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The Vicinity
Winner of the 2004 Archibald Lampman Award (National Capital Region -- Ottawa) and shortlisted for the 2004 Trillium Book Award for Poetry and the 2004 ReLit Awards
In The Vicinity David O'Meara gives us a new kind of cityscape, one that brings its unseen, and usually unsung, materials to the foreground. Brick, concrete (that "not-so-silver screen / our walk-on parts are posed upon"), glass, steel, they step boldly from anonymity into fresh focus, backdrops goaded into stardom. Full of casually-worn wit and humour, often using intricate forms that deftly reflect their subjects, these poems probe our conventional attitudes while walking us down present or remembered streets -- "Some-such Avenue / Rue Saint Whatever."
In The Vicinity David O'Meara gives us a new kind of cityscape, one that brings its unseen, and usually unsung, materials to the foreground. Brick, concrete (that "not-so-silver screen / our walk-on parts are posed upon"), glass, steel, they step boldly from anonymity into fresh focus, backdrops goaded into stardom. Full of casually-worn wit and humour, often using intricate forms that deftly reflect their subjects, these poems probe our conventional attitudes while walking us down present or remembered streets -- "Some-such Avenue / Rue Saint Whatever."
- GenresPoetry
93 pages, Kindle Edition
First published August 30, 2003
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Displaying 1 of 1 review
January 23, 2022
Not
to
mention
the invention
by Elisha
S.
Otis
whose
levers
and ratchets
connected
operandi
to
modus.
* * *
Smoggy day. The sky's soft palm. Skyscraper
in it, so high, it unrolls a shadow blocks-long
and broken over rooftops. Gulls snicker up there;
say har-dee-har, haw haw haw.
Poor voyeur like us - nervous, a little turned on.
Is it the corner ledge's view, so tall and far,
and far, that knocks the breath right out of you?
A drop like that won't fit the body well.
Open wide, say ah. It's going to hurt a bit,
this fog of love, homelessness, a hundred floors of metal,
glass and carpet you're dropping past. Oh peripheral
nudge-aside being, count them as you fall.
* * *
I'm still here, sister.
You're there. I forgot.
You were the subject
we dropped all winter.
Talk is you're back,
you've been seen around.
They say the rate you're
going, you're bound
to burn up, burn out.
They want me to care.
That dark day, I'm
glad I won't be there
to see it happen,
or the terrible mess
you'll leave with your wake.
My selfishness then,
the trouble I'm turning
a blinded eye to. Still
sister, burn.
I will always look up to you.
to
mention
the invention
by Elisha
S.
Otis
whose
levers
and ratchets
connected
operandi
to
modus.
- The Safety Elevator, pg. 14
* * *
Smoggy day. The sky's soft palm. Skyscraper
in it, so high, it unrolls a shadow blocks-long
and broken over rooftops. Gulls snicker up there;
say har-dee-har, haw haw haw.
Poor voyeur like us - nervous, a little turned on.
Is it the corner ledge's view, so tall and far,
and far, that knocks the breath right out of you?
A drop like that won't fit the body well.
Open wide, say ah. It's going to hurt a bit,
this fog of love, homelessness, a hundred floors of metal,
glass and carpet you're dropping past. Oh peripheral
nudge-aside being, count them as you fall.
- Poem for King Kong, pg. 33
* * *
I'm still here, sister.
You're there. I forgot.
You were the subject
we dropped all winter.
Talk is you're back,
you've been seen around.
They say the rate you're
going, you're bound
to burn up, burn out.
They want me to care.
That dark day, I'm
glad I won't be there
to see it happen,
or the terrible mess
you'll leave with your wake.
My selfishness then,
the trouble I'm turning
a blinded eye to. Still
sister, burn.
I will always look up to you.
- Sister, pg. 41
Displaying 1 of 1 review