Eve Anthony Hanninen, Editor of The Centrifugal Eye & Karla Linn Merrifield, Guest Editor ask the "Oh, Canada!" Poets for their perceptions about Canada: environment, politics, and, of course, poetry. Here's a selection of their responses:

Karla Linn Merrifield: It's obvious we (the editor and guest editor) of this issue of The Centrifugal Eye believed that Canada would be a viable focus for a special issue of poetry by Canadian and American poets alike. What, in particular, inspired you to write about Canada and contribute to "Oh, Canada!"? Joy Harold Helsing: I wrote my Inukshuk poem several years ago after a wonderful trip to the Canadian lakes area with my husband. American editors had no interest in it, probably because they had no idea what I was writing about. I was delighted to find an editor who could relate to it. Zyskandar A. Jaimot: Since I spent one of my "honeymoons" in Canada at the Queen Elizabeth Hotel in Montreal—and had a great time—why not?! Ha! Serena Spinello: Though I've not had the pleasure of living in Canada, I've visited there many times. Coincidently, the same day I found out about the "Oh, Canada!" theme, a friend of mine forwarded me an email titled "You know that you're from New York when . . . " I was amused by all the stereotypes that were listed and that I'm a prime example of many. I used that inspiration while writing my piece for this issue. My intent was never to offend, rather, to shed humorous light on Canadian stereotypes and celebrate them. Daniel E. Wilcox: When I considered the theme, varied and contradictory memories snow-flurried down from the past—my brief childhood experience, memories of Canadian stories I have read, academic histories, and political reflections on how many Americans consider Canada our reserved younger brother. Also, my wife was on vacation with our daughter in British Columbia while I put together my submission. William Doreski: Canada is nearby, promising, not yet crushed by Bush / Cheney-isms; and because Quebec is my immediate neighbor, Canada is foreign enough to seem exciting. Quebec City is more European than much of Europe, and Montreal is an exhilarating cosmopolitan city. So is New York, but Montreal offers a pleasant alternative. Wanda Schubmehl: I didn't grow up in New York State. As a child in Kentucky, Canada seemed very far away. I'd never traveled outside the U.S. until we moved to Rochester, NY, where Canada was just a lake-width away. It was thrilling the first time I crossed the Peace Bridge and encountered an international border! Since then, I've visited many different areas of Canada, all of which have left their imprints on me. I'm in love with Canada. I'm carrying on affairs with both coasts simultaneously—Brier Island in Nova Scotia and Vancouver in British Columbia. I've also had dalliances with Montreal, Halifax, Antigonish, and Toronto. Mirage of the Heart was written after driving up to Whistler. I fell in love at first sight with those mountains plunging into the ocean. . . . I also totally lost my heart to the old-growth trees in Stanley Park and around Capilano Bridge. Part of me is still there hugging them. I was heart-broken about the storms that took down so many old trees in Stanley Park. Shelley Little: I was born and raised in New Brunswick, Canada. There are few safe places left in the world to raise a family, but Canada provides safe and scenic places to live. The Bay of Fundy and Peggy's Cove are my first inspirations for writing about Canada. They remind me of an innocent childhood. Matthew Wylie: Immigrating to Canada from the United States last year has probably been one of my most intense adventures to date, so having the chance to encapsulate that adventure through poetry appealed to me. I've been so busy the last year settling in, making adjustments to living in a new country, and so on, that TCE's issue made me realize that writing about "it" was something I not only should do, but had to do at some point. Lynn Strongin: I'm an American writer who lives in Canada. My roots are in American speech (Southern and New England in the main). Like a tree, my roots stretch deep down into Yankee and Southern soil; my leaves have opened in the north above the borderlines, however. Catherine Chandler: I happened onto the website quite by accident. I had Google™d "formal poetry Canada," as I wanted to explore publishing possibilities in Canada (I'm an American-born, naturalized Canadian citizen, who writes only formal poetry. My poetry has been published in the U.K., Australia, the U.S., but not in Canada). When I saw the call for poems relating to Canada, I immediately thought of my Of Diminished Things and submitted it. Penelope Allen: Actually, J. R. MacLean and I wrote the sestina over a period of months in 2006, and when Eve sent an invitation, I asked if what we'd written would be of interest. How interesting that two Canadians contemplated such a venture without prompting. John C. Goodman: Canadian poetry doesn't get much exposure on the international scene; it's rarely included in anthologies of international poetry, but it deserves more attention than it receives. This is an opportunity for Canadian poets to enter the