Poems sorted chronologically, from The New Oxford Book of Canadian Verse in EnglishAuthor | Title | First Lines | Page | Year |
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Robert Hayman | The Pleasant Life in Newfoundland | The Aire in Newfoundland-land is wholesome, good | 1 | 1628 |
Joseph Stansbury | To Cordelia | Believe me, Love, this vagrant life | 2 | 1784 |
Oliver Goldsmith | The Lonely Settler | What noble courage must their hearts have fired | 5 | 1825 |
Standish O'Grady | Winter in Lower Canada | Thou barren waste; unprofitable strand | 3 | 1841 |
Charles Heavysege | The Winter Galaxy | The stars are glittering in the frosty sky | 7 | 1855 |
Charles Sangster | The Thousand Islands | The bark leaps love-fraught from the land; the sea | 11 | 1856 |
Charles Sangster | From 'Sonnets Written in the Orillia Woods' | Our life is like a forest, where the sun | 13 | 1860 |
Alexander McLachlan | The Arrival | Soon we entered in the woods | 9 | 1861 |
Alexander McLachlan | Song | Old England is eaten by knaves | 8 | 1861 |
Charles Heavysege | The Dead | How great unto the living seem the dead! | 7 | 1865 |
Alexander McLachlan | We Live in a Rickety House | We live in a rickety house | 10 | 1874 |
Isabella Valancy Crawford | A Battle | Slowly the Moon her banderoles of light | 18 | 1874 |
Isabella Valancy Crawford | The Camp of Souls | My white canoe, like the silvery air | 19 | 1880 |
Isabella Valancy Crawford | The Dark Stag | A startled stag, the blue-grey Night | 21 | 1883 |
Isabella Valancy Crawford | Said the Canoe | My masters twain made me a bed | 23 | 1884 |
Charles G.D. Roberts | The Potato Harvest | A high bare field, brown from the plough, and borne | 29 | 1886 |
Charles G.D. Roberts | Tantramar Revisited | Summers and summers have come, and gone with the flight of the swallow | 27 | 1886 |
Charles Mair | From 'Tecumseh' | There was a time on this fair continent | 13 | 1886 |
Archibald Lampman | Heat | From plains that reel to southward, dim | 33 | 1888 |
Wilfred Campbell | Indian Summer | Along the line of smoky hills | 39 | 1888 |
Wilfred Campbell | The Winter Lakes | Out in a world of death far to the northward lying | 40 | 1889 |
Bliss Carman | Low Tide on Grand Pré | The sun goes down, and over all | 42 | 1893 |
Charles G.D. Roberts | The Mowing | This is the voice of high midsummer's heat | 30 | 1893 |
Charles G.D. Roberts | The Pea-Fields | These are the fields of light, and laughing air | 30 | 1893 |
Charles G.D. Roberts | The Herring Weir | Back to the green deeps of the outer bay | 31 | 1893 |
Duncan Campbell Scott | At the Cedars | You had two girls—Baptiste— | 47 | 1893 |
Wilfred Campbell | How One Winter Came in the Lake Region | For weeks and weeks the autumn world stood still | 41 | 1893 |
Wilfred Campbell | Morning on the Shore | The lake is blue with morning; and the sky | 42 | 1893 |
Archibald Lampman | In November | With loitering step and quiet eye | 34 | 1895 |
Archibald Lampman | The City of the End of Things | Beside the pounding cataracts | 35 | 1895 |
Frederick George Scott | The Unnamed Lake | It sleeps among the thousand hills | 46 | 1897 |
William Henry Drummond | The Log Jam | Dere's a beeg jam up de reever, w'ere rapide is runnin' fas' | 25 | 1897 |
Archibald Lampman | Winter Evening | To-night the very horses springing by | 38 | 1899 |
Archibald Lampman | A Thunderstorm | A moment the wild swallows like a flight | 38 | 1899 |
Archibald Lampman | To a Millionaire | The world in gloom and splendour passes by | 39 | 1900 |
Charles G.D. Roberts | The Skater | My glad feet shod with the glittering steel | 31 | 1901 |
Charles Mair | Song from 'The Last Bison' | Hear me, ye smokeless skies and grass-green earth | 15 | 1901 |
Bliss Carman | Lord of My Heart's Elation | Lord of my heart's elation | 44 | 1903 |
Duncan Campbell Scott | On the Way to the Mission | They dogged him all one afternoon | 52 | 1905 |
Duncan Campbell Scott | The Forsaken | Once in the winter | 49 | 1905 |
Robert Service | The Cremation of Sam McGee | There are strange things done in the midnight sun | 62 | 1907 |
Bliss Carman | Morning in the Hills | How quiet is the morning in the hills! | 45 | 1912 |
Pauline E. Johnson | Marshlands | A thin wet sky, that yellows at the rim | 60 | 1912 |
Pauline E. Johnson | Ojistoh | I am Ojhistoh. I am she, the wife | 58 | 1912 |
Marjorie Pickthall | Père Lalement | I lift the Lord on high | 82 | 1913 |
John McCrae | In Flanders FIelds | In Flanders fields the poppies blow | 61 | 1915 |
Marjorie Pickthall | Quiet | Come not the earliest petal here, but only | 84 | 1922 |
E. J. Pratt | The Shark | He seemed to know the harbour | 66 | 1923 |
Marjorie Pickthall | Two Souls | Most reverend Father, I have borne all wrong | 84 | 1925 |
Theodore Goodridge Roberts | The Blue Heron | In a green place lanced through | 65 | 1926 |
F.R. Scott | The Canadian Authors Meet | Expansive puppets percolate self-unction | 91 | 1927 |
Dorothy Livesay | Green Rain | I remember long veils of green rain | 134 | 1932 |
Duncan Campbell Scott | En Route | The train has stopped for no apparent reason | 57 | 1935 |
Duncan Campbell Scott | At Gull Lake: August, 1810 | Gull lake set in the rolling prairie— | 53 | 1935 |
E. J. Pratt | The Final Moments | The fo'c'sle had gone under the creep | 67 | 1935 |
A.J.M. Smith | The Lonely Land | Cedar and jagged fir / uplift sharp barbs | 98 | 1936 |
E. J. Pratt | Silences | There is no silence upon the earth or under the earth like the silence under the sea | 69 | 1937 |
Kennet Leslie | Halibut Cove Harvest | The kettle sang the boy to a half-sleep | 85 | 1938 |
Kennet Leslie | Sonnet | The silver herring throbbed thick in my seine | 86 | 1938 |
