Showing posts sorted by relevance for query roger moore. Sort by date Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query roger moore. Sort by date Show all posts

Friday, 5 February 2016

Guest Author Roger Moore. A story plus 4Q Interview


Today on the Scribbler we're excited to be trying a new format. There is a wonderful short story followed up by a 4Q Interview with Professor Emeritus Roger Moore  who is an award-winning academic, poet, short story writer, novelist, film maker and visual artist. You can discover more about this talented gentleman by visiting his links below. Remembrance Day has been featured on commuterlit.com. Copyright is held by the author. Used by permission.

 

 

              Remembrance Day
Roger Moore
 
The old man watched a drop of red wine slide slowly down the side of the bottle.
It was November 11, his birthday.
...
Seventy-three years ago, Father John had taken the boy's ear lobe between thumb and forefinger and pinched the nail deep into the flesh until the blood ran.
...
"This afternoon you will go down to the bamboo grove and cut a cane. Bring that cane to me and I will bless it."
...
That night, the boy woke up. Snuffles, snores, and an occasional sob broke the dormitory's silence. The bamboo was a long, cold serpent drawn up in bed beside him.
...
The next day he awoke to his seventh birthday. 
...
Father John beckoned and the boy followed him to his cell and knelt with his hands stretched out like those of Christ on the Cross. The priest struck him with the bamboo cane six times on each hand.
...
" Your Savior, blessed be His name, suffered more, much more for you," the priest sighed. "Examine your soul. Find fault with each flaw, for you are unworthy."
...
The boy spent his birthday kneeling in prayer. He contemplated the wounds of Christ. He imagined each blow of the hammer and imagined the pain of cold nails biting into his warm flesh. He tasted bitter vinegar as it dripped off the sponge, gasped at the thrusting spear, felt the lash's sting as it fell across his flesh. He became the flagellated Christ and knelt before the crucifix, staring at himself eyeball to eyeball in the same way he looked at himself in the morning mirror.
...
The crucified Christ gazed back at him, his brother, his soul mate, his double.
...
"The eye you see is not an eye because you see it," Father John droned on. "It is an eye because it sees you. Christ sees you as you kneel there. He sees. He knows. He judges. Examine your soul with care," the priest raised his right hand and made the sign of the cross in the empty air. "Stay there until I return."
...
After an hour, a red drop of paint slipped slowly from the nail hole in Christ's right hand. The boy blinked. The red drop trembled then fell.
...
After two hours, Christ opened his eyes and smiled at the boy.
... 
After three hours, salt-water formed at the corner of Christ's eye. It glistened in a sunbeam that entered through the cell's narrow window.
...
 After four hours, tears began to flow down flesh and painted wooden face.
...
It was Remembrance Day, the boy's birthday. He was seven years old.
...
Seventy-three years later, the old man sat at the table. He watched the red wine trickle down the bottle. He remembered it all and his tears flowed again.
...
 