international forum. Cheryl R. Cowtan: I am seventh-generation Canadian, so my colonial roots reach deep into my poetry, inspiring me to write about my interaction with "natural" Canada. Writing about my country is as natural as writing about my family—they are one and the same. Mukesh Williams: Canada shares a colonial past with India. Sooner or later we all realize that to understand our present we must look into our past. We've delved into that past selectively and drawn from the vast corpus of evidence to support preconceived notions of our nation and ourselves. K. L. Merrifield: How do you suspect Canadian and American poets might differ in their approach to the topic of Canada in their poetry? Margarita Engle: As a visitor, my poems are limited to first impressions. John Thomas Clark: Some of us Yanks may see Canada as "U.S.A. North," thinking U.S.A.N. should be more aligned with the way we think down here. S. Spinello: It's different to write about a place where you live. You experience it firsthand and see how it changes. I'm interested to see how the poems from the Canadian and American poets differ (if they do). I want to see who directly praised Canada, or wrote about a specific landmark or feature. What approach they took, be it humorous, literary. . . W. Doreski: For Americans, Canada is a place that is both similar to and other than the U.S., and is sometimes a little more mysterious that we realize. Canada, for many Americans, remains a frontier, and now that we've used up our own frontier, we look to Canada to supply us with some notion of wilderness. W. Schubmehl: Well, if I'm extending the metaphor I started in answer to the previous question, it could be the difference between writing about a long marriage and a new love . . . each would have insights and experiences the other would not. S. Little: Being a skeptic, I have a hunch that many Americans will write about their belief that Canada has not participated in Bush's war. I think Canadians like to make fun of themselves, so there may be a lot of Canadian poems pertaining to our stereotypes ("eh?"), or maybe poems about our favorite pastime: hockey. C. Chandler: From my American-Canadian perspective, I know that Canadian identity is important in all art forms. P. Allen: I have no idea how Americans write about Canada. I can't say I've ever read a poem about the topic written by my charming neighbours to the south. I should confess I avoid writing poems about the U.S. (except as an enthusiastic sightseer), for a variety of reasons. For example—I would never write a poem about 9-11 or President Bush because I believe it would be rude. John Terpstra: One group would view the country from the inside, the other from the outside, on the simplest level. From the outside, I suspect it might be easy to fall prey to clichéd images and ideas of the other country. J. C. Goodman: I read recently that Canada was regarded as America's slow cousin. There are some Canadian poets, such as Nicole Brossard, Christian Bök and Erin Mouré who are more respected internationally than at home. Anyone basing their assessment of Canadian poetry on these internationally-known writers would assume that Canadian poetry was vibrant and experimental. These writers are, however, the exception rather than the rule. Mainstream Canadian poetry is much more conservative and reserved. Americans might also misapprehend that Canada is a bilingual country and that all Canadians are fluent in both English and French. Although some of Canada's most progressive writers have emerged from Québecois poetry, en français, they're virtually unknown in the rest of Canada. C. R. Cowtan: It's easy to see what two countries sharing the same continent might have in common. But the "inside" perspective requires an inside experience, and that is always the challenge when writing about a foreign culture. Rob Taylor: If I assume most people write like I do (which is probably a mistake), then the answer to this is easy. Everything I write is grounded in my home—it's both my source and my audience—and I am always writing from and to it. I've written two chapbooks of poetry on other countries, China and Ghana, and in both it proved unavoidable that I wrote not "Chinese" and "Ghanaian" poems, but "Canadian in China" and "Canadian in Ghana" poems. It would be dishonest to do anything but. Likewise, my assumption goes that Americans must write "American in Canada" poems, while Canadians write "Canadian" poems. I should be clear, though, that I don't mean Canadian writers write more authentically, or better, on Canada than American writers—far from it. Most "Canadian" poetry is god-awful. Eve Anthony Hanninen: Canadian residents (and Mukesh Williams), how would you say your particular geographical environment impacts your poetry? M. Wylie: I moved from an extreme climate (very hot) to another extreme climate (very cold). When writing, I find much of the time that the imagery I'm creating is an attempt at reconciling these extremes. It seems now, in Canada, I have imagistic contrasts in my writing that weren't there before. I'm not sure how long this will keep up, but for now, it's a novelty I don't mind being present in my