Sylvie Hill

James Joyce is coming to Carleton University‘s LEARNING IN RETIREMENT PROGRAM this Fall 2018 | SIGN UP here!

Following my five successful years of teaching James Joyce’s Ulysses at uOttawa’s School for Continuing Education, making new friends among participants, and creating new Joyce fans, I’m excited to start work to deliver a 2hr-workshop lecture at Carleton University this Fall.

On October 2, 2018, join me at Carleton University for “How to Enjoy Reading James Joyce’s Ulysses.”

Class size is a bump up from uOttawa with maximum 55. Students can expect more lecture style than discussion as I did at McGill University for Bloomsday Montreal, but enhanced.

But we can share craic and an additional evening of reading at Ottawa’s Saint Brigid’s Centre for the Arts in downtown Ottawa if they’ll have us with a pint of Murphy’s!

SIGN UP:

Lecture, discussion, visual presentation, and film clips
Day: Tuesday, October 2nd
Time: 6:00 p.m. – 8:00 p.m.
Location: Room 124, Leeds House Building
Fee: $30.00 (HST included)
Enrollment capacity: 55 participants

We will use the Gabler edition (below), but can adapt to all versions dusty and digital.

Urge and Ways

Last night, I kissed you fierce
from behind a door there you were
hiding for years in a dream
about me rallying folks to New York
and where the sidewalk in creamed white
like snow and water blended into a stream.
They shouted “It’s the Pacific Ocean, lady,”
And watch your step
I was forever again lost again in a city
like before.
And at the bar a Russian kid distracted me
so as I turned around his dad emptied my wallet
and thinner on the bar of it, I said:
“Give it me back at this moment”
and the Russian gave it me back
and he and son left through the door.
But I kissed you hard about five kisses more
and I missed that ball cap, almond eyes slope
and our last, lost score.
By Christ, I had rules for Frisco
and you could have bent them maybe lightly.
And we always talked for so long on email
every day and afternoon about all sorts of things
that made my brainy self emerge
I knew you were educated
A plain jane you’d marry with more character
than my rockstar posturing.
My, how I treated you poor!
Making you talk like that jackass on his island.
By goddess, I was usurped by a power
that landed absolutely everything on its ass.
By goblin, was a tragedy to wade in such shallow
coastal flows hanging on to when tides recede
to get a glimpse of it in imprint if he succeeded
but he dare not step foot here over here no
and whether he tells the story in song
one day or never, it can’t be wrong.
For it is when it is and it will always come round
how we torture ourselves with memories
of the stories that in dead render the life of it
so deep, meaningful, and profound.
For if we failed to sink in slow
and consider it treasure in some deep-sea trove
Might we have to accept it was trite and cheap
and were pirated cruelly?
Or ourselves pirated and looted
all for the other’s
and our very own urge and ways
too loosely and haphazardly?

Sylvie 2018

Guard Gods

When your gods are dead
And your guards are down
It’s a sign my dear
You’re done with this town.

And all the men
Once all in your bed
Once all so numbered
Have all fled.

Magic abounded in nights on end
Potential released in a glass of red.
Bottle uncapped as you went in.
They knew your name, friend.

But the vibe is done
And so is this town.
Reverberations, sensations
Have all gone.

And then you played his song.
And that smile came on.
Rough tracks from London town:
A friendship, preservation.

But my gods are dead
And my guards are done.
Muse 1 and his salvation
Muse 2’s protection, gone.

And you saw him in the car
With his aviators and big hair
Shit he looked like Kurt Vile
And your smile reappeared.

O! Ottawa! And all the men!
How fair you in sexless marriage?
Do you yearn for post-gig fare
Started with a smoke and stare?

The books are done
The stories all concluded.
The magic that drove it
Parked, and deluded.

Sylvie Hill, August 2018

DJ IKEA And Your Brilliant Sound

When you were putting that album together
Sent me tunes through the ether
I said to you how I’d love it and it would matter
MOST to hear your tunes played LOUD in concert!

