Lest I leave you with the impression that Karen Solie only discovers poetry in other works, I'll share one of her own creations which I like. The title perhaps needs explanation for non-Canadians. Due to the oddity of time zones, Newfoundland -- at the end of the country -- runs a half hour later than elsewhere. Canadians are well accustomed to the tag line after programs on CBC radio: listen at 9:00 central, half hour later in Newfoundland.
And here's the poem:
Another Half-Hour Later in Newfoundland
Evening rises up. Hello. Apparently,
this thing still works. Old midway ride.
You've been on the shadow side
for hours watching crucial bolts fall off
and someone adrift at the switch.
How can we sleep through this? The creak
of struts that keep us equidistant
on the frame, from the hub, hot oiled
centre of the wheel, its eternal present
tense. Up top at noon you recognize
the common sense of parallel lines
as I harbour doubts about the inherent
strength of materials. Factoring in an act
of God, I miss the point completely.