writing. L. Strongin: Moving to Canada close to thirty years ago introduced me to many varieties of speech from the U.K.. I heard Scottish neighbors talk about "area carpets" not being replaced "even by two pensions." I learned the true kindness evident above the 49th, at least in this modest Victoria town which proves a microcosm of old Victorian England I wrote Poems of Immigration in which I caught my reflection in the mirror, a new glass, smoked, somewhat foreign with one green, one gray eye. I spoke a turned tongue. I felt, for a time and in a sense, like an orphan. It was as crucial to feel locked out as to feel taken in. We lived opposite Montreal on Lake Champlain during the end of World War II when I was five. I felt my destiny would be connected with that northern land opposite us, that steely yet magnetic light. The light drew me as much as anything corresponding to minimalism, an austerity in my spirit in love with music, poetry. I now can see myself as a mystical child with out-of-body intuitions. Polio re-enforced this, isolating me, deepening my vision. Canada was another step in this journey. Daunting, isolating, it hinged my vision. J. C. Goodman: Canada has always been a sort of cultural backwater, caught between British imperialist roots on one side and dominating American influence on the other. It wasn't until the late nineteen-sixties, with poets like Milton Acorn and Frank Davey, that Canadian poets began to write about a sense of connectedness with their own country. The two cultural influences of the U.K. and the U.S. continue to exert considerable influence on Canadian letters and because of this, some Canadian poets have sought to find a voice and expressive language that's uniquely Canadian, with mixed success. Locale is essential to Canadian poetry, even if the locale is carried around in the writer's head. While poetic themes may be universal, the particulars that fuel the imagery, seascapes, forests, mountains, rivers, lakes, all come from the locale. R. Taylor: That's like asking how the ball and bat impact a baseball game, isn't it? C. R. Cowtan: I rarely write about the developed areas of Canada. My gaze is always on the sky, the water, the earth. I was raised on a hunting and fishing resort by parents who could name the weeds and the wee creatures. My grandfathers had both lived in some of the heavier bush areas of Parry Sound and Algonquin. In the forest, my pen comes alive. J. Terpstra: On a visceral level. Heart and soul. M. Williams: The Indian subcontinent encompasses many countries and different ethnic groups. All the major religions are represented here. There is a unity in diversity, which may be forced at times but nonetheless exists in Sufi poetry and various syncretistic traditions of the past. These traditions still survive today and infuse poetry and poetic representations. E. A. Hanninen: As a visitor to or former resident of Canada, which parts of the varying Canadian landscape have impressed your perception of your current local environment, and how might both landscapes impact your poetry? S. Little: I am Canadian but also a permanent resident of the U.S., so I will try to answer as both. The geography near the Atlantic Ocean has a big impact on my writing and living in Iowa is certainly the extreme opposite of New Brunswick. These two extremes inspired me to write Sea Mourning. M. Engle: The natural beauty of Canada is spectacular. Coming from California, I am accustomed to overcrowding, so the sparsely-populated rural areas of Canada are especially appealing, a rare treasure in this modern, densely-populated world. J. T. Clark: Having just written a half dozen sonnets on the nearby Bronx River, I think viewing Lake Louise or the polar bears at Churchill, Manitoba, would serve to inspire me. S. Spinello: I found the Canadian landscape to be inspiring. The Bay of Fundy is one of my favorite places. The drastically changing tide is amazing. Canada has an incredibly diverse landscape and it's comforted me; a change of scenery can do wonders for the mind. It's a bit harder for me to embrace nature here in the U.S. There are some beautiful parts, though they've come to be more tourist attraction than gift from nature. D. E. Wilcox: The Canadian landscape impresses me as wilder and colder and emptier, though I realize that's a subjective view on my part and deals mostly with the western provinces. K. P. Gurney: If your question speaks only to geography, geography always impacts my poetry, whether I live in that geography or have only visited it. It stays with me. I still fondly remember, after many years, the Columbian Ice Fields and the westward mountains, as well as the inland passage between Vancouver Island and the mainland. Also, my time on P. E. I. and the Bay of Fundy, as well as visiting old family places in and near Quebec City, bring to mind good memories. The vast majesty of the land (both in Canada and the U.S.A.) gives me cause to see human civilization as a blight—the toxic mold on the bread. If your question is interpreted broadly with landscape meaning more than geography, the Canadian culture impresses me greatly. I view Canadians as much more civilized than Americans (we