Showing posts from June, 2015

My First Poem Was Jacked, Every Line: Larissa Andrusyshyn in Conversation

You have to be quick to catch up with Larissa Andrusyshyn . On any given day, she might be hosting the pub quiz in your neighbourhood, or animating poetry workshops with at-risk youth, or tending to rescue pets at the animal shelter, or riding elephants or dancing with monkeys or taking cooking classes in Thailand...well, you get the picture. SUSAN GILLIS: How did you first come to poetry--or how did poetry come to you?  LARISSA ANDRUSYSHYN: My first poem was jacked, every line stolen, or fed to me by my mom for a father's day card, which you can see in the picture. My spelling has not improved. When I was young I was obsessed with reading. I wrote on my mother's old electric typewriter, little stories, that kept getting erased or deleted. I was a morose little kid, in grade school I loved folk music; Simon and Garfunkel, Neil Diamond and Bob Dylan, anything with sad lyrics. I remember memorizing and reciting some poetry that my mom loved (Robert Service's

Larissa Andrusyshyn: A Poem

Larissa Andrusyshyn HIEROGLYPHICA No one suspects the scaly-winged pick pocket. Night, dark with insect patter, proboscis— a mouth like a straw that unfolds into the eyes of sleeping birds. The moth is turning a wound inside out, release in the orchid and tree bark. Stomach contents: grief and disaster. In the dark forests of Madagascar a transient in imago; this Lepidoptera hunts the lacrimal. Imagine the dry eyes of sparrows, the slender-billed flufftail, the cuckoo, all waking with a   sadness they can’t shake. from Proof (DC Books, 2015) . Reproduced by permission of the author.