New Star Blogs

Always-already :: The David Bromige Posthumous World Tour 2018

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Nine years after David Bromige offi­cial­ly left the firm in 2009, his long-await­ed col­lec­tion if wants to be the same as is: essen­tial poems of David Bromige, is avail­able, includ­ing with­in its folds an entire­ly new work, Amer­i­can Tes­ta­ment, com­posed but then nev­er pub­lished a third of a cen­tu­ry ago.

Events cel­e­brat­ing the appear­ance of if wants to be the same as is are tak­ing place in Sebastopol, San Fran­cis­co, Philadel­phia, New York, Wash­ing­ton, and Van­cou­ver, and will fea­ture read­ings of Bromige’s work by a spec­tac­u­lar array of poets, many who knew him.

David’s if wants to be tour starts with a cel­e­bra­tion / read­ing in his long-time home­town of Sebastopol, where he was Sono­ma County’s sec­ond Poet Lau­re­ate, on Fri­day, August 17, at the Sebastopol Cen­ter for the Arts.

The event is host­ed by Bill Vart­naw and fea­tures the book’s edi­tors, Ron Sil­li­man, Bob Perel­man and Jack Krick, and rec­ol­lec­tions, and read­ings from the book, by Gillian Cono­ley, Pat Nolan, Cole Swensen and Jon­ah Raskin.

The evening also fea­tures the world pre­miere of Incre­men­tal Win­dows, a doc­u­men­tary by film­mak­er, pho­tog­ra­ph­er and poet James Gar­ra­han (whose pho­to of David graces the book’s cov­er), who filmed a series of con­ver­sa­tions with Bromige made in the lat­ter years pre­ced­ing the poet’s death in 2009 that cov­er his poet­ics, his fam­i­ly and his life.

The Sebastopol Cen­ter for the Arts is at 282 High Street, Sebastopol.  Doors open at 5:30, pro­ceed­ings get under­way at 6 p.m.  An entrance dona­tion of $10, with no one turned away for lack of funds, is request­ed.  Pro­ceeds will be used to  place a bronze poem of Bromige’s on the grounds of the Arts Cen­ter, a project of Bill Vart­naw, also a Sono­ma Coun­ty Poet Lau­re­ate.

The next night, Sat­ur­day, August 18, a launch / read­ing at Alley Cat Books in San Fran­cis­co fea­tures Nor­ma Cole, Lyn Hejin­ian, Max­ine Cher­noff, Paul DeBar­ros, Jean Day, Nor­man Fis­ch­er, Kath­leen Fras­er, Susan Gevirtz, Bar­ry Gif­ford, Opal Nations, Michael Palmer, Stephen Rat­cliffe, and Kit Robin­son. Holy cow!

Alley Cat Books is at 3036 24th Street, San Fran­cis­co, in the Mis­sion Dis­trict. Lot­sa read­ers, so things start at 6 o’clock.

Then, sud­den­ly, it’s Tues­day, Sep­tem­ber 25, and you’re at the Kel­ly Writ­ers House for the Philadel­phia, PA if wants to be the same as is tour event.  Rachel Blau DuP­lessis, Steve Dolph, Ryan Eck­es, George Economou, Rochelle Owens, Eli Gold­blatt, David Han­cock, Tom Man­del, Chris McCreary, Ariel Reznikoff, Frank Sher­lock, and Orchid Tier­ney are on the bill.

Kel­ly Writ­ers House is at 3805 Locust Walk. The launch gets under­way at 6 o’clock.

Before you know it it’s Wednes­day Sep­tem­ber 26, and it’s New York for the next stop on the tour, at the Poet­ry Project at St. Mark’s. How does Bruce Andrews, Steve Ben­son, Charles Bern­stein, Lee Ann Brown, Nada Gor­don, Aldon Nielsen, Nick Piom­bi­no, James Sher­ry, and who knows, and maybe Abi­gail Child and Robert Gre­nier too, sound?

Every­body knows where the Poet­ry Project is: 131 E. 10th Street. This is the only 8 p.m. start­ing time on the tour, because New York nev­er sleeps.

Then it’s on Bridge Street Books in Wash­ing­ton, DC, on Sun­day, Sep­tem­ber 30, for read­ings by Lor­raine Gra­ham, Buck Downs and Rod Smith for sure, and prob­a­bly one or two oth­ers.

Bridge Street Books finds itself at 2814 Penn­syl­va­nia Avenue NW; things get going at 6 o’clock.

