ditch,

the poetry that matters

Jason Christie

Jason Christie grew up in Milton, Ontario. He did an undergraduate degree in English and Creative Writing at York University. While at York, he was a member of the Writers at York. After York, Jason ventured to Calgary to pursue an MA in English. During his time in Calgary, Jason organized the successful YARD reading series. Jason moved to Vancouver in 2007 where he joined the Kootenay School of Writing and curated the Respondency West reading and lecture series with Jordan Scott which was modeled on the highly successful Influency Salon created by Margaret Christakos. Jason has recently returned to Calgary.

Jason's poetry has appeared in many journals and magazines, including filling Station, dANDelion, Poetry is Dead, Action, Yes!, The Capilano Review, West Coast Line and Interim. Jason is the author of i-ROBOT Poetry (http://www.edgewebsite.com/books/irobotpoetry/ir-catalog.html), Canada Post (http://snarebooks.wordpress.com/books/jason-christie/) and Unknown Actor which will be published by Insomniac Press in the Spring of 2013. He is also an editor alongside angela rawlings and derek beaulieu of the anthology Shift & Switch: New Canadian Poetry (http://www.themercurypress.ca/?q=books/shift_switch). He is currently working on another book of speculative poetry which tackles the subject of aliens.

from: Unknown Actor


Method

From out of sound, a nowhere voice or offstage
humbled like a melody to the pounding drums
What if I was the drums?

From light at the edge of the stage, images arise or television
rancid like shredded twentieth century news
What if I was the news?

From another's eyes, my presence arises or memory
diffident like escaped tremors from an earthquake box
What if I was a box?

From inside politics, wasted scandals or acting 101
enstadiumed like our terrified hearts against a strobing backlight
What if I was backlit?

From inherited gestures, kindness or simple metrics
spackled like musical accompaniment for grocery shopping
What if I was shopping?

From clothing bespeaking status, dry clean only or a moraine lake
weathered like poems beaten over centuries of misuse
What if I was a similie?





Online Cinema

The space is the woods in which we sat. There was an awkward pause. A benefit in which we accomplished each other, that charity they promised us...

I mean I read it on her blog first, the woods, and then this awkward pause for like two months and then another post in which we were both accomplished, I mean, that’s what the Internet promised us.

Trees cleared a spot for us to sit in the woods. It was a dark and stormy night and then when you returned from overseas we called the whole wedding off. I mean, at least that’s what our parents promised us.

On the page, a space published from time, for now anyway, pause accomplished. We benefit from ourselves and each other and that distance, that awkward charity of being that we promised us.

Search results:

Nay, let me have one book more, -- and then I have done, -- wherein I might see all plants, herbs, and trees that grow upon the earth.


 


Cinéma Vérité

In this action film we are going to play a game. Everyone lie down on the lawn and pretend to be asleep. And when you are asleep, the director will come out of his house and judge you. Now, be quiet.

In this action film, I’ll return to you as a robot and we can wreak a terrible vengeance upon our former captors. You will oil my joints and I will open tin cans for you with my jaw. We’ll be in some sort of illegal parody of love.

In this action film you can be the one that breaks elbows across straight arms and pulverises testicles. I’ll watch from the director’s chair and admire your bravado. We’re already planning a sequel called something something part 2 starring Steven Seagal.

In this action film you will need to appear taller than me in order for the revenge narrative to make sense.

In this action film we’ll string together a montage of shots showing shit blowing up. We won’t even appear in the film because we will use smart technology that paints our targets in beautiful green night vision light. You and I will drink Italian grappa and smoke Cuban cigars later and then we’ll manufacture the end credits out of a sense of duty and love. I’m thinking of something tasteful like neon pink and black.

 
 



Cinema 2

In this romantic comedy film we wait by the lake, we wait by the lake for you. There are all kinds of birds circling and calling. Some on the water, lost in the golden ripples of the sun. We wait for you, an epidemic in the air between us like you are at once the keeper of our words and our killer, like there go our personalities.

In this bromantic comedy film, everyone turned left and took a one-way street toward the mall. I’ll see you when you get here. I’m inside with the cameras and there are cameras already rolling on me, brah.