A.M. Klein | Heirloom | My father bequeathed me no wide estates | 127 | 1940 |
E. J. Pratt | The Martyrdom of Brébeuf and Lalemant, 16 March 1649 | No doubt in the mind of Brébeuf that this was the last | 70 | 1940 |
F.R. Scott | Brébeuf and his Brethren | When Lalemant and de Brébeuf, brave souls | 92 | 1941 |
Earle Birney | Anglosaxon Street | Dawn drizzle ended dampness steams from / blotching brick and blank plasterwaste | 106 | 1942 |
Earle Birney | Slug in Woods | For eyes he waves greentipped / taut horns of slime They dipped | 114 | 1942 |
Earle Birney | David | David and I that summer cut trails on the Survey | 108 | 1942 |
Raymond Knister | Boy Remembers in the Field | What if the sun comes out | 89 | 1942 |
E. J. Pratt | The Truant | What have you there?' the great Panjandrum said | 75 | 1943 |
Anne Marriott | Prairie Graveyard | Wind mutters thinly on the sagging wire | 164 | 1945 |
P.K. Page | Stories of Snow | Those in the vegetable rain retain / an area behind their spouting eyes | 179 | 1945 |
Louis Dudek | Garcia Lorca | It was as if the devil of evil had got / the God of all that is good by the throat | 204 | 1946 |
Patrick Anderson | From 'Poem on Canada': Cold Colloquy | What are you . . ? they ask, in wonder | 170 | 1946 |
A.M. Klein | The Break-up | They suck and whisper it in mercury, / the thermometers. It is shouted red | 127 | 1948 |
A.M. Klein | Indian Reservation: Caughnawaga | Where are the braves, the faces like autumn fruit | 128 | 1948 |
A.M. Klein | Portrait of the Poet as Landscape | Not an editorial-writer, bereaved with bartlett | 129 | 1948 |
Douglas LePan | Coureurs de bois | Thinking of you, I think of the coureurs de bois | 168 | 1948 |
Douglas LePan | A Country Without a Mythology | No monuments or landmarks guide the stranger | 167 | 1948 |
P.K. Page | The Permanent Tourists | Somnolent through landscapes and by trees / nondescript, almost anonymous | 186 | 1948 |
George Woodcock | Imagine the South | Imagine the South from which these migrants fled | 159 | 1949 |
James Reaney | The School Globe | Sometimes when I hold / Our faded old globe | 253 | 1949 |
James Reaney | The Upper Canadian | I wish I had been born beside a river / Instead of this round pond | 254 | 1949 |
Raymond Knister | February's Forgotten Mitts | Shep lies long-bodied upon the auburn grass— | 90 | 1949 |
Raymond Knister | Nell | Nellie Rakerfield / Came from an estate in Scotland | 90 | 1949 |
P.K. Page | Photos of a Salt Mine | How innocent their lives look, / how like a child's | 181 | 1951 |
E. J. Pratt | The Pre-Cambrian Shield | On the North Shore a reptile lay asleep— | 80 | 1952 |
Earle Birney | Bushed | He invented a rainbow but lightning struck it | 115 | 1952 |
Raymond Souster | Lagoons, Hanlan's Point | Mornings / before the sun's liquid | 220 | 1952 |
Raymond Souster | The Man Who Finds That His Son Has Become a Thief | Coming into the store at first angry / At the accusation, believing in | 219 | 1952 |
Douglas LePan | The Net and the Sword | Who could dispute his choice / That in the nets and toils of violence | 169 | 1953 |
P.K. Page | T-bar | Relentless, black on white, the cable runs | 185 | 1953 |
Patrick Anderson | Houses Burning: Quebec | A house on fire! We stumbled over the snow | 172 | 1953 |
A.J.M. Smith | Resurrection of Arp | On the third day rose Arp | 102 | 1954 |
A.J.M. Smith | The Dead | The dead / Stare out of empty sockets | 101 | 1954 |
A.J.M. Smith | The Common Man | Somewhere his number must have been betrayed | 99 | 1954 |
F.R. Scott | Laurentian Shield | Hidden in wonder and snow, or sudden with summer | 95 | 1954 |
F.R. Scott | Lakeshore | The lake is sharp along the shore | 93 | 1954 |
F.R. Scott | W.L.M.K. | How shall we speak of Canada, / Mackenzie King dead? | 92 | 1954 |
Anne Wilkinson | Lens | The poet's daily chore / Is my long duty | 141 | 1955 |
Anne Wilkinson | In June and Gentle Oven | In June and gentle oven / Summer kingdoms simmer | 143 | 1955 |
Anne Wilkinson | Daily the Drum | Daily the drum is burst / It is not only or foremost | 144 | 1955 |
Irving Layton | The Cold Green Element | At the end of the garden walk / the wind and its satellite wait for me | 148 | 1955 |
Raymond Souster | Flight of the Roller Coaster | Once more around should do it, the man confided. . . | 221 | 1955 |
Wilfred Watson | Emily Carr | Like Jonah in the green belly of the whale | 148 | 1955 |
Wilfred Watson | Lines: I Praise God's Mankind in an Old Woman | I praise God's mankind in an old woman | 147 | 1955 |
Irving Layton | The Fertile Muck | There are brightest apples on those trees / but until I, fabulist, have spoken | 150 | 1956 |
Irving Layton | From Colony to Nation | A dull people, / but the rivers of this country | 151 | 1956 |
Irving Layton | The Improved Binoculars | Below me the city was in flames: / the firemen were the first to save | 150 | 1956 |
P.K. Page | After Rain | The snails have made a garden of green lace | 184 | 1956 |
R.A.D. Ford | Twenty Below | The woman watches her husband rubbing his nose | 174 | 1956 |
Daryl Hine | A Bewilderment at the Entrance of the Fat Boy into Eden | No knowing where he was or how he got there, / Led by the gentle sessions of his demons | 315 | 1957 |
Daryl Hine | Fabulary Satire iV | The fox and crow, their dirty business finished, / Each in the aqueous landscape played his part | 317 | 1957 |
Dorothy Roberts | Dazzle | Light looks from a dazzled leaf / Stares like a small sun | 118 | 1957 |
Dorothy Roberts | Cold | My grandparents lived to a great age in the cold— | 118 | 1957 |
Jay Macpherson | The Ark | I wait, with those that rest / In darkness till you come | 284 | 1957 |