are barbarians with all our violence and me-me-me firstness). E. A. Hanninen: Do you feel your personal level of political patriotism consistently colors your poetry, or do you believe the textures and flavors of your writing to be typically global / universal? M. Engle: Much of my poetry is about Cuba, but hardly any is political. Universal images seem more natural. I am, however, intensely envious of Canada's normal relations with Cuba, allowing free travel and communications. J. T. Clark: I'm tenth-generation American and the colors of my political patriotism are red / white / blue, and only when I think those colors are fading or becoming tarnished does my poetry reflect my concern (like now). S. Spinello: I definitely have patriotism but, when you add the word "political" in front of it, it's a different story. I have strong feelings about our political system and our president. I'm ashamed, horrified and frightened. Because of these feelings, the war, the casualties, health care . . . when writing about politics, I tend to draw from the emotion our system evokes. The poems reflect my emotions and discontents. Those feelings are universal, although when they're directed at someone or something specific, they tend to lose their global appeal. D. E. Wilcox: I would say, paradoxically, both and more. I grew up in a conservative, pro-military Baptist family, and won my God and Country Award as a Boy Scout. On the other hand, my parents also deeply emphasized world concern and outreach. As a kid, I used to get autographs from globally-minded speakers, instead of American athletes. And later as a Quaker, and then a worker living in the Middle East, all these strands interwove into a universal tapestry. W. Schubmehl: That's a difficult question. Recently some of my poetry has been quite political, as I'm devastated by my country's current policies, and I've written some poems about current events, but most of what I write has global themes. War is war wherever and whenever it happens; people suffer all over the world from injustice, poverty, political upheaval, environmental destruction, the us-them construct, etc.. And then sometimes I write about beauty, which is a powerful antidote to the despair I often feel at the condition of the world. Natural beauty and the beauty of compassion give me hope. M. Wylie: I find my writing typically gears toward a global framework. However, having moved to Toronto specifically from the United States and finding myself, for the first time, an immigrant and a "minority," has caused me to reflect on these shifting perspectives. I imagine that in the upcoming years it will become more difficult not to have my writing colored by the "writer in exile" notion. Every writer knows that the idea of "exile," however pretentious it may be, is quite romantic (even if most won't admit to it). L. Strongin: Politically, I'm not an activist, but then, have never been a flag waver, either American or Canadian. Spiritually, I'm a nomad, and feel poets are moving increasingly towards a "world poetry" as a "world village" develops. P. Allen: As a "redneck" socialist, I can't believe those values don't peek out of my poetry on a regular basis. I'm also prone to writing poetry about my travels. Places like Gibraltar—Stonehenge—Lincoln City (Oregon)—Crater Lake—inspire me to colour my own roadmap with words. J. Terpstra: Patriotism is not a word that has a lot of currency in Canada. The country is as much an idea as a place. And the idea differs greatly from one end of the country to the other. My own writing, though often rooted in the immediate, doesn't usually stay there. C. R. Cowtan: I think my poetry is a form of patriotism, in that it allows me to share my experience as a Canadian with others. J. C. Goodman: Regionalism has always been a factor in Canadian poetry with the main writing centres in Montreal, Toronto and Vancouver. Lately Calgary and Ottawa have emerged with innovative writing communities and the East Coast writers have been gaining a stronger voice. R. Taylor: Being a poet is a political act: it means believing in small things. That's about as revolutionary as you can get these days, especially here in North America. Our countries, in general, are big, stupid and reckless, and I am ashamed of both. But the masses of people who inhabit them—all of us making small motions against big machines—are beautiful and inspiring. M. Williams: I think my poetry carries with it a pre-national past and a diasporic present; it's undoubtedly global in nature. K.L. Merrifield: What do you perceive are the essential differences—if any—between Canadian and American poetry? M. Engle: I'm most familiar with Canadian tanka and haiku poets. Since these forms are especially suited to universally shared experiences, any differences are minimized. K. P. Gurney: The only thing I've noted over the years of reading small and micro-press published works are that the Canadian poets have better command of the mechanics of writing: grammar, word usage, vocabulary. But the sample of Canadian poets I've read is small in comparison to the poets from the U.S.A., and I've read a rather large number of self-published chapbooks. W. Doreski: Canadian poets who write in English are more alert to contemporary British poetry—Geoffrey Hill, Peter Redmond, and so on. American poets look more to themselves and to non-English European poets. S. Little: I'm more well-read in American poetry, but the Canadian poems I like are ones that focus on Canada's wilderness. Not sure if there's much difference between Canadian and American Poetry, except for influences of regional geography. C. Chandler: Canadian poetry is lagging behind in the publication of formal, metrical poetry. This is an essential difference. It seems the revival hasn't arrived here yet! R. Taylor: Canadian poetry is far less readable. This makes the readable exceptions that much more satisfying. J. C. Goodman: The overall trend in American poetry has become more cerebral and impersonal in the last twenty years, while Canadian poetry is still largely confessional, recording little personal epiphanies. American poetry is more urban, whereas Canadian poetry is still firmly rooted in the landscape. P. Allen: Haven't noticed any to be honest. Are there differences? Please let me know . . . I'm intrigued! K. L. Merrifield: What do you perceive are the essential differences—if any—between Canada and the United States today? D. E. Wilcox: In my opinion, Canada is less "in-your-face" nationalistic, seems to be more "liberal" politically and socially. Canada seems more satisfied with being uniquely Canada, while America thinks it has to be number 1 among nations and constantly contrasts itself to them. Z. A. Jaimot: We "habla" a lot more than they these days. M. Engle: In California, we are plagued with all the troubles of a densely-populated nation, including poverty, violence, urban sprawl, and the destruction of wilderness. Canada, along with less densely-populated regions within the U.S., is blessed with a slower pace of destruction of natural areas. W. Schubmehl: The differences that come to mind first are political—the current Superpower ideology in the U.S., which gives the U.S. great influence, both for good and for devastation in the world. The history of the U.S.—the reasons for its existence, the founding principles, the fact that the U.S. fought a war to become independent of Britain, the huge influx of immigrants from all over the world, the Puritan influence, etc., all make the culture of the U.S. dynamic, paradoxical, rich, and problematic. Canada seems, to me, to be less volatile, maybe more homogeneous. It's also been more politically liberal (if culturally conservative) and less able or willing to use force to impose its will. Canada is also colder. That sounds funny, but I think weather does influence how people think and behave! The snowstorms and bitter temperatures of the Northeastern U.S., for example, require a kind of adaptability and fortitude that the mild climate of Southern California doesn't require. J. Harold Helsing: At this point the U.S. has more non-European immigrants affecting our culture. We've become less "English" in language, attitudes, and way of life than Canada is. Also, we're in the uneasy position of being a major world power, of being resented and hated when most ordinary Americans have only the best of intentions and feel powerless to restrain our government. I think world attitudes toward Canada are much friendlier. W. Doreski: The political differences are great, and yet Canada seems determined to destroy its environment almost with more evil vigor than the U.S. is applying to itself. Canada has health insurance, but it also has oil slurry, alas, and baby seals to club. K. P. Gurney: Canadians are more civil / civilized than folks from the U.S.A.. I believe they value education and intelligence more than we do. I like their quiet, unassuming manner. Example: When I've met the poor in Canada, I never got the feeling of "Poor White Trash" as often I do in the U.S.A.. They were well read, up on current events, etc.. S. Little: Things are just faster in the U.S.. There is much more of a "Keeping up with the Joneses" lifestyle here. Everyone seems to want it all and they want it without the work ethic that I grew up with back at home. M. Wylie: This is a question I explore quite often, especially since moving to Canada from the U.S.. As a writer, I'm perturbed that I cannot express the differences as well as I'd like. Also, my Canadian frame of reference is Toronto only. In general, it seems the "essential differences" between each country point out what, I believe, the other country needs. For example, the United States has a potent sense of identity that I don't see in Toronto. This is most likely the result of the type of multi-cultural experiment Toronto is engaged in. In Toronto, we have myriad communities trying to coexist rather than striving to create a strong sense of communal oneness. The U.S.'s tendency to remain a cultural monolith, to bank on that ideal oneness and leave it at that, also weakens it culturally, structurally, and certainly artistically. It's not as attractive a country for artists because of this. J. Terpstra: You are an empire, we are not. P. Allen: Canada is a better place to live. I believe our attitude towards a cultural patchwork rather than