Stay tooned for details about a Van­cou­ver event on Fri­day, Octo­ber 12, and maybe even Seat­tle on Octo­ber 14.

There’s an entry on Ron Silliman’s blog that gets to the crux of the bis­cuit more direct­ly (but then he’s a poet).

Worth the weight :: The Big Note launches August 24 at Lana Lou’s

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Fabled Lana Lou’s at 362 Pow­ell Street in down­town Van­cou­ver is the place to be Fri­day, August 24, for the eager­ly antic­i­pat­ed and slight­ly delayed launch for The Big Note, Charles Ulrich’s even more anx­ious­ly antic­i­pat­ed but less slight­ly delayed mag­num opus on the work of the Ital­ian-Amer­i­can com­pos­er Frank Zap­pa (1940–1993).

If you’re one of the almost 2,000 peo­ple already clutch­ing your copy of The Big Note, you might be just a lit­tle sur­prised (but also delight­ed) to learn that you haven’t even missed the book’s offi­cial launch yet.  So, what’s tak­en so long?

Good ques­tion.  Back when New Star and Charles Ulrich start­ed talk­ing about what became The Big Note, The Two Tow­ers was still a feel-good fable dreamed up by some old Oxford Pro­fes­sor Cather­wood-type.  Charles’s book would be ready 2004, maybe 2005, and might run about 250 pages, because there was going to be A LOT to talk about.

How­ev­er, the author cau­tioned, he’s a pop­u­lar / rock­u­lar music kind of a guy, and when he got to FZ’s clas­si­cal and elec­tron­ic work­outs, he wasn’t going to have so much to say.  You are, he warned, going to get some two- or three-page chap­ters.  (The chap­ters he was talk­ing about end­ed up run­ning sev­en­teen, eleven, and eight pages.)

The FZ estate didn’t help, once they’d cleared away some of lawyers who had come out onto the field of play, by cre­at­ing what we called Zappa’s para­dox, releas­ing a steady stream of new and sur­pris­ing­ly fresh mate­r­i­al from “The Vault”.  Every posthu­mous release, even if it hadn’t demand­ed a fresh chap­ter of its own, shed enough light on what had come before to require con­stant revi­sion to “fin­ished” chap­ters.

Great, what­ev­er,” I hear you say.  “But that doesn’t explain why you wait­ed three months since you released the book on Moth­ers’ Day to ‘launch’ it now on August 24.  Did you just for­get?”

Not exact­ly.  It did take a while for everybody’s avail­abil­i­ty, the venue, and the band to align.  “We’d love to,” Tony Bar­dach of secret Van­cou­ver musi­cal leg­end Slow­poke and the Smoke said when we asked them to play at Charles’s launch.  “But we’ll need a lit­tle time to rehearse.”

The oth­er thing that got in the way of launch­ing The Big Note soon­er was The Big Note’s very big­ness.  Dur­ing six­teen years that Charles spent work­ing on it he con­tact­ed hun­dreds of musi­cians, tech­ni­cians, music schol­ars, fans, tape traders, &c., chas­ing down leads, while par­tic­i­pat­ing in on-line forums read by tens of thou­sands of the kind of per­son that turned out to  be inter­est­ed in a book about all this.  Along the way, the Inter­net start­ed treat­ing Charles like some kind of expert on the sub­ject.

So when word got around that Charles’s long-await­ed and eager­ly-antic­i­pat­ed muf­fin was final­ly avail­able in actu­al mol­e­cule for­mat, there was a lot of pent-up con­sumer demand ready to hit the “buy” but­ton.  The inter­net has gone gaga about The Big Note, as you can see here, and here, and here, and here, and here, and here.  The first print­ing melt­ed away like a fresh pal­let of Facelle Royale at the Cost­co, and we were just too busy try­ing to keep up with orders to do much, you know, pub­lic­i­ty and stuff like that.

We were even wor­ried for a while there that we might run out of the first print­ing before we could hold the launch, and before the sec­ond print­ing got here, so we socked some away.  So a lim­it­ed num­ber of May 2018 first print­ings of The Big Note will be avail­able at the launch along­side the essen­tial­ly iden­ti­cal August 2018 sec­ond print­ing.  Com­pletists will want both, of course, and Charles Ulrich will be on hand to sign copies.

This is one hot August night you won’t want to miss. Lana Lou’s opens their doors at 8.  There shall be no cov­er.

