WRITERS FÊTE 2021
NEW WORKS
Writers Fête 2021 is proud to present the world premieres of new works commissioned for the Festival from seven Canadian artists. Each creation helps enable the Festival’s new mandate to connect our audiences with pressing social justice issues. We are delighted to support:
- La Pêche visual artist Spencer Hanna Haworth with two new sketches for his project "I am always here," which documents the lives of homeless people in Ottawa. Click here for Spencer's artist's statement and gallery.
- Poet Laureate of Ottawa Albert Dumont with two new poems, one about homelessness and one about the wisdom of trees. Click here for Albert's artist's statement and poems.
- La Pêche poet Julie Le Gal and cellist Fanny Bray Marks (together as Corti Duo) with two new pieces for voice and cello about "the big impact of small actions".
- Edmonton singer songwriter Maria Dunn with a new song about homelessness.
- Ottawa singer songwriter Lynn Miles with a new song about homelessness.
- Saskatoon playwright Joel Bernbaum with a reworking of his verbatim theatre piece Home is a Beautiful Word, co-produced with Theatre Wakefield. This work was originally commissioned for and performed in the Belfry Theatre in Victoria, BC.
Here’s what some of the artists have to say about their new work, their creative process,
and the social justice outcomes they hope to influence.
and the social justice outcomes they hope to influence.
Albert Dumont, poet
As a human rights activist and as a human being it is heart-wrenching for me to see people with mental illness who have never hurt anyone or anything living on the street. What we as citizens sadly fail to recognize, so it seems, is that a loved one of our own—a son or daughter, a beloved niece or nephew—could suddenly be stricken with schizophrenia or some other mental illness, putting them into a state of mind where the street is the only place offering a sense of comfort and security to their troubled minds. Bad drugs also take their destructive toll on how people who abuse them process their thoughts. Whatever the reasons are, people who are loved by family and friends sometimes end up living on the streets.
My inspiration came from the fact that I almost succumbed to street life myself at a time in the past when severe alcohol addiction pushed me with great force towards a life on the sidewalks of Ottawa's streets. It wasn't a sickness nor bad drugs which knocked me off balance. It was a cruel society as experienced by me, that had me believing misery and heartache was the only life I could ever expect to have as an “Indian” born on a Reserve. When you carry such beliefs day in and day out, you just don't feel worthy of the “normal” life you see others living.
I believe that my poetry began to grow in my heart even before my body left my mother's womb. My spirit sings its song of praise for all who make a point through the power of poetry.
The trees, who I accept as beings much greater and wiser than the most learned of all the peoples of this world (including grassroots leaders such as myself) will one day, through the strength of spirituality, communicate to human beings that without the presence of trees on sacred Mother Earth, the planet will die. Because of the power of spirit, all people of this planet, not just “tree huggers,” will as one fight to save the trees. A tree is magnificent in its healing powers and in its ability to give us teachings to guide our lives in a way that we can benefit greatly in both the emotional and spiritual domains. Whether they are tiny figures peeking from the rich soil—or standing, life gone from them for decades, without branches nor bark—the trees give us lessons we can share with others who may be struggling with life's torments. Those of them long dead teach us that the ancestors are still present near us when we need support by our side. Any place where trees grow in massive numbers is a healing place of tremendous energy and inspiration. The holy books of religions have forgotten this. Indigenous Spirituality has not!
As a human rights activist and as a human being it is heart-wrenching for me to see people with mental illness who have never hurt anyone or anything living on the street. What we as citizens sadly fail to recognize, so it seems, is that a loved one of our own—a son or daughter, a beloved niece or nephew—could suddenly be stricken with schizophrenia or some other mental illness, putting them into a state of mind where the street is the only place offering a sense of comfort and security to their troubled minds. Bad drugs also take their destructive toll on how people who abuse them process their thoughts. Whatever the reasons are, people who are loved by family and friends sometimes end up living on the streets.
My inspiration came from the fact that I almost succumbed to street life myself at a time in the past when severe alcohol addiction pushed me with great force towards a life on the sidewalks of Ottawa's streets. It wasn't a sickness nor bad drugs which knocked me off balance. It was a cruel society as experienced by me, that had me believing misery and heartache was the only life I could ever expect to have as an “Indian” born on a Reserve. When you carry such beliefs day in and day out, you just don't feel worthy of the “normal” life you see others living.
I believe that my poetry began to grow in my heart even before my body left my mother's womb. My spirit sings its song of praise for all who make a point through the power of poetry.
