He Rode Tall

excerpt

“No Tyler, you can’t,” Joel replied. “Say, I sure appreciate your
help. You and Blue are one heck of a team. If you could finish fixing
that fence and bring the water for the cattle that would be just
fine. Tyler, if you told Buck that it was going to run dry why
wouldn’t he do something about it?”
“Don’t know for sure. Could only guess,” replied Tyler.
“And what would that guess be?”
“Well, Smith has a lot on his mind right now. More cattle than
land. You can see how bare this pasture is. We’ve run out of
descent pasture. You are going to find this hard to believe, but we
actually have other pastures that are in worse shape than this.
Right now, I know he would give his right arm for more pasture
in this part of the country, and a parcel of land, with water just
like yours, Mr. Hooper, would be a real bonus. If he doesn’t do
something soon, we are going to have to ship some cows to the
slaughterhouse, and you can see how marketable these cows are
right now. Not exactly the shape you would want to see them in if
you were hoping to get top-dollar.”
“Yes Tyler,” replied Joel. “I see exactly what you mean. Say,
thanks again for all of your help. You really pitched in and I
appreciate that.”
Joel now understood why Buck Smith was so desperate to buy the
Circle H. The only real question left in Joel’smind was why would a
nice kid like that Tyler have anything to do with Buck Smith.
That night Joel was escorted by his faithful companion Buddy as
he took his weary body for a walk in the quiet and the dark of the
ranch yard. Joel had come to enjoy his walks at night. The wind
died down in the evenings and the only light, other than the yard
light over by the barn, was from the twinkling stars high above.Millions
of stars. Stars like you have never seen—from one end of the
dark horizon to the other. Maybe it had been the years of city life
and the long absence from being able to see the stars that made it
special for him. Looking skyward, Joel felt humbled and small compared
to the vastness of the universe.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562862

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0980897955

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

excerpt

The Dream of Nunavut
Back in Toronto, he pondered the persistent problem of disseminating
his Arctic message – and he recalled his insight on the morning his alarm
clock woke him – and he suddenly realized that all news was numbers.
I’d learned that in North America everything is quantified. Everything is
numbers. That’s how people talk to each other. So never mind talking about
art – never mind talking about politics. Let’s see what happens if we think
about all of this just in terms of numbers. So, given that everything has to
be bigger and bigger – like the Reichmann venture that I knew in my guts
was going to happen – then after that huge painting, then what? Where do
I go then?
I let my mind wander, and I didn’t try to rein it in. Quantification – a
giant painting – super giant! No – super, super giant! How about on the
scale of the Sistine Chapel ceiling? Yes, that was right. And what would it be
of? Well, a portrait of the Arctic. How about a portrait of the Northwest Passage?
The arrogance of Europeans, who wouldn’t even stop for two minutes
to question the people who built the Inuksuit – people who would have told
them where to find the passage – those Europeans who had to go and find
it all by themselves. They didn’t wear fur clothes and they weren’t savages
so they must have been superior, yet they all killed themselves – a cost of so
many lives and huge sums of money and they didn’t find the Northwest Passage.
Okay – portrait of the Northwest Passage. And yes – a portrait – that’s
what it would be. For the Inuit, the land is mother and the sky is father, so,
I am painting a portrait of the mother and the father. And, of course, the
people in the south will say, “No, it’s a landscape!” and we can get into a rhubarb
about it, and I can use that and point out they’re goddammed ignorant.
They don’t even know the reason behind this painting, where it comes from
or on whose behalf it’s being painted. I could see all sorts of things taking
shape here.
Where would it go? Obviously it would be too big to sell, and there would
be no point putting it in a church because there was no church big enough.
Besides, no one goes to church anymore. Where to put it? People aren’t religious.
Where do people go? Wait! Canadians are religious! Hockey is their
religion! Hockey arenas are right across the country.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562830

