Sylvie Hill

So close! With only 7 registrants (ACE-UCC needs 10 at least), the course was not offered but I spent a wonderful two weeks, re-living some bits of Joyce’s Ulysses, and having some much-deserved rest and relaxation in Cork with Joyceans and new friends. Thank you to everyone who signed up and spread the word! It can be like this with a niche course. The first run at uOttawa actually didn’t happen – not enough students. But look at it go now with sold-out sessions every time. Maybe next year!

Visit me on Twitter to see photos of Nora Barnacle’s house, the James Joyce Dead House, the James Joyce Centre, Sweny’s and more!

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I teach literature and music-culture courses at the University of Ottawa’s Centre for Continuing Education – Personal Enrichment Activities Program throughout the year, including “Epic Journey: How to enjoy reading James Joyce’s Ulysses“.

On March 23 and 30, 2016, I will be adapting the course to the University College Cork of Ireland‘s Adult Continuing Education Program. Sign up here.

Once again, Christopher Joyce, the great grand-nephew of James Joyce will visit us to give an endearing and personal account of growing up as a Joyce. Here’s Chris and I when he visited the University of Ottawa in 2014:

I was interviewed by Amanda Earl from Devil House Press on my thoughts about transgressive art forms. Take a read here.

On May 5, 2015, I also did an interview with the University of Toronto’s CKUT’s Sex City Radio. You can tune into the show here. In my interview, host Dorianne asks the reason behind my two London-titled books (Hoxton Square Circles: starfucking tales of sexless one-night stands (2001) & Russell Square Station: mine the trash (2014), my theme of women musing men, curating WESTFEST LIT and more.

Sylvie was the NEW Curator for WESTFEST LIT 2015 and she brought one hell of a line-up to the summer festival! Read about it here. View some photos here.

Check out the Rogers Daytime Ottawa segment we were on Tuesday, June 9 here!

You can listen to the archived (May 5, 2015) interview I did with the University of Toronto’s CKUT’s Sex City here.

Host Dorianne asks the reason behind my two London-titled books (Hoxton Square Circles: starfucking tales of sexless one-night stands (2001) & Russell Square Station: mine the trash (2014), my theme of women musing men, curating WESTFEST LIT and more.

University of Ottawa’s Personal Enrichment Activities Program offers a variety of literature and music courses that I’ve designed with passion on the topic and enthusiasm for giving participants an educational and fun experience! The new program for the 2015/2016 will be announced, as well as the possibility of me bringing my James Joyce course to Cork, Ireland as well as my French Music program! Stay tuned!

Wrapping up:

“Non, je ne regrette rien” : ces Parisiens impénitents
le 21, 28 avril, le 5, 12, 19 mai (19h-21h)

The 2015/2016 schedule will offer:

Undressing James Joyce’s Ulysses: Unravelled and Simplified

Wives, Unsatisfied: Shifty Shades of the “Great 8”

Women Who (M)use Men: fated attraction

“Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien”: Unapologetic Parisiens (in ENGLISH)

SIGN UP & see you there!

You’ll love the SOUNDS | WORDS | VISIONS | VOICES of Four Culture Magazine! Out Now, my Mar/Apr 2014 on-line magazine feature on Juan Carlos Noria!

READ: “The Unbearable Rightness of Being … Kind”

WATCH:

Juan Carlos Noria from chris mullington on Vimeo.

EXPLORE:

VIEW:

The Manhandled Muse Who Cocked His Head and Blew

But which man can handle being a Muse?
Is it you, Hiding Hues off a feminine whim
ready to feel somewhat intimidated
or impotent like the female poet suggested
men get when a woman
wants them?

“I go both ways, darling,
best to keep one’s options open”
Was something he said that I once thought
– Dange – er – OUSE! –
That I once thought excluded me from him in any
potential arrangement or
situation.

But which man can handle being a Muse?
It seems the homosexual lad in the dress-up garb
half-naked centurion or dressed in woman’s scarves
can deal with being idolized —
my female gaze upon his manly frame
loving their beauty, giving them praise.