Jay Macpherson | The Fisherman | The world was first a private park / Until the angel, after dark | 287 | 1957 |
Irving Layton | For Mao Tse-Tung: A Meditation on Flies and Kings | So, circling about my head, a fly. / Haloes of frantic monotone | 152 | 1958 |
Ronald Everson | One-night Expensive Hotel | Evening outdoors is only a larger lobby | 103 | 1958 |
George Johnston | Cathleen Sweeping | The wind blows, and with a little broom / She sweeps against the cold clumsy sky | 163 | 1959 |
George Johnston | War on the Periphery | Around the battlements go by / Soldier men against the sky | 162 | 1959 |
James Reaney | Granny Crack | I was a leather skinned harridan / I wandered the county's roads | 256 | 1959 |
James Reaney | The Lost Child | Long have I looked for my lost child. / I head him shake his rattle | 257 | 1959 |
Margaret Avison | Meeting together of Poles and Latitudes (In Prospect) | Those who fling off, toss head, / Taste the bitter morning, and have at it— | 198 | 1960 |
Margaret Avison | Snow | Nobody stuffs the world in at your eyes. / The optic heart must venture: a jail-break | 196 | 1960 |
Margaret Avison | New Year's Poem | The Christmas twigs crispen and needles rattle / Along the windowledge | 197 | 1960 |
Margaret Avison | Thaw | Sticky inside their winter suits / The Sunday children stare at pools | 196 | 1960 |
Margaret Avison | The Swimmer's Moment | For everyone / The swimmer's moment at the whirlpool comes | 195 | 1960 |
Margaret Avison | Civility a Bogey, or, Two Centuries of Canadian Cities | Chinashop at seaborde, / a speckled chinashop | 199 | 1960 |
Alden Nowlan | Beginning | From that they found most lovely, most abhorred, / my parents made me: I was born like sound | 295 | 1961 |
D.G. Jones | The River: North of Guelph | The river is so much mica / running in its shallow curse | 279 | 1961 |
D.G. Jones | These Trees Are No Forest of Mourners | They had dragged for hours. / The weather was like his body | 278 | 1961 |
Leonard Cohen | You Have the Lovers | You have the lovers, / they are nameless, their histories only for each other | 305 | 1961 |
Leonard Cohen | A Kite Is a Victim | A kite is a victim you are sure of. / You love it because it pulls | 304 | 1961 |
Al Purdy | Night Song for a Woman | A few times only, then away, / leaving absence akin to presence | 210 | 1962 |
Al Purdy | Remains of an Indian Village | Underfoot rotten boards, forret rubble, bones. . . / Animals were here after the plague | 208 | 1962 |
Earle Birney | Can. Lit. | since we'd always sky about / when we had eagles they flew out | 116 | 1962 |
Earle Birney | The Bear on the Delhi Road | Unreal tall as a myth / by the road the Himalayan bear | 116 | 1962 |
Phyllis Webb | Poetics Against the Angel of Death | I am sorry to speak of death again / (some say I'll have a long life) | 269 | 1962 |
Phyllis Webb | To Friends Who Have Also Considered Suicide | It's still a good idea. / Its exercise is discipline | 270 | 1962 |
Irving Layton | Butterfly on Rock | The large yellow wings, black-fringed, / were motionless | 156 | 1963 |
Irving Layton | A Tall Man Executes a Jig | So the man spread his blankets on the field | 154 | 1963 |
Malcolm Lowry | Christ Walks in This Infernal District Too | Beneath the Malebolge lies Hastings Street | 138 | 1963 |
Malcolm Lowry | For 'Under the Volcano' | A dead lemon like a cowled old woman crouching in the cold | 139 | 1963 |
Malcolm Lowry | The Lighthouse Invites the Storm | The lighthouse invites the storm and lights it | 140 | 1963 |
Malcolm Lowry | Xochitepec | Those animals that follow us in dream | 140 | 1963 |
Ronald Everson | Injured Maple | Lightning scratched our sugar maple, blood | 104 | 1963 |
F.R. Scott | Night Club | The girls, brighter than wine, are clothed and naked | 96 | 1964 |
George Bowering | Grandfather | Grandfather / Jabez Harry Bowering / strode across the Canadian prairie | 322 | 1964 |
Leonard Cohen | Heirloom | The torture scene developed under a glass bell / such as might protect an expensive clock | 306 | 1964 |
Phyllis Gotlieb | A Cocker of Snooks | We kept him an hour in the / bottom of a bushel basket, a | 249 | 1964 |
Phyllis Gotlieb | Three-handed Fugue | Into Suburbia between eight and nine / the army of cleaning-women marches | 248 | 1964 |
Phyllis Gotlieb | Late Gothic | From the window of my grandfather's / front room above the store I could see | 247 | 1964 |
Phyllis Gotlieb | This One's on Me | 1. The lives and times of Oedipus and Elektra / began with bloodgrim lust and dark carnality | 249 | 1964 |
Raymond Souster | The Hunter | I carry the ground-hog along by the tail / all the way back to the farm, with the blood | 221 | 1964 |
Al Purdy | The Cariboo Horses | At 100 Mile House the cowboys ride in rolling / stagey cigarettes with one hand reining | 210 | 1965 |
Al Purdy | The Country North of Belleville | Bush land scrub land— / Cashel Township and Wollaston | 212 | 1965 |
Leonard Cohen | I Have Not Lingered in European Monasteries | I have not lingered in European monasteries / and discovered among the tall grasses tombs of knights | 307 | 1965 |
Joe Rosenblatt | It's in the Egg | We are continually bored with the air, / the round doors, the flat tables, the straight spoons | 300 | 1966 |
Margaret Avison | The Dumbfounding | When you walked here, / took skin, muscle, hair | 201 | 1966 |
Margaret Avison | Unspeakable | The beauty of the unused / (the wheatear among birds, or | 204 | 1966 |
Margaret Avison | In a Season of Unemployment | These green painted park benches are / all new. The Park Commissioner had them | 200 | 1966 |
