Culls by Roland Prevost is an artifact of poetry of the New Age culture, swathes of mystery and
darkness, this Goth poetry is an exploration of the artist’s way. He is a Poet and a Poetry Editor,
formerly of Poetics.ca and of seventeen seconds: a journal of poetry and poetics. Poet Prevost has
been widely published in poetry journals (Arc Poetry Magazine, The Toronto Quarterly, Descant, The
Peter F. Yacht Club amongst others) and anthologies. He has published 4 Chapbooks and his first poetry
collection, Singular Plurals was launched in 2014. He lives and works in Ottawa.
Moody and dwelling in the shadow places, the places that question balance and sanity possibly within the violence of serial love relationships and despite the darkness, a celebration. The poetry is New Age and borrows from the Imagist school. As if fighting the depression of highs and lows, the poetry spins around nature imagery.
From Grounded to Airbourne
“The sepia colour of memory, too long
from the darkroom bath. A dragonfly close-up,
my solitary index offered as a perch. Its seeming
friendliness, ad hoc, filled-in. As with all fictions.
Willing fools, we cram every blank space with connection.
Simple projected desire. The insect’s just exhausted.
Or intoxicated by something unrelated.
Perhaps ill, or dying. But the appeal of a zen
companion proves too much to resist. I lend it
my blind hopes. Play a one-sided game of intimates.
This photo was sometimes later used as proof
of something else. Those were the stoner months.
The hashish months, at the lake. Anomie.
Sick with loss and isolation that nothing could fill.
Stuck as in the picture. Grounded. Unable to take off.
Long solo vigils by the fire pit past midnight. Questions
float up to the sky. Hard answers parachute down.
Unwelcome. Insistent. Find something or someone to spark.
Follow this leitmotif: Court passion, even disaster, if you must.
Whatever means, airbourne.”
And speaking particularly of darkness, possibly a gift from a lover, a preserved butterfly in a frame shatters. As if a metaphor for something beautiful, perhaps a love, that has been lost.
Butterfly Box of Pins
“At the edge of stillness
was there a last tired flex of wings?
What spray preserves as specimen
the slant-tipped pins hold down
What you meant by this gift
Where it fell off the bookcase
a broom gathers glass shards
Pins still in place
its empty box
finds the trashcan
I hear the complaining garbage truck
The insect presumed missing”
In the contemplation of the great silence and the mystery of the artist’s calling, all is revealed. Using the themes of sex and death, the deep sorrow drives the compelling images, telling a story of found, yet lost love.
. . .
"Pour a fresh drink
For the unwelcome visitor
His sculpted cup of indestructible metal
engraves your name
When he finally arrives
you’re surprised by his surprise
You’re his unwanted guest, as well
So share one of the best drinks
you’ll ever have
Together laugh and laugh
away the night"
Existing in the shadowland, places of love lost and the underground war zone North America. The dark shadows of Goth poetry, a masterful weave of language and images that celebrate sorrow, this poetry lives in the dark of the night. Culls by Roland Prevost.
Available @ above/ground press.
Genre: Poetry, New Age