the melting pot philosophy creates more colourful diversity. Our social network is more encompassing, too. R. Taylor: Canadians are more willing to die anonymously, but only slightly. E. A. Hanninen: What is it about Canada that inspires you most? D. E. Wilcox: What inspires me most about Canada is that Canadians have a sense of patriotism but don't seem as ethnocentric as Americans. Z. A. Jaimot: Les Canadiens—their history of winning / excellence and great food in the "old-section" of Montreal. (Is the restaurant, La Marie, still around?) J. T. Clark: Its willingness to live in the shadow of the U.S.A. and think / behave independently. Vive la diffèrence! J. Harold Helsing: Natural beauty! W. Schubmehl: Its ability to be a peaceful nation. S. Little: The Atlantic Ocean, the Fundy coast, the trees, and the people. M. Wylie: Its progressiveness. Its vision. C. Chandler: That it is a peace-loving nation. J. Terpstra: The "inclusive community" idea of it. E. A. Hanninen: And what is it about Canada that inspires you least? Z. A. Jaimot: Canada's (particularly Montreal's) taxicab drivers—scary! J. T. Clark: Their slow, expensive mail system. M. Engle: I dread the "short" days of California's winter, and long to be in the tropics. So, Canada's short winter days are unimaginable. I would have to hibernate. J. Harold Helsing: When we visited the lake area, it looked to me as if many Indians we saw on the streets appeared defeated. When we visited the American Southwest, though there was still Indian poverty, it seemed the street vendors had more dignity and pride in their crafts. That small sample was perhaps too little to generalize from, but I felt at least some U.S. Indians lived in better conditions. W. Schubmehl: A certain political naiveté, the appealing but sometimes dangerous innocence. S. Little: Cannot think of a single thing! M. Wylie: That so many Canadians seem to define Canada by how "not-American" they are, rather than facilitate an identity that is . . . well, a bit more inspirational. C. Chandler: The long, cold winters. P. Allen: Canada is too godammed polite! It's equally guilty of racism etc., but it's practiced with subtlety. One of the things I admire most about Americans is that they're more prone to say what they think, rather than cast about for quiet intolerance. As a Westerner, I find the Quebec thing tedious, too. J. C. Goodman: The Conservative government, and the conservatism of the poetic establishment. J. Terpstra: The navel-gazing small-mindedness. M. Williams: Its somewhat racist attitudes towards many Asians, but I believe it is changing more rapidly now. K. L. Merrifield: How can poetry serve as a bridge of understanding between readers in Canada and the United States? J. T. Clark: Sometimes I think of Canada almost as a European country. Perhaps it's the allegiance-to-the-queen thing or those European cities in Quebec. Maybe, it's the socialistic outlook. But it's not a bad thing to have European influences. Perhaps if poets and philosophers in America were held in the high esteem that Europeans reserve for their poets, social justice down here would be a higher priority. The language of poets pushes the envelope. Maybe the Canadians have a note or two in that envelope for us. W. Schubmehl: Poetry has that power, always, to deepen understanding of the planet and its inhabitants. My understanding of Canada is still largely "myth-based," as I haven't had a great deal of experience being there. I know that Canadians cannot help but have stereotypical opinions of U.S. citizens, either. Poetry can be a means of discovering and celebrating commonalities —and learning from each other. D. E. Wilcox: Hopefully poetry can emphasize the universality of true humanity—poems without borders, but part of a verbal, impressionistic wholeness where the concrete details of each country leads readers to contemplate God and others. Whoa, that sounds a bit too highfalutin! Maybe it's better to say that hopefully poems from Canada and America can slay the political beast and birth many lovers. W. Doreski: Poetry can't link people en masse, but it can alert individuals to worlds they haven't yet experienced or sufficiently observed. Polish poetry alerted many Americans to the realities of central European life that the news organizations didn't, couldn't, or wouldn't. Z. A. Jaimot: Bridges have a habit of "falling-down" sometimes—how about, rather, a passive infection or inoculation of thought / realization being that we can "share" a common language? K. P. Gurney: Poetry, as a category of the Arts, always serves as a bridge of understanding between cultures. It has been so for all of time. The arts are the expression of the culture—both the good and the bad. The Arts engage the mind. M. Wylie: There are many answers we could provide for this question, but initially I think of its landscape, of North American history in general, of what the U.S. and Canada are as "Western" entities. We are such young countries aren't we? How much poetry we have yet to create from this soil, the sand, the snow banks, the pine trees, the waters, the expanse and breadth of our land. C. Chandler: If the poetry is related to identities and