Great Regulars: . . . She'd had four sons, I knew that well enough,

and each one wrong. All born blind, they say,
slack-jawed and simple, web-footed,
rickety as sticks. Beautiful faces, I'm told,
though blank as air. . . .

A week ago, brilliant poet and esteemed editor Robin Robertson's poem At Roane Head (from which we selectively quote in this post but which, should you wish, you may view in its entirety here @ The London Review of Books), earned first place in the Forward Poetry Prize's Single Poem competition.

from Judith Fitzgerald: The Globe and Mail: In Other Words: And now for something completely brilliant

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"A poem will always be a flash of meaning organized around a few images, words or sounds. And theatre will keep being about body, self and voice positioned with words one in front of another. How we burn inside -- how we deal with time and meaning -- influence the genres we choose. As well, different feelings call for different strategies of writing. My spontaneous way to relate to life is in the present tense and therefore poetry is the genre in which I am privileged to work." [--Nicole Brossard]

from Judith Fitzgerald: The Globe and Mail: Nicole Brossard: Negotiating the flash, the burn

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