Michael Dennis (1956-2020)

Michael Dennis died on December 31, 2020. He was a good friend and a good poet. I love him and I miss him, like so many do. I’ve been writing and re-writing this since he died trying to say more or less that, I think. I’ve also been re-reading his poems and feeling grateful that there are so many to sit with now.

As I have been writing and revising this post, it has gradually become more focused on my personal memories of Michael, and so skews to the final decade of his life. rob mclennan’s post offers a more detailed overview of Michael’s life and life in poetry, and I encourage you to read it. I’ll add links to other remembrances as they appear.

I first got to know Michael through his poems. I’d come across his name as I was looking for Ottawa poets. (Michael was an Ottawa poet, yes, but by way of Peterborough by way of London.) I was starting to get to know people in the contemporary small press scene in town, but was desperate to find evidence of a poetry community in the city in the 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s. It was there, of course, I just hadn’t found it yet, and so jumped at the chance to pick up the first of his books that I came across in the bookstore ecosystem. It was This Day Full of Promise (Fredericton: Broken Jaw, 2002), his first selected poems, found on the low poetry shelves at Book Bazaar on Bank Street. In those poems I encountered so many of the layers of Michael that I came to know in him as a person years later—kindness, sensitivity, generosity, love, humour, honesty, joy at having a good story to tell, and an abiding commitment to poetry.

I met Michael in person for the first time in April 2009. He was participating in a fundraiser for the Al Purdy A-Frame, reading at Library and Archives Canada with Stephen Brockwell, Rob Winger, Gwendolyn Guth, and others. On the book table, he was selling a single copy of a relatively early book of his that was legendary to me—poems for jessica-flynn (Ottawa: Not One Cent of Subsidy Press, 1986), a book he famously wrote sitting in a bookstore window in Ottawa. (Here is something I wrote about that book a few years later.) I snatched it up, he signed it for me, and I felt like I’d met a proper poet, a poet who had been doing it for decades for little acclaim, certainly for no money. I don’t remember what Michael read of Al Purdy’s, or of his own work, but I remember the force of his reading, his comfort on the microphone, his command of the room. Michael was a great reader, with a great voice, and his poems were often at their best when spoken. To not be able to hear him read anymore–to not be able to listen to him speak anymore–is a deep loss. Here is a legendary reading from 1999 at the Ottawa International Poetry Festival.

Later in 2009–November 28, to be precise, I can date it from a book inscription–I visited Michael and Kirsty’s home on Dagmar for the first time. I’d launched Apt. 9 Press a few months earlier, and Michael was considering submitting a manuscript to me. He invited me by to discuss it, and as we sat in his astounding library, he asked me a hundred poetry questions—who was I reading, who did I like, what was I studying, what books were in my to-read pile, who did I not like. He was feeling me out, trying to find my loyalties in the poetry world, but he was also just excited to talk poetry. He showed me books in his incredible library, handed me stacks to take home, and shared poems. (I did have the privilege of publishing one of his chapbooks through Apt. 9—how are you she innocently asked (2010)—as well as a broadside in 2011 on the occasion of the inaugural edition of Ottawa’s poetry festival, Versefest. Michael read on the opening night with Ben Ladouceur, and gave a typically masterful performance.)

michael dennis office
Michael’s desk and library (Photograph by Michael, I believe).

I was astonished by his and Kirsty’s home, as everyone is that sees it, full to bursting with art—paintings and sculptures and objects and music and books. I’d never seen so much art, so gleefully and lovingly arranged on what felt like every free inch of wall space (and much of the floor and shelf space), pieces big and small. The tour of their house was an education in a life lived for each other and for art. It was beautiful. It is beautiful. I can’t do it justice, nor do I have the knowledge necessary to begin articulating the importance of their collection. Take the time to read this interview to begin to understand the scope of it.

His working life—that is, his non-poetry working life—covered more than most. I’ll defer to the concise overview in his biographical statement from his final book: “His working life has included everything from stints in car plants and copper mines to installing artworks in galleries and doing time as a short-order cook and dishwasher in a strip club; he ran a small boutique hotel in the ’80s, was Santa at the Kmart in Charlottetown one year, and opened a non-profit ESL school in Jablonec nad Nisou, Czechoslovakia, immediately following the Velvet Revolution. Michael has driven a taxi and a truck and had a brief stint as a private chauffeur.” I also remember him telling me that he worked with Yann Martel in a bookstore (or library?) in Peterborough. He told me that Yann inscribed a first edition of his early book, The Facts Behind the Helsinki Roccamatios, but that it had been misplaced or stolen somewhere along the way. I open every copy I see, and genuinely thought I would find that copy again someday and return it to Michael.

