Lara Bozabalian

Hello All,

Tonight, I am thrilled to be returning the Art Bar Valentine Poetry Reading.. This will be my second year featuring at this amazing event, and about my fourth or fifth featuring at Art Bar (Canada’s longest running poetry series). One of the reasons I have always loved performing at the Art Bar is that it is the place where I got my start as a poet; driving downtown every Tuesday for those precious three minutes on the open mic was the focal point of my week for a few years. The fact is, the community of poets that read and listen at the Art Bar is unparalleled; I know it made me a much better reader and editor of my own work. On any given night, you will be shoulder to shoulder with literary publishers, Griffin award winners, and spoken word slam superstars.. an amazing cauldron to be in. So come down to Paupers Pub TONIGHT (8 pm, the perfect way to cap off dinner) and experience the poetry of myself alongside Dwayne Morgan, Myna Wallin Jessica Bedenek, Archna Sahni, Romeo Satin
and many others. It’s going to be an amazing night!

Happy Valentine’s!
Thanks for listening,
LB

Hello All,

Just a quick note to gather the attention of all my artistic friends.. the following note comes from Kirabo Canada, a fantastic, registered, non-profit organization that has been working to build (and rebuild) communities over the last ten years. This year, I am happily serving on the board that organizes their Gala Fundriaser, in order to support their efforts in Uganda each year. We are looking for artists to consider being a part of the Voices of Hope Gala on Sunday April 15th – 6pm at Lula Lounge – 1585 Dundas W. The Gala runs annually and it hosts musical entertainers from Toronto. Right now we are looking for performance artists to commit to a one time performance at this Gala.

Kirabo Canada is specifically looking for artists of African (particularly Ugandan) descent, but is open to all artists who are interested in contributing their work.

All the proceeds from this Gala will go to assisting the educational needs of children who have endured the horrors of civil war. Be it beds to sleep on, treated mosquito nets to protect from malaria or desks and books to study from, the money raised will have a huge impact on their lives.

In appreciation for your support, we would be more than happy to distribute your company business card, any promotional items or announce your generous efforts/donation and our gratitude during the event.

Please email me with any questions and/or contacts you would like to offer.

Thank you!!

Lara

Hey There,

I just wanted to take a break from writing to celebrate one of the amazing resources I have stumbled upon in the last few months… The Poetry Foundation, which some of you may already be familiar with, is a non-profit organization dedicated to culling the world’s best poetry, and sharing it with the largest possible audiences. In the same vein as the Montreal International Poetry Prize, this Foundation seeks out poetry in all corners, and celebrates the work in a variety of genres; audio poems, visual artistry, interviews, essays, video ~experienced poets reading newbies work, newbies reading experienced poets~ they look at poetry from all angles, and for those of us that like to over-indulge, it’s a veritable feast.

Happily, they also excel at range; my favourite toy has become the Poetry Foundation iPhone App, which lets me spin (roulette wheel style) through a variety of moods and themes, and brings up a different selection of poems and poets each day. It’s actually been a huge buoy for my writing. Like the Montreal Prize (which published a selected http://montrealprize.com/anthologies/longlist-anthology/, over the course of a month) this habit has become infections; I read the poems, reread the poems, mull them over, consider structure, narrative, tone.. invariably sitting down at the computer to dabble in my own ideas far more often than I would, if left to my own devices. The moral? Celebrate other people’s work. It makes you better.

While we’re here, I’d also like to celebrate the work of another global organization, called Avaaz.org, “meaning “voice” in several European, Middle Eastern and Asian languages—launched in 2007 with a simple democratic mission: organize citizens of all nations to close the gap between the world we have and the world most people everywhere want.” This organization is impressive for a lot of reasons, namely because they poll participants in order to built a priority list each year, and build action-movement agendas accordingly. “The Avaaz community campaigns in 15 languages, served by a core team on 6 continents and thousands of volunteers — signing petitions, funding media campaigns and direct actions, emailing, calling and lobbying governments, and organizing ‘offline’ protests and events — to ensure that the views and values of the world’s people inform the decisions that affect us all.” In an age of media and corporate bullying, this organization feels good and strong and free.

Currently, they are working to protect Jasper National Park from the Harper governments attempts to sell off sections of this Crown-protected land to an American owned company, in order to have it developed. Needless to say, this sets a scary precedent for all of Canada’s incredible wilderness, and they are doing an admirable job of galvanizing citizens into action. Luckily, Greg Fenton, Superintendent of Jasper National Park, is doing what he can to push back against corporate (and governmental) pressure, and Avaaz.org is supporting him through an online petition. So far, 156,977 Canadians have signed on, and they are looking for a nice round number of 200,000. If you would like to support this cause, take a minute to read and sign.

