days full-time with toddler Rose, writing entirely at the whims of her nap-schedule.