Presented by Kootenay School of Writing
Sun. 6 July 1:00 – 2:30 PM
Drury + Hubbard + Weir
a KSW series @
UNIT/PITT Projects, 236 East Pender St., housing the KSW library
Poets / writers presenting poems / antipoems / language.
Spoken; visually projected.
Each will read one short text, followed with open discussion.
Ivan Drury presents Eugene Ionesco
Taryn Hubbard presents Anne Carson
Lorraine Weir presents on the Tsilhqot’in land claim
[When he hangs the pictures one sees that they are of an old man, a huge woman, and another man. The ugliness of these pictures is in contrast to the rhinoceros heads which have become very beautiful. BERENGER steps back to contemplate the pictures.]
I’m not good-looking, I’m not good-looking. [He takes down the pictures, throws them furiously to the ground, and goes over to the mirror.] They’re the good-looking ones. I was wrong! Oh, how I wish I was like them! I haven’’t got any horns, more’s the pity! A smooth brow looks so ugly. I need one or two horns to give my sagging face a lift. Perhaps one will grow and I needn’t be ashamed any more—then I could go and join them. But it will never grow! [He looks at the palms of his hands.] My hands are so limp—oh, why won’t they get rough! [He takes his coat off, undoes his shirt to look at his chest in the mirror. ] My skin is so slack. I can’t stand this white, hairy body. Oh I’d love to have a hard skin in that wonderful dull green colour—a skin that looks decent naked without any hair on it, like theirs! [He listens to the trumpetings.] Their song is charming—a bit raucous perhaps, but it does have charm! I wish I could do it! [He tries to imitate them. ] Ahh, Ahh, Brr! No, that’s not it! Try again, louder! Ahh, Ahh, Brr! No, that’s not it, it’s too feeble, it’s got no drive behind it. I’m not trumpeting at all; I’m just howling. Ahh, Ahh, Brr. There’s a big difference between howling and trumpeting. I’ve only myself to blame; I should have gone with them while there was still time. Now it’s too late! Now I’m a monster, just a monster. Now I’ll never become a rhinoceros, never, never! I’ve gone past changing. I want to, I really do, but I can’t, I just can’t. I can’t stand the sight of me. I’m too ashamed! [He turns his back on the mirror.] I’m so ugly! People who try to hang on to their individuality always come to a had end! [He suddenly snaps out of it.] Oh well, too bad! I’ll take on the whole of them! I’ll put up a fight against the lot of them, the whole lot of them! l’m the last man left, and I’m staying that way until the end. I’m not capitulating!
Some fathers hate to read but love to take the family on trips. Some children hate trips but love to read. Funny how often these find themselves passengers in the same automobile. I glimpsed the stupendous clear-cut shoulders of the Rockies from between paragraphs of Madame Bovary. Cloud shadows roved languidly across her huge rock throat, traced her fir flanks. Since those days, I do not look at hair on female flesh without thinking, Deciduous?