The trees, who I accept as beings much greater and wiser than the most learned of all the peoples of this world (including grassroots leaders such as myself) will one day, through the strength of spirituality, communicate to human beings that without the presence of trees on sacred Mother Earth, the planet will die. Because of the power of spirit, all people of this planet, not just “tree huggers,” will as one fight to save the trees. A tree is magnificent in its healing powers and in its ability to give us teachings to guide our lives in a way that we can benefit greatly in both the emotional and spiritual domains. Whether they are tiny figures peeking from the rich soil—or standing, life gone from them for decades, without branches nor bark—the trees give us lessons we can share with others who may be struggling with life's torments. Those of them long dead teach us that the ancestors are still present near us when we need support by our side. Any place where trees grow in massive numbers is a healing place of tremendous energy and inspiration. The holy books of religions have forgotten this. Indigenous Spirituality has not!
Corti Duo is Fanny Bray Marks, cellist and
Julie Le Gal, poet & lyricist
"Often a poem will come as an image or feeling that wants to be expanded and observed in more detail. Some poems are insistent and clear; others need to be teased out of hiding before the real poem appears. The poem mourning coffee was my first on a commissioned theme, and I found the texture of the theme to be imbedded in our daily gestures, our micro, half thoughts, things we know yet don’t really let land on our action. When I opened the gate, the images flooded in and I saw myself, us all, always on the edge of knowing what things really mean—on the edge of the whole world, of us all, of the macro, just a gesture, a thought, a look away...from everyone and everything." Julie Le Gal
Julie Le Gal, poet & lyricist
"Often a poem will come as an image or feeling that wants to be expanded and observed in more detail. Some poems are insistent and clear; others need to be teased out of hiding before the real poem appears. The poem mourning coffee was my first on a commissioned theme, and I found the texture of the theme to be imbedded in our daily gestures, our micro, half thoughts, things we know yet don’t really let land on our action. When I opened the gate, the images flooded in and I saw myself, us all, always on the edge of knowing what things really mean—on the edge of the whole world, of us all, of the macro, just a gesture, a thought, a look away...from everyone and everything." Julie Le Gal
mourning coffee was written by Julie Le Gal and the
cello piece was composed by Fanny Marks in response to the poem.
cello piece was composed by Fanny Marks in response to the poem.
|
it’s in my typing fingertips
(metal plastic shipping techno abuse identity) in the coffee grounds (picker pain poverty) in the milk poured in (cow hayfield grain calf slaughterhouse) in the boots I wear, the seams on my shirt the essence of it, the seed it’s in the grass and rosebush, cut and bought the key to the car, the door I walk through (screws glass plastic rubber) the chicken sandwich in the dumpster (wheat baker plastic-wrap lettuce roundup) inside the yes that in the no not the crux of it, the space of it in the look I give, thoughts I follow its in the way I avoid your gaze involuntarily human burden the root of it, the wake up inside the blood shed somewhere inside the deep-night sobbing somewhere else inside the worn eyes in a far loud factory stained hands on the dark field the rub, the beginning |
inside anger
in white lies of virtue in wayward righteousness the core issue, the pivot point in my smugness in my blaming in my discomfort in my resistance the awakening, the alarm in my ignorance of the pickers in my forgetfulness of the poisons in my avoidance of the suffering in my comfort oh my comfort in my luxury in my convenience in my apathy the bells resounding, the voices calling wary heart lazy limbed habit tree of a human that I am growing lightly into the unknown embolden vulnerable colossus of a heart live wide and deep awaken to we, us, our, gentle beasts, rich deep earth time is at hand here the time has come, now |
The music for FIREBONES is from the first movement of a solo piece by
Spanish composer Gaspar Cassadó.
The poem is by Julie Le Gal, written in response to the music.
Spanish composer Gaspar Cassadó.
The poem is by Julie Le Gal, written in response to the music.
|
there’s a fire in my bones
errupting there between sternum and scapula rib by rib glowing cage down and down smoulder lumbar up the to the atlas raging for air flicker flames crawl the cranium hollow the jaw bone heat the teeth eyes cooling the shimmering sockets pushing below wallows the pelvis echo glows femurs catch right then left sonorous sizzle the flames play ball with the knee cap tibia fibia metatarsal hop each rattle cracking ember dance |
the marrow consumed
sighing for release the collar bones whistle blow shaking scapulas lifting flames into the humerus ulna radius fal-lan-ges full of silent roar one day a shepherd will find these human bird-hollow bones make a flute with my humerus a tenor with my femur play me in the sun I will be music lifting all on passage now waves of night fires burn starfolds embrace the earth bones hide their radiance embers pulsing undulate ashless star light ready for flight |
Maria Dunn, singer-songwriter
1. First, I panic :-) with any sort of deadline or commission.
2. Then I immerse myself in reading, listening/watching interviews, speaking with people.
3. If I end up drawing on a particular person's story, I seek consent (and later feedback on whether the song "rings true") from the person, community or organization (in the case where an organization approaches me to write a song).
