SpokenWeb Podcast

My name is Hannah McGregor, and each month I’ll be bringing you different stories of Canadian literary history and our contemporary responses to it created by scholars, poets, students, and artists from across Canada. “She was someone I needed to know, someone who made the writing of my own poetry possible.” That is one of the ways that SFU English professor Stephen Collis remembers Canadian poet Phyllis Webb. Webb passed away on November 11th, 2021. Steve has created this episode as a site of thinking through and thinking with Webb’s poetry and her long and acclaimed career as her friend and her literary executor. This is another podcast episode that shows us how ideas and literary learning communities can be cultivated by preserving and caring for archival recordings. Those recorded writers continue to be vocal teachers. Phyllis Webb’s voice resounds through this episode. We hear her in the archival recordings of her beautiful and deliberate poetry readings. We hear her work flowing through Steve’s memories, analysis, and reflections. And we hear her animating the conversations that Steve records with poet Isabella Wang and former Canadian parliamentary poet laureate Fred Wah to discuss their memories and interpretations of her life and work. This episode allows you to engage with the presence and power of Webb’s legacy in these audible scenes of remembering. Steve invites us to participate in the constellations of ideas and people that are connected through Webb’s life and poetry.

Stephen Collis is the author of a dozen books of poetry and prose, including Almost Islands: Phyllis Webb and the Pursuit of the Unwritten, a memoir of his friendship with Webb. He created this episode with production support from Kate Moffatt and with additional audio courtesy of Special Collections and Rare Books at Simon Fraser University and Library and Archives Canada. Here is Episode 10 of Season Three of the Spoken Webb podcast, ‘Starry and full of Glory’: Phyllis Webb, In Memoriam. [Musical Interlude: SpokenWeb Podcast Theme Music]

Where to begin? Phyllis Webb began in Victoria, in 1927, where she was raised by her mother, later attending the University of British Columbia, studying literature and philosophy; was the youngest person, at 22 years old, to run for elected office in Canada, as a candidate for the socialist Co-operative Commonwealth Federation, lost, began to write poetry, publishing many volumes in the decades ahead, worked for the CBC, co-founding the long-running radio program Ideas, stopped writing when words “abandoned her”, as she said, in her sixties, began to make collages and to paint, carrying this practice into her 80s. That’s the one-sentence biography.

But, that’s not where I want to begin either.

“There Are the Poems,” Phyllis Webb titled one of her poems, offering an answer to my question. Start with the poems. I leafed through the almost 500 pages of Peacock Blue, her Collected Poems, published by Vancouver’s Talonbooks in 2014. I felt like I was star-gazing—just looking in wonder at the familiar and fixed, constellations of words that had long guided me. I visited Phyllis at her Salt Spring Island home, three or four times a year, for the last two decades of her life. I don’t know that I can call her a mentor. That word is both too large and too small. She was someone I needed to know and enjoyed knowing, someone who made the writing of my own poetry possible—just by being there. Just by existing—and being reachable, by letter, phone, or ferry. In returning to her poems after her death, I wasn’t sure what might rise to the surface this time. The atmospheric river passed on, the night skies cleared. I saw—stars

They are connectors, bridges, means of relating the above and below, the distant and the near—the unfathomably long reaches of spacetime that cosmic light crosses and the immediacies of the days and nights of humble human lives. So “the star in the cold, staring sky” (this is from an early poem called “Double Entendre”) is also “the star reflected in the human eye.” In a poem written over three decades later, Webb is in a more playful mood, willing to “tangle with invisible / superstrings” as she entertains quantum theory “while the planets burn” (this from the poem “A Model of the Universe,” from her final, 1990 collection, Hanging Fire). Poetry, despite being, as Webb writes, quote, “cloaked in sheer / profundities of otherness,” is about the reach over and towards that otherness. I think Webb would have agreed with the contemporary American poet Tongo Eisen-Martin, who describes poets as, quote, “the healers of the continuum.” Stars provide healing light. [End Music: Atmospheric Tones]

Yeah. So in the reading, she read this as a preface. And the right after she read that poem. [Start Music: Chimes Instrumental] And the thing is, we do have a transcription of this poem published in her book Talking. And the way Field Guide to Snow Crystals. is structured is also in that similar free flowing form, you know, lines kind of move kind of organically across the page. And so we were able to go on that a bit and see, okay, where did she emphasize and pause while reading “Snow Crystals” poem and then yeah. And so we ultimately worked with and decided to go with your version more. [End Music: Chimes Instrumental]

And just, just finally, what do you like about this poem? What attracts you to it? Or what do you find interesting in it?

Let’s have a listen to one of those “sciency” poems, one Isabella mentioned too—“Field Guide to Snow Crystals,” which Webb included in her 1982 collection of essays and radio commentary, Talking.

