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Inter Alia
Inter Alia
Inter Alia
Ebook101 pages36 minutes

Inter Alia

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Shortlisted for the 2006 Gerald Lampert Award

Inter Alia is the long-awaited first collection by one of Canada’s most talented young poets. His work has been widely published in journals and was selected by Lorna Crozier and Patrick Lane for Breathing Fire 2: Canada’s New Poets. He is heir to the English metaphysical poets in many of his preoccupations, with a good dash of Robert Bly, but his technique is very much influenced by his interests in Oriental forms – haiku, waka, haibun, etc. Seymour is smart, yes; but this is above all poetry of deep feeling. Its publication marks the appearance of a unique and important new voice in Canadian poetry.
LanguageEnglish
PublisherBrick Books
Release dateSep 15, 2005
ISBN9781926829487
Inter Alia
Author

David Seymour

David Seymour's Inter Alia was nominated for the Gerald Lampert Award. His poems have been included in three Best Canadian Poetry anthologies, shortlisted for the CBC Literary Award and used as song lyrics for The Warped 45's. David lives in Toronto, where he works in the ?lm industry.

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    Book preview

    Inter Alia - David Seymour

    INTER

    ALIA

    INTER

    DAVID SEYMOUR

    ALIA

    Brick Books

    Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

    Seymour, David, 1971–

          Inter alia / David Seymour.

    Poems.

    ISBN 1-894078-45-4

    I. Title.

    PS8637.E95I58 2005       C811’.6       C2005-903458-0

    We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts, the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP), and the Ontario Arts Council for their support of our publishing program.

    The cover photograph is by the author.

    The book is set in FF DIN and Minion.

    Design and layout by Alan Siu.

    Printed by Sunville Printco Inc.

    Brick Books

    431 Boler Road, Box 20081

    London, Ontario N6K 4G6

    www.brickbooks.ca

    This book is for my parents, Ron and Garie Seymour.

    The words are for my wife, Karen.

    Contents

    Nomenclature of the Semi-Precious

    Amber

    Peridot

    Black Opal

    Heliotrope (Bloodstone)

    True Chalcedony

    Lapis Lazuli

    Quartz

    Topaz

    Almandine

    Moonstone

    Tourmaline

    Inter Alia

    Photograph of an Old Room

    Early Morning City

    Injured Swan, High Park

    Rain Dance

    In autumn

    Perlerorneq

    Lines for Elora Gorge

    Ten Day Poem for Saskatchewan

    ka

    The Cat Forgets

    The Organ of Corti

    Red Panties on the Windowsill

    Two Brass Candlesticks

    Inter Alia

    A Word On Silence

    Head Arrangements

    Inter Alios

    The astronauts are waking up

    Waiting While You Sleep

    Six Meditations on Breasts

    I could rouse her

    The Plain Fact of the Matter

    Promise

    Words are Rain in the Womb of a Cloud

    Utility (A love poem for Jeremy Bentham)

    Ghost of a Chance

    More Accidents

    In the Absence of Birds

    Reading

    Slow Cure

    A Letter to Charlie Lukashevsky on His Birth

    Fugue For the Gulf of Mexico

    Preface

    Fugue For the Gulf of Mexico

    Notes

    Acknowledgements

    Occasionally we still have the feeling that

    violence has long been done to the thingly

    element of things and that thought has played

    a part in this violence, for which reason people

    disavow thought instead of taking pains to

    make it more thoughtful.

    —Martin Heidegger

    Anyone whom the little man looks at pays no

    attention; not to himself and not to the little

    man. In consternation he stands before a pile

    of debris.

    —Walter Benjamin

    Nomenclature of the Semi-Precious

    you have to go, already you can feel you’re

    somewhere else, deposited,

    you’re washed up in some other life as

    insubstantial as a stone.

    —Don McKay

    Amber

    The hugeness of the fact of them. They look

    extraterrestrial, salt- and bone-coloured skin,

    sharing inaudible ageless gossip, one foot

    planted firmly in the grave. The oldest are unswayable,

    even with that fat westerly huffing off the Pacific.

    So remote, they no longer understand

    ground: where you and the insects eke out days.

    Light sieves through the upper boughs,

    tip-toes over the younger needles. The air

    under them is a murky syrup, some turbid

    afterthought of nature. Forget the blisters

    and cracks of history, unstirred memory, lost love.

    These are the real McCoys, the hard copies. Pious.

    Fossils of regret. A mosquito lands cautiously,

    with a dim fear, the need to tap coursing blood.

    Peridot

    You

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