Five Poems by Carolyne Van Der Meer

 

At Felix Leclerc House, Vaudreuil

 

It’s raining but he has promised her an outing a ferry ride

the cheese factory in Oka     maybe something literary   

Her eyes light up     It’s a surprise

 

She has forgotten her past desire to find Felix’s house

full of anticipation after being mesmerized by wind

and kite surfers on Lac des Deux-Montagnes under angry skies

 

He pulls into the Leclerc estate   she gasps at his choice

They pick their way through the parking lot puddles

the drizzle penetrating their clothes   their bones

 

Inside the warm boutique they buy tickets watch a production

from the time Felix had bought this house

She is beguiled by the playwright’s old-world chivalry

her husband takes her hand

 

They tour the renovated 1880 homestead original cabinetry adorning

the kitchen a structural beam featuring the hand-painted banner

from L’Auberge des morts subites first performed

in 1963 at Théâtre Gesù on Montreal’s rue de Bleury

 

The guide half their age evidently in love with her Felix caresses

his life’s details with a satin tongue leads them

to his study on the second floor, where they murmur

at how it would suit her     paradise for composing poems

 

Her husband leans in     recalls plans for the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf

in the condo in the old city     how it will provide

inspiration   that Felix’s output is attainable

Folding into his arm draped across her shoulders

 

she says she’ll take that but not Felix’s broken

marriages     turns     kisses him lightly on the cheek

 

Black Bird, Grocery Store Parking Lot, St-Bruno

 

Yesterday I saw a bird     thought it was a crow

said to my husband that’s a big-ass bird

No not a crow he said     the bigger one

You know when you can’t find a word

but it’s on the tip of your tongue     I

remembered Edgar Allan Poe’s poem

the Allan Parson’s Project song     blurted

it out as the big black bird strutted across

the parking lot near a dumpster looking

regal but a bit bedraggled

poking at garbage

 

The Sound of Snow in Dudswell

 

I argue with myself as I walk—

Is the word “squelches” right for

the sound of snow under your feet

in -27C-degree weather?

No answer comes as I walk

hearing but not listening

listening but not hearing

 

The deer look at me as I pass

until I whisper to them

of their beauty

Hearing but not listening

they flee—

flight not fight

 

I continue along Chemin Carette

the sky turns from a shade of

carnation pink to

an angry purple

as the sun descends

and I hear but don’t listen for

the bark that crackles

the trees that threaten to

topple from the weight

of snow

 

Parc de la Promenade Bellerive, Montréal Est

 

Storming the castle on a grey Wednesday

out of sync with each other

snow slips from the roof of the park chalet

children slide on snow saucers

along the St. Laurent shoreline

gaze out at this body of water

absent of even a ripple

try to face the day

So much depends on the weather

the propagation of the virus

sub-zero temperatures for vaccine storage

We trek back to the car

brace in the stiff breeze

hold our breath

walk past couples with young children

their vapours hanging in the air

So much depends on the weather

Counts set to fall as spring approaches

arms get nudged and pierced

in six months a year’s time

Belief will be suspended

that it actually happened

as we wipe sweat from our brow

complain about the heat

 

The Journey of Robert Merriam

 

1943

I need a break

Harvard studies so demanding

the mat black Indian Scout

tempts me from

under its tarp in the garage

 

I gather up grandad’s equipment

WWI-issue long black raincoat

camping gear

hit the road due north from Mass

the Gaspé peninsula

calling me

 

Don’t think for a minute

about my poor French

the fear of war

ride like the wind

easy on that old Scout

 

The fishing village of St-Yvon

as good as any

for a doze a snack

Don’t expect its residents

to drag me from sleep

attack me

can’t explain who I am

why I’m there

my English Greek to them

 

As they string me up

rope for my execution

the good priest James Leblanc

arrives     his English welcome

takes my story shares it

The rope comes down

 

Later I understand

a torpedo from a u-boat

missed its mark

the CS Meadcliffe hit

land instead     instilled terror

me and my black raincoat

mistaken for a German spy

 

After shaking hands

with the priest

I resume my journey

realizing quickly school

less stressful

 

Down the road more

beatings misunderstandings jailtime

a local postmistress feeds me codfish eyes

regional delicacy

while I wait for the priest’s story

to reach here     secure my release

 

When I return to Cambridge

Scout fairly flying

I hunker down     focus on my

studies life back home

pretty good

 

Years later I return to Gaspé

with wife and daughters

look up the postmistress

who presses a grapefruit-sized

piece of metal

from that German torpedo

into my hands

Carolyne Van Der Meer is Montreal-based journalist, public relations professional and university lecturer who has published articles, essays, short stories and poems internationally. She is the author of Motherlode: A Mosaic of Dutch Wartime Experience (WLUP, 2014), Journeywoman (Inanna, 2017) and Heart of Goodness: The Life of Marguerite Bourgeoys in 30 Poems | Du coeur à l’âme : La vie de Marguerite Bourgeoys en 30 poèmes (Guernica Editions, 2020). This book, for which she translated her own poems into French, was awarded second prize in the Poetry Category of the Catholic Media Association's 2021 Annual Book Awards and was a finalist in the Specialty Books category of The Word Guild’s 2021 annual Word Awards. Her fourth book, a full-length poetry collection, Sensorial, was published by Inanna in 2022.