Margaret Avison | A Nameless One | Hot in June a narrow winged / long-elbowed-thread-legged | 203 | 1966 |
Ralph Gustafson | Columbus Reaches Juana, 1492 | We fled from the sight inland and that night | 123 | 1966 |
Robert Finch | Last Visit | The place we could never enter hides away still | 96 | 1966 |
Robert Finch | Silverthorn Bush | I am a dispossessed Ontario wood | 97 | 1966 |
Alden Nowlan | Suppose This Moment Some Stupendous Question | Suppose this moment some stupendous question / such as they asked of Lazrus. The dead | 297 | 1967 |
Alden Nowlan | For Jean Vincent d'Abbadie, Baron St.-Castin | Take heart, monsieur, four-fifths of this province / is still much as you left it: forest, swamp and barren | 298 | 1967 |
Alden Nowlan | In the Operating Room | The anesthetist is singing / 'Michael, row the boat shore, | 296 | 1967 |
D.G. Jones | On a Picture of Your House | The first pale shoots / the plants make flower | 281 | 1967 |
D.G. Jones | For Spring | Earth holds the sunlit / locks of the snow | 282 | 1967 |
David Helwig | For Edward Hicks | At least a hundred times, / there's the marvel | 328 | 1967 |
David Helwig | A Dead Weasel | Old snake, old hole in the corner man, / miniature killer, lithe and stinking | 329 | 1967 |
Dorothy Livesay | Without Benefit of Tape | The real poems are being written in outports / on backwoods farms | 134 | 1967 |
Eli Mandel | Houdini | I suspect he knew that trunks are metaphors / could distinguish between the finest rhythms | 229 | 1967 |
Eli Mandel | From the North Saskatchewan | when on the high bluff discovering / the river cuts below | 228 | 1967 |
George Jonas | Portrait: The Freedom Fighter | In the streetcar conductor's uniform / The man tried to roll himself a cigarette | 310 | 1967 |
George Jonas | Temporal | This is one of those Tuesdays / I want to be old | 311 | 1967 |
George Woodcock | Poem for Garcia Lorca | Count on dead fingers of time the years that pass | 160 | 1967 |
Irving Layton | For Musia's Grandchildren | I write this poem / for your grandchildren | 157 | 1967 |
Ken Belford | Turn (a poem in 4 parts) | What they are doing is turning / The earth / In ordered furrows | 436 | 1967 |
Ken Belford | Carrier Indians | They have no word for conscience. / Instead, say sdzi, meaning / Heart | 438 | 1967 |
Milton Acorn | The Fights | What an elusive target / the brain is! Set up | 234 | 1967 |
P.K. Page | The Snowman | Ancient nomadic snowman has rolled round | 182 | 1967 |
Raymond Souster | On the Rouge | I can almost see / my father's canoe | 222 | 1967 |
Victor Coleman | Day Twenty-three | The ground beneath my feet is cracked . the world / opens to this sense of wracked pain I have | 415 | 1967 |
Victor Coleman | How the Death of a City Is Never More Than the Sum of the Deaths of Those Who Inhabit Its Spaces | A town might abort / in its early stages / as a woman, the weight | 413 | 1967 |
Al Purdy | Wilderness Gothic | Across Roblin Lake, two shores away, / they are sheathing the church spire | 214 | 1968 |
Anne Wilkinson | Nature be Damned | Pray where would lamb and lion be / If they lay down in amity? | 145 | 1968 |
Daryl Hine | Point Grey | Brought up as I was to ask of the weather / Whether it was fair or overcast | 318 | 1968 |
Gwendolyn MacEwen | The Things Is Violent | Self, I want you now to be / violent and without history | 388 | 1968 |
Gwendolyn MacEwen | A Breakfast for Barbarians | my friends, my sweet barbarians, / there is that hunger which is not for food— | 387 | 1968 |
Gwendolyn MacEwen | Manzini: Escape Artist | now there are no bonds except the flesh; listen— / there was this boy, Manzini, stubborn with | 386 | 1968 |
Jay Macpherson | The Beauty of Job's Daughters | The old, the mad, the blind have fairest daughters | 288 | 1968 |
Joe Rosenblatt | Ichthycide | My uncle was Sabbath crazed / wouldn't flick a switch on Saturday | 301 | 1968 |
John Newlove | The Pride | The image/ the pawnees / in their earth-lodge villages | 338 | 1968 |
John Newlove | What Do You Want? | I want a good lover / who will not mistreat me | 335 | 1968 |
John Newlove | Samuel Hearne in Wintertime | In this cold room / I remember the smell of manure | 336 | 1968 |
W.W.E. Ross | If Ice | If / ice shall melt | 88 | 1968 |
W.W.E. Ross | The Diver | I would like to dive | 87 | 1968 |
W.W.E. Ross | The Snake Trying | The snake trying / to escape the pursuing stick | 88 | 1968 |
Dorothy Livesay | Waking in the Dark | Whenever I see him / in mind's eye | 135 | 1969 |
Dorothy Livesay | The Uninvited | Always a third one's there / where any two are walking out | 136 | 1969 |
Elizabeth Brewster | Death by Drowning | Plunging downward through the slimy water | 225 | 1969 |
Elizabeth Brewster | If I Could Walk Out into the Cold Country | If I could walk out into the cold country / And see the white and innocent dawn arise | 224 | 1969 |
Elizabeth Brewster | Great-Aunt Rebecca | I remember my mother's Aunt Rebecca / Who remembered very well Confederation | 223 | 1969 |
George Bowering | Dobbin | We found dead animals in our sagebrush hills, / every day it seems now, deer, heads of | 323 | 1969 |
George Bowering | The House | If I describe my house / I may at last describe my self | 324 | 1969 |
George Bowering | The Envies | I watcht as the flung screen door / slammed across our kitten's throat | 326 | 1969 |
Gwendolyn MacEwen | The Discovery | do not imagine that the exploration / ends, that she has yielded all her mystery | 388 | 1969 |
Gwendolyn MacEwen | Dark Pines Under Water | This land like a mirror turns you inward / And you become a forest in a furtive lake | 389 | 1969 |
