listening back and moving forward
when Gord Downie’s voice comes into focus, he is singing to me from the dead with the words of our current vernacular. i’m driving a borrowed vehicle these days, with a 6-disc CD player. it’s loaded with CDs mostly from my teenage years that i’ve recently reacquired. i put six in at random about a week ago and shoved a few more in the passenger door and seat compartments. my most angsty years share every drive with me. he’s singing
the vacuum nights, the darkest rites, the small quarantined thoughts
he is singing from somewhere far away. the past and also the dead. he carries on through the chorus and
salesman said this vacuum's guaranteed
it could suck an ancient virus from the sea
it could put the dog out of a job
could make traffic stop, so little thoughts can safely get across
it might not be an ancient virus, but lately i’ve been wondering if we have been waiting for this for a long, long time. i’ve touched on this before, our desire to find meaning, the way we reach out to everyday moments and our dreams like prophecy. i think in a time of upheaval this becomes more distinct. i’m not sure if it’s “good” or helpful or productive, but it feels absolutely human. it feels nice to be anchored in reality, while hearing a song released in 1998 sung by a man no longer living and driving around through what feels like a new world to me.
speaking of a new world, long before i knew i would be coming back to canada sooner and more urgently than anticipated, i made a playlist called home and added the song Hairpin by Pinegrove to it. when i finally played that playlist, tears streaming down my face as i said my goodbyes to the aerial view of berlin, i was also jostled harshly into reality
i can't wait to go home
to be there when the new world comes
right now, more than ever though, i catch myself wondering if we knew, collectively, this was coming, and if each moment leading up to it was a reflection. there is no blame to lay, but the way we have been rapidly hurtling through changes and technology and new forms of oppression are not lost on me as we sit talking through our screens more than ever, as those most negatively affected by our current systems are lost to this. it can feel incredibly dark, and i think it has been important for me to have something to hold onto. from beyond the now.
as things carry on uncertainly, as we swim through this soupy, sticky mess without any tangible knowledge of what is to come, as perhaps something deep in our bones and inside the earth making is its way out, i’m okay to be comforted by past me - my favourite songs from ten years ago, the strange choices i’ve made that are still with me in some way. i’m still here (here at all!) and so are you, how incredibly odd and wonderful. let’s use that presence to show kindness and care for one another however we might be able to.
i recently had a poem published with Pandemic Publications! you can read it here, alongside many other wonderful poems in consideration of this bizarre time.
here is a poem by Sarah J. Sloat that i keep coming back to. maybe you’ll see why.
if you are able, please consider donating to your local food bank, shelters, and other groups helping those pushed to the margins.
i’m thinking a lot these days about the kids who can’t go to school, where they once might have received a meal and a safe place for a few hours of the day, right now. you can see if Starfish Pack (which is still operating and delivering food to children in many locations currently) serves your city and donate here.