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From the archives

Referendum Trudeau

He campaigned in poetry but governed in prose

Rinkside Reading

What does hockey’s literature say about the sport?

Alarm Bells

Fort McMurray and fires hence

Answering Rilke’s Sonnets to Orpheus


Sadness of all life, life of all sadness —

pouring death into fourteen lines,

you poured it well, smooth and steady,

twisting just so to catch the drip.


But I pity your ecstatic butterfly —

clutched in the grip of some poetic hiccough,

arrested flutter of the diaphragm.


I pity your fountain mouth,

your sleeping ear,

your blackened, aging chin.


And I pity your monuments,

so lonely, so unerected.


I pity the lyre — its indefinite,

soundless echo. Its player:


tired fingers, tired eyes,

nothing more to look back for,

yet the song goes on.


David Huebert works, lives and writes in Halifax. His poetry and fiction have appeared in journals such as Event, Matrix, Existere, Vallum and The Antigonish Review.