I missed you in Hoxton. Another gig somewhere.
But tonight I played you LOUD on an IKEA Bluetooth speaker.

Been years since you both sent me music!
Oliver and his Magnetic Fields, UNKLE, and Rhythmes Digitales.
And you with the Poolside, Ladyhawke, and so many others.
But tonight I played your influence to a crowd.

I had the tracks on my phone and a man* with the box
he said adjust my settings, pick a tune, and we’re off!
Selected “Higher Ground” and turned it WAY, WAY UP!
In the IKEA, smiled, congregated and loved your sound.

It was like I was a DJ in the IKEA lamp section
finally after years pumping out a session!
Sharing the magic that I’ve always felt was your talent!
And not a single fucking soul knowing the background!

Do not think I tell them of love.
For sure, just penpalling and a connection.
I am confident, doll, I had your attention.
And what vacancy lays in the absence.

But since I missed you in Hoxton and another gig somewhere.
Tonight I played you LOUD on an IKEA Bluetooth speaker.

And while shamed, and thrown off, I felt proud.
How to move on from a man whose sound
Struck a chord in lyrics and tones profound
Whose sturdy trunk and cock you wrapped yourself around
And is the reason you’re cursed and won’t go back to London town.

I didn’t think I’d go that night
And there we were until the morning light.
Five long years for me: it still frights.
For you it’s as memorable as standing in an IKEA line.

Sylvie Hill, August 2018

* The man’s name was Patel Kumar
and I had quite a laugh in Lighting
Patel the name you gave the man I snogged
who rickshaw kidnapped my ass that night.

My Montreal and Its Diversity

What is beautiful in this city is historic
And what is historic is for the rich.
The Glebe was beautiful today to walk in
All it was all white owners in their gardens.

In London
In Montreal
The places are historic with stories
And anyone of any price enjoys it.
Parks
Metros
We share spaces and we are communal.

What is cool in this city is hipster
And what is hipster is privileged and can afford it.
Westboro, Golden Triangle, you name it
Except for Vanier, Ottawa is for the affluent.

And with affluence comes judgey
Or high enough educations to be worldly
With worldly in this city comes masks, faces, hypocrisy
Each player their role in rank and roles and bureaucracy.

In London
Working class has cache as higher ups are untouchable monarchy.
In Montreal
If you talk about your work no one gives a shit in their shitty economy.

What is beautiful in this city is its safety
And what is safe is so fucking boring.
The Glebe was beautiful today to walk in this morning
And I can’t wait to get back to my Montreal and its diversity.

Sylvie, July 7, 2018

Oh My Love, With Gout

Oh, love –
With gout.
What happened to us?

You can ignore my messages
But you always answer the call.
And I knew the feel of your saunter
and sound of chain wallet in the mall.

Just like old times.
We two are the few who never missed a kiss
or a hug in public, fuck the affectionless.

Oh, love –
With gout.
That cough.

You know me now: healthy
Despite you’re resurrecting me in the past
With all kinds of troubles and anxieties
It is me the strong one – no doubt.

I do not judge.
The gout…
The cough…
The tough…

You choose a noisy place
Because you can’t hear anyways
It lets you clown and joke your story
Away from my real questions that will destroy you.

“So your Dad’s mind is going, you must visit.
So your apartment is falling apart, move or get it fixed.
So that girl who left you? She just walked in?
You’re not the tyrant you think you are – can I tell her this?”

Instead you said:
“That guy is a dick, don’t ever talk to him.
You’re not over you mom, how can you be even?”

But that is it.
Not the usual confrontation.
He’s got nothing on me this summer.

I pine not for the dick.
I accept my family for the dysfunction and void it is.

Oh, love –
With gout.
We could make love.

I’m not for younger men, your 49 makes me wet.
It’s been our 15 years, we can compare tricks.
But I love when I fuck, and our love is dead
But I will forever look after your spirit and head.

Oh, love –
With gout.
Why do you rot?

You’re what makes me so beautiful
And you’re also what makes me the ugliest.