In early 2013 he started his blog, Today’s Book of Poetry, and I think that it had a profound effect on him as a poet and as a member of the small press community. In the early years of our friendship, he often had a chip on his shoulder about poetry. There was a sense that he had perhaps not had the literary career he at one time expected, and he had complaints about the state of things. rob mclennan, in his post following Michael’s death, does an admirable job of covering the ground of Michael’s publishing career, some of the hits and misses, and notes for example that Michael wasn’t included in any of the Ottawa-focused anthologies of the 1980s and early 1990s. While not anthologies, Michael did give me a handful of broadsides from those years in which he appears with other poets of the Peterborough-Ottawa line and beyond, including Barry Dempster, Mark Frutkin, Ward Maxwell, Riley Tench, Dennis Tourbin, Richard Harrison, and Armand Ruffo.

I think a good deal of credit needs to go to Christian McPherson for setting up the website, which allowed Michael to begin writing “appreciations” of contemporary books of poetry (I helped in a small way scanning book covers). It quickly gathered steam, and before long he was receiving regular packages of books in the mail from publishers across the country and beyond. The first post was dedicated to the work of a friend, Ward Maxwell, who has done exceptional work documenting Peterborough poets at his own website. Another early post collected some videos of Michael available online, that will remain well worth your time. And this post makes me smile and breaks my heart—to think he won’t sit our library again and finger books that I half wonder if he’ll smuggle out with him. By the time he wrapped it up in 2020, after his diagnosis, he had written appreciations of over 800 books of poetry. This year, he received an award for the blog—the Meet the Presses’ Special Recognition Award for Commitment and Devotion to Small Press.

Most importantly, I think the blog helped him to fall in love with poetry again. The chip on his shoulder receded, and when we spoke about publishing, he expressed more gratitude and less frustration. He was pleased to have published as much as he did, and was newly impressed by the volume and quality of poetry being published in this country. He would come out to readings with stacks of books to have signed. He would come home from trips with new boxes of books. He devoured every contemporary book of poetry he could get his hands on–the last time he gave me an estimate, he thought there were some 8,000 books of poetry in his library. Here is a profile of Michael by rob mclennan that shows evidence of this shift. And here are two profiles of the blog by Stuart Ross, one from 2013 and one from 2020.

He gave more and more readings, despite having announced that he was giving his “final” reading on a more than a few occasions. Memorable  ones included this reading with Stuart at Tree in 2017, and a house reading in November 2019 that stands as one of the finest afternoons of poetry I’ve enjoyed (also with Stuart, and held at the home of Ottawa’s greatest and lowest-profile collector of poetry, Alexander Monker).

Photograph by Jennifer Huzera

He began to publish more, including chapbooks with a huge number of small presses—Proper Tales, and Burnt Wine, and above/ground, and shreeking violet, and Monk, and phafours, and Sunday Afternoon Poems, and Apt. 9. Stuart Ross lovingly edited the substantial Bad Engine: New and Selected Poems (Vancouver: Anvil, 2017), and followed it up with a new trade collection in 2020—Low Centre of Gravity (Vancouver: Anvil). He also appeared in translation in Norwegian this year (Ghosts in Japanese Taxis [Trondheim and Minneapolis: A+D, 2020], a publication for which Jenn and I had the pleasure of hand-stitching roughly half of the edition). He had a late-career renaissance, and his work is perhaps more accessible and in-print now than at any previous point. Here is Michael describing his own “small press writing day”, and it is a lovely glimpse into his days, writing and otherwise.


He also unquestionably produced some of his finest work in the final years—Low Centre of Gravity is among his best. It is oddly prescient, a book about funerals and reflecting back, about family and art, and as always about love and poetry. The reception of the book will no doubt be coloured by his death, but the bulk of the poems must have been with the publisher long before the events of the past nine months. Please buy Bad Engine, and buy Low Centre of Gravity, and then keep your eyes open in used bookstores for his early books.

