FathomOnline

 

 Fathom Jan. 1997

Cover

 

Inside Cover

 

Poetry

Mary-Kate Arnold
Jamie Reynolds
Natalie Meisner

Prose

Trevor Rockwell
Rachel Melis
Mark Anderson

Articles

Jamie Reynolds
Andy Murdoch
Andre Narbonne
Andy Murdoch and
Jennifer Reynolds

Artwork

James Matthews
Mitchell Weibe

Extras

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True Confessions
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True Confessions

Dear Fathom,

I recently attended a party at the Dalhousie English dept. and overhead quite a strange discussion concerning the lives of certain members of our CanLit community. While I’d rather remain nameless, let me just say that I am a “big wig” in the Canadian poetry scene. The truth of the matter is we poets aren’t always living fabulous lives composing verse on some astral plane. Oftentimes we live and love in the harsh reality of the temporal world.
      For instance, I’ll never forget the time I ran into Mordecai on St. Urbain as he was headed to his favourite bagel shop. He asked the lad at the counter for a dozen carroway-pumpernickel, but he just smiled. “Sorry Mordy, Layton beat you to them.” Richler stormed out of the shop. “I know where that bastard is,” He exclaimed, “He’s at Cohen’s.” When we entered Leonard’s house tension was in the air. Richler asked for his fucking bagels. Layton was watching TV; he turned, looked at us and said that Richler’s son Daniel was a third rate hack. They arm wrestled. Layton won the bagels and the match. Cohen lit a joint, I asked where Purdy was. Len replied that he  had had car trouble on the 401 and was stuck in a snowbank. He called to say everything was OK—he had a pen in his glovebox. Just then, Peggy Atwood walked in the door with Rob Davies. Peggy was covered in mud. She said she’d just fallen into a large hole which was in front of the house. Len apologized and said he’d been digging it  for himself. As the evening wore on the drink and the poetry flowed magically around us. Later on, Davies made his usual prank call to Farley Mowat’s house, “Farley! Davies here! I’ve just been rereading Owls in the Family...Marvelous book! Have you written any others?” He hung up and everyone laughed. Later, Peggy looked out the window and said “Look, there’s Margaret Laurence, riding past your house again, Len.” Davies interjected, “Oh my, I see she has a new bike.” Cohen quickly closed the blinds. Ahh, the old days. They bring a tear to my eyes. So you see, contrary to what professors may say about us, we poets are really just regular folks. We just have that special talent that can pu a touch of the sublime onto any everyday event.

 

last updated August 17, 2007 | © 2007 Fathom Publishing
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