Show notes
Time to don your toque and get cozy in your bunnyhug Purple People because today we are beginning our North American tour and our first destination is Canada, Ey!
We’ll warm up with a steaming bowl of Poutine followed by a double-double and a few Timbits as we get on the (etymological) road stopping along the way at Newfoundland and the ‘Capcity’, Ottawa.
Talks of Newfoundland lead Gyles to share stories of his ‘most magical, musical’ evening at the theatre seeing a show about the island but that’s not before we have a triple Canadian name drop and discover that Gyles himself has Canadian blood! Susie’s dendrophile nature is perfectly placed to explore the wilderness of Canada but it’s the ice hockey that has her sharing a long lost dream of performing a deke on the ice.
We’ll take a small trip with the mounties before settling down for a Jiggs Dinner for a couple of Twoonies and a bit of cloffin by the fire.
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Enjoy Susie’s Trio for the week:
Cloffin: to warm yourself by the fire and to warm the back of your legs specially, that is Brabbag
Exlex - An outlaw
Fysifunkus: One with no curiosity at all
Gyles' poem this week was 'Variations on the Word Love' by Margaret Atwood
This is a word we use to plug
holes with. It’s the right size for those warm
blanks in speech, for those red heart-
shaped vacancies on the page that look nothing
like real hearts. Add lace
and you can sell
it. We insert it also in the one empty
space on the printed form
that comes with no instructions. There are whole
magazines with not much in them
but the word love, you can
rub it all over your body and you
can cook with it too. How do we know
it isn’t what goes on at the cool
debaucheries of slugs under damp
pieces of cardboard? As for the weed-
seedlings nosing their tough snouts up
among the lettuces, they shout it.
Love! Love! sing the soldiers, raising
their glittering knives in salute.
Then there’s the two
of us. This word
is far too short for us, it has only
four letters, too sparse
to fill those deep bare
vacuums between the stars
that press on us with their deafness.
It’s not love we don’t wish
to fall into, but that fear.
this word is not enough but it will
have to do. It’s a single
vowel in this metallic
silence, a mouth that says
O again and again in wonder
and pain, a breath, a finger
grip on a cliffside. You can
hold on or let go.
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