 4Q Interview
 
4Q: When did you start writing? 
RM        I was sent to a boarding school at an early age, when I was six or seven years old. I don't remember when exactly, and I don't remember much about the first two boarding schools I attended. What I do remember is being sat down every Sunday morning at a desk in a classroom along with all the other boys and being told to write a letter home to my parents. Those letters were censored and the resultant mild-as-milk prose was mailed home once a week. The reality of what I went through at my first two boarding schools and the wonderful words of the weekly letter praising the virtues of the boarding school life remain in my mind as a constant reminder of the ability of words to contrast the world that is with the world as it ought to be. I continued the habit of the weekly letter home until I left school at eighteen years old. Letter writing has continued as a constant in my life, reinforced now by the wonder of e-mail. Another constant is the real journal that I kept, written under the bedclothes by flashlight and telling a different story from the official one, yet just as false as the weekly letter. The third school I was sent to, age eleven, was very different and much less oppressive; it allowed more freedom, encouraged a certain amount of autonomy and creativity: the content of my letters surely changed as a result. Certainly my out-of-class writing did, and one of the first poems that I remember writing imitated the style of the Villon ballades that we were studying in French class. This poem of which I can still remember the refrain dates back to when I was fourteen years old. 
4Q: How and when did you become interested in multi-media? 
RM        In 1995 I was invited by members of the Faculty of Education at the University of New Brunswick to become involved in the Oaxaca Project, a Faculty Exchange Program with the Escuela de Idiomas in the Universidad Autónoma Benito Juárez de Oaxaca, in Mexico. When I arrived in Oaxaca, I presented four traditional seminars on teaching second languages to a faculty group that was computer literate. Even the students knew more about computers than I did. I found this lack of knowledge on my part to be a source of much embarrassment and I swore to take steps to improve my knowledge of the uses of technology.  The next year, 1996, I won two university awards, one for teaching and one for research.  While the teaching award offered no financial reward, the research award did and I invested my winnings in the first phase of a Certificate of Multi-Media Studies at the University of New Brunswick. I started the certificate in 1996 and finished it in 1999. I began the Certificate with a phobia for computers, but by the time I finished the certificate, my wife and I had built a webpage and had posted the first Ongoing Online Quevedo Bibliography, Francisco de Quevedo being the seventeenth-century Spanish poet on whose works I did my doctoral studies at the University of Toronto. Clare and I have always been interested in photography and we soon built web pages that showed aspects of the archaeological sites in the Oaxaca Valley. I was very interested in the possibilities of online teaching and several of my own courses soon involved having the students build their own webpages onto which they posted their essays. The traditional essay thus morphed into the web page creation. In 2002 I was granted a half-sabbatical and I enrolled in the Digital Film and Video Course run by Tony Merzetti at UNB. This allowed me to develop an interest in both film and video and my short film Birthday Suit, adapted from one of my own short stories of the same name, won second place in the Rogers Viewers Prize in the NB Silver Screen Film Festival of 2004. I wrote, directed, edited, and produced Birthday Suit, under the guidance of Tony Merzetti, my NB Film Co-op mentor, and participated in one way or another, both in front of and behind the camera, with another dozen New Brunswick short films. My webpage contains a description of the making of this movie. In 2007, I was invited to deliver the Sixteenth Milham Lecture at UNB and the making of this movie was the subject of that lecture.
 
Other aspects of my adventures in multi-media can be found on my website. 
As an introduction, I would suggest viewing the readings of my Welsh poems
 
Waterfall is a nice introduction to my video poems. 
 
4Q: Tell us something about your childhood. 
RM        My childhood was, in many ways, lost. I was (and still am) an only child and I scarcely remember my parents. They both worked and I only ever saw them on the evenings and weekends during school holidays. Looking back, I realize how little I knew and know about them. My own reality was a life at boarding school that was remarkably unpleasant in the first two schools, but not too bad in the third school, the one I attended from age 11 until age 18. My childhood at home was a shuffling from grandparent to grandparent and from aunt to aunt, interspersed with summer holidays on the continent with one or both of my parents. My life in school was the usual one of the only child separated from his parents and family. This separation was intensified when I went to school in England and the differences between my Welsh family and my new English self were augmented. This "difference" was accentuated by my ability to speak foreign languages. I was banned from speaking Welsh, though I did pick up little bits here and there from my maternal grandfather who was the last person in the family to speak any Welsh, but I made up for this by speaking French, Spanish, a little bit of Basque, and smatterings of language from whatever country we visited during the summer holidays abroad. This childhood of loneliness in a world of adults gave me one enormous blessing: the ability to entertain myself by creating a wonderful world filled with chessmen, puzzles, toy soldiers, a model railway, and an avid interest in books. This creativity remained with me throughout my life and has been a source of great comfort in my coaching, teaching, research, and creative careers.
Q4: What are you working on right now? 
RM        I have several projects on the go, as always. In 2010, my novel, People of the Mist, won an honorable mention in the David Adams Richards Award of the WFNB. I took it to the Humber School of Creative Writing in 2012 and completed a creative writing certificate with them, using the novel as a focus. I am still working on the novel. While at Humber, I met a group of wonderful people who wrote mainly in prose and I have remained in touch with them via an online writing group that we constructed together and still maintain online. I have written short stories for some time and have had

