Paramita, Little Black

By Suzanne Robertson

In her first collection of poems, Suzanne Robertson meditates on the nature of intimacy; the connective tissue that binds stranger to stranger, human to animal, soul to landscape, heart to mind. Inspired by the Buddhist paramitas– actions that spark a spiritual sojourn, the poems attempt to both transcend and stay grounded in a conventional universe. Follow the humourous, pedestrian plight of a secretary/writer grappling with her noonday demon, her love affair with Little Black, and the metamorphosis of her marriage as she harnesses the practical power of poetry, marrying words "to the wind horse," "to the lies and the gossip and the truth of the river / as it pours out the mouth of right-now." Paramita, Little Black explores acts of transformation; documenting a journey to live and love authentically amidst the transient anatomy of our twenty-first century lives. {Guernica}

• Language: English
• Publisher: Guernica
• Release date: Jan 1, 2011
• ISBN: 9781550715682

Suzanne Robertson

Suzanne Robertson was born in Perth, Ontario. She is a writer and photographer living in Toronto where she also works at the Children’s Aid Society. Suzanne is a member of PEN Canada and Gallery 44 Centre for Contemporary Photography. Paramita, Little Black is her first collection of poetry.

Book preview

SUZANNE ROBERTSON

PARAMITA,

LITTLE BLACK

 FIRST POETS 8

GUERNICA

Toronto – Buffalo – Lancaster (U.K.)

2011  

Contents

To the point 

Sibling of the air 

Fear of Death confounds me 

Take notes 

The prescription 

Flying 

Rosemary 

Goodness 

The move 

A conversation with Horizon 

Turning about in the seat of consciousness 

Roll call 

Signs 

Little black 

October 

Notes and Acknowledgements 

For my parents, and for Stephanie and Rosemary

To the Point

To the man who listened to the sun as if it were 

an orator along the path to freedom

To the long saga of his beard that began 

in the Middle East

           To the open door of the lake 

To the sailboats moving like brides

towards the altar of blue

To the rollerblader who wants to party like it’s 1999 

To the trees practicing Tai Chi

in the wind

To the constellations of black flies

To the sea gulls in Salvation Army suits 

above the Gardiner

              To their mental cries

To the tigers growling beneath the hoods of cars 

To the dogs jonesin’ at the end of leashes

To the woman who was afraid to take me 

by the hand

To the men who were breathing at our backs 

To the sky that did not let down its fire

                                                    escape

To the city that keeps us from touching 

each other

              To the point 

where it crumbles

To the rocks that appear kinder 

than most

To their hospitality hosting

                                                   the view 

To the geese walking like grandparents 

along the beach

To the boy who took out his chopsticks 

and serenaded

the night on a xylophone of stars

Sibling of the Air

She’s packed her thread and needle,

her watercolours, flip-flops, flashlight, her big 

toes, her credo.

She’s packed the lipstick of autumn, and the river’s 

tin drum tympanum.

She’s packed her Chatwin, her phrasebook, 

her parents circa 1974, her sister the eraser, 

that small pink nipple

on the pencil.

                                         ***

From the lounge window I see the eyes 

of the cockpit alight.

The pilot removes his hat, ears bud boyish 

and irreverent from this man I