Michael Turner’s 9x11 by the Numbers

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The last time Michael Turn­er pub­lished a book of poet­ry, Bill Clin­ton was Pres­i­dent of the Unit­ed States and San­dra Bul­lock starred in a cyber mys­tery called The Net. The last time the author pub­lished a book was 2008’s 8x10. Turn­er sug­gests 9x11 is also “based on a con­ceit” which is  9/11, which the author points out gets its title not after a par­tic­u­lar space (the WTC, Ground Zero) but by time (Sep­tem­ber 11, 2001). Ever the inno­va­tor of gen­res and for­mu­las for sto­ry­telling, Turner’s excite­ment about his new poet­ry book is all about time and space. “What inter­ests me is how time is spa­tial­ized — turn­ing time (9/11) into space (9x11), as Wag­n­er attempt­ed to do in his opera Par­si­fal (1882).”

Num­bers don’t lie and look­ing back­wards, one can eas­i­ly detect a sequence in regard to his last two books. “8x10 is a visu­al exper­i­ment. Anoth­er exper­i­ment in the book is based on what has been described as its sub­trac­tions: what is not vis­i­ble because it is not pre­sent­ed lit­er­al­ly in the writ­ten text — name­ly, names (iden­ti­ty), places (space) and times (day, month, year).”

Read­ers famil­iar with 8x10, will recall that each “sto­ry” is titled by a dark­ened box in an 8x10 grid. “The box­es that are not dark­ened,” Turn­er explains, “that are skipped, add up to a mul­ti­pli­er (x) that links the num­bers 8 and 10. This mul­ti­pli­er — this “unknown val­ue to find,” as described in 9x11 (“x”) — is the under­ly­ing fig­ure that uni­fies the sto­ries in the way chap­ters are said to uni­fy a nov­el. But there are oth­er (poten­tial) uni­fiers in 8x10 — recur­rent ref­er­ences to those “sev­en tree-lined ridges,” etc. — but they are nowhere as pow­er­ful as the mul­ti­pli­er.”

Why did the author do this? “Because I want­ed to con­vey what I saw at the time as an emer­gent dis­place­ment (evic­tion, migra­tion) brought on by the unseen flow of cap­i­tal, the “unseen hand” of the mar­ket — a dis­place­ment that would invari­ably result in incar­cer­a­tion, deten­tion, like what we are see­ing today, par­tic­u­lar­ly in North Amer­i­ca and Europe.”

Michael Turn­er is the author of sev­er­al acclaimed books includ­ing Com­pa­ny Town, Hard Core Logo, Kingsway, Amer­i­can Whiskey Bar, and The Pornographer’s Poem which was award­ed the Ethel Wil­son Fic­tion Prize 2000. Bruce McDon­ald direct­ed a film based on Hard Core Logo; he also direct­ed a live tele­cast dra­ma­tiz­ing Turner’s nov­el Amer­i­can Whiskey Bar in 1998, which aired on CityTV. 

 

9x11 will be released on Sep­tem­ber 11th, 2018 at Massey Books at 7 pm. All are wel­come. 

Andrew Struthers at Shadow Mountain in Victoria, April 7

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Andrew Struthers, author of The Sacred Herb / The Devil’s Weed, will be read­ing from and sign­ing copies of his smokin’ flip-book at Shad­ow Moun­tain Dis­pen­sary on April 7.

The Sacred Herb / The Devil’s Weed, which was announced as a final­ist for the BC Book Prize ear­li­er this month, is a hilar­i­ous look at a hum­ble plant that has enter­tained, inspired, and occa­sion­al­ly ter­ri­fied so many for so long.  As Leanne Allen from Vul­ture Cul­ture TV puts it, “Read­ing Struthers’ writ­ing is like … swim­ming in jel­lo. And read­ing his new book The Sacred Herb/The Devil’s Weed is half like that, and half like … float­ing in mer­cury.”

Join Struthers for read­ings and book sign­ing at Shad­ow Moun­tain Dis­pen­sary, 543 Her­ald Street, Vic­to­ria.  Doors open at (when else?) 4:20 p.m.

The Excelsior Hotel Incident

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This week's news, that The Sacred Herb / The Devil's Weed by Andrew Struthers has been nominated for the Hubert Evans Award in the BC Book Prizes, reminded us of the author's earlier brush with this country's literary prize machinery.  That was in the late 1990s, when Struthers was nominated for a National Magazine Award for The Green Shadow in its original form, serialized in the Georgia Straight.  He tells that story in Chapter 1 of The Last Voyage of the Loch Ryan (2004), from which this excerpt is taken.