Sure it’s Joseph Arthur, just like you said
His tunes, and dinners, massages, talks, and gifts.
I’m the only One that can crack through your shit
And it pains me like gout that I can’t find it again to give.

Oh, love —
With gout.
It’s been the same throughout.

“When you left me at the kitchen table
I couldn’t comprehend why you were not able
to think of the good times, I only think of the best
and all the bad stuff I forget, what ‘bad shit’?”

Oh, love –
With gout.
This was our marriage.

I will wed you should I be terminal
So you can take my pension and finance your medical.
Until then, promise me this forever until we expire:
We shall always, in our way, take care of the other.

I do by letting you talk your poison comedy.
I say nothing about my life’s successes and happenings.
I think you funny, and you say nothing of my fine armory.
We both know we have grown old, cold, from being out of loving.

Secretly, we know we had the good stuff.
But the bad stuff consumed too much of you, and that wasn’t good for us.

Sylvie Hill, July 7, 2018

A Sad Sonovabitch Rotting in Ottawa

What wonder those two men from London!
Their fathers one from the Indian Ocean, other South Pacific.
Takes me 18 years to see the comparisons!
My rocks. So unique. From afar, and down under.

What time they took to support me and care!
My every thought, synapse and dare.
The first used softness, understanding, assured.
The second was sharp, tender, strict, and endured.

How mean I was to the first in that youth
Treating him poorly, my virtual attraction gone mute.
A gentleman, he stood by knowing he wasn’t my suit:
“I have enough friends,” upon my return, he gave me the boot.

How silly I was with the second in my older age
Treating him adoringly, instead of pulling us off the stage
Such acting, the two of us, could we not stay friends?
Maybe he has enough friends, upon return, there was silence.

Such magic in those days, such power I had to lure!
Through written letters, and emails, and all our words.
Such influence in those days, their willingness to obey!
Their perseverance that we would meet and love/like it one day.

But when young we’re full of those dreams
I was never going to marry and have some kids.
And look at you both: so successful in Manchester and He up Auckland
And look at me: still a sad sonovabitch rotting in Ottawa.

…and they wonder “why Montreal?”
International.

…and they say men like women who are
vulnerable.

Well I couldn’t be weaker for all my strengths
That keep me structured and constrained.

Sylvie Hill 2018

Being a “starving artist” is someone who is living their truth. They are choosing to operate outside of the system they fear PREVENTS them from being authentic to their Self.

So for the rest of us… how do we navigate our ‘truth’ in a system that we feel is a bit cock-eyed?

One that restricts our ability, or even threatens our inclination, to speak up against wrong-doing in the workplace? And which Self do I bring to work again? The one that sits pretty and says nothing? Or…?

How can we be happy in our workplaces when our guts are telling us, something is crooked here!

If you’ve got a conscience, and enough time on your hands to think about what it means to you to live your good values during your 9-5 existence, then incongruities between how you think things should roll, and the reality of how they’re actually rolling downhill crushing peons in the path below, will certainly affect you.

So you need a plan!

The first step isn’t to run for the feel-good, self-help modules about hope on your weekend downtime that will pep-prep you up nice with gloss and solace for Monday morning.

Get heroic and go public!

OK, alright, maybe not. While noble (by this Poet’s standards), it is a risk unless you know you’ll get a book deal out of it that can pay your bills once you’re fired from going vocal and viral. Before you get careless in caring *too much*, LEARN FIRST about the hard-cold reality of power structures, and of the DYNAMIC of speaking truth to power.

Recognize why it’s uncomfortable, starting with this article: 5 Reasons You Don’t Speak Truth to Those in Power & How to Change That.

Getting shut down is the one obstacle I find the hardest to overcome. This is the person who raises his/her voice, gets aggressive and bullies to intimidate a speaker into silence. It’s important to remember when someone does this to you that it’s a tactic that has been learned because it can be effective. ~ Penny Herscher

I’ve met the Voice-Raiser, but beware of the Voice-Tamer! Voice-Raiser amps the volume and stamps their dominance on all audible contribution so they stand alone and rule. Get it? Voice-Tamer lures you in softly with a smile, making you believe where they are guiding you is really nice — like a robber convincing you that you want nothing more than to walk down the dark, solitary alley and give over your handbag, no problem, and take my watch and iPhone, too!

