Creative Writing posts (2 of 3)

It was a veritable maze inside the McNally Robinson's bookstore on Friday November 5th.  After standing at the entrance to the Prairie View restaurant for about 10 minutes I finally paid attention to the PA system.  A man's voice smoothly interupted the lady announcing seatings, "Please join us for the book launches of two local writers...".  The rest was drowned out by the sounds of the people  clanking their silverware.  I took off in the only reasonable direction and soon rounded a few corners to stumble into an open space lined with chairs.  Only four people sat facing the podium, which was next to a table where a few books written by both authors were on display. The  two poetry collections, Clockfire by Jonathan Ball and Indexical Elegies by Jon Paul Fiorentino were the more prominently situated.

Just before the 7:00 p.m. mark hit the room filled up noticeably until there was a group of about 25 people gathered.  The announcer took to the podium and welcomed everyone to the launch and gave brief backgrounds on the authors.

Jonathan Ball took to the podium first and it is easy to picture him pounding away at a keyboard as he explains his process of creating. His book of poetry  which is actually, "a series of made-up plays that would be impossible to produce", is not restricted to any specific theme.   From  actors who murder their audience and doppelgangers fighting to be the 'only one', John insists that any morbidity is strictly a product of the readers interpretation. There are 77 plays in Clockfire and John read a couple of his favourites.  '8 Minutes' is a play that has to begin and end within 8 minutes and  “The Play Begins”, turns out to be self explanatory when it is revealed that the only words in the play are, 'the play begins'.


“My god you have a sexy voice.” Jon Paul Fiorentino announces to the announcer John Toews the Events Coordinator for McNally Robinson.  Fiorentino has written 3 other poetry books and a novel. He says that  Indexical Elegies was written as a elegy to the late Robert Allen, his mentor and friend. "He guided me when I had no idea what to write about." Robert Allen, died in 2006.   The majority of Jon's lecture was erratic but entertaining as the author sipped on what was way past his fifth beer throughout.  He prefers Stella Artois.


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Noise

There's noise in my head,
and no one else can hear.
It's not a loud noise,
so I can pretend not to care.
When the sounds make me imperfect,
when I cannot shut them out.
I simply act like all is well,
and try my best not to shout.
There's garbage in my head,
that should be burnt out back.
But who wants to sift through garbage?
Who would go through it stack by stack?
It'd be better just to dump it all,
To leave it at the curb.
But buried among my garbage,
is the lonely little pearl.
Of the little girl I never was,
who I never got to be.
I don't think I've met that person yet,
she was plucked away from me.
You can't miss what you never had,
but at times I get a glimpse.
So I hoard it all the good and bad,
I hold in every hint.
Of the terror that awaits me,
when the noises turn to dreams.
I know that no one ever hears,
when my dreams turn into screams.
The noises are getting louder,
I have yet to figure out why.
But the noises won't defeat me,
even if they make me cry.

A poem by Sirissa Rawlins-Sabourin