Showing posts with label Liam Burke. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Liam Burke. Show all posts

Monday, April 15, 2024

National Poetry Month : Liam Burke,

 

the man himself

“Can your joy be bound by a glass river?
          Is death a fishbone in your hand?”
                     – Sheila Watson, “The Double Hook”

standing still among headstones with the sun hanging heavy
between rows I pray for attention from a broad and
regal monarch circling me with geological certainty
imagine him the spirit of al      golden at noon     whispering
something profound and gentle     such as “don’t be sad
for the dead    they are only sleeping the sleep we all long for”
small comfort when I don’t want to come back up the trail
and see the baby bird again, lost to some brutality,
sleeping the sleep we all long for what peace can
I find there among the suddenly purple asters + the feathers +
half a rusted hulk of some abandoned car       our rectory
+ in the county I suppose we are all of us boundaried by skin
that never stops itching     bugmad and nettle-crazed
sweating I swat a dragonfly who falls in the earth    lays quiet
perhaps now fatally injured + preparing for the longed-for sleep -
and on the way home steel sheets hang across the sky and
shutter out the ambered trails of summer       the road smells
    of honey    malt   +   tastes of sumac        juniper
and in low + lonely fields + among select
vantage points in the trees where the sheet clouds
silence sharp sibilants         crows begin small talk
       chat scouting reports       or run scales    anxiously
warming up the orchestra     tuning the murder to
herald the bleak news of every creature in the county
now sleeping the sleep we all long for

 

 

 

 

Liam Burke (he/him/himbo) lives in Ottawa, Canada, on unceded Algonquin Anishinaabe land. He is the winner of the 2023 Diana Brebner Prize, and is most recently the co-author of Orbital Cultivation with Manahil Bandukwala (Collusion, 2021) and machine dreams with natalie hanna (Collusion, 2021) which was shortlisted for the 2022 bpNichol Chapbook Award. His poem “Can we locate souls in space? The pairing problem, solved”, co-written with Manahil Bandukwala, was shortlisted for the 2022 Austin Clarke Award.

Sunday, June 12, 2022

Six Questions interview #128 : Liam Burke

Liam Burke (he/him/himbo) lives in Ottawa, Canada, on unceded Algonquin Anishinaabe land. He is most recently the co-author of machine dreams with natalie hanna (Collusion, 2021) and Orbital Cultivation with Manahil Bandukwala (Collusion, 2021). His work has most recently appeared in Sepia Journal, Bywords, Sledgehammer Lit, Roi Fainéant, INKSOUNDS, the Daily Drunk, and Savant-Garde, and is forthcoming in Gutslut Press, Parentheses Journal, and Rejection Letters.

Q: How long have you been in Ottawa, and what first brought you here? 

Thirty-one years! I was born here, and have put various plans to leave on hold. The longer I stay, the stronger the art communities get here, so perhaps I had better remain a while longer, just in case I have something to do with it.

Q: How did you first get involved in writing, and subsequently, the writing community here?

I first made connections with art spaces in Ottawa playing in bands as a teenager. A little later, I spent a year hosting the open mic at Umi Cafe, where I made friends with folks in the slam community. In my undergrad, I was fortunate enough to take a poetry workshop with the untouchable Sandra Ridley, which introduced me to Tree Reading Series and to Carleton's in/words. Later, I became the assistant director of the dearly departed Sawdust Reading Series, and a co-host of Literary Landscape on CKCU, alongside dear friends Kate Hunt and Arielle Contreras.

Q: How did being in such a community of writers shift your thinking about writing, if at all? 

Early on in my writing efforts, I heard fellow writers here speak about the importance of not attaching your value as an artist to your productivity. Writing is one of those funny things where not writing is seen as a necessary part of the writing process – like resting after exercise, I suppose. I’m still struggling to internalize that advice properly, as I’m sure many of us are, but I suspect I’ll be much more at peace with my art when I can.

Q: What do you see happening here that you don’t see anywhere else? What does Ottawa provide, or allow? 

It’s related to the above, but I see my fellow writers here fostering a space where we can decouple our art from traditional markers of success, like publication, awards and funding. Not getting those things can be a blow to our confidence in our work, and it’s nice to see friends elevating and celebrating friends even when we’re not on shortlists and making Twitter news. I doubt this movement is unique to Ottawa, but I’m grateful for how vocal Ottawa artists are about it.

Q: Have any of your projects responded directly to your engagements here? How have the city and its community, if at all, changed the way you approached your work? 

I’ve been lucky to compose and perform music backing the performances of a few poets here, including Manahil Bandukwala, natalie hanna, and the poetry collectives vii and Yoko’s Dogs. I think those performances made me more sensitive to the musical components of poetry; the tones and cadence of language, especially read aloud. I think, generally, that music does a great deal to ground, structure and develop a reading; the two mediums are very emotionally responsive to one another, and converse well.

Q: What are you working on now? 

I've just finished my masters degree in philosophy, which concerned the role played by social media algorithms in online radicalization. That ate up a lot of brain space, so not too much room for poetry. I was lucky to get published a bunch last year by some very lovely journals, and was hoping to ride that momentum into the new year, but school had to take over for a while. I’m chipping away at a manuscript now about neurodivergency, mental illness and chronic pain through the lens of gaming tropes, which I hope will continue to shape up, so long as I am kind enough to myself through the process.