some good fortune with them recently. One story was short-listed by the CBC short story competition (2010), another won the WFNB that same year, and two more received honorable mentions in the WFNS Atlantic Competition and in the WFNB Creative Non-Fiction competition in later years. In addition, I won the WFNB short story competition (2015) with a fifth story. It is time now for me to gather these stories together and publish them in a single integrated volume. I am working on this and, at the same time, since I have about fifty stories written, I am also thinking of a second, and possibly a third, collection. Meanwhile, I have gathered my best poems into a Selected, and I will be sending this off to various publishers in the course of this year. In 2014 I was diagnosed with prostate cancer and my fight against this awful disease lasted right through until 2015. I am cancer free right now, for which I would like to thank all those people who worked on and with me to bring about my cure. I kept a journal throughout the diagnosis / treatment / cure period and I have written a book of poems that I have also condensed into a chapbook. Both sets of poems are out at poetry competitions right now and I will be publishing them sometime during the course of 2016. I will self-publish and give copies to my friends if there is no interest from the commercial presses to which I intend to submit them.
 
More details about my career in various forms of creativity can be found on the following sites:

 


Thank you Roger for participating on the Scribbler.




Next week please visit again and read an excerpt from returning author Katrina Cope of Australia. 


Saturday, 2 September 2017

Returning Guest Roger Moore of Island View, NB.



The Scribbler is extremely pleased to have Professor Emeritus Roger Moore  as our guest this week. He is sharing his recent experience from being selected for the first one month KIRA residency as well as some selected poetry.  (Copyright is held by the author. Used with permission)

Roger is an award-winning academic, poet, short story writer, novelist, film maker and visual artist. 
He has been featured on SBS before with a 4Q Interview and a delightful short story. If you missed it, please go here

And you can check out his links below.





2017 has been a busy and creatively productive year for me. On March 2, I was informed that I had been selected to participate in the first one-month KIRA residency that ran from June 1-28 in St. Andrews, New Brunswick. Three Kingsbrae International Residencies for Artists were planned for this inaugural year (2017), with five artists invited to each of the three residencies. In total, fifteen artists from various fields of expertise (including poetry, painting, basket-weaving, sculpting, paper-making, singing, rug-hooking and pan-piping) have experienced the Kingsbrae Residencies in June, July, and August of this year.

 

I had originally proposed two projects for my KIRA stay: the completion of Echoes of an Impromptu Metaphysics subtitled A Cancer Chronicle, and, should there be time, the revision of my first novel, Witch Doctor. The creative impetus I received from my acceptance into the KIRA residency allowed me to revise Echoes … and publish it, before I arrived in KIRA. The revision included a new title: A Cancer Chronicle. In addition, still enthused, I was able to complete and publish a third short story collection, after Systematic Deception and Bistro) called Nobody’s Child.
 
 

A Cancer Chronicle opens with the diagnosis of the disease and moves through the various stages that lead through treatment to recovery.  I am fortunate in so many ways. The disease was caught early and was curable with the appropriate treatment. I received tremendous support from everyone concerned during the ordeal. The friends I made at the Auberge / Hospice in Moncton encouraged me to talk about my experiences and shared their own with me. So many people suffer in silence, but the friendship that surrounded me encouraged me not only to talk and to write but also to share my experience in poetical form. Here is a poem from the Diagnosis sequence.




Today

Today,
a lovely lady
read me
my death sentence:
my biopsy results.

She poured me
a poisoned chalice,
my personal
Gethsemane,
a cup from which
I must drink.

I sat there in silence,
sipping it in.

Darkness wrapped
its shawl
around my shoulders.

‘Step by step,’ she said,
‘on stepping stones.’

I opened my eyes,
but
I could no longer see
the far side of the stream.

            Days of extreme and often forced excitement alternated with days of boredom and sometimes very dark depression. Here’s a poem from a dark day.

And the greatest of these … 

I am a hollow man,

my heart and soul scooped out

by worry, wear, and care. 

Hope?

I abandoned it long ago. 

Faith?

In these changing times

it's a series of corks

bobbing their apples

in a party barrel. 

Charity?

Love grows old and cold

and loses its charms

as we shiver in each other's arms.
 

For now, I'll dodder

my dodo way

towards extinction.
 

As I shuffle

from room to room

I’ll rest for a while

upon this chair.
 

My mother went this way.

My brothers and my father too;

I soon will follow,

just like you.

           

I was allowed home for the weekends and drove back to Island View on Friday nights for the two months that my treatment lasted. Here’s a happier poem, composed in the jacuzzi at home at a time when the medics were winning and the disease was disappearing from my body.

Jacuzzi

Warm and safe,
womb waters whirling,
drifting through time,
eyes closed, and space.