Thanks for listening,
LB

Hey Hey~

It has been far too long between meaningful updates; I have been pretty happy to write and share poetry as of late, but one of my New Year resolutions is to get back on track with news about upcoming events. In that vein, I am very happy to be retiring to Guelph Poetry Slam as this months feature. I have performed for them in the E Bar before (just under a year ago, I believe) and trust me when I say it is a great room. Not to mention the incredibly supportive poetry community they have growing there.. Lucky ducky, me.

Outside of that, I have been filling my time with some serious writing sessions, in favour of my next collection. I’m hoping to keep the momentum going throughout spring, and break things up with some art, laughter, road trips, beautiful meals and wonderful people. On deck are winter camping adventures, and hopefully a few road trips in between.

In any case, back to the cozy couch this evening. It’s been a long week, and cold out there, so I am happy to shake it off with loved ones at home.

Thanks for listening,
LB

Hey Hey~

It has been far too long between meaningful updates; I have been pretty happy to write and share poetry as of late, but one of my New Year resolutions is to get back on track with news about upcoming events. In that vein, I am very happy to be retiring to Guelph Poetry Slam as this months feature. I have performed for them in the E Bar before (just under a year ago, I believe) and trust me when I say it is a great room. Not to mention the incredibly supportive poetry community they have growing there.. Lucky ducky, me.

Outside of that, I have been filling my time with some serious writing sessions, in favour of my next collection. I’m hoping to keep the momentum going throughout spring, and break things up with some art, laughter, road trips, beautiful meals and wonderful people. On deck are winter camping adventures, and hopefully a few road trips in between.

In any case, back to the cozy couch this evening. It’s been a long week, and cold out there, so I am happy to shake it off with loved ones at home.

Thanks for listening,
LB

The Art of Being
BY ANNE CORAY

The fern in the rain breathes the silver message.

Stay, lie low. Play your dark reeds

and relearn the beauty of absorption.

There is nothing beyond the rotten log

covered with leaves and needles.

Forget the light emerging with its golden wick.

Raise your face to the water-laden frond.

A thousand blossoms will fall into your arms.

For All To See

I am looking down on the precipice of my self;

memory splayed out like Chernobyl, for all to see.

I am not certain, in this moment, of my accomplishments,

the trajectory of landscape

or what I have decided. But I know this:

the soft warm belly of my dog, lain across my leg,

the way he woke from slumber and found me gone,

clambered out of bed on his old bones, snuffed

me here, blue lit by the laptop glow,

and settled in again, only here,

at peace.

Before

There are seconds where the air slows down, and
I remember the cool veined palm of dog leaf against my skin.
I remember bramble, and thistles, and the scuffed heels of my cousins shoes
(red and dust brown and grey), as we raced from the back field to Nutgrove;
arms flailed and pockets full: of stones, of stories, of rhubarb, of safety
in the knowledge that there would be only so many Things:
Making Rhubarb Pies With Grandma, Playing with Aoife, Telling Stories,
and all of them had a way to be got done.
Not like now, not like the maze we tripped and fell out of
yesterday, and the day before that. Not the time we grasped at thin air
to pull words back in. Not like those times. It was different, Before.
It was the way the neighbourhood felt smaller, and intimate,
before it met the taller version of your self
and everything started to get tricky, before words stopped always
meaning what they meant and we had to watch for eyebrows, and eyes,
and the slow, turn away tilt of hats on heads.

Verdant

In the car, you lean up to the windshield,
eyes lamped in the forest of your skull,
shoulders a bundle of soft twigs.

Pedestrians, sidewalks, icicles.
There is no thing here that is old to you, your face
a crystal warehouse of thought and deed.

My hand reaches out to smooth your forehead,
a sprout searching for room amongst the dirt;
slender frame stronger than I remember.

Eight weeks away from your body leaves me capsized
(the time it takes a fetus to discover their toes and fingers).
We renovate what we love. This is Motherhood:

the world inside a seed of corn,
a path strewn with flowers, slow steps backwards
to make room for the crowd come to see.

Hung Over in The Garden (After the Seventh Day..)

 
Gaze reclaimed for the first time in days,
I noticed young dew grass glinted in the Sun
and saw, for the first, the precipice of my creation;
the infinite divisibility of all things,
reclaimed, reworked, stamped: What’s done is done. 
Parts of my body were tired, the wiring of my brain tickled and fizzed.
I stretched my arms, bent at the waist, as Bhudda taught.

It wasn’t about hunger (although I could have used a sandwich);
it was about every fiber of my body being turned on -
I awoke, just over a week ago, and couldn’t not; 
Lazar-like focus draped around me, world florid with smell and sound.  
Now, on the other side of that mountain, I look back over my shoulder 
at every single thing: dark, oceans, humans -
connectivity unfolding like a song.

Now, it’s out there, beyond my fingers, the see-saw
production of sun and moon, the wet of earth and life and sound.
Leonardo/Einstein/Freida will echo my thoughts;
you can only shape something to fit 
into the pearled curve of your imagination,
the shape of the mold is beyond you, arrived with the Creator; 
there is nothing you can do about that.