After uni­ver­si­ty I tried liv­ing “on the Grid”, with a day job and a cred­it his­to­ry and a notice of dis­con­nec­tion and a stress-relat­ed skin dis­ease, but it just wasn’t me. So I moved into the for­est in Clay­oquot Sound and built a pyra­mid out of cedar and glass, perched on a hun­dred-foot cliff, look­ing out through a canopy of giant trees over a sparkling limb of the Pacif­ic.

On the hori­zon lay an island where the ancient vil­lage of Echachist once stood, until it was destroyed in bat­tle two cen­turies back. For years there was no sign of human activ­i­ty down there. Then one evening the set­ting sun caught on two gold­en cedar beams. Some­one was rais­ing a house frame.

I asked around at the Com­mon Loaf Bak­ery. The builder was Joe Mar­tin, whose fore­bear had been the chief at Echachist. I watched Joe’s house go up, and just before he fin­ished the roof the Fed­er­al Gov­ern­ment slapped a demo­li­tion order on my door. My house wasn’t up to code. I moved into town for the win­ter, and by spring the fuss had died down, so I car­ried my stuff back up the hill and con­tin­ued my con­tra­band lifestyle.

To pay the bills I worked on fish boats in sum­mer and at the fish plant in win­ter. My one attempt at a career was writ­ing, but it didn’t work out. I loved the writ­ing but hat­ed the career. These days you can’t sim­ply write, you also have to be a celebri­ty, which I find unset­tling, because the only celebri­ty I resem­ble is Shrek.

But I gave it my best shot, and right away things got out of hand. I wrote one sto­ry — The Green Shad­ow — and next thing I knew I was nom­i­nat­ed for a nation­al humour award, up against Morde­cai Rich­ler. The awards ban­quet was at the Excel­sior Hotel in Toron­to. The entrée was pork — not my favourite at the best of times, and with Morde­cai on one side and Paul Quar­ring­ton on the oth­er, vying for quips, I was so ner­vous I couldn’t eat a bite. Morde­cai was just the oppo­site. The guy had an intense love of pork, I guess. He ate his meal, and then he ate mine. Then he wan­dered around the ban­quet hall scor­ing pork rinds from the plates of strangers, all the while puff­ing on a ran­cid Gauloise and swig­ging haugh­ti­ly from a giant bot­tle of Cher­ry Jack.

When the MC announced the win­ner, Morde­cai didn’t even lis­ten. He ran, snuf­fling and wheez­ing and wip­ing the grease from his stub­by sausage fin­gers on the frills of his cheap rental tuxe­do, to the stage, where he grabbed the award, shoul­dered the MC aside and began grunt­ing plat­i­tudes into the micro­phone.

Okay, that nev­er hap­pened. I didn’t even go to the awards ban­quet. My account is what we fish­er­men call a yarn. It starts with the truth and casts off from there. What makes Clay­oquot Sound’s yarns unique is that the truth is often stranger than fish­ing. Here’s what real­ly hap­pened that night.

The awards were the same day as the fun fair at Pasheabel’s school. She had just turned six, and what she want­ed more than any­thing in the world was to win a cake in the
cake­walk. We bought a tick­et and tried and lost. Bought anoth­er tick­et, lost again. Third time I said, “This is all the mon­ey I have left. If we go in the cake­walk again, we can’t afford to go in the haunt­ed house.”

But Pashe­abel knew what she want­ed. Cake. Not so much to have cake as to win cake. So round we went again, and when the music stopped we were stand­ing on the sweet spot. Sal­ly Mole came run­ning up to us. “You won!”

It seemed like a good omen, and it was. I thought about Morde­cai and the awards ban­quet. They must be announc­ing the win­ner right about now. Sud­den­ly I knew I had won that too. It was one of those moments when it seemed the mys­te­ri­ous thread that sews togeth­er the lives in a small town runs deep­er than any­one imag­ines, con­nect­ing every human life, even mine and Mordecai’s.

Sal­ly hand­ed us an evil-look­ing choco­late bunt baked by Ian Bruce’s kid, who was bare­ly old­er than Pashe­abel — but to us it was a mag­ic cake. We took it down to Bar­ry Grumbach’s house. Bar­ry was a crab fish­er­man who lived on the inlet. The night was full of stars, the inlet was flat as glass, and on the grass behind the house the usu­al sus­pects were roast­ing a giant ling cod and play­ing tunes. Halfway through the evening, Charles Camp­bell called from the Geor­gia Straight. “You won!”