Michael’s poetry has been described with great insight by many. Stuart Ross, in his introduction to Bad Engine, described Michael as “a people’s poet, a populist poet” and argued that the “greatest appeal of Michael’s work” was “his conviction, his directness.” Yann Martel, in his blurb for Arrows of Desire, wrote that Michael’s poetry was “honest, unflinching, needy, sad, joyous, unmistakably human.” Maggie Helwig described Michael’s poems as being “of unflinching honesty and deep tenderness.” The back copy of Bad Engine calls his poetry “direct, curious, pissed off and honest.” Barry Dempster wrote that “he is like a man who is trying to teach his heart to speak on its own.” He’s been compared to Charles Bukowski, and Al Purdy, and Eileen Myles. Here is a small handful of poems of his that I love:

The poems will endure, I’m sure of that. Equally important, the kindness and generosity that he sent out into the world will endure in those who were lucky enough to be his friend. Jenn and I received more than our share of his and Kirsty’s love. He once picked us up from the airport, after midnight and unprompted, when we had to cut a vacation short for medical reasons. He delivered supplies when Jenn threw her back out. When I finished my PhD, he appeared at the door with a signed Henry Miller book. When Jenn defended her Master’s Thesis on Jimmy Stewart, he appeared with a signed letter from Jimmy Stewart that Jimmy wrote to Michael in 1993 in response to a letter of Michael’s. He was also a devoted blood donor (over 200 donations, I believe), and I will think of him every time I sit in that chair in the future. Donate if you can–in Michael’s words, “the experience is entirely rewarding. It is one of the few times when you empirically know you have done something GOOD.”

I received more than one ride home over the years. I remember one in December 2019 (I think…). I work in the same building as Kirsty, and as I left to trudge home through the snow on foot, Michael was there in the car waiting to pick Kirsty up and extended a kind offer as always. Instead of fighting the snow and ice on the Alexandra Bridge, I got to sit in his and Kirsty’s warmth, listening to them talk about their days. It was lovely, as it always was to be around them together. A dinner invitation from them was a gift, and I regret the ones we had to turn down over the years.

Michael - 1
Photograph by Kirsty Jackson

The first time I visited him, he told me that Auden’s “Musée des Beaux Arts” was his favourite poem. I don’t know if that was still true years later, I wish I had asked, but it is easy to see the influence of that poem on him. Auden’s poem reads, in full:

About suffering they were never wrong,
The old Masters: how well they understood
Its human position: how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer’s horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.

In Breughel’s Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water, and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.

I’m certain he could recite that from memory. Michael wrote many variations of that poem over the years—like we all do when we find a poem we wish we had written. The sense of tragedy, of suffering, being a matter of scale and perspective, and of life going on, as it must go on, regardless–these ideas formed one core of so much of his work.

Michael’s poems told us again and again that the world goes on, that “one thing will happen / and then a little later / another thing” (“happy birthday to me”); that after each funeral “the sun set and then rose / just like every other day / somewhere a cloud, some rain / another place flowers” (“my mother and I sat waiting for death”). Michael’s poems show us the sad parts, and the disasters, and the suffering, but also the flowers in the other place, and the small victories despite it all, and the modest but significant parts in which we should invest our hopes—“hope for one more night in bed / one more morning / the sun coming up from the east / her eyes seeing mine” (“one more day”). The steady stream of stories being shared on social media, and in other blog posts, shows that part of the world did stop and notice this particular moment of disaster, that it has not been met with indifference but instead has been met with love.

The tragedy, as Michael told us, is not that the world goes on, of course the world goes on—it is that even if you notice the important things, even if you see the suffering and the beauty and somehow get the proportion of it all right, time still runs out. It is what is articulated by the final epigraph he chose for Low Centre of Gravity, his final collection:

“When God punishes you, it’s not that you don’t get what you want. It’s that you get everything that you want, but there’s no time left” (Miles Davis).

After the final poem in the same collection, he snuck in three more quotations , leaving Henrik Ibsen to have a final and more joyous word:

“And what if I did run / my ship aground; / oh, still it was splendid / to sail it!”

And so, all of that to say, I miss you and I love you, Michael. Thank you for everything.

Michael launching Bad Engine in front of a standing-room only crowd at the Avant Garde Bar in Ottawa.

Nelson Ball (1942-2019)

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Nelson Ball, Mount Pleasant Nature Park (August 2013)

Nelson Ball died two days ago on Friday August 16, 2019. Nelson was a poet, editor, publisher, and bookseller specializing in the small press in Canada. His influence in each of these fields is beyond my ability to express here and he brought to each of these roles the same kindness and generosity that he brought to his friendships. I count myself lucky to have known him for the final decade of his life, to have worked with him, and most importantly to have been his friend.