Amniotic, this liquid,
rocking me to the throb
of my mother’s heart.
I close my eyes.

The walls around me
open out to reveal
the sun by day,
the stars by night.

The full moon:
a golden circle
beaming down.

My mother’s face
above me

and me,
re-born.

A different kind of rebirth also occurred at KIRA. I drove to St. Andrews on Friday, June 2, and there I started a new life. My writing schedule at KIRA often ran from 5:30 am, when the sun peeped into the east-facing room where I was staying, until midnight, with breaks for food, excursions, and artistic conversations. These 18 hours a day, writing and thinking, gave me an intense creative experience that it would be difficult to reproduce. My presence in the Red Room, on the Second Floor of KIRA, allowed me the luxury of sitting at my desk, looking out of the window towards Minister’s Island and Passamaquoddy Bay, and writing whenever I wanted to, day or night. Breakfast at 8 am and supper at six pm were provided. We lunched on our own. The freedom of this schedule accounts, in part, for my productivity.
 
 
 

Before coming to KIRA, we were asked how we intended to ‘engage with the community’. My engagement came through my dialog with my time and my place (Bakhtin), and I engaged with several mini-communities throughout my stay. Principal among them were (1) the community of my fellow artists; (2) Kingsbrae Gardens, people, statues, and flowers; (3) the Passamaquoddy region, including Jarea; and (4) the delightful town of St. Andrews-by-the-sea.

At KIRA, the early, light-filled starts to my days, my high work rate plus my new Bakhtinian dialog allowed me to write (June) and publish (17 July 2017) One Small Corner (subtitled A Kingsbrae Chronicle). This book, my third in 2017 (all available online at Amazon), consists of 101 pages and 78 poems, all written and / or revised at KIRA. The two titles, A Cancer Chronicle and A Kingsbrae Chronicle illustrate the yin and the yang, the light side (KIRA) and the dark side (cancer) of my creative life.

One Small Corner is both the title of the book and the title of the opening poem:

One Small Corner

And this is the good thing,
to find your one small corner
and to have your one small candle,
then to light it, and leave it burning
its sharp bright hole in the night.

 Around you, the walls you constructed; inside, the reduced space, the secret garden,
the Holy of Holies where roses grow
and no cold wind disturbs you.

 “Is it over here?” you ask: “Or over here?”

If you do not know, I cannot tell you.

But I will say this: turning a corner one day you will suddenly know
that you have found a perfection
that you will seek again, in vain,
for the rest of your life.

        
    One Small Corner holds multiple meanings for me. New Brunswick is my one small corner within Canada. Within New Brunswick, Fredericton fills the bill, as does my home in Island View. For the month of June, St. Andrews became my small corner, and Kingsbrae Gardens shared the intimacy of that small space. Within Kingsbrae itself, KIRA was a small corner, as was my room and, above all, the little nook in it where my desk nestled against the window and I was able to look out across the lawn and trees to the bay. Each one of us has these ‘small corners’ in our lives. Sometimes, we can take them apart and then put them back together and when we do they nest inside each other like a set of Russian Dolls.

Russian Dolls

“Plant a plant, deep its roots, rooted in fine potting soil in a pot,
firm the hands, the spot well-chosen,
in a flower bed, in a pattern,
in an empty space, in a growing garden
within a larger garden,
in an old estate
in a small town by the sea.”

“Russian doll puzzle: garden after garden,
with gardens within gardens.”

“Planted and replanted, unfolding flowers in a sunshine world,
in a state of grace with hope and craft
hand in hand
with faith and belief,
and everything planned
to take advantage
of this time and this space.”

“So simple those words,
so complex those ideas.”

            One of the key themes of both KIRA and the Kingsbrae Gardens is that of giving back. We receive and accept with open hands. We must also give thanks and give back our joy and happiness to the world around us. Here is my poem on Giving Back.

Giving Back

In the beginning was the wind,
and the wind created waves,
whitecaps on wild waters
with sunlight dancing its tiptoe hornpipe,
heel and toe,
landwards towards the headland
where the lighthouse grows
from rough and ready rock,
its light cast on water and returned
fourfold in the yellow moon path,
step after stepping stone,
golden from sea to gardens
with their marigold path
leading to house and home
and the banquet spread before us,
so solemn the altar,
this day of all days,
when we celebrate
our lost and loved ones
with bread cast, like light,
out upon the waters and tenfold,
always,
our love returned.