Webb’s “Field Guide” poem takes its title, and quotes liberally throughout, from a book of the same title published by Edward Lachapelle in 1969. The use of source material this way—a kind of repurposing of found material—is such a common poetic practice that is hardly bears mentioning, although it’s clear this particular book was a rich resource, as Webb [Start Music: Chime Instrumental], in an almost painterly way, applies the unique lexicon to her page. If stars are to be my guide through Webb’s work in this podcast, the stars, here, are playing a game of as above / so below—a chemical transformation where falling or fallen snow crystals and the stars above “rime,” as she writes several times in the poem. This is an expanded sense of “rime,” which Webb adapts from poet Robert Duncan: things that look alike, or mean alike, as well as things that sound alike, can “rime.” There’s also the play on r-i-m-e rime—the accumulation of ice tufts on frozen surfaces. [End Music: Chime Instrumental] Okay—I could get carried away with a close reading of this poem; let me just draw attention to its gorgeous concluding lines—where the speaker’s “surprised / winterbreath” (all one word—winterbreath) is likened to “a snowflake / caught midway in your throat.” [Start Music: Chime Instrumental] And that’s it, the poem leaving us there, with its words in our throat, melting like a snowflake on the tongue—or a star fading out as the sun begins to blue the morning sky. [End Music: Chime Instrumental] ]

I asked poet Fred Wah if he’d be willing to talk about Phyllis’s work with me for this podcast, and he immediately said yes, and that he wanted to talk about one poem and one poem only. It’s called “Leaning,” from Webb’s book of Ghazal’s, Water and Light. The ghazal or [pronounces] ghazal is a Persian form—a poem written in couplets, but in its traditional practice, following numerous other rules, including subject matter (they are usually about love). Webb’s poems are, as she often called them, “anti-ghazals.” “Leaning” is perhaps the most anti- of all the poems in Webb’s book—especially in terms of subject matter

So the proposition is, if you start looking at like, and Pauline in her book on Webb, she did a lot of, she did some research on this from a particular point of view. [Start Music: Atmospheric Tones] But, you find that Phyllis has really been thinking about this in a larger context. This is an – this’t just an incidental poem. This is a poem that fits into a kind of discourse that she’s sort of in, in a large scale thing, over years.

Perhaps Fred and I get a little carried away here—we had a lot to say about this poem. In the second part of this interview we discuss what Fred calls the “germ of thought we’re still trying to unravel” which lies at the heart of Webb’s poem—“all these binaries,” as Fred says, going on to discuss the possibly dialectical space of the between—here’s Negative Capability again—and the idea that “betweenness is a place to be”—maybe the place to be.

But the art historians will talk about and use those terms. So middle distance is also an art historical term, an aesthetic term for interpreting a painting. So I think right after, is it right after it’s first mentioned that we get…? Yeah. The next line after the mention of middle distance, is “the fur blue star” and Brueghel. And I wonder if that’s a description of a painted star, right. That might look fur blue might look, I mean, think even Van Gogh – those kind of crazy fuzzy, blurry looking stars.

So part of what I see you describing here Fred, is that you constantly transform [Start Music: String Instrumental] from one reference to the next couplet. Couplet by couplet. This constant movement and shaping in the poem going on. Constant shifting and moving to different locations, but always working with kinds of binaries. And when you get to Rodin it’s Rodin and his “amanuensis”.

So there’s lots of – there’s both. There’s both, once again, you’re in a middle place. Yeah. So there’s both things going on. Yeah. And trying to negotiate. So how to negotiate between this. And I’m not so sure – I don’t know if she’s coming up, thinks she’s coming up with an answer to her. I don’t think so. But that “And you, are you still here/tilting in this stranded ark /blind and seeing in the dark.” Well, the ark is, that is what the collectivity, it’s the kind of humanity all collected together. Everything’s together. But it’s stranded. [Laughs]

But what about that “fur blue star”? Well, for one thing, it’s an image of “betweenness” once again—of something touching both furry animals and burning cosmic bodies in their deep space orbits—that which is above, and that which lies below—and the strangeness of being human, with our capacity to partake of both the furry world and starry contemplation, shuttling between with our poems and stories.

But I’m also tempted to connect the “fur blue star” from “Leaning” with the “starry rime” (r-i-m-e) from “Field Guide to Snow Crystals.” If stars seem fuzzy to the human eye—if they radiate blurry halos in certain atmospheres—why not furry? Why not blue? Or, at the end of the day, why not … just not know, for sure, and let the image’s Negative Capability pulse on in thought and undecidability?

I think, I will always be in media res, in a state of betweenness, when it comes to Phyllis Webb and her poetry. If this podcast is a tribute to her, it necessarily takes the form of an in-progress thinking through and thinking with the example of her life and work—and with other poets similarly caught midway in their thinking through her life and work. That’s the thing—despite often cutting the image of an isolato, alone on her island for all those years, Phyllis Webb was always forming constellations of poets, always a part of important poetic constellations, and always allowing new poets into her orbit. That was her star power. Thanks for listening. [End Music: Atmospheric Tones]

Our podcast project manager and supervising producer is Kate Moffatt. And our sound designer and audio engineer is Miranda Eastwood. Our episodes are transcribed by Kelly Cubbon, and thanks to Judith Burr for hanging around and continuing to help us out. A special thanks to Special Collections and Rare Books at Simon Fraser University and Library and Archives Canada.

To find out more about SpokenWeb, visit SpokenWeb.ca and subscribe to the SpokenWeb Podcast on Apple podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you may listen. If you love us, let us know, rate us and leave a comment on Apple podcasts or say hi on our social media @SpokenWeb Canada, stay tuned to your podcast feed later this month for shortcuts with Katherine McLeod, many stories about how literature sounds.