I wrote this poem when I was about 19 or 20. I carried a ratty copy of Whitman’s Leaves Of Grass everywhere I went. Construction site, camping, lunch box, soccer field … So there is a lot in it, of a young poet imitating the belliocity and soul and optimism of the great Whitman.
I thought of this poem given the recent Trucker’s Revolt so thought I’d honor their spirit and give it some oxygen here on the electronic page.
— Clearing Command Forward! With that we marched into Canada, the commercial heart of Auschwitz, warehouse of the body snatchers where hundreds of prisoners worked frantically to sort, segregate and classify the clothes and the food and the valuables of those whose bodies were still burning, whose ashes would soon be used for fertilizer.” - Rudolf Vrba, Auschwitz Survivor. The first authentic poet of Canada.
O my Canada
I sink my head in your breasts.
I place my marrow in your hill and valley.
I yelp, howl, woof, bark and growl
like a mad loon, full moon
across your steamy, virgin lakes.
I feed on your abundant nature
and rise to your pole,
flag and leaf, ever flapping, flying
over your youthful eager limbs.O my Canada
as I celebrate myself,
so I celebrate you.
The humble and dirty nailed
who chop wood and thread cloth.
Those that drive the trucks and
those that hammer the nails.
Those that sing and dance and
those that dream of forgotten whales.I celebrate you
O morning East.
Land of ship and sea.
You, my wrinkled faced mates
who called me dear, hun or bud,
you who held history
between your soft legs and
choked her blue.
You rocky, rugged lands
proud, ageless, surreal.
You sharp jutting lands
containing the floods
You all set my heart asail
and leave me wanting no more.
You will always sing, my east
for you are always hopeful morning.I celebrate you
Mes Quebecois.
O great exuberant passionflower.
You, the ethos, you the blood
that coughs and dances along
on strong legs, roots of a tree
stretching into laughing graves.
You, culture masters.
You, tireless walkers.
You, million suns.
You, fervent milkers
of god’s Eden,
toil on,
bras en bras,
I embrace you
Mes Canadiens.
For you, there is no sleep.
For you, the moon is always full.I celebrate you
great provider, mother Ontario.
Warm home and all.
You the piston, you the core.
You of lofty principle.
You of thrift, of fecundity.
Bend down your heavy bows
and let me pick of your fruits.
You, land of great lakes
of many pines, of searching highways
of lost souls.
roll over,
bear us children from
your smokestacks.
O how flush is the seed of commerce.O insolent capitalism! Machines and merry-making.
I cherish you as I would
a mother,
O Ontario
for you, there is no tomorrow
for you, there are always lights
to push back the tepid night.I celebrate you
O fertile, fit prairie.
The belly of the nation.
You pagan land lovers.
You, dusty herculean men.
You, honest straight stocks.
You, I offer a thousand kisses.
You, I offer my rags.
You O golden land pulling all together,
weaving fabric we could all well dress in.
She gives - she takes. Life continues.
Tell us this message over and over.
We need to know,
O you, my comfortable ungiving bed,
lend me your dreams.
Settle me into your house.
Let me run your soil through my fingers
and know how you seek rain,
you, my land urchins.
For you, there is always sun
and always the vision of
the approaching dark cloud.I celebrate you
O majestic misty west.
Always ahead of your time.
Always changing.
A chamelion in sheep’s clothing.
You, my tall brothers.
You, my regal pacifists.
You, my beauty fulls.
My heart leaps your way
in aesthetic joy.
You, our crown of approval.
The jewel, the land of plenty.
My hat off to you!
Restful, the world moves with you.
Peaceful, the world gives you all.
Concerned, the world hopes all.
Yes, my sundowners
embracing every desperate traveler,
you walk on that rim
but make it look so easy,
one big wink and nudge, your way.
For you, there is never a tomorrow.
For you, tomorrow is always today.I celebrate you
My people, O Canada!
My fearless natives,
Algonquian, Inuit, Cree, Haida, Beothuk.
All those that were before and
All those who came after,
Chinese, Italians, Pakistani, Jamaican.
I celebrate you all,
all those pounded and trampled
all those hungry for dollar bills
all those kicked and beaten by progress.
I open my arms to you all —-
the sauce and spice of this nation.
I celebrate you all.I celebrate you
O silent north.
And all those who have felt
the chill of your aloneness.
You mining the ore.
You pulling out the seal.
You splitting the wood.
You laughing and playing cards
in the tarpaper shack
while the whiskey jacks caw.
You all shine bright as
icicles on sunny days.
You all hold the flag high.
O but for the cleansing cold.
O but for the introspection.
O but for you my northern brethren,
Always fighting snow, wind and ice.
For you the sun never sets.
For you are always too busy living.O my Canada
the one yet born.
I celebrate you with
unrelenting fervor.
I see you in every smile.
I see you in every mother’s
graceful walk down the road
to buy eggs and bread.
I hear you in the trucker’s song
played joyfully as they cross
your home to be.
O I celebrate you Canada!
That which is yet but will - be!