the poetry that matters

Carol Shillibeer

Carol Shillibeer currently lives in Vancouver, BC. She has been published in Other Voices, The Malahat Review, Foliate Oak, Room and Poetry Repairs (forthcoming). She has studied writing at Eastern Washington University in the past and currently does so at Simon Fraser University.

Dictionology: diplumyin

diplumyin_defined as the flowering of a child

__enactment: a child becomes part of a kenning with some other and together they create a new word

resolution ua: the speed and efficiency of communication increases meaningfully for each root in the kenning

resolution u8: the kenning itself becomes part of the future, pulling the child and the other along after

etymology: diplu seems to be a Greek root implying the twinned nature of the resolved child and other; myin is argued amongst our verbal language historians, but the strongest evidence leads us to believe that it refers to myelin, the lipid-based insulator that finally enabled efficient enough neural nets to allow the ancestral branch (Homo sapiens) to achieve communicative parity.

sumesh: historical logos indicates that the enactment of inter species communication was not an acceptable notion despite the fact that the entire gaian life system is based on it, from, at minimum, bacterium forms. It is still unknown when self-aware species came to understand the chemical basis of kenning and so gave birth to diplumyin.


the woman in the mirror
 (Paul Delvaux)

      a particle of land is all you...
                                                 (Robin Blaser)

There she is, with held-face gazing,
stands like an ore queen, watches
herself. And eating, I think, a metallic
meal of seeing – those rocks,
the earth's sprayed eggs, blood-iron
red, litter the ground. Wet resting
just outside the mountainous
womb – they are silent only to the eye;
they are mute only to the glassy lintel
between here and now, her eye
that stares in hears, and to this side,
the one – speaks
                                                the other –

What is time here in the interior,
this place – still and lighted – both
sides of a face bright and lumen's
corridor in her eye: light, self
originating, worth: meaning comes
from between pressed lips; slips past
the whorl of an open ear
                                and gently cracks
the shell of a world.

Are you nameless, or is it, simply,
that those stone eggs are the ones
that can be named? One : the dreamt
Strega who killed my (two) subtle sister
– the quiet one, with no questions.
Is this a birth to take place, here, a name
to come, a gift, of the artist – no –
a particle of land is all you get and life
is not for you, not here, nor now.

Like a finger tip pressed
against the Other, we do not touch
simply. No skin – but desire.
The mirror resists entry: the stones
turn toward the north but do not go
and the like                        and unlike
trailed along the column of a neck
                                                                cannot be
a magnet lifting my iron heart.

track bear track
with 3 eyes


in a dream I walk
            perched in the head
of a bear .. no control

except to watch
            my   words                   time is cinnamon
over each other

and over          they fall
    out of my head

within the head
    of the bear.             Words
in black-sheened
    descent,                    crow
          Light: feathered.

They swim away          attend : feathered edge
            on the breeze
the bear breathes.


            head swing round                    in a dream I walk
            and round— joy joy —
            the threads of smell in time
            cross space and weave
            histories in streams: snap-spice
            earth, time's tang maps
            the world walking

            sharp-sweet twitch in the nose:
            sweet-food—smooth rip of string-old
            leaves curling up and brown-hard
            and little round sweet ones on the tongue

            pass by : a thin stream of hot-blood
            young runner slept in the round-mash-
            before the hot-smells-light came

            brown-earth-much—small pile
            in the roots of stick-hair, scratch-back,
            long/old-dark-smell spread out into tall-sky,
            claw root out and bite

            attend : feathered edge of fish-eater-smell       florescence-violet air
            caught on a breath — swivel head :
            track — on the breeze

            breathe out
sees smell
            in the dream
                        I can like ropes

of light and colour
            orange patches

at the base of a pine
and time is cinnamon
brown-faded,               a map
            of the   world

coloured smell walks

                                                            curling up and brown-hard

yellow trails, light-
    streams curl
        through brush,
around trunks—
   forest frescoes—track,
         doe         passed

early morning
         some time ago


colour speaks

of roots under earth                
black-sheened descent
      and trees marked
            by claw-history
flaring scarlet patches
that have dug here

and there is a moment,
a florescence-violet air surges,
sparks, like the passing of crow
through sunlight open winged—
when light and smell merge,
and then ..


we breathe


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                                                                                                                             April 14, 2012