Presentation on theme: "Paul Haines Brad MacDougall. Life Born in 1933. – Vassar, Michigan Spent time in Europe, India, New York City. Settled in Toronto, Canada. – Taught French,"— Presentation transcript:
Paul Haines Brad MacDougall
Life Born in – Vassar, Michigan Spent time in Europe, India, New York City. Settled in Toronto, Canada. – Taught French, then made a career out of poetry. – Had three children. Avery, Tim, Emily. Died in – Secret Carnival Workers in 2007.
Paul Always wrote in capital letters. Had a very abstract and avant-garde writing style. Mostly negative. Hated spoken word poetry. – Collaborated with Carla & Paul Bley for Escalator Over the Hill, a very abstract jazz opera. Only published one book of poetry in his lifetime. – Third World Two in Very difficult to find information/resources about Paul. – Shunned the media.
Encore du Tutoiement Encore du tutoiement (Always informal) Inconnu (Unknown) Cette plus ou moins (This more or less) Grande concision (Great conciseness) Aspect de femme (Aspect of woman) Toujours sans but (Always without purpose) Précis (Accurate) Sauf but voulu (Except wanted purpose) Depuis si longtemps (Since so long) L'impossibilité de penser (The impossibility to think) À toi sans penser à nous(Of you without thinking of us) (for discussing & analyzing)
Sprig Fresh When sleeping meant Every other night Falling asleep for a fifth time Early in a morning Awake in terror Words staring back at him Never to be used Their hands On hold So quiet they could hear each others thinking Denying garnered interests Making of life a forged painting Lifes big magnet, tug tugging And listeners like you. [video]
Poem For Gretchen Ruth Every living thing then Jumping up Nothing paying Attention Light crawling As slowly as ever Into his hammock Hung in mist As dry as moths Whose song Is sung as Weeping
Déjà Trop Vu A tall white Pine stands Between me And the tree Im trying To see Also A tall white Pine
Creative Response Haze The fluid night Cannot comprehend All of the dreams that are wasted Hidden and hurried I shake with passion When terrors stir my mind Never leaves a bruise Inane and cold To one who could be listening to The morning Miles mumbling Falling asleep to grey thunder Times dulcet twinkle, tick- ticking And listeners like you.
Works Cited paulhaines.jpeg /ii0ShrZzp8o/s200/image+3.bmp ou.jpg Thanks.