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073573

In Turbulent Times

excerpt

George’s Market. Men, women, young people, children, infants. Some were whole, Liam wrote; others barely resembled human beings. The first shock he got was a burned hand lying in the entrance to the market.’
‘Poor Liam,’ Joe said. ‘Having to go through all that. I heard horrendous reports on the wireless, but it brings the horror of it home when someone you know is in the city, seeing the worst of it.’
‘Tragic though it is,’ said Caitlin, ‘there’s not much we can do down here, is there? Except pray for the souls of the dead and for the comfort of the living.’ She paused reflectively, looking first at the fire in the range and then at Joe. ‘Go and see Nora, Joe. She’ll want to see you. You know that.’
Joe said nothing for a moment. Nor did he change his position. Then he said, ‘Wouldn’t it look bad for me to go visiting Nora at this time of night and her alone in the house?’
‘It’s not late,’ Michael pointed out. ‘There’s still a lot of daylight left. Double summer time, Joe.’
‘No, I don’t like the thought of it all the same. I’ll wait till after the funeral. If Liam’s back before I leave again, I’ll go and give both of them my best wishes and congratulations.’ Joe’s voice faltered again.
Staring at the fire he bit his lip, unseen by either Michael or Caitlin. Then he stood up straight and with a visible effort said, ‘I won’t stop for tea after all, Mrs Carrick, if you don’t mind. I’d rather be alone for a while. Perhaps I’ll see you both tomorrow.’
‘That’s all right, Joe,’ said Michael. ‘We understand. We’ll be at your father’s funeral.’
‘I’ll say goodnight to you both then.’
‘Goodnight, Joe.’
҂
He sat on a lonely rock on the shore near the harbour. He watched the waves’ white glow in the darkness but he saw only Nora. He recalled their happy times together: their walks, their dances, their hands touching in the pew at church, their embraces in the dark rows of the picture house in Carraghlin or Lisnaglass. He remembered the sad times too: the arguments, the periods of separation, the coming of the war, the bitter sweetness of his trips home on leave, the partings. And now to be parted from her for good.
Joe thought back to when he believed it all had started: that day in the village square above the harbour when Nora had taken one of her epileptic fits. Many of the men and women and the older adolescents in the village…

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562904

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763270

Small Change

excerpt

I watched in horror as her skirt darkened and one fat drop after another fell to the wood floor and trickled lazily into a pool between my desk and hers. I prayed to the Virgin Mary. Please don’t let anyone see. But I was not overly hopeful.
Sister Miranda enjoyed patrolling the aisles during our enforced siestas, and, before long, the toe of her high-topped black nun’s boot came smack down into the middle of the puddle and it splashed a little, and she recoiled as though she had stepped on a viper and just like that something clicked in her head and she smiled and began to talk in a voice that sounded a lot like Father Brackendorf would sound if he’d suddenly put on forty pounds. It was a long speech about growing up and self control and the rebellious nature of all flesh.
Rita kept hugging her arms and peeing softly through her clothes.
Blackie’s face got redder and redder. Then it relaxed into the face of a nasty child.
“Rita peed her pa-aants. Rita peed her pa-aants,” she chanted. Joey and Skinhead popped up from their desks. Then some of the less adventurous kids began to test the sleep and silence rule too. Soon the whole class picked up the beat, saying those words over and over, louder and louder, breaking into little bursts of nearly hysterical laughter. Sister Miranda conducted the uproar, waving the yardstick around and slashing it through the air like a machete on the word “paants.”
Rita was beside herself. She cried, then she screamed, and kicked at the desk, but the more tormented she became, the more everybody chanted and laughed.
That’s when I climbed up on the desk and pulled the yardstick out of Blackie’s pudgy fist and shouted right in her face, my useless glasses bobbling on my nose.
“Jesus will get you for this. He doesn’t want us to laugh at this poor girl. It’s all your fault, you fat waddle head. God made us have to pee and you have to let us.”
Well, Rita cried even harder, and Blackie Miranda laughed like someone had tickled her ribs, and the whole class roared, and pounded their desks, and started a new chant: “Georgie lo-oves Rita, Georgie lo-oves Rita,” and the voice with which I should have roared against their unchristian behaviour stuck in my throat because what they said was true, and my face burned and Sister Miranda wouldn’t let her go…

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763157

Tasos Livaditis – Poems, Volume II

Long-listed for the 2023 Griffin Poetry Awards

2023 Longlist Announcement

OF COURSE, there was no semblance or other sign that
showed us it was him; only that familiarity with forbidden
things since he had always been fooled, and his cloths from
the second hand store was only suitable to shadows, and
let us not talk of resignation in a loud voice since
the frightened man could still be standing behind the clay
mask as abandonment finally becomes a familiar concept;
yet I could see the preventive arm holding us at bay
so you could say: I went and sat at the last step, although
only him had walked where we could never get to know;
I occupied the least possible space, however with much
candour since even God had to start in a humble way
with a small city and almost mortal by now He couldn’t
had finished His works in eons.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763564