I only really ever see nice pictures of erect cocks in gay porn pictures, you know.
The heterosexual guys, if they are even that, have this look in their eyes, shallow.
Not saying the gay splayed cock-out has more feeling than the straights.
But certainly they seem to take on wild positions more freely than the hets.

So maybe your off-handed remark was just a joke I don’t know.
If it’s true, the real me, it won’t suit but my poet self, enthused!

Otherwise, my “darling” here’s the deal.
You’re a man with a mouth full of attitude
deflecting punches by the multitude
surviving, somehow, in asshole servitude
to sharp British wit and that fucking,
FUCKING South Pacific machoist bent.
You’re a man with a killer look
despite big, big eyes like two licked Lindt chocolates
— the King Kong marble-sized ones, melting, in unison.
Yeh the bloody kind with the chocolate cream inside.
Your tough exterior, but a pudding inside.

Here’s the deal: I remembered how you smoked.
Sucked a drag, inhaled deep, cocked that head up and blew.
You jangled when you danced a bit.
You make expressions with a face like a bitch.
So if you’re manly and know it, I’m turned on by how you show it.
*I* absolutely won’t fucking get it, but the Poet Me requires it.
Because if you don’t keel or feel it all effeminate
when a woman poet fantasizes about your bits
then it’s either that you are REALLY that compatible,
or you don’t give a toss, and think my poems –- shit.

© Sylvie Hill, 2013

Nothing Personal

It’s OK! I know why I came!

I didn’t know this in the land of the Swiss
When an old Egyptian boyfriend
Invited me to Switzerland
To meet his family and travel to Paris
For a holiday for two weeks in spring.
I did all the planning.
He did nothing for my birthday
While we there, instead he said he was going to see
A chick he used to fuck called
Sally.
Then would go on telling Everybody:
“I took Sylvie to Paris for her birthday!”
No you didn’t, you jack off,
and you cost us $250 in a delayed flight
to Vienna cuz you didn’t pay any attention
to itineraries.
I moved in with him.

It’s OK! I know why I came!

But I really didn’t know why I was there with
the Carpenter boyfriend in the country
Invited me to meet his family
But then left me alone to
Socialize: it’s OK, they were really sweet.
But then back home, he cried:
“there’s no room for the two of us!”
And wanted to stay together, but move out.
Hunh? And amidst the disintegration
He thought it an excellent idea
For us to take vacation
To his family’s home in New Brunswick??
I didn’t go and he took two months
to relocate.

It’s OK! I know why I came!

But I knew what I was doing in the arms of my bushy-beard
He offered to make me soup when I was sick, Oh what a dear!
I knew I was in the right place in his big hairy chest
He counseled me forever, loved me and treated me his best.

I knew what I was doing in the arms of my punk rocker, too
He made me treats, supported my poems, school and made me a tattoo!
I knew I was in the right place in his long, slender arms
He loved me unconditionally, and really set the bar.

There were two others
One who said I was the best girlfriend ever
For buying him a Liverpool FC touque.
He moved to England,
He’s the quote in Hoxton
And after a few exchanges
Never spoke again, were through.

Then that wild one, the subject
Of my CBC poetry Face-Off
What a gorgeous cock
And a ballsy, supportive guy too
But looking for a wife and kid
Not a poetess academic with mystic values.

And with you?

There’s no time that was never unclear
But you kept lecturing me as though I didn’t hear
Are you retarded, are you not aware
Of why they call me Starfucker?
Your argument, my love, should be about SENTIMENTALITY
Not my issue but your disability
If dealing with people’s emotion toward you makes you freaky
It’s OK, you’re in good company.
You should have seen how I scolded a London man
who mused Me, I didn’t like it and got haughty.
Why do you think it looked like a bomb went off in my hotel room
I wasn’t expecting us to go back, get naughty.
Why do you think I couldn’t talk, remember a dumb fucking thing
Because, my friend, I trusted deeply
And I couldn’t penetrate you like a real dude
Cuz the fucking Internet got in the way
Noticed how when I said anything real
I’d always look away
I was talking to You in my head
The man before me was a stranger.
Don’t worry about not getting me off
No chance of that when I’m not in love,
“Nothing personal,” right boss…

It’s OK! I know why I came!
And it’s clear why you did the same.

© Sylvie Hill 2014