Lionel Kearns | Foreign Aid | Relaxing all day in this tropical atmosphere / glass in hand, a mosquito net and fans at night | 319 | 1969 |
Lionel Kearns | Environment | Bent old men and women and dirty children scavenging for scraps of paper to pack in immense bundles on their backs for a few centavos | 321 | 1969 |
Milton Acorn | I've tasted my blood | If this brain's over-tempered / consider that the fire was want | 236 | 1969 |
Milton Acorn | On Saint-Urbain Street | My room's bigger than a coffin / but not so well made | 236 | 1969 |
Milton Acorn | Knowing I Live in a Dark Age | Knowing I live in a dark age before history, / I watch my wallet and | 237 | 1969 |
Miriam Waddington | Icons | Suddenly they warm me / in middle age in the heatless winters | 188 | 1969 |
Phyllis Gotlieb | Death's Head | at 3 a.m. I run mu tongue / around my teeth (take in a breath) | 252 | 1969 |
R.A.D. Ford | Sakhara | Here the eye is inevitably cast / Down, fixed on the desert | 175 | 1969 |
R.A.D. Ford | Earthquake | The seasons burn. The wind is dry, / Like the tongue of a sickly dog | 176 | 1969 |
Ronald Everson | Stranded in My Ontario | Madame Maynard of the hard pebble / beach eight thousand years old | 106 | 1969 |
Ronald Everson | Pauper Woodland | Settlers abandoned our county long ago | 105 | 1969 |
Tom Marshall | Interior Monologue #666 | 'Hydrocephalics are holy, too, / they have / a certain / bloated beatitude . . .' | 333 | 1969 |
Tom Marshall | Summer | Sun blooms in our bodies / like a soft death | 332 | 1969 |
Alden Nowlan | The Bull Moose | Down from the purple mist of trees on the mountain, / lurching through forests of white spruce and cedar | 299 | 1970 |
Bertram Warr | Working Class | We have heard no nightingales singing / in cool, dim lanes, where evening | 194 | 1970 |
J. Michael Yates | From 'The Great Bear Lake Meditations' | I persist in a little fabric between me and the world. | 348 | 1970 |
John Newlove | America | Even the dissident ones speak / as members of an Empire, residents | 344 | 1970 |
Margaret Atwood | Death of a Young Son by Drowning | He, who navigated with success / the dangerous river of his own birth | 349 | 1970 |
Seymour Maine | Roots | —Holy man, ungird your gaberdeen. Rest. Tell us of those days when you sat next to the Sataàn, and each of you stroked the other's beard. | 426 | 1970 |
Al Purdy | Apoem | You are ill and so I lead you away / and put you to bed in the dark room | 215 | 1971 |
Bill Bissett | dont worry yr hair | dont worry yr eyes / dont worry yr brain man th snow is | 360 | 1971 |
Dorothy Livesay | The Children's Letters | They are my secret food / consumed in the most hushed corners | 137 | 1971 |
Dorothy Livesay | Spain | When the bare branch responds to leaf and light | 138 | 1971 |
Eldon Grier | Mountain Town—Mexico | Arms at my side like some inadequate sign | 177 | 1971 |
Eldon Grier | Kissing Natalia | Invention begs from door to door in the indescribable darkness | 178 | 1971 |
Eldon Grier | My Winter Past | I owe nothing to winter / because it is not my way to be cold | 178 | 1971 |
John Glassco | Quebec Farmhouse | Admire the face of plastered stone | 119 | 1971 |
John Glassco | One Last Word | Now that I have your hand, let me persuade you | 122 | 1971 |
John Glassco | The Entailed Farm | A footpath would have been enough | 120 | 1971 |
Louis Dudek | The Dead | After we knew that we were dead we sat down and cried a little | 207 | 1971 |
Louis Dudek | Coming Suddenly to the Sea | Coming suddenly to the sea in my twenty-eighth year | 206 | 1971 |
Tom Marshall | From 'Politics' | They will win, I thought once, / because they have a myth | 334 | 1971 |
David Helwig | Drunken Poem | Afternoon is invading my eyes / Between here and the barn | 330 | 1972 |
David Helwig | Words from Hell | I was eighteen when I came in these gates / on a sentence of indeterminate duration | 332 | 1972 |
David Helwig | Considerations | Any country is only a way of failing, / and nationality is an accident of time | 331 | 1972 |
Dennis Lee | From 'Civil Elegies' | Often I sit in the sun and brooding over the city, always | 367 | 1972 |
George Johnston | Veterans | There are seventy times seven kinds of loving / None quite right | 164 | 1972 |
George Johnston | Bliss | The less said about Edward's slut the better | 163 | 1972 |
Joe Rosenblatt | Of Dandelions & Tourists | Dandelions purr in their sleep. / The hillside is dotted with yellow cubs | 302 | 1972 |
Joe Rosenblatt | The Ant Trap | Brown semicolons move doggedly / through a round metal supermarket | 302 | 1972 |
Joe Rosenblatt | Cat | The grey psychopath in her season / scatters the birds into the shadows | 303 | 1972 |
Joe Rosenblatt | Fish | I touched the flesh with my eyes / It was that of a woman with scales | 303 | 1972 |
Leonard Cohen | 'The killers that run . . .' | The killers that run / the other countries | 308 | 1972 |
Miriam Waddington | The Women's Jail | This garden is outlandish / with its white picket fence | 190 | 1972 |
Miriam Waddington | Old Women of Toronto | All old women sometimes come to this: they go to live away, they cross ravines | 190 | 1972 |
Miriam Waddington | Advice to the Young | Keep bees and / grow asparagus | 191 | 1972 |
Charles Lillard | Bushed | This morning we found him / mumbling and eating bushes / so we tied him to a tree | 420 | 1973 |
Dale Zieroth | Beautiful Woman | Beautiful woman, you crown the hours / and we grow wonderful, we grow secret | 446 | 1973 |
Dale Zieroth | The Hunters of the Deer | The ten men will dress in white / to match the snow and leave the last | 448 | 1973 |
Eli Mandel | On the 25th Anniversary of the Liberation of Auschwitz: Memorial Services, Toronto, January 25, 1970 YMHA Bloor & Spadina | the name is hard / a German sound made out of | 230 | 1973 |
