Ariadne’s Notes: On the World Poetry Cafe, CFRO 100.5 FM, Thursday, Jan 9 at 1:00 pm PST, Ariadne Sawyer and Diego Bastinutti welcomed Michael Mirolla back to the studio as he finishes his term as writer in residence at the Joy Kogawa House. It was a wonderful interview with an opening e-poem of wishes for the New Year by Sufi poet, S.L Peeran https://youtu.be/Az_f2QMzmOU
Also, a brand new story by Sharon Rowe was read by super tech, Victor Shwartzman as she completes her second book of Big Bessie Stories.
Michael Mirolla shared with us information about publishing, spoke about the theme of his upcoming book and read some of his powerful poems. Diego asked great questions about his work and from the feedback, it was an informative and inspiring interview. One new listener from the Maldives wrote, “What an interesting show-I could hear it clearly:
He is the author of a clutch of novels, poetry collections, short story collections, and plays. He is a three-time winner of the Bressani Literary Prize. His novel Berlin was a finalist for the Indie and National Book Awards. The short story, “A Theory of Discontinuous Existence,” was selected for The Journey Prize Anthology; and “The Sand Flea” was a Pushcart Prize nominee. Born in Italy, raised in Montreal, Michael now lives in Oakville, Ontario. For more information: http://www.michaelmirolla.com. For an old WP Link:http://worldpoetry.ca/?p=11150
To a poet struggling to recover her words
Please note: this is not a metaphor.
In the spongy grey room, walls reticulated,
bony chair bolted to the upheaving floor,
spotlight at 10 flickers per minute,
she sits. There’s a hole in the side
of her head. There’s a hole where they
extracted the over-eager building blocks,
the out-of-control tidbits of DNA.
The incisions were precise, one must assume.
But it didn’t prevent the words … her words …
from escaping into the sterile air.
Now, a saintly smile framing her face,
she sits in the bony chair inside
the spongy grey room with reticulated walls
and reaches out to recapture
the stray letters that may or may not
have survived without her tender care.
I sit across from her, spoon-feeding
alphabet strands into a hungry mouth
fearful that the words that have kept her whole
that have defined her
that connect her to herself
that have built this grey room
will be unable to make the return journey.
Please note: This has not been a metaphor.
By Michael Mirolla (C) All rights reserved.