CaN ODA returns to Canada, Although something of an interlude account of coming hame to a more ‘reserved’ Canadian to be performed upon it tes the te employment of broad range of biblical ‘anguished celebration of the he ‘And 50, returning to Canada through the fall sunshine, | look homeward now and melt, for though I am crowned and anointed with love and have obtained from life all I asked, what am I as I enter my parents’ house but another prodigal daughter? I see their faces at which I shall never be free to look dispassionately. They gaze out of the window with eyes herassed by what they continually fear they see, like premature ghosts, straggling home- sward over the plain "And I, who have the world in my pocket, can bring them nothing to com- fort their disappointment or reward their optimism, but supplicate again for the fatted calf which they killed so often before and so in vain, Parents’ imaginations build frameworks out of their ovin hopes and into which children seldom grow, but instead, contrary as trees, lean side- ‘ways out of the architecture, blovn by a fatal wind their parents never ‘envisaged, But the old gold of the October trees, the stunted cedars, the horizons, the chilly gullies with their red willow whips, intoxicate me and confirm belief in what I have done, claiming me like an indisputable mother ‘Whether or No, Whether or No, my ‘on belief since they remain though Babylon is ‘never conquered, by time pouring from eternity. Can I expect less than sym- pathy from those who see such things when they draw eside their curtains when [ am thrust ageinst this earth, I bounce ‘So love may blind the expectations in my parents’ eyes; from my urgency and melt chem too with ruth? understanding may now stalk down Sparks Street? in every clerk, undoing wrongs’ begun before “Wolfe; or in Honey Dew cafés a kind look glance towards me as I open the door. "Asking no one's forgiveness for sins I refuse to recognize, why do I cry homeward through a land I love like ¢ lover? From a Tong way off those faces with their prayers ike wounds peer out of the win- dow, stiff with anxiety, but ready to welcome me with love. The sound of ‘their steps pacing before the freplace voices al the pain of the turning world. “ty andl Wy Hevea be Hew oon neh ww Ti gant wrendee sn of ox S75 Grow 4 Bah pnea,viter othe Bat of Quah, feerhe wed te ear busned © 54> © Absalom, Absslom,* melt, melt with ruth, Coming from California, which is oblivious of regret, approaching November whips me with the passion of the dying year. And after the greed already hardening part of the American face into stone, | fancy I see kind- ness and gentleness looking out at me from train windows. Surely the porter carrying my bags has extracted a spiritual lesson from his hardship. Surely this acceptance of a mediocre role gives human dignity. ‘And over the fading wooden houses I sense the reminiscences of the pio- neers’ passion, and the determination of early statesmen who were mild but individual, and able to allude to Shakespeare while discussing politics under the elms. No great neon face has been superimposed over their minor but, memorable history. Nor has the blood of the early settlers, spilt in feud and haroin, yet been bowled by « Coca-Cola frm and sald! ax ten-cent ‘The faces, the faded houses, the autumn si, everything is omens of promise to the prodigal, But leaning against the train window, drunk with the hope which anything so unbegun always instls, I remember my past returnings: keep that vision, I pray, pressing my forehead against the panes: the faces are kind; the people have reserve migrate, forecasting fa edly because you notice underlining of an accident as the unborn's, Remember that things in that the di e birds gather in groups to change: remember, when your eyes shri jealousy of those thet stay et home, here is no jeturesqueness, but a waiting, unself-conscious story to be performed upon it though al intoxication disappears, yet these ur moved you to tears, and made of an outward gaze through, car window a plenitude not to be borne, § Alternative identities for women Thomas, Swan, Marlatt, ven Herk, Law ((EARLE BIRNEY (1904-95) 1: Bushed He invented a rainbow but lightning struck it shattered i into the lake-lap of a mountain so big his mind slowed when he looked at it Yet he built a shack on the shore 5 learned to roast porcupine belly and ‘wore the quills on his hatband Sen of Dead, whose deus econ inet adel wha we Sonal wv 39[At first he was out with the dawn ‘whether it yellowed bright as wood- ‘or was only a fuazed moth in a flant yo But he found the mountain’ was clear ‘sent messages whizzing down every hot morning boomed proclamations at noon and spread out a white guard of goat before falling asleep on its feet at sundown od his eyes on the lake ospreys valkyries He took then to waiting till the night smoke rose from the boil of the sunset 20 But the moon carved unkown totems out of the lakeshore owls in the beardusky woods derided him mooschorned cedars circled his swamps and sossed ‘their antlers up to the stars zs then he knew though the mountain slept the winds ‘were shaping its peak to an arrowhead poised ‘And now he could only bar himself in and wait no for the great flint to come singing into his heart § Settler consciousness Purdy (2), Atwood (1), Marlatt 2: Mappemounde No not this old whalehall can whelm us, shiptamed, gullgraced, soft to our glidings. Harrows that mere more that squares our map. See in its north where scribe has marked mermen, 5 shore-sneakers who croon, to the seafarer’s gir, next year’s gleewords, East and west nadders, Jamefanged bale-twisters; their breath dries up tears, chars in the breast-hoard the dear face-charm. § Carographies Reaney; Aus: Tranter; SA: Ghosh; TransC: Ondaay JAMES REANEY (1926- ) Maps Southward Cetegrande, that sly beast who sucks in with whirlwind also the wanderer’s pledges. ‘That see is hight Time, it hems all hearts’ lanctrace. Men say the redeless, reaching its bounds, topple in maelstrom, tread back never. ‘Adread in that mere we drift to map's end. Five miles up from Pork Street ‘The maps hang on the wall Gray.green windows on the world Before which the scholars stand ‘And hear the gasp and roll Atlantic ‘Above, like the cynosure of a Queen Anne's Lace Dance ‘The dark red island, Britain Proud and proud © there are maps of Asia Where warm winds blow When outside the Janus-frost Rules the bread-white snow. A sultry coil of breeze, And a blossom, Clogged winds of Cinsamon and arnber. Fat yellow China Ceylon like a chocolate comfit The rim and dim ghost of Europe ‘Where the colour has tun out. . Whenever we sing “In days of yore’ We think of the New World's crown. ‘The green Northwest with its quaint inlets