Barbara E. Hunt

Sovereignty 

—for Barry Dempster

When, by the slenderest thread, 

body parts, dear faculties designed 

to let the world in, you out, flutter. Blind 

eye. Deaf ear. Mute tongue. Lame 

limb. Seized joints. 

When power flickers, how often 

are frayed wires to blame? As if pump’s 

shot, allowing dry pipes to rust. Or 

windows shuttered and door bolted 

leads to the assumption no one’s home. 

Inflationary costs of reclamation, 

recovery too often not included in 

emotional budgets. Your home – 

your town – your country,  

no longer your own.  

Housed now in some strange 

Hinterland between the life-  

you-knew now gone; how long? 

Each movement – mind or body –  

measured by hardened  

thresholds, borders, membranes  

no longer breachable  

with money or time. 

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Statement of Homage 

My first poetry mentor, Barry Dempster, and his prolific poetry roster hold a special place in my heart. He’s a master wordsmith, yet when his late-wife, Karen, told me of his struggle with Parkinson’s disease several years ago, I was inspired to pay tribute to his courage and tenacity.  

Barry Dempster 

Poet and fiction author, Barry Dempster has produced two novels, a children's book, three volumes of short stories and eighteen collections of poetry in his prolific writing career (although trained in child psychology). He was nominated for two Governor General's Awards: first for fiction, then in poetry. He has taught across Canada including as faculty member at The Banff Centre in Alberta, Canada and served as  Senior Acquisitions Editor with Brick Books in Ontario, Canada.  

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But For Trouble 

—for Joni 

of bedridden years 

and life-gutting losses 

would she have soared  

from small-potatoes rural 

to secret sharer? So, could trouble 

be our jazz? All ringing open 

chords or vibrato worried 

by piano pedal. Careening  

highs, cracked low notes  

resonating to manifest the muse.  

To let trouble animate our song 

with grace and havoc. Joy mingling 

with uncertainty? Practice and willingness 

held as a mirror to our breath. Trouble 

we make. Or take on. Trouble that 

waylays us. Embracing as a strangely 

feathered nest. For it’s not only the stuff 

of stained and storied lives. To stare 

down heartbreak, mending and scars. 

Shed layers from our untrustworthy souls.  

And let melody be teacher, be gift, 

be our imperfect solace. 

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Statement of Homage

Who has not loved Joni Mitchell’s poetic singing voice for the many decades she’s shared her innermost thoughts with us, her fans and the public? She has left an indelible mark on folk music since her appearance in the 60s and is lauded as legend even today, despite her many physical obstacles (including a stroke). I wanted to pay tribute to her use of the myriad troubles she faced in creating a most precious body of work. 

Joni Mitchell 

Roberta Joan (Joni) Mitchell is a Canadian-American singer-songwriter, multi-instrumentalist, and painter. As one of the most influential singer-songwriters to emerge from the 1960s circuit, she became known for her personal lyrics and unconventional compositions. Among her accolades are eleven Grammy Awards and induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1997. She is viewed as one of the greatest songwriters ever and may even be the most important and influential female recording artist of the late 20th century.  

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Which, When… 

—for Emily Dickinson and Don McKay

She said hope is a thing with feathers. 

He said feathers are next to nothings. 

So, ask which is true? Or might we  

hold both visions? So many lies 

are spread. No one trustworthy.  

But what if some grotesque 

thing could rise audacious 

from ashes? Uncertain. 

If we could find a reckoning; 

some testament. How impertinent  

to think we’ve lost ancestral memory. 

Of where we came from. But flocks 

can carry clues. As in birds of a … 

If feathers congregate for strength 

in numbers, doesn’t then isolation  

lose? Can the lost horizon be reclaimed? 

Where hope and faith are flock-fellows 

and faith to the faithless seems 

like nothings. So too bring forth 

such murmurations as to blot  

out sorrowful skies. 

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Statement of Homage

This poem sprang from an echo in time between the well-recognized line from modern poet, Emily Dickinson linking hope with feathers and Canadian poet Don McKay’s reference to feathers in his poetry collection, Strike/Slip. Don is well-known for his focus on nature and through his many works has honed a uniquely Canadian, a Maritimer’s, and a gritty back-to-the-land view of the world. I appreciated that perspective to apply to my exploration of life, truth, memories and reckonings against the foil of Dickinson. 

Don McKay 

Don McKay has published 10 previous works of poetry. He is the winner of two Governor General’s Literary Awards for Poetry for Night Field (1991) and Another Gravity (2000). He has been shortlisted twice for the Griffin Poetry Prize: Another Gravity (2001) and Camber: Selected Poems (2005). His collection Strike/Slip won the Canadian Griffin Poetry Prize (2007).  

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