Thirty-for-Sixty

by Al Pittman

The Newfoundland Poetry Series was begun in 1993 as Breakwater's twentieth anniversary project to honour and preserve the literary talents of our Newfoundland and Labrador poets. Selection is based on quality. Breakwater's aim is to make the series affordable to as many lovers of poetry as possible.

Paperback

First published January 1, 1999

About the author

Born in St. Leonard's, Placentia Bay, Newfoundland, Pittman grew up in Corner Brook. He moved to Montreal in 1964 where he began writing poetry and plays, and in 1966 published his first book of poems, The Elusive Resurrection. While in Montreal he was associated with Raymond Fraser and others in editing the literary magazine Intercourse: Contemporary Canadian Writing. From 1968 to 1970, Pittman was a student at St. Thomas University in Fredericton, New Brunswick, where he befriended fellow poet Alden Nowlan. Pittman moved to St. John's in 1972, where he associated with many of the artists, writers, and musicians active in the city at the time, including Rufus Guinchard and Gerald Squires. In 1973 he co-founded Newfoundland's first publishing house, Breakwater Books, with Pat Byrne, Dick Buehler, Tom Dawe, and Clyde Rose. Pittman continued to write throughout his life, producing many other volumes of poetry, plays, books for children, short stories, songs, magazine articles, and essays, as well as writings for radio, television and film. He eventually returned to his childhood home of Corner Brook, where he co-founded the March Hare, an annual poetry and music festival.

Reviews

[M.W.P.M. · Rating 4 out of 5]

Touching You


Touching you is to touch
what remains of passion past.
The loveliest love we are to know
is that that will never last.

Past lovers lie in beds of clay
deep beneath our feet.
Their love, for them, though new and true
was measurably complete.

What destinies you and I embrace
are certain. That's for sure.
In virtue we are very rich.
In rapture rather poor.

* * *

My Daughters Write Poems


You do the best you can.
But there are no guarantees.

Most of my friends have children
who have children. Some of their children
have children and geraniums
and dogs and lawn mowers.

Not so my daughters.
The live in phone booths
and telephone me poems
in the middle of the night.

I want to say "I'm sorry.
I should have been a better father."
I want to plead "Please
let me be so before I die."

"I'll wallpaper your living room.
I'll build you a bird house.
I'll drown the kittens.
I'll tell all the right lies."

I want to say "Please, forgive me."

But their words
enforce a certain silence.

I go back to bed
lullabyed to sleep
with my daughters in my arms
and their poems in my mouth.

* * *

Thirty-for-Sixty


My father was a man of metaphors.
When he said to me, "Don't wait
until you have the five in your hand
before you go thirty-for-sixty"
he wasn't talking about cards.

Newfoundland's national pastime
is a game of Growl (otherwise called
Auction or A Hundred and Twenties).
Thirty-for-sixty is the ultimate bid.
To make that bid without the five
of trumps in your hand is a foolish
thing to do. Chances are (nine times
out of ten) you'll end up in the hole.

So what! When it's just a game.
A bit of fun. What the hell!

But that night as he lay dying
he wasn't talking about cards.
No overdose of morphine
could diminish his need to leave
his son one last word of wisdom.

I listened and took him to heart.

I've been going thirty-for-sixty
without the five ever since.

The hold grows deeper and deeper.

And now it's my turn to bid again.

I don't have the five in my hand
and I've little else to go on.

But what the hell!

Thirty-for-sixty!