I’ve made arguments in other, more formal venues about his importance in the small press, and won’t repeat them here—one chapter of my dissertation is about his work as a bookseller (online in full); I recently published an index of the three little magazines he edited in the 1960s (currently behind a paywall but only for a short time); and I was privileged to publish three chapbooks by Nelson through Apt. 9 Press, including his bpNichol Chapbook Award winning Small Waterways, and most recently A Letter to Amanda Bernstein and a Checklist of Weed/Flower Press (online in full). Here I simply want to remember my friend Nelson.

I first contacted Nelson in summer 2009. I was conducting research for my M.A. on the Contact Poetry Reading Series (1957-1962) and reached out to Nelson for research help. I was beginning to know his poetry and his reputation, and hoped that he might be able to point me in some useful directions. Almost instantly I received back a box full of books—magazines from the 1960s, chapbooks, and copies of Barbara’s published journals (she sent those along in addition to Nelson’s gifts, and are a now favourite re-read every few years). His and Barbara’s response was instructive in so many ways. It was kind and helpful; it showed that booksellers tended to have things that libraries didn’t; and it showed me that people who spend their lives in the small press are very often good people (there are certainly no financial rewards for such a life). Barbara died a few months later and I regret not meeting her in person.

My friendship with Nelson grew in the following decade. I sent him copies of everything Apt. 9 published. I gradually collected a sizable number of his books, chapbooks, and broadsides. When I was editing The Collected Poems of William Hawkins, Nelson again shared materials generously. When I began my PhD in 2011, I knew that I wanted small press bookselling to form a key element—it would later become the primary element. Nelson became a central focus of the work, and it allowed me to travel to Paris (ON) for the first time to meet him in person in August 2013. The visit was memorable. I interviewed Nelson, we visited Kemeny Babineau (another poet-publisher-bookseller after Nelson’s model), and we took a walk together at Mount Pleasant Nature Park. During that visit he also showed me the music video for Adriano Celentano’s “Prisencolinensinainciusol” and we sat together laughing and trying to puzzle out syllables that felt nearly comprehensible. On that first visit he also gave me a manuscript of about 100 pages, from which I selected some 30 poems for the chapbook Minutiae, our first of three projects together.

Willow Street, Paris (ON)

The house on Willow Street in Paris (ON) that Nelson and Barbara made their own in 1985 is beyond description. Nelson and Barbara made a life together in a dedicated and uncompromising way. They pursued art (Barbara), bookselling (Nelson), and writing (both), and the house remains a testament to that life and their accomplishments. Nelson’s friend Catherine Stevenson made a documentary about the house that is more articulate than I can be:

In 2016, Nelson was awarded the bpNichol Chapbook Award for Small Waterways, the second book of his that I was lucky enough to publish. Accepting the award on his behalf at the Meet the Press Indie Literary Market is my proudest moment in the small press. I read this speech on Nelson’s behalf. The speech captures his good heart, sense of humour, and personal investments in the small press. The dates also show how carefully he worked to say precisely what he wanted to say. I don’t think he had ever won an award for his poetry before. I’m so grateful to have worked with Nelson on the book, and to have seen him win an award bearing bp’s name. The judges that year were Alice Burdick and Hoa Nguyen.

On reflection, I’m astounded by the amount of support he gave to me over the past decade. He was always kind to me personally about my publishing and poetry, but he also stuck his neck out publicly. He trusted me to publish three of his books. He blurbed my own first book, as well as the Collected Poems of William Hawkins. He was a volunteer copy-editor of lots of what I did (including my dissertation and the Collected Hawkins—both monstrous projects in length). He researched things we discussed in our correspondence and sent me what he learned, shared books, and offered advice and direction.

In everything above, it is so easy to see his formative influence on my life and work. He is a model of kindness, of care, of attention to detail, of support. When I started writing this, I thought I would be writing about the influence of his work on my publishing and my poetry, but that influence is so plain to see in the work itself. The testament to Nelson’s influence is in the poems, in the chapbooks, in the research—it is in so many elements of the decade of work I’ve managed since we became friends, and I think that is true of innumerable others in the small press since Nelson first starting working in the 1960s. The poems written that have been dedicated to Nelson over the years could fill more than a few books, to say nothing of the research projects that would have been impossible to complete without his advice, materials, or support, or the books and materials that would have been lost but for his book scouting and bookselling.