The trick to navigating our professional Self and true Self in the workplace system where Truth and Power wrestle, is to know what is really going on during the match. This means not reeling needlessly in some hell of personal sufferance in the face of perceived injustices pimped by power-pushers.

Instead, being a “Happy Employee” is someone who is living their truths, alright. With an ‘s’. They are choosing to operate within the system they understand limits their full expressions, sure. But they are well-versed at the mechanics of this oppression, and do not take it personally when they’re muted by it.

In this, like Milan Kundera’s character, Chantal, in the novel, Identity, we are wearing two faces.

The one says to the power-pusher, “Wow, you’re an asshole.” The other says, compassionately, “Geeze, you must be under a lot of pressure to be talking to me like this, is the paycheque worth it?”

It’s why we love weekends and holidays so much. Masks are heavy. It’s nice to take them off.

But just as it wouldn’t be appropriate to take your trousers or blouse off in the office, same for masks.

Know when to keep yours on.

Care enough to speak truths, but don’t be careless in your pursuit of truth in an untruthful system.

I’ve always been outspoken and I am very conscious about speaking truth to power, but not everyone likes it. I have found that some people admire me for it, and when I leave a team (a company, or a board) those people will thank me for my contribution. But others think of me as too aggressive and controversial. For those people, it’s a relief when I leave the group. ~ Penny Herscher

Love Like You Do The City

You love like you absorb Montreal:
Intense, wild, devoted, wanting it all
genre, RIGHT NOW (!!!)
and this way fast and how
you envision it so endowed
and for the taking
and you are SO looking
for rental signs on balcons
mastering a route from l’apparte
to metro, to your work
and you are SO looking
at the mecs avec des barbes
and the older men and HOW
would you live and where
and which cheese for the supper.

You love like you absorb Montreal:
Passionate, insane, open, wanting it all
bref, RIGHT NOW (!!!)
so is the key to starve in Ottawa
so the culture, film, and style
and the conversations of
interesting Quebecois
POPS!
And stuns and reverberates
The frequency in your soul
With talk of sex and feminisms
With talk of politics and sojourns
With their sensibilities
And gentlemanness
And their transient bohemianness
To enjoy love making
Like an ice cream
And seek love, too, as I do the City

Like it is LIFE-saving,
And absolutely EVERYTHING.

Montreal,
June 11, 2018
Images: Loui Jover

Montreal is For the Living

Here, I am reminded of how boring, how dull, and how monologic I am.
“You’re one of the most interesting people I know!” they say time and again.

But I perform, I am “on,” and I am guarded in scripted lecture.
Social anxiety bricks a wall, some will say “you can not get near her.”

I put on a show for those whose conversation bores me, takes me nowhere.
It keeps things vibrant, I people-please, I wear two faces like in Kundera.

Is it that there are interesting people around me before and I wasn’t listening?
You know I mused and obsessed his kind because he was so fucking intriguing.

Yet, every single man and woman here I meet in Montreal, and am meeting
Has something to TELL ME, to share, a story – if I am hearing.

Here, I am reminded of how out of practice I am at efficient socializing
I am afraid to return home to a Life of social isolation and hearing myself talking.

Then again, how many in my social circle are so valuable and sustain me!
(Some people build walls to protect them from the reality they are seeking.)

In Ontario, we talk of corporate ladders and climb to next levels and paycheques.
In Montreal, they speak of politics, humanity, Life, and how to live well.

Yet like Keith and Miles once said, in Montreal, check your watch, time flies!
Sure, you’re busy having fun but what do you have to show for this time?

Montreal is for the living, and jolts awake those dead inside, and sleeping
I am a Canadian migrant, then, seeking refuge in a new land that’s reviving.

Montreal is for the living, but how to make a living in Montreal?
Jobs aligned to values, and status not dependent on Leon’s catalogues at all?

Montreal,
June 10, 2018