The par­ty went bal­lis­tic, every­one chant­i­ng, “Nice try, Morde­cai!” I for­get what hap­pened next. At dawn Pashe­abel and I woke up on the couch to find our mag­ic cake had
been eat­en by drunks. There was noth­ing left except a swirly pat­tern on the plate where some­one had licked it clean.

It seemed like a bad omen, and it was. After that night my writ­ing career took a sin­is­ter turn. When the book ver­sion of The Green Shad­ow came out, my pub­lish­er, Rolf Mau­r­er, a Ger­man intel­lec­tu­al with a huge fore­head and a soul patch, sent me on a tour to flog it. The inter­view­ers asked the same ques­tions over and over and over until I start­ed mak­ing the answers up out of sheer bore­dom, and then they nailed me on the facts. It was like spend­ing a week down­town in a miniskirt that didn’t quite cov­er my ass. The low point came on CBC’s Almanac, with Cecil­ia Wal­ters. The stu­dio was cav­ernous and emp­ty. It seemed too grand for radio. It was more like a TV stu­dio that had gone blind. I sat in the green room lis­ten­ing with hor­ror as the guest before me told a har­row­ing tale of sur­viv­ing breast can­cer. When I got to the hot seat, Glo­ria was sob­bing like a school­girl. This was going to be a tough act to fol­low.

I read a chap­ter, and Glo­ria chuck­led with glee and asked if I still lived in my pyra­mid in the woods. Dead air. The Feds still had that demo­li­tion order on my house. If I told the truth, town coun­cil would be oblig­ed to evict me all over again. “No,” I said, “I live in a dou­ble-wide trail­er on Chester­mans Beach.”

Back in Tough City I climbed the trail to my pyra­mid and found three Com­mer­cial Dri­ve hip­pie chicks and an Aus­tralian shaman camped out on my floor. They had braved the pass, bush­whacked through the rain­for­est to my place, unrolled their bed mats, lit my oil lamps, and used my only saucer as an ash­tray. They com­prised what Rolf called my “fan base”. I said, “You peo­ple have to go.” But the Aussie had oth­er ideas. He want­ed to unblock my root chakra by lay­ing his did­jeri­doo across my ass and blow­ing. I said, “Mis­ter, I don’t even know you.”

By now you’re think­ing, This has got to be anoth­er yarn. Sad­ly, that’s exact­ly what hap­pened. Out here, yarn and truth get tan­gled. A lot of Clay­oquot tales are true at one end and tall at the oth­er. But I swear on the grave of Jesus, every tale I’m about to tell you is true at one end.

Some End / West Broadway launch at the People’s Co-op Bookstore, March 30

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George Bow­er­ing and George Stan­ley will be at the People’s Co-op Book­store in Van­cou­ver on Fri­day, March 30 for the launch of their new book, Some End / West Broad­way.

Some End / West Broad­way presents the lat­est col­lec­tions of these two old mas­ters in a back-to-back “tum­ble” for­mat.  Jack Shadbolt’s dip­tych Encounter is repro­duced on the book’s cov­ers.  Some End / West Broad­way , released by New Star Books on Feb­ru­ary 14, was reviewed this week on rob mclennan’s blog.

Join Georges Bow­er­ing and Stan­ley for read­ings and light refresh­ments at 7 p.m.  The People’s Co-op Book­store is at 1391 Com­mer­cial Dri­ve.  Admis­sion is free.

Holy smoke! The Sacred Herb/The Devil’s Weed is a BC Book Prize finalist

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The BC Book Prizes announced its 2018 final­ists today.  The list includes Vic­to­ria word- and film­smith Andrew Struthers, final­ist for this year’s Hubert Evans Non-Fic­tion Prize, award­ed to the best orig­i­nal work of lit­er­ary non-fic­tion pub­lished in the pre­vi­ous year.

Woo-hoo!  Although might be fair to point out that the orig­i­nal plan was for The Sacred Herb / The Devil’s Weed to be eli­gi­ble for last year’s prize.  (This is addressed in the book.)