Eli Mandel | Envoi | my country is not a country / but winter | 229 | 1973 |
Gary Geddes | The Inheritors | They possessed nothing, the / bare essentials / of land and sky | 380 | 1973 |
Gary Geddes | Transubstantiation | The pig stands squarely / in the boarded stall, looking | 378 | 1973 |
John Thompson | The Onion | I have risen from your body / full of smoke, charred fibres | 346 | 1973 |
John Thompson | The Bread Hot from the Oven | Under the ice with its bouldery death's faces / hidden forms begin to churn the tides | 345 | 1973 |
Michale Ondaatje | Letters & Other Worlds | My father's body was a globe of fear / His body was a town we never knew | 406 | 1973 |
Michale Ondaatje | Breaking Green | Yesterday a Euclid took trees. Bright green / it beat at one till roots tilted | 409 | 1973 |
Michale Ondaatje | Burning Hills | So he came to write again / in the burnt hill region | 404 | 1973 |
Paulette Jiles | Time to Myself | It takes time to make / yourself a stranger. / I go through town unknowing | 403 | 1973 |
Paulette Jiles | Paper Matches | My aunts washed dishes while the uncles / squirted each other on the lawn with | 402 | 1973 |
Paulette Jiles | Windigo | No one understands the Windigo, his voice like / the white light of hydrogen, only long | 403 | 1973 |
Paulette Jiles | The Tin Woodsman | This is Hill 49, an arena for bad dreams. / The wind is flaying this ridge to the bone | 401 | 1973 |
Peter Van Toorn | Mountain Study | After rain / dust's down, gone Dutch — / everything naked, wet, clear as Vermeer | 431 | 1973 |
Peter Van Toorn | Shake'nbake Ballad | In 100% surefire arsenic / in snowwhite lye / in lepers' bathwater | 430 | 1973 |
Anne Szumigalski | Visitors' Parking | O Mary Mary lying on the wheel / looking up through rafters | 260 | 1974 |
Doug Fetherling | Elijah Speaking | I expected this face but did not predict it | 464 | 1974 |
Doug Fetherling | Explorers as Seen by the Natives | The need to explore / is the reason they give / for coming / with lanterns to push back the dark | 463 | 1974 |
Jay Macpherson | A Lost Soul | Some are plain lucky—we ourselves among them: / Houses with books, with gardens, all we wanted | 289 | 1974 |
Jay Macpherson | They Return | Long desired, the dead return. / —Saw our candle and were safe | 290 | 1974 |
Margaret Atwood | There Is Only One of Everything | Not a tree but the tree / we saw, it will never exist, split by the wind | 350 | 1974 |
Margaret Atwood | November | This creature kneeling / dusted with snow, its teeth | 351 | 1974 |
Robert Bringhurst | Deuteronomy | The bush. Yes. It burned like they say it did, / lit up like an oak in October — except | 438 | 1974 |
Robin Skelton | Lakeside Incident | Slowly the vision grows. / A hand and then a hand | 240 | 1974 |
Robin Skelton | Eagle | Vertigo is my territory. Man / only another movement, another shift | 242 | 1974 |
Robin Skelton | Wart Hog | Moon-tusked, wrenching at roots, / I dream of women. | 242 | 1974 |
Rona Murray | The Lizard | Do you remember the lizard? I remember the dark man | 239 | 1974 |
Christopher Dewdney | Out of Control: The Quarry | It is a warm grey afternoon in August. You are in the country | 469 | 1975 |
Daphne Marlatt | Femina | you who / fail, / subtly seeking, with your face / angled downward to the floor, to cups, to broom | 395 | 1975 |
Daphne Marlatt | Imagine: A Town | Imagine a town running / (smoothly? / a town running before a fire | 394 | 1975 |
David McFadden | House Plants | It has been a month since I gave up shaving / & already the houseplants are much more alert | 381 | 1975 |
Don Coles | Photograph in a Stockholm Newspaper for March 13, 1910 | Here is a family so little famous / their names were not recorded. They stand | 276 | 1975 |
Don Coles | Natlya Nikolayevna Goncharov | Another of the placid beauties! Whose mother flaunts her before | 277 | 1975 |
George Woodcock | Pacifists | The icy, empty dawn cracks in the fields | 161 | 1975 |
George Woodcock | Paper Anarchist Addresses the Shade of Nancy Ling Perry | Out of our daylight into death you burn | 160 | 1975 |
Milton Acorn | You Growing | You growing and your thought threading / The delicate strength of your focus | 238 | 1975 |
Robert Bringhurst | Notes to the Reader | I: Have a Good Time. This is a poem. Take it. Pack it up / the mountain | 442 | 1975 |
Robert Kroesch | Stone Hammer Poem | This stone / became a hammer | 264 | 1975 |
Tom Wayman | The Chilean Elegies: 5. The Interior | The smell of potatoes just taken out of the earth. The problem every carpenter faces, where the wood | 432 | 1975 |
Al Purdy | Alive or Not | It's like a story / because it takes so long to happen | 215 | 1976 |
Andrew Suknaski | The Snake | his green eyes on the homestead of another man / he is not man enough to find his own— | 396 | 1976 |
Charles Lillard | Lobo | I could kill you right now / Your grey brown hunch | 421 | 1976 |
George Bowering | From 'Summer Solstice' | I am slowly dying, water evaporating / from a saucer. I saw my daughter this | 327 | 1976 |
Miriam Waddington | Ten Years and More | When my husband / lay dying a mountain | 193 | 1976 |
Colleen Thibaudeau | The Brown Family | All round the Browns stretched forty acres of potatoes | 244 | 1977 |
Colleen Thibaudeau | Poem | I do not want only / The shy child with the shock of slippery wheatlike hair | 246 | 1977 |
Colleen Thibaudeau | The Green Family | I will begin to delineate the green family. / Under the shade of the mother sat the father | 243 | 1977 |
D.G. Jones | 'From sex, this sea . . .' | From sex, this sea, we have emerged / into a quiet room | 283 | 1977 |