4. I pay attention to turns of phrase that leap out at me and to my own emotional reactions to people's experiences, emotions and voices.
5. My job is then to try to capture the emotional core of the story, sometimes with narrative points that also need to be covered (but not in too much detail so as to "bog down" the song), and work it into a song form (with melody and lyrics and a time limit of generally about 5 minutes).
6. I try to write from an angle that will leave the listener with hope (especially if it's a hard subject).
7. I usually focus on lyrics first, which often suggests the rhythmic feel, and then I detail whatever initial melodic shape comes with it afterwards (ensuring that it doesn't sound too much like an existing traditional Irish, Stan Rogers, Rita MacNeil, Lynn Miles or Maria Dunn song :-).
8. Then I sing it a million times until I'm satisfied that the lyrics and melody work together effectively and that I am ready to perform it for an audience.
Whew!
1. First, I panic :-) with any sort of deadline or commission.
2. Then I immerse myself in reading, listening/watching interviews, speaking with people.
3. If I end up drawing on a particular person's story, I seek consent (and later feedback on whether the song "rings true") from the person, community or organization (in the case where an organization approaches me to write a song).
4. I pay attention to turns of phrase that leap out at me and to my own emotional reactions to people's experiences, emotions and voices.
5. My job is then to try to capture the emotional core of the story, sometimes with narrative points that also need to be covered (but not in too much detail so as to "bog down" the song), and work it into a song form (with melody and lyrics and a time limit of generally about 5 minutes).
6. I try to write from an angle that will leave the listener with hope (especially if it's a hard subject).
7. I usually focus on lyrics first, which often suggests the rhythmic feel, and then I detail whatever initial melodic shape comes with it afterwards (ensuring that it doesn't sound too much like an existing traditional Irish, Stan Rogers, Rita MacNeil, Lynn Miles or Maria Dunn song :-).
8. Then I sing it a million times until I'm satisfied that the lyrics and melody work together effectively and that I am ready to perform it for an audience.
Whew!
Joel Bernbaum, playwright
Verbatim theatre is a term for scripts made from interviews or transcripts. For Home is a Beautiful Word, I interviewed over 500 people in Victoria, BC, between 2012 and 2014. The interviews were then transcribed and edited into a script. The original production was dramaturged and directed by Michael Shamata.
The reading commissioned by Theatre Wakefield and the Writers Fête is a condensed version of the original script. Sometimes you hear stand-alone opinions from individuals, other times you hear individual’s stories braided throughout the play.
One of the appealing aspects of verbatim theatre is that voices not often present in the traditional media can be heard. For the original production—and for the festival’s reading—actors of different ages, genders and backgrounds shift between multiple people of different ages, genders and backgrounds. We acknowledge that in this play there are voices from all cultures in our community, but that our entire community is not visible on stage.
We hope that this form of playwriting offers a kaleidoscopic view of the issue of homelessness. This adaptation has a three-act structure: the two acts of the play followed by a panel discussion.
Verbatim theatre is a term for scripts made from interviews or transcripts. For Home is a Beautiful Word, I interviewed over 500 people in Victoria, BC, between 2012 and 2014. The interviews were then transcribed and edited into a script. The original production was dramaturged and directed by Michael Shamata.
The reading commissioned by Theatre Wakefield and the Writers Fête is a condensed version of the original script. Sometimes you hear stand-alone opinions from individuals, other times you hear individual’s stories braided throughout the play.
One of the appealing aspects of verbatim theatre is that voices not often present in the traditional media can be heard. For the original production—and for the festival’s reading—actors of different ages, genders and backgrounds shift between multiple people of different ages, genders and backgrounds. We acknowledge that in this play there are voices from all cultures in our community, but that our entire community is not visible on stage.
We hope that this form of playwriting offers a kaleidoscopic view of the issue of homelessness. This adaptation has a three-act structure: the two acts of the play followed by a panel discussion.
