The thing I most longed for as a child was honest communication that honoured feelings. Once grown, I decided that the teachings offered at the Justice Institute around conflict resolution and improving communication could be the answer to so many human problems. I studied there in 1993 and went on to become a support group facilitator. I still believe in the value of this work, but it is not enough. I now believe it is poetry that will save us. My first inclination that my father and mother needed to be able to express their repressed feelings was accurate, yet most of us do not have the language we need. It’s not only that we may not even know what we feel, but also that when we encounter a poem that breaks us open and gives us the words for the grief, the joy or whatever emotions we are carrying, we are
instantly changed.
Nothing gives me more pleasure than writing a poem that catches the breath. It is there that we are united in our humanity. We need words to get there, but not just any words. Finding the right combination of words is a grand adventure. It has allowed me to turn my deepest sorrows into something beautiful that reaches across the great divides that exist between so many of us.
I can’t recall when I first encountered poetry on the page, but I do remember when I first encountered poetry that I liked in my 30s. I started with Rumi and Hafiz, not knowing that the translations of these poems may be off. I was drawn to the mystics and longed for a solitary life — for the life of a yogi. Exposure to Eastern teachings opened something in me: a yearning for answers that the colonized world and the Christianity I had grown up with did not hold. I had begun life with family members who spoke Michif and I lived between that
and the tension in the bodies of family members who were hiding their ancestry. I was six years old when my great-grandfather, Elie Godin, a Michif-speaking fiddle player, made the change of worlds. Even though I have no conscious memory of this time, I now wonder if it was he who ignited my love of poetry. I recently learned that not only did he sit me on his knee and sing to me in Michif, but he also loved poetry and would recite it from memory. Song and poetry are in my blood.
I get shivers every time I read Jean Teillet’s recounting of my ancestors, voyageurs singing and paddling one stroke per second, their songs giving them the rhythm and strength they needed to continue. Body and words resonating with the water.
Writing poetry with others is important to me. Many of my favourite poems have come to me while attending ingrid rose’s writing from the body, where I have been a member for over 10 years. We use a practice called ‘Continuum’ to enter writing via the body and together create a field that allows us to relax, not only so that words can flow more easily, but also so that we may receive what each other has written from a more spacious and generous place.
Having said all this, I do bring poetry into spaces where it has rarely been invited and sometimes use poems as openings to the circles I host when teaching. I was first introduced to the idea of bringing poetry into workplaces by one of my favourite Irish poets, David Whyte. I discovered him around the same time as I was studying mediation at the Justice Institute in the ‘90s. In his book, The Heart Aroused: Poetry and the Preservation of the Soul in Corporate America, he says, “Rather than talking about change, I use hundreds of memorized poems to try to bring to life the experience of change itself.” Life has such an interesting way of bringing things full circle. Little did I know that many years after reading this book, I would l find myself featured on Poetry Unbound, an On Being podcast hosted by Pádraig Ó Tuama, an Irish poet who also shares an interest in mediation. Coincidentally, David Whyte was the opening poet for their first-ever On Being gathering. Although I am still a fan of Whyte’s writing, it is BIPOC writers such as Chelene Knight, Gregory Scofield, Joanne Arnott, Lucille Clifton and our current Poet Laureate, Louise Bernice Halfe (Sky Dancer), who inspire me most these days.
One of the challenges I face when teaching creative writing is the fact that not everyone is ready for decolonized learning. Some are not open to the question “Is this my story to tell?” or to the need for sensitivity readers. These writers are few in number but loud in their protests. They can really muddy the waters and leave everyone in the room feeling uncomfortable when my goal as a teacher is to help learners relax and lean into their creative spirits.
I would say the biggest barrier is that they have not been exposed to poems they can relate to or that they feel they can understand. Somewhere along the line, they were given the impression that poetry was for people who ‘get it,’ that it lives in a world apart from the mainstream, yet nothing is further from the truth. Poetry lives inside us as song. It is in every cell of our being and can be about anything. Some of the most compelling poems are about the mundane or things not considered poetic. Poetry is about the senses.
Years ago, I was the writer-in-residence at a Surrey high school and while there, I asked students to write poetry about the things they did to decompress. I started with “Where is your safe space?” Might be your bedroom, the woods or when you are visiting your grandmother or dear friend. I could see that I was losing several of the boys and they all looked so relieved when I told them it could be about anything, even basketball. I told them that they could give us the sounds of the ball hitting the court or the side of the basket. I suggested that they explore how their body feels, notice the palm of their hand on the ball, their feet moving under them. I encouraged them to visualize being on the court. Are you outside? Inside? Are there any smells that come to you? When I said this, their eyes lit up and they went on to write some amazing poems.
Perhaps it would help to hear the poetry read out loud. If you have not listened to Poetry Unbound, I highly recommend it. They have featured many wonderful poets, including two of my favourites, Ocean Vuong and Lucille Clifton. The host, Pádraig, reads the poem and then offers his understanding of the poem. A poet himself, he clearly has a deep respect for poets and their poetry.