In this romantic comedy film a young man learns of a plot to kill a noble woman and he kidnaps her to keep her safe. They grow old together in the historic country side, rolling hills and the like. He never let her leave their modest cabin for fear that someone would kill her. For her part, she loved him in a strange and special way despite his intensity. The movie ends when a mob of angry villagers arrive with blazing torches one dark, moonless night to drag the man from his bed. The film will be called ‘Our Salad Days’.


 
   
 
Act x, Scene x

Notes toward the eventually busted limit
Notes toward a claustrophobic recent past
Notes toward convincing the world of matter
Notes toward a shiny new plasticity
Notes toward two or three more imaginary numbers
Notes toward more notes for poetics
Notes toward a golden growth factor re: downtown core (comma) drugs
A runaway ambulatory poetics careening off curbs, speeding to wherever
Grub poetics, larval poetics, notes toward a top-down upended evolution
Notes toward the affect of sound effects on our top earners
A grandmother’s poetics gains ground and increases attack then drowns in reverb
Neighbourly poetics, leaning on the fence saying “hey, I broke your rake but I’ll replace it”
Herculean poetics calls your bluff, featuring labours and more macho swagger than ever
Notes toward an owly poetics in the evergreens, against the moon, making heads spin
Notes to derange a notable poetics
Get right to the heart of it poetics
Notes toward a poetics of details
Notes toward a bushel of narrative apples
Notes toward a poetics of plot worming into our hearts and minds and wallets
Notes toward an “how do you like them, rare or over-easy?” poetics accumulating value for your portfolio
Trickle down poetics, everything I touch, trickles down and down into poetics
Notes toward fingers and hand, finger and hands in pockets of resistance and fingerless gloves
Notes toward an historical unaccuracy in equalitarian poetics
Notes toward hunting for a poetics at the heart of poetics
Notes toward trying gin
Notes toward trying it again
Notes toward trying grain alcohol
Notes toward developing a taste for poetics
Notes toward a truly free poetics, local, grain fed and muscular
A bone in the beak of poetics, a note toward sustaining the pledge to persist, to woe is me, to regret and struggle, to pretend surprise, to feign indignation, to appear distraught and stomp our collective feet, to a poetics against representing the working class
A poetics of mistakes, gaps in memory, of the flower garden along the pebbled stone path to the homes lost again in the hazy smoke, the art of remembering, what we leave at the doorstep when we go, what the economy takes, what we willingly take from each other, an act

Search results:

Words, letters, scribbles, sighs

Having thee to ever attend on me/ To give me whatsoever I shall ask,/ To tell me whatsoever I demand,/ To slay mine enemies and aid my friends,/ And always be obedient to my will.

(A choir of misfits, a choral misfurniture, amassed fort and a core in a knell, a chair
inters and bag in stew singe, somewhere else, some sinew.)


 
 


Fidelio or I like liking

Liked to like
Being liked
I liken it to like
liking like liked
like to liked, like
liking, I like
being liked and liking
i like like like
in liking i like
find i like liking
like I like liking
like everything
like cats' paws
like government espionage
like shopping for targets
like children, the having of
like sunny resort photos
like graduating
like fatherhood
like motherhood
like poverty and living on the streets
like funny videos of animals
like cute videos of animals
like the oil sands
like movie trailers for romantic comedies forever
like really old pop music
like gadget previews when i'm in the market for gadgets
like landscapes and classical music all of the time
like social media in the face of small town news
like stories from afar about missions being accomplished
like opening the door to guilt from family members and friends
like school at all levels from kindergarten to post-doctoral fellowships
like typing out my feelings as a category
like labour a lot
like that your dog died last Sunday while you were at church
like all manner of vehicles except unicycles but i can only express that with silence
like protesting
like stories about children soldiers
like quirky space news
like your mom's 60th birthday party photos
like pie, all types of
apples like oranges
returns like targets
stages like falcons
goats like escapes
fires like money
perfume like honeysuckle
bees like hair swarming
combs like parting wood
logs like algorithms
content like consent
warbling like blue jays
kings like coronation street
cerulean like nightfall
oranges like apples
razorwire like data transfer
cornerstone like symbology
guitar like orangutan
cedar smoke like philosophy
pie like cherry blossoms
mathematics like crescendos
big endian like it begins

 

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                                                                                                            May 1, 2012