Struthers is no stranger to book prizes, hav­ing nev­er won any, but he did once win a Nation­al Mag­a­zine Award (remem­ber mag­a­zines?) for the orig­i­nal ver­sion of The Green Shad­ow.  He describes that har­row­ing expe­ri­ence in The Last Voy­age of the Loch Ryan.

He is also the author of Around the World on Min­i­mum Wage.  Copies of the pro­fuse­ly cor­rect­ed sec­ond edi­tion of this suc­ces d’estime are still avail­able.

 

Lisa Robertson auf Deutsch

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Ger­man-lan­guage rights to Lisa Robert­son’s first book, XEclogue, have been placed with Ger­man pub­lish­er Turia + Kant.  Trans­la­tor Mar­cus Coe­len’s ren­di­tion of Robertson’s fem­i­nist detourne­ment of Virgil’s love poems will be issued in 2019.

Robert­son joins a Turia + Kant list that includes Ger­man trans­la­tions of works by Alain Badiou, Jacques Lacan, Mieke Bal, Trinh T. Minh-Ha, Fer­nan­do Pes­soa, Chan­tal Mouffe, Paul Vir­ilio, and Slavoj Zizek, among many oth­ers.

Orig­i­nal­ly pub­lished by Tsuna­mi Edi­tions in 1993, XEclogue was re-issued in 1999 by New Star Books.

Lisa Robertson’s book The Weath­er (2001) has recent­ly been issued in Swedish (Vadret; Ramus For­lag) and French (Le temps; Edi­tion Nous).

Robert­son was recent­ly award­ed with the inau­gar­al C.D. Wright Award for Poet­ry, estab­lished in hon­our of the Amer­i­can poet. The award is for a poet with “vibrant lyri­cism, seri­ous­ness, and strik­ing orig­i­nal­i­ty.”

The deal with Turia + Kant was arranged for New Star Books by Bill Han­na of Aca­cia House Pub­lish­ing Ser­vices.

 

 

John Armstrong reading in Chilliwack Monday, February 5

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John Arm­strong, author of A Series of Dogs, will be read­ing at the first install­ment of a new local writer series in Chill­i­wack, this Mon­day, Feb­ru­ary 5, at Trac­tor­grease, 48710 Chill­i­wack Lake Rd. 

Armstrong’s most recent book, A Series of Dogs (2016), is a mem­oir fol­low­ing all the tail-wag­gers that have fea­tured in his var­i­ous life­long adven­tures (and even a few cats), and was a final­ist for the 2016 Lea­cock Prize.  His ear­ly life as Buck Cher­ry, leader of leg­endary punk rock band The Mod­er­nettes, as well as the fol­low­ing fif­teen years as an award-win­ning jour­nal­ist at the Van­cou­ver Sun, inspired his first books with New Star, Guilty of Every­thing (2001) and Wages (2007).

See Arm­strong read along­side local writ­ers Mar­garet Bollerup, Heather Ram­say and Sylvia Tay­lor.  Doors open at 6 p.m., show at 7.  Admis­sion is by dona­tion.

Annharte to appear at Growing Room Literary Festival in March

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Marie Annharte Bak­er will appear in the sec­ond annu­al Grow­ing Room, a Fem­i­nist Lit­er­ary Fes­ti­val host­ed by Room mag­a­zine.  The fes­ti­val runs from March 1–4 at var­i­ous venues through­out Van­cou­ver, fea­tur­ing talks, read­ings and work­shops on a range of top­ics that lie at the inter­sec­tion of fem­i­nism and writ­ing.

Annharte is an Anishin­abe (Lit­tle Saskatchewan First Nation, Man­i­to­ba) poet who now lives in Win­nipeg.  She has been the author of sev­er­al works, includ­ing Indi­ge­na Awry (2012) and Exer­cis­es in Lip Point­ing (2003) from New Star Books, and AKA Inendagosek­we (2013) from CUE Books.

You can see Annharte at the fol­low­ing events:

INDIGENOUS BRILLIANCE

Fri­day, March 2 | 7:30 p.m. | Native Edu­ca­tion Col­lege, 237 5th Ave E

THE WITCHES YOU DIDN’T BURN:  Writ­ing about Daugh­ters, Moth­ers, and Grand­moth­ers

Sat­ur­day, March 3 | 1:30 p.m. | Native Edu­ca­tion Col­lege, 237 5th Ave E

LAUGHING THROUGH TEARS: How We Write Trau­ma

Sun­day, March 4 | 1:30 p.m. | Native Edu­ca­tion Col­lege, 237 5th Ave E