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Poetry Canadian

The Colours of the Forest

by (author) Tom Wayman

Publisher
Harbour Publishing Co. Ltd.
Initial publish date
Jan 1999
Category
Canadian, General
  • Paperback / softback

    ISBN
    9781550172027
    Publish Date
    Jan 1999
    List Price
    $16.95

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Description

In this new collection, Canadian poet Tom Wayman, long honoured for his incisive observations on life in the workplace and the classroom, takes a more personal turn. Many of these poems celebrate the gains and losses of "middle-aging," while others reflect on the deaths of parents and friends. Readers of "Life with Dick" and "The Big O" will be relieved to find that, through it all, one quality of Wayman's writing that keeps gaining in vigour is his fine subversive sense of humour.

Considered the guru of the North American work poetry movement, Wayman adds depth to the tradition in his latest work by writing white-collar workers alongside blue-collar workers, drawing on his experiences in both worlds.

About the author

Awards

  • Short-listed, Dorothy Livesay Poetry Prize

Excerpt: The Colours of the Forest (by (author) Tom Wayman)

THE RESURRECTION OF THE CLOWN

Once she died
she stopped changing
and became so clear

she could reemerge
-- her bright brittle spunkiness
her off-key songs

her delight in balloons
her dogged
practicing

of tap dance
how her body closes in
when she makes love

her limbs and thighs
and face
concentrating

on joy
These aspects of her
and more

week after week
appeared to
members of the Clown Society

who whispered
about the phenomenon
And former members of her audience

noticed an event
a motion
their memory pulled and twisted

until they could name
where they encountered

her

In this manner
she was reassembled
in other existences

part
by part

until she was reborn
with her own mind

altered by the lessons
death teaches

to the living

ANTHEM: UNDER THE HORNED MOON

Often the crescent moon
sails stiffly vertical

Other times it floats
almost on its back

This night
I am driving 1-84 west down Gorges

into the open arms
of a horizontal horn of light

During my years
beneath the moon's phases

I, anxious and exhilarated,
have steadily felt the road

coming toward me like a spoon
toward a baby

the asphalt pouring under the vehicle's
hood, front bumper

The highway's distances
feed me

As I cover ground,
I am simutaneously racing closer

and away
The motion perfect

perfectly lonely

like this moon