The KIRA experience was exceptional and I benefitted greatly from it, both artistically and spiritually. I would encourage any and all New Brunswick artists, in whatever medium, to apply for a place next year. KIRA will allow them to produce, develop, and grow.


 Thank you Roger for this sharing your experience at KIRA and especially for the selection of poetry with the background and inspiration for each.

Roger's links are as follows;




Saturday, 15 May 2021

Branching out with New Brunswick Authors Jane Tims and Roger Moore.

 

 








It’s an exciting time for the Scribbler. Not having just one, but two accomplished authors as our guests this week. Both authors have been featured previously on the Scribbler.


If you missed the earlier interviews and bios, where Jane talks about the diversity of Writing and the diversity of Publishing Business and the diversity of Themes, please go HERE. 


 For Roger, please go HERE for a previous interview and HERE where he discusses his month-long residency at KIRA.


What sparked this week’s post was a note from Roger regarding a review he did on Jane’s novel – Niche. Poetry & Drawings. After a friendly discussion, I hoped for a joint interview and both are kind enough to agree.



***Special Note: Today, at Westminster Books in Fredericton, Jane is launching her latest Kay Eliot Mystery - Land Between the Furrows. 2-5 PM. (See Below)

 



Let’s chat with Roger and Jane.




 

Allan: The first question is for you, Roger. Tell us about your review of Jane’s book. Visitors can read the review HERE.





 

Roger: Jane and I have worked closely together for some time now ad we enjoy sharing our writing. Jane asked me if I would be willing to read her book, Niche, and to write an introduction to it. I did so, most willingly. When the book was published, Jane brought me a copy and I was honored to find my name on the front cover. I was very happy to review it, but, in all honesty, it was an easy task, because I merely copied the Introduction and used it for my review. I believe such duplicated work is what my grandfather, a hard-working man from the old school, called ‘a lazy man’s load’.

 

 

Allan: I’ve had the pleasure of reading your poetry, Jane. What was the inspiration for Niche? And please tell us about the drawings.


 

Jane: The idea of ‘niche’ came from many places. First, I am a biologist and a botanist, so many of my poems over the years have been about plants and animals and their homes. Second, in 2011, when I was searching for a theme to describe my blog (www.nichepoetryandprose.com now www.janetims.com ), I thought the idea of ‘place’ would resonate with many readers. Third, ‘place’ is a favorite concept in my writing. It is impossible to write about plants and animals without mentioning their habitats, the ‘niche’ where they fit and thrive. And I think a measure of human happiness has to do with how comfortable people feel in the ‘place’ or ‘niche’ where they live.


Photo by Jane Tims.


The drawings are an extension of my feelings about plants and animals. I love to draw, and most often it is my hand that does the drawings. I just watch. I have no real training and the eraser and Q-tip are as important to the execution of my drawings as the pencil! I once had a well-known artist say that my drawings and my poems left her with very similar feelings. I want the drawings to resonate with the poetry.

 

Drawing by Jane Tims. Copyrighted.



 

Allan: Jane, can you share a little about where you live, your family and being a botanist.

 

Jane: I am lucky to live in a rural environment with woodland all around. This week I have wakened to the song of the winter wren (I call him the ‘scribble bird’ because of his impossible-to-follow song), the eastern phoebe and the nuthatch. Our property has lots of diversity: a cedar swale, old-field, a gully, spruce forest and mixed wood where we built our house. My husband shares my love of the woods and I raised my son to appreciate nature in all its variety. I think it is interesting that if you look at a satellite photo of our neighbourhood, we do not show up at all; other properties have a house, lawn and a few trees. If you look very closely at the heavily wooded spot where we live, you can just glimpse the roof of the house.  This place, where we have lived for 41 years, is a perfect space for a botanist to live.

 

 



 

Allan: What’s in the future for Jane Tims, the author? The artist? The botanist?

