... on a windy day, May day. Robert Bringhurst and Jan Zwicky sailed and drove and sailed again to reach this island in Howe Sound. Quoting his wife Jan, Robert said: "Nothing can echo with being unless it is emptied of itself." He also said, poems are scaffolds for meaning to climb on. Sometimes, like in nature, meaning makes a nest in the scaffold and breeds.
On the way home, watching wings of white spray carry The Stormaway across, I thought of Robert's rhythmic way of speaking, the distinctive snap of tongue and lips that left time for each thoughtful phrase to sink in.
On the way home, watching wings of white spray carry The Stormaway across, I thought of Robert's rhythmic way of speaking, the distinctive snap of tongue and lips that left time for each thoughtful phrase to sink in.