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Renaissance Normcore
Copyright © Adèle Barclay, 2019
all rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior permission of the publisher or, in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from Access Copyright, the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency, www.accesscopyright.ca, [email protected].
Nightwood Editions
P.O. Box 1779
Gibsons, BC v0n 1v0
Canada
editor: Amber McMillan
cover design & typography: Carleton Wilson
cover artwork: Cate Webb
Nightwood Editions acknowledges the support of the Canada Council for the Arts, which last year invested $153 million to bring the arts to Canadians throughout the country.
Nous remercions le Conseil des arts du Canada de son soutien. L’an dernier, le Conseil a investi 153 millions de dollars pour mettre de l’art dans la vie des Canadiennes et des Canadiens de tout le pays.
We also gratefully acknowledge financial support from the Government of Canada and from the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.
This book has been produced on 100% post-consumer recycled, ancient-forest-free paper, processed chlorine-free and printed with vegetable-based dyes.
Printed and bound in Canada.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Title: Renaissance normcore / Adèle Barclay.
Names: Barclay, Adèle, author.
Description: Poems.
Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20190089156 | Canadiana (ebook) 20190089180 | ISBN 9780889713604 (softcover) | ISBN 9780889713611 (ebook)
Classification: LCC PS8603.A724 R46 2019 | DDC C811/.6—dc23
Hooray, hooray
I’m your silver lining
Hooray, hooray
but now I’m gold
—Jenny Lewis
Nothing wrong when a song ends in a minor key
—Fiona Apple
Part One
You Don’t Have to Choose But You Do
Would you rather be the sun or the moon?
Would you rather sing like Jenny Lewis
or Fiona Apple? I gave you a box from Lithuania
and inside it wind and rain. And beside it
space for another box. This isn’t a nest
but a to-do list I vaguely mention
as if I know what I’m doing tomorrow.
The alarm will go off and I’ll sink
into resignation that light isn’t the ocean
but it almost is. I’ve replaced living
with swimming and reading Anaïs Nin.
I like when she shuts down Henry Miller
for correcting her English, trying to ply her
away from her diary. I read their letters
and imagine them both on Facebook Messenger—
all the dick pics he’d send; her, chatting up
several men at once and never recycling material.
Would you rather be blood or stone?
Would you rather receive or give a dick pic?
Be moved or be the one doing the moving?
Between us a storm
and two completely different skies.
We Are Stupid Little Animals
when I eat dirt
I look you in the eye
and I see you see me
eat dirt
and when I say a word
the sound waves
touch your face
and light up your brain
you twitch in a way
that says okay
and then I say okay
we take a breath
and jump into a kiddie pool
full of leaves and moss
it smells like plastic
and mould
this isn’t a dream
you say you deserve better
as if I haven’t heard that before
as