I got to know Nelson during a transition in his life—I only really knew him after Barbara’s death, but during the decade that I knew him his life grew out of that grief into something new and wonderful. He developed close and vital friendships that sustained him. He published more books, and at a faster rate, than at any time previous in his writing life. In addition to the bpNichol Award win, he also published a selected poems, edited with care by his friend and most trusted editor, Stuart Ross. He was able to see his influence reach yet another generation of young poets and publishers. The changes are there in his poetry. The poems become full of people and interactions. The humour that was always there comes out in new ways in anecdotes about his new friendships, and the poems are populated by children and laughter. He also published a book of poetry specifically for children (A Vole on a Roll, illustrated by JonArno Lawson; Shapes and Sounds Press, Dundas ON, 2016). His life was full of love in these years, as it was up to the end.

I visited Nelson three times in the final year of his life. Jenn and I travelled to see him in November 2018. Jenn and Nelson hadn’t met before, but both had heard plenty about each other from me. Jenn and I took a slow tour of the Willow Street house and sat with Nelson chatting about books as always. During that visit he passed me the manuscript for A Letter to Amanda Bernstein.

Willow Street, November 2018

I next visited in June 2019 to deliver the finished chapbook. On that visit, I met his friends Catherine (Stevenson) and Suzan (Yates) in person for the first time and saw the love he had for them and the love they had for him. My final visit was just this past week to say goodbye. We sat quietly, we talked publishing as usual, and I was able say thank you one last time. It was a beautiful visit and a relief to see Catherine and Suzan by his side, and I’m so grateful to have been able to be there.

I’m sitting in our library at home as I write this and I’m surrounded by Nelson. A drawing of Nelson by Barbara that was published in 1969 as an insert in his collection Force Movements is framed and rests on top of my manuscript in progress (keeping me honest, I like to think). A broadside he rubber-stamped in an edition of 10 in 1991 that marked his gradual return to poetry hangs on the wall. One of Barbara’s artist’s proofs for the cover of Nelson’s 1970 Coach House collection The Pre-Linguistic Heights sits on a bookshelf. His books, despite the economy of his poetry, somehow occupy approximately 12 inches of shelf space. The shelf of my own publications is infused by Nelson’s influence, and innumerable gifts from Nelson (books) are on other shelves. I also bought lots of books from him, and his carefully typed slips full of detailed and precise bibliographic and book-historical information are tucked safely into their respective books. A nearly complete set of the more than 200 bookseller catalogues he issued sit in plastic sleeves in three-ring binders. It is comforting to see him, and I know it will be more so every time I encounter him in the house somewhere.

For A Letter to Amanda Bernstein—a book that has became his final publication during his life—I designed a cover that echoed his first book, Room of Clocks (1965). The design was an intentional call back to Barbara’s lettering on his first book, but the symmetry has unintentionally become a bookend given that the two books open and close his publishing career. I’ve put a pdf of the entire book online for those interested.


Over the past week I’ve been reading and re-reading his poems. The poems model the attention Nelson paid to the world and they ask the reader to attend to the world, to language, to the oscillation between the two, and to oneself. As anyone who has read Nelson knows, the poems endure today and will endure tomorrow, and I will read them for the rest of my life. Here are a few of his poems, some from my favourite of his early books, Points of Attention (1971), and some from the two books of his that I had the honour of publishing, Minutiae (2014) and Small Waterways (2015):

If you’re unfamiliar with Nelson’s work and looking for a point-of-entry, buy a copy of Certain Details. He also published four trade collections with Mansfield Press in the last decade that are available for purchase.

I hope to someday write a poem a fraction as good as any of Nelson’s. In the meantime, here is a poem I wrote for Nelson this past Friday, surely the first of many I will write thinking about Nelson now that he is gone:


Thank you, Nelson. I am so grateful to have been your friend and I miss you.

Nelson Ball, Willow Street, Paris (ON), June 2019.

Book of Annotations | Roundup

As the new year begins, I wanted to take a few minutes to collect some items related to Book of Annotations. I couldn’t be happier with how the book has been received and all that it has allowed me to do this year.