David Donnell | Stepfathers | There you were in my dream last night, / burly, caught in mid-step, crop-headed or bald | 364 | 1977 |
Elizabeth Brewster | Anti-Love Poems | No I don't love you / in spite of what I say | 225 | 1977 |
Pat Lowther | Last Letter to Pablo | Under the hills and veins water / comes out like stars | 313 | 1977 |
Pat Lowther | A Stone Diary | At the beginning I noticed / the huge stones on my path | 312 | 1977 |
Ralph Gustafson | Wednesday at North Hatley | It snows on this place / And a gentleness obtains | 126 | 1977 |
Ralph Gustafson | Mothy Monologue | The moth flew a bee-line, / The flame beckoned but there was | 124 | 1977 |
Tom Wayman | Another Poem About the Madness of Women | It began as a joke: she did not like to leave the house / even to shop for groceries | 434 | 1977 |
Andrew Suknaski | Chinese Camp, Kamloops (circa 1883) | in the photograph he stands alone / under a willow / before the small tent | 397 | 1978 |
Bill Bissett | th wundrfulness uv th mountees our secret police | they opn our mail petulantly / they burn down barns they cant | 361 | 1978 |
bp Nichol | Two Words: A Wedding | There are things you have words for, things you do not have words for. | 428 | 1978 |
Christopher Dewdney | 'This is of two worlds . . .' | This is of two worlds—the one diurnal men know and that other world where lunar mottled eels stir like dreams in shallow forest water | 469 | 1978 |
David McFadden | A Form of Passion | This is the form my passion takes. / On a train heading into the night | 382 | 1978 |
Don Domanski | Three Songs from the Temple | what are we to do with a heaven / that moves beneath stones / and fallen trees? | 466 | 1978 |
Don Domanski | Deadsong | I star in the loam / I bed with the moony shapes / with my trapshut head | 467 | 1978 |
Earle Birney | My Love Is young | my love is young & i am old / she'll need a new man soon | 117 | 1978 |
Irving Layton | Grand Finale | I've seen the grey-haired lyrists come down from the hills | 158 | 1978 |
John Thompson | 'Now you have burned . . .' | Now you have burned your books: you'll go / with nothing but your blind, stupefied heart | 347 | 1978 |
Margaret Atwood | Marrying the Hangman | She has been condemned to death by hanging | 352 | 1978 |
Margaret Atwood | You Begin | You begin this way: / this is your hand | 355 | 1978 |
P.K. Page | Evening Dance of the Grey Flies | Grey flies, fragile, slender-winged and slender-legged | 187 | 1978 |
Patrick Lane | At the Edge of the Jungle | At the edge of the jungle / I watch a dog bury his head | 293 | 1978 |
Patrick Lane | Passing into Storm | Know him for a white man. / He walks sideways into wind | 291 | 1978 |
Patrick Lane | If | Like that dying woman in Mexico | 291 | 1978 |
Patrick Lane | Stigmata | What if there wasn't a metaphor / and the bodies were only bodies | 292 | 1978 |
Artie Gold | 'I don't have the energy . . .' | I don't have the energy for another day / like a poor hand of scrabble without vowels . . . | 451 | 1979 |
Artie Gold | sex at thirty-one | Is like love at seventeen. it plies deep / Affords the illusion there is nothing else. | 451 | 1979 |
Artie Gold | Life | In a sense / it is the exact opposite of what we want and / that opposite isn't death / but fence | 452 | 1979 |
Dennis Lee | The Gods | Who, now, can speak of gods— / their strokes and carnal voltage | 371 | 1979 |
Francis Sparshott | The Naming of the Beasts | In that lost Caucasian garden / where history began | 258 | 1979 |
Francis Sparshott | Three Seasons | August / A loon's long night call | 259 | 1979 |
Francis Sparshott | Reply to the Committed Intellectual | Stalin stood committed to peasant hunger. / Hitler numbered among his commitments death | 259 | 1979 |
George Bowering | In the Forest | They are in the forest / singing, they are in the | 327 | 1979 |
Michale Ondaatje | Walking to Bellrock | Two figures in deep water. / Their frames truncated at the stomach | 410 | 1979 |
Pier Giorgio Di Cicco | The Head Is a Paltry Matter | The head is a paltry matter; feed it crumbs, it goes on singing just the same | 458 | 1979 |
Pier Giorgio Di Cicco | Errore | We talk of old men who have forgotten their / thoughts, of old women with cancer like | 459 | 1979 |
Susan Musgrave | The Judas Goat | It was a bad sign I was born under, / half animal, half a cruel joke of nature | 470 | 1979 |
Susan Musgrave | Returning to the Town Where We Used to Live | I found this photograph. / A woman is reaching towards you | 471 | 1979 |
Anne Szumigalski | A Midwife's Story: Two | an experienced wife / (thius wasn't her first pregnancy) | 262 | 1980 |
Anne Szumigalski | Angels | have you noticed / how they roost in trees? | 263 | 1980 |
Barry McKinnon | Bushed | I am in a desert / of snow. each way / to go, presents an equal | 424 | 1980 |
Barry McKinnon | The North | somebodies walked the woods / in the air, the lines appear, as a grid / cut thru trees | 423 | 1980 |
bp Nichol | Gorg, a detective story | a man walks into a room. there is a corpse on the floor. | 429 | 1980 |
David Donnell | Potatoes | This poem is about the strength and sadness of potatoes | 365 | 1980 |
Don McKay | I Scream you Scream | train braking metal on metal on / metal teeth receiving signals from a dying star sparkling | 392 | 1980 |
Don McKay | March Snow | The snow is sick. The pure / page breaks and greys and | 393 | 1980 |
Don McKay | A Barbed Wire Fence Meditates Upon the Goldfinch | More than the shortest distance / between points, we are | 391 | 1980 |
E.D. Blodgett | Snails | theirs is a gesture of sorrow, infinite and taut: / some conceive the war that never begins— | 308 | 1980 |