 

Jane: I am retired now from my work as an environmental planner. In 2012, I started writing, words that had rattled around in my head for years. Since 2012 I have published five poetry books, including two with Chapel Street Editions in Woodstock, three volumes in the Kaye Eliot Mystery Series and nine books in my science fiction series Meniscus. From now on, I will write and draw until I can’t. I am happiest when I am doing that first draft. But I also like the social life of the writer and I belong to two active writing groups (Wolf Tree Writers and Fictional Friends). My writing gives me a chance to express myself as an artist since I illustrate all my books and create the art for the covers.  Being a botanist has always suggested themes for my writing and it will continue to do this; last year, with the support of artsnb, I explored abandoned communities in New Brunswick to see what happens to the gardens that are left behind and wrote a new manuscript of poetry called ‘escapes.’

 

 




 

Before we carry on the interview, can you please share an excerpt, Jane?

 







An Excerpt from Niche.

(Copyright held by the author. Used with permission)



slow walk

 

I need to see more of these woods

more than the trail winding between the trees

 

I must narrow my perspective

slow my walk

search for texture

in the trampling of the mosses

and the duff thrown by pounding feet

 

find philosophy in sunshine filters

slantwise between the trees

 

the halo of pollen and dust

in the spotlight, forgiveness

in the rain, gathers a full hour

in the high branches

before it weeps

 

find hope in the stolid

bracket fungi climbing the trees

 

life in oak galls

and witch’s brooms

lichens hanging overhead

chandeliers to light the trail

winding between the trees


 

 


 




 

Allan: Roger. On Being Welsh – an award-winning novel I have had the pleasure to read and review for The Miramichi Reader.  You continue to pile up the awards and inspire us. How does the well-deserved recognition feel? I expect it is something an author never grows tired off.

 




Roger: Now there are several loaded questions concealed in that paragraph, Allan. First, the awards: I am a dedicated writer and I try always to support the WFNB by entering their writing competitions regularly. I remain true to the words of one of my favorite authors, ‘paper your walls with rejection slips,’ and I have indeed been rejected on many, many occasions. I have also been lucky, extremely lucky, with the awards. Thank you for mentioning them. As for the recognition, more than anything else, it is a confirmation that my writing is on the right track and is improving. It is also an encouragement to keep writing and to keep submitting. As the old saying goes ‘if you want to go from Halifax to Vancouver by bus, stay on the bus. You’ll never get to Vancouver if you get off the bus in Montreal or Toronto and don’t get back on. So: stay on the bus.’

 

 

*****Yesterday, we received news that Roger’s writing has yet received another award in the 2021 Writers Federation Writing Competition. First Place for Narrative Non-Fiction with Two Dead Poets. Congratulations, Roger.

 

 

 

Allan: If it is not too personal, Roger, has being a cancer survivor changed your writing in anyway?


 


Roger: To suffer from cancer is a life-changing experience. In my case, the cancer was caught early and was cleared up. I was treated in Moncton, where I stayed for eight weeks in the summer of 2015. In Moncton, I decided to renew my contact with the French language and I spoke mainly in French throughout the stay and the treatment. To mingle with fellow sufferers, mostly Acadians, many in a worse condition than me, was a humbling experience. To share their lives, their stories, and their language was a revelation. So many doors opened before me. Each day, when I emerged from ‘the throat of the radiation machine’, I saw a renewed beauty in the world around me. It was then that my writing became a dialog with my time and my place (Bakhtin). When I left the Auberge in Moncton, I started to revise and polish my older works and to publish them on Create Space (now Kindle / KDP). Post-cancer, I realized just how precious life is and equally just how important it is to preserve our daily dialog with it. As I said on the back cover of A Cancer Chronicle: “if I can reach out to touch and comfort just one cancer sufferer, this book will not have been written in vain.” Now, I want to reach out and touch the hearts and minds of any and all who read my books.

 

 


 

Allan: Roger. Can you share a few details about your family and where you live?

 

Roger: I came to Canada 55 years ago this September. Clare followed me four months later, in December. We got married six days after her arrival and will celebrate our 55th wedding anniversary this December. I came to New Brunswick (UNB) 50 years ago this July. Clare followed me in August, so for both of us this year marks our fiftieth year in this province. We have lived in Island View, just 100 meters outside Fredericton city limits, for the last 32 years. We are surrounded by trees and receive regular visits from the local wildlife, including deer, raccoons, squirrels, chipmunks, a fox, a snowshoe hare, and an occasional bear. The garden is graced, all year round, by a multitude of birds. In summer we have hollyhocks and bees’ balm both of which are a delightful landing ground for bees and butterflies. Alas, we live on the other side of the hill from the river, and as I always say, there is not an island in view from our home in Island View.

