Todd Swift

Todd Swift
CANADIAN FICTION

This was the severe part
The canister aspect
And the rotunda shone,
Was sea-like in its movements,
So that her sailor beamed,
Was a beam, moving,
And the lighthouse element
Was perfected.  Read on,
For story, if not pastoral,
Read on!  Christ was
Not beheaded, the dancer
Desired the other torso,
So the first man died,
The proclaimer.
Epic contains cruelty,
Spans water.  I grew up

Near a long river
Bringing vessels to grain,
Grain to the sea
And in motion achieved
Commerce; locks
Adjusted levels, men
Moved up and down,
Objects went through
Hours to arrive elsewhere
And children lined
The piers to wave them on;
And the dead are buried
In uncongratulated areas
Nearby, offhand, almost,
Offloaded, ignored
In the merriment of shipping

And bread; in the daylight
Least considered; the living,
Also, are unattended to,
Except at visible intervals,
And during intercourse,
Communion, and feeding times,
For all must acquaint
Themselves with nourishment,
With food for throat, for soul
(the soul is the throat
and we thirst as well as hunger).
Often I regret ill-conceived
Projects, uncarried, still-born,
Never premature, never created,
Unmade novels; stories
Uncharactered – no meat added

To their lineaments, no curve
To their air, their architraves;
This failure is resonant of
Many loves looked away from,
The shipments delayed,
The bored tanned faces
Of the men leaning over
The rims of their boats,
Waving at children
They neither fathered or knew,
In the listless blue air
Of August, en route to Peru.
I knew teachers with moustaches
And white shirts, who slept
On Saturdays, crying
Among the grass and spiders,

Their scalps half-matted,
Whose parched lives
Ached in their village,
For some identity only art
Bestows, only critical writing
On art bestows, when description
Collects loneliness with praise,
Calls them in, and holds
Their abject purposes in stock,
Lines their days, like pockets,
With glowing praise,
With the waving, undulant,
By the vessel, as it rises,
Story by water-story,
Above the locks, into industry,
And summer heavy with cargo.

Todd Swift is a Canadian poet, critic and lecturer, who now lives and works in London, England.  A graduate of the MA in Creative Writing at UEA, he is a Visiting Writer at Kingston University, core tutor with The Poetry School, and Poet In Residence for Oxfam GB.  His recent critical study of Anglo-Quebec poetry, Language Acts, co-edited with Jason Camlot, was a recent finalist for the Gabrielle Roy Prize.  His poems have appeared in The Guardian, Jacket, New American Writing, Poetry London, Poetry Review, among others, and in the anthologies The New Canon and Open Field.  His reviews have appeared in Books in Canada, The Globe and Mail, and Poetry Review.  He is the editor of many poetry anthologies, such as 100 Poets Against The War; and poetry editor of online publications Nthposition and Eyewear; he is contributing editor of Mimesis.  In 2005, he edited a special section on The Young Canadian Poets for New American Writing.  He has just edited a special section on The Young British Poets for The Manhattan Review.  He has had four collections of poems published by DC Books in Montreal, Canada.  His New and Selected poems is out with Salmon, Ireland, autumn 2008, with an Introduction by Kevin Higgins.