E.D. Blodgett | Fossil | no branch nor the last grass / but the sky before me | 309 | 1980 |
Frank Davey | She'd Say | I'll never reach 40,' my mother would say. / 'I have a short life-line,' she'd say | 375 | 1980 |
Frank Davey | The Piano | I sit on the edge / of the dining room, almost | 377 | 1980 |
Gail Fox | 'It is her cousin's death . . .' | It is her cousin's death that / she must write about. Dead leaves | 400 | 1980 |
Gail Fox | 'She lay wrapped . . .' | She lay wrapped in the / tangle of bedclothes around / her lover | 400 | 1980 |
Gail Fox | Portrait | She slipped. Heels over head she landed / in a bucket of blue paint. Fluent as blue | 399 | 1980 |
Marilyn Bowering | Seeing Oloalok | 'See, nothing has happened to her,' said my guide, 'nothing at all. Time has done nothing | 456 | 1980 |
Marilyn Bowering | Russian Asylum | One of the difficulties is in being / alone, not one with anything or one | 455 | 1980 |
Marilyn Bowering | Wishing Africa | There's never enough whiskey or rain / when the blood is thin and white | 457 | 1980 |
Patrick Lane | The Measure | What is the measure then, the magpie in the field / watching over death, the dog's eyes hard as marbles | 294 | 1980 |
Phyllis Webb | From 'The Kropotkin Poems' | Syllables disintegrate integrate alphabets / lines decline into futures and limbos | 272 | 1980 |
Phyllis Webb | Spots of Blood | I am wearing absent-minded red / slippers and a red vest— | 273 | 1980 |
Phyllis Webb | Imperfect Sestina | So what if Lowry got spooked by sea-birds and volcanoes crossing | 274 | 1980 |
Phyllis Webb | The Days of the Unicorns | I remember when the unicorns / roved in herds through the meadow | 271 | 1980 |
Sharon Thesen | Loose Woman Poem | A landscape / full of holes. / Woman. / Pierced | 444 | 1980 |
Sharon Thesen | Kirk Lonegren's Home Movie Taking Place Just North of Prince George, With Sound | The beginning: Some landscape & words about nature, that particular landscape & what it harbors | 445 | 1980 |
Sharon Thesen | Mean Drunk Poem | Backward & down into inbetween as Vicki says. Or as Robin teaches | 443 | 1980 |
Al Purdy | Spinning | Can't see out of my left eye / nothing much happens on the left anyway' | 218 | 1981 |
Al Purdy | The Dead Poet | I was altered in the placenta / by the dead brother before me | 217 | 1981 |
Anne Marriott | As You Come In | The building / illuminates itself | 166 | 1981 |
Anne Marriott | Beaver Pond | Not furred nor wet, the pointing words yet make | 165 | 1981 |
Dale Zieroth | Baptism | In mid-river we join the ancient force / of mud and leaves moving in their journey | 449 | 1981 |
David McFadden | Lennox Island | They're more beautiful than the angels of heaven / the beautiful Micmac children of Lennox Island | 384 | 1981 |
Eli Mandel | The Madwomen of the Plaza de Mayo | They wear white scarves and shawls. / They carry pictures on strings about their necks | 233 | 1981 |
Fred Wah | 'Breathe dust . . .' | Breathe dust like you breathe wind so strong in your face | 384 | 1981 |
Kristjana Gunnars | wakepick I | tonight I disentangle / soft underwool fibre from coarse hairs / make ready for carding | 453 | 1981 |
Kristjana Gunnars | changeling VIII | every morning i break trail / down the mountainside / big snowflakes muffle my bootsteps | 454 | 1981 |
Margaret Atwood | Variation on the Word 'Sleep' | I would like to watch you sleeping / which may not happen | 359 | 1981 |
Margaret Atwood | Notes Towards a Poem That Can Never Be Written | This is the place / you would rather not know about | 356 | 1981 |
Mary Di Michele | The Moon and the Salt Flats | The moon is an ivory tusk in the Utah sky / over the salt flats of ultra white | 465 | 1981 |
Michale Ondaatje | The Cinnamon Peeler | If I were a cinnamon peeler / I would ride your bed / and leave the yellow bark dust | 412 | 1981 |
Roo Borson | Jacaranda | Old earth, how she sulks, / dark spin-off / wielding wings and swords | 474 | 1981 |
Roo Borson | Gray Glove | Among branches / a bird lands fluttering, / a soft gray glove / with a heart | 472 | 1981 |
Roo Borson | Flowers | The sunset, a huge flower, wilts on the horizon. / Robbed of perfume, a raw smell | 474 | 1981 |
Roo Borson | Talk | The shops, the streets are full of old men / who can't think of a thing to say anymore | 473 | 1981 |
Seymour Maine | Before Passover | Before Passover there in the old flat / who searched at the underside of curtains | 427 | 1981 |
Sid Marty | In the Dome Car of the 'Canadian' | The mongoloid boy is astounded / with joy at terrific / white-fanged mountains | 425 | 1981 |
Tom Wayman | Wayman in Love | At last Wayman gets the girl into bed / He is locked in one of those embraces | 435 | 1981 |
David Donnell | The Canadian Prairies View of Literature | First of all it has to be anecdotal; ideas don't exist | 366 | 1982 |
Gwendolyn MacEwen | The Void | The last truly foolish thing I did was some years ago / When I flew the Hejaz flag from the pinnacle of All Souls | 389 | 1982 |
Gwendolyn MacEwen | There Is No Place to Hide | Here is a famous world; I'm standing on a stage / With ten spotlights on me, talking about how I detest | 390 | 1982 |
Pier Giorgio Di Cicco | Male Rage Poem | Feminism, baby, feminism. / This is the anti-feminist poem | 459 | 1982 |
Pier Giorgio Di Cicco | Flying Deeper into the Century | Flying deeper into the century / is exhilarating, the faces of loved ones eaten out | 461 | 1982 |
Robert Bringhurst | These Poems, She Said | These poems, these poems, / these poems, she said, are poems / with no love in them | 441 | 1982 |
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