Selected Poems - Laurence Hutchman
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Laurence Hutchman
Laurence Hutchman teaches at the Université de Moncton, Edmundston Campus, in New Brunswick, Canada. Author of six books of poetry: The Twilight Kingdom (1973), Explorations (1975), Blue Riders (1985), Foreign National (1994), Emery (1998), and Beyond Borders (2000), he has also co-edited with Anne Compton, Ross Leckie, and Robin McGrath, Coastlines: the Poetry of Atlantic Canada. His book Emery received an honourable mention for the Alfred G. Bailey Award in 1995. From 2000-02 he served as President of the Writers' Federation of New Brunswick. He is the father of two children and lives in Edmundston with his wife, Mary.
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Selected Poems - Laurence Hutchman - Laurence Hutchman
LAURENCE HUTCHMAN
SELECTED POEMS
ESSENTIAL POETS SERIES 144
GUERNICA
Toronto – Buffalo – Lancaster (U.K.)
2007
Contents
EXPLORATIONS (1975)
Lifeguard
Perseus
The Hockey Game
The Boxer
The Chinese ManMozart in the Supermarket
Explorations
Pictures from an Exhibition
BLUE RIDERS (1985)
Music in the Snow
You Should Always Carry a Pen
Josie of Flowerstreet
Pinballs
The Cabinet Maker
Two Oranges
Balcony
The Mountain3
Nelligan
Blue Rider
FOREIGN NATIONAL (1993)
Dream of Origins
Lost Language
Opa
Elegy for Sarah
Woman in the Well
Roots Among the Rocks
Child’s History of Stamps
Kaleidoscope
The Fathers
The Lost Glove
Piano Lessons
Milkweed
Relics
Burnt Island Lake
Spoon
Stripping
Night Vision
Ultrasound
Hippocrates in the Pharmacy
The Glass Blower
The Shape of the Earth
The Cup
Silence
Mountain Walk
Snow
Midnight
EMERY (1998)
The Pump
Chestnuts
Albion Bridge
Grandmothers
Icebreakers
Italian Gardens
The Mythologies of Miss Marsden
French Dictation
The Day Orrie Trueman Climbed the Emery
Schoolhouse Tower
Searching for the Log Cabin of Elizabeth Arden
On the Way to Lindsay
BEYOND BORDERS (2000)
Passing through Customs
Driving to Fort Kent in a Mid-Spring Snowfall
Poems at Hoagies
Demolition of the Edmundston Regional Hospital
The Garden in the Rock
La Roche du Calvaire
Lac Temiscouata
Gardening
The Woman in the Picture
La Dentellière
Your Face
The Forest is Not a Forest
Riding the SMT Down the Appalachian Route
on a Late October Afternoon
Shortcut Through the Renous
La Fenêtre
Tear Off Your Yellow Star
Geel War Cemetery, Belgium
FOR MARY
EXPLORATIONS
Lifeguard
The bricks have never been so red.
The sky is blue as it was in the beginning
– a clear pastel eternity.
The clouds are fantastic swirls, feelings;
the brilliant grass glimmers through the fence;
and I must watch this lonely swimmer,
ten years old and struggling in the shallow water.
Look, I can almost touch bottom.
"Go away, I want to be with Rilke.
Go away and leave me alone with the sky."
He is panting, gurgling, laughing, asking questions,
then breaks the surface with a frightened stare.
There the clouds, fence, trees and red bricks.
Go away I want to be with Rilke.
I look at him in the water.
I am looking at Rilke.
Perseus
The stain on the ceiling
assumes tremendous energy.
Perseus on a white steed
glides over dim Attic coasts,
light on the Dorian pillars.
Down from the pines of Pelion
the mane of Pegasus flows against the stars,
a golden outline of energy.
Riding through the fears of night
into the white storm of violence,
the rider’s large sword is burnished
against the white flanks and silver moon.
Hooves move silently on the glowing air;
the high shoulders, sleek tense arms
will slay the dragon soon.
Perseus rides off the ceiling,
but the old lady who lived here before
saw the shape of the stain
as the incarnate fear of her dead husband.
The Hockey Game
Before the face-off
of the Toronto-Montreal game
he begins talking,
– Yes, I have been here a few years.
You know I am Polish . . . After the war
I spent five years in Siberia.
– It was below zero in winter.
We had to cut wood in the daytime.
At night we slept in tents.
– I was strong then;
now I feel the pain in my shoulders.
When you are young it doesn’t ...
– Because I told the truth,
some normal thing in conversation,
I was taken away.
Ice shines brightly on his glasses;
players flash across his vision
through red circles and blue lines.
– I am an optometrist, now.
He smiles, cheers.
For good hockey,
a good game.
The Boxer
We leave the Miramichi Hotel
walk through Newcastle’s town square
past Lord Beaverbrook’s smug bust,
his gazebo, his Italian sundial.
In the harbour a warship is docked.
Outside of town we hike,
a yellow car stops,
the driver shakes our hands,
introduces himself as Yvon,
says that he used to box . ..
Remember him well,
when my father and I watched the Friday fights:
that one night when he fought Archie Moore
for the world championship
and knocked him down again and again
and still lost.
"I fought all over the world:
England, South Africa, Russia.
It’s a racket . . . yes, I retired in 1960.
I owed the government 45,000 dollars.
Paid them off last year."
"The best fight . . . I fought a South African–
lost three teeth, had my nose broken
and my chest busted."
He rubs my fingers over his broken ribs.
"I won that fight, knocked him out in the eighth.
Don’t know how I survived."
In these green hills of New Brunswick
where there is a church on every corner
and Beaverbrook is sanctified on the menu,
we find a strange kindness in this fighter.
The Chinese Man
In the afternoon
the old Chinese man
kneels in a garden.
The sunlight flickers,
a golden tapestry on