I’ve been lucky to see the book receive a number of positive reviews and acknowledgements, and want to extend my gratitude to everyone that took the time to read and engage with the book and everyone that has supported me in dozens of different ways during the past eight months (since publication) and fifteen or so years prior to publication.

I gave eight readings from the book this year (Ottawa, Toronto, Peterborough, Hamilton, Picton), and am working to line a few more up in 2019 (send me a message if you run a series somewhere!).

These broadsides are still available as well!

I should also point out that my very fine publisher, Invisible, is having a 25% off sale on their entire publishing catalogue–go stock up!

Reviews: Canadian Literature |  Prairie Fire | CV2Winnipeg Free Press | rob mclennan’s blog | Canadian Notes and Queries

Year-end Lists: Writer’s Trust (Ben Ladouceur) | Dusie (rob mclennan) | Pearl Pirie

Interviews: Invisible Reading Guide | CKCU Literary Landscape |The Small Machine Talks | Electric City | Poetry Mini Interviews | Invisiblog | All Lit Up

The book is also in all of these libraries, and you can even buy a used copy at the Strand in NYC.

Apologies if I’ve missed anything above.

More Book Updates

The book continues to be out in the world, and it’s been a real pleasure to encounter it on shelves and to get some very generous notes from people that have read it. The book has also received a bit of press:

There is a brief review from Jonathan Ball in one of his regular poetry-round-ups in the Winnipeg Free Press: “Anstee’s poems work best when they isolate something that might otherwise pass unnoticed.”

Liam Burke was kind enough to host me on CKCU’s long-running show Literary Landscapes, which can be listened to here.

a.m. kozak and Amanda Earl had me on their podcast, The Small Machine Talks, just this past week. I’m biased, clearly, but I thought it was a fascinating conversation about a large number of my small press interests/neuroses, and I’m very grateful to them for inviting me to the show.

I answered five questions over at Poetry Mini Interviews.

I also answered five questions in Electric City Magazine in anticipation of an upcoming reading in Peterborough. I’m reading alongside long-time friend, collaborator, Accord-ian, and Peterborough force-for-good Justin Million. Saturday July 21, 2018, 6pm, at the Garnet.

Jeff Macklin, the man responsible for these broadsides (produced in response to poems from the book, and available for purchase here!) and for Jackson Creek Press, will also be there for “a short chat.”

As always, more to follow.


Book Updates

As of yesterday, my first trade collection, Book of Annotations is officially in the world. It is available for purchase directly from Invisible Publishing, from All Lit Up, from your local independent bookstore, from me, from anywhere else books are sold, and from upcoming readings.


I’m launching beside Eric Schmaltz (author of Surfaces) with special guest Dani Spinosa (of the exciting new Gap Riot Press) in Toronto on Thursday May 10. Details here: Facebook


My Ottawa launch is two days later in the Plan 99 Reading Series at the Manx, Saturday May 12, 5pm. Leigh Nash, publisher of Invisible, author of Goodbye, Ukelele, and wearer of many other hats (literary and otherwise) will be reading too! A third reader will be announced shortly. Detials here: Instagram / Facebook

rob mclennan recently wrote the first review of the book (thanks, rob!), available to read at his blog here: “There is such deliberate care to these poems, crafted and sculpted and incredibly small, some as deliberate as a single word.”

I was interview at the Invisiblog, here, and also wrote a short reading guide for the book, here.

Other reading details to follow (Peterborough and Hamilton are booked, others in the works). Drop me a line if you’re interested in a review copy. I would also love to come read in your town!

Kanada Koncrete

I am excited to be speaking at Kanada Koncrete in May. My paper, “.edarap!: Barbara Caruso’s presspresspress (1988-1998),” is coming along. Everyone in or near Ottawa should be finding a way to get to this conference. The full schedule hasn’t been shared yet publicly, but it is going to be fantastic.


Book of Annotations – Available for Pre-Order

My forthcoming first trade collection, “Book of Annotations,” is available now for pre-order. Check it out at Invisible Publishing’s website here. It is officially out on April 13, 2018, and launch details in different cities are currently being sorted out.

It can also be found in Quill & Quire’s spring preview, and in the 49th Shelf’s spring poetry preview.


The book is almost a book! More details to follow.

Chalk Saroyan

Danny Snelson‘s students at Northwestern have been writing some of Aram Saroyan’s minimalist poems on streets and sidewalks and other bits of infrastructure with chalk. What a lovely project! Chalk Saroyan

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