 

 





Allan: Roger. You have a large body of work and I know this question to be difficult, but I’m interested in which is your favorite? Which was the most difficult to write?

 

Roger: Given that all my writing is my dialog with my time and my place, I am very happy with all my books as each one marks a stage in my development as a writer and a person. That said, I think that the Oaxaca sequence was a breakthrough as I came face to face, in Oaxaca, with some very different ways of seeing our world. Mexico, and especially pre-Columbian Mexico, was a revelation to me and changed me and my writing considerably. Post-Oaxaca, I was able to write with far greater freedom about a world I now contemplated with a different vision. That new vision also appears in Though Lovers Be Lost, which remains one of my favorite pieces of writing with its memories of Canada and Wales.






 Monkey Temple stands out too because it shows a different world view that combines humor with the satirical spirit of George Orwell’s Animal Farm. I am so happy to have written something that runs parallel to all those little animals and Monkey Temple is the closest I can get. My Moncton experience, 2015, opened up visions of the inner lives of myself and others and, post-Moncton, I was indeed able to come face to face with the darker side of life, to confront it, and overcome it. My latest book, On Being Welsh, is representative of that stage in my development. Then, of course, a pantheistic strain runs through my writing and presents the natural world through the eyes of the Spanish mystics and their deep love of nature. Triage and All About Angels fit in here, as does The Empress of Ireland.  However, the most important work in this category is One Small Corner, a book of poems embracing the seashore and the natural world of St. Andrews, written during my residency at KIRA in June 2017. I should mention too the experimental work, completed with the help of Geoff Slater, in which word and image mirror each other, his drawings and my words. Scarecrow and Twelve Days of Cat fit this category. As for ‘difficult to write’, the earlier books were the most difficult as I was struggling with the eternal questions, who am I and why am I writing? When I found the answer to those questions, writing became much easier.

 

 

Allan. Is there anything else you’d like to share with us?

 

Roger: First and foremost, the pleasure and pride I take in being a writer and of sharing in a series of writing communities here in New Brunswick, Canada. Second, the deep friendship and sense of community I share with many friends, too many to mention, but you, Allan, and Jane, are foremost among them. Finally, I would like to congratulate you on the work you do for writing in general and us local writers in particular. Thank you for being here for us and allowing us to share your platform.

 

 

 

***Thank you for the kind words, Roger. I’m honoured to have you and Jane as my guests.

 

 

 


 

An Excerpt from On Being Welsh.

(Copyright is held by the author. Used with permission)

 

 

When am I? I am now, here in your hands, or there before your eyes. Each letter I sketch with my heart blood as it drips off the pen nib or flows through my fingertips and into the keys is a link forged through time and space and makes our meeting like this contemporaneous. I may have been dead for a hundred years when you read these words, yet here we are talking through your eyes as if I were present and in the room with you. When am I? I am now, I am here, and my when is your now, and each word you read is the now of my reaching out to you and entering your presence. And yes, this when of which I write now shines in your mind, a beacon to guide you and a light to bring you your own joy.
          For my when is a sunbeam radiating through a raindrop to arc rainbows in your mind. It is a thin coating of January ice on a berry-laden tree with sunbeams flowing through it. It is a brief breeze tinkling ice-coated branches. It the Big Ben chime of our grandfather clock, more than two hundred years old, a clock that stands in the hall, and speaks to me in the same voice that my father and grandfather heard.
          Listen: all through this hour, it chimes, be by my side, / and with thy power, / my footsteps guide. And this is my when, all my when’s, every single one of them. Omnia vulnerant, ultima necat / all hours wound, the last one kills. Every tick of the tick-tock clock, every quarter chime, each hour striking ... these are the milestones of our lives. When am I? I am now (tick) and now (tock) and you will never again hear those Big Ben chimes without thinking that this is the now and the when in which we meet across time and space and join together in a perpetual union of minds across a time and space whose distances do not matter.










 

Thank you, Jane and Roger, for taking the time to be our featured guests this week. Wishing you both tremendous and continuous success with your writing.

 







For all you clever visitors wanting more info on Jane and Roger, please follow these links:

Jane.

www.janetims.com

www.offplanet.blog

 

Roger.

www.rogermoorepoet.com

moore.lib.unb.ca