ideologies, perhaps it can. Otherwise, poetry with universal themes and no clear-cut boundaries will do as they always do—serve as a bridge of understanding, not only between readers in Canada and the U.S., but among readers of all nations. P. Allen: Does it have to? Do we need bridges? Do Americans need to understand Canadians better? I kind of prefer being an enigma to them, to be honest. J. C. Goodman: First, people have to learn how to read. In an online discussion of Erin Mouré's poetry, one of the panelists took issue with her obscurity, "SAY WHAT YOU MEAN," he shouts. This is the problem with conservative critics; they assume their way of reading is correct and that the poem is wrong. It doesn't occur to them that they may have to revise their way of reading and understanding. In order to appreciate poets such as Erin Mouré, you have to learn a new way of reading, one that incorporates obscurity and derives meaning from it. If we learn to read the poetries of other cultures, it will go a long way to promoting international understanding. J. Terpstra: Don't know. People would have to buy the stuff for it to have any bridgelike effect, wouldn't they? M. Williams: The landscape is common and much of the pre- and colonial history is common. All those aspects can be pulled out to incorporate the other. K. L. Merrifield: Canadian residents (and Mukesh Williams), what was the most surprising insight you had about your "homeland" in the process of participating in this special issue of The Centrifugal Eye? C. Chandler: Again, I will answer as a "Canadian." The most striking, though not at all surprising, insight I had about my "homeland" while participating in this issue is that I have only one homeland. And although I've spent the last 36 years in Canada, every time I cross the border into the U.S., I feel physically more "me." Some kind of veil is lifted. Even the air smells different. For despite all its faults, the U.S.A. is my homeland, for that is where my heart is. M. Wylie: That I had one (a homeland). When you grow up American, especially in the South, you begin to take for granted exactly what it is that you belong to, as a citizen, a poet, an individual. Writing about the experience of leaving "my homeland," and entering into another country not only made me more aware of what my national identity truly is (whether I like it or not), but it also caused me to reflect on what my ancestral countrymen and women must have gone through psychologically, emotionally, even physically when first coming to the continent. In short, it has shown me that my poetic lexicon has more depth than it previously did simply because of the experience. J. C. Goodman: The thing about Newfoundland is that the people want to live here. In every other part of the country I have lived (such as B.C. and Ontario), the majority of the people were just there; it was just a place to live, a place to work. But Newfoundlanders love the uniqueness of their island, their culture, their history, their music. It's a very special place to be. P. Allen: As our sestina was already written, this response will be in retrospect, and what intrigued me the most was how hard it was to differentiate between my lines and J. R. MacLean's. I was delighted to discover how, despite different genders and locales, we fell in step with no trouble. M. Williams: Much of our written history, especially academic history is just about 200 years old. The flavor of the past, the imaginings of our origins, bring to life a homeland unencumbered by modern political and national boundaries. We cannot escape the nation state because we may not have a better modular form of government that unites us; but recently the E.U. is showing us the way. K. L. Merrifield: American residents, what was the greatest lesson learned or insight gained about Canada in the process of participating in this special issue of The Centrifugal Eye? M. Engle: This interview offers a lesson about seeking common ground. The editors' questions point out a desire for mutual understanding. D. E. Wilcox: I suppose it was the usual lesson one learns when thinking sincerely about another country—that despite being well-read and reflective, so many of my images of Canada were rather superficial, clichéd. I'd recently finished an academic book on the Seven Years War and had been astonished that, in a number of ways, "we" were the bad guys in the conflict, not Canada. J. Harold Helsing: I'm not sure it was a new insight, but I realized again how little people in the U.S. know about Canada. W. Doreski: Maybe it would be easier to answer after reading the whole issue. But, going through my unpublished work and seeing how often the subject of Canada came up reminded me that Canada often comes to my landscape-oriented mind. Sometimes I think we in northern New England have more in common with much of Canada (especially Nova Scotia and New Brunswick) than with the bulk of the U.S.A.. E. A. Hanninen: Out of curiosity over cultural perspectives, as a final question, I'd like to ask which Canadian poet, past or contemporary, do you think of as quintessentially Canadian, and why? S. Little: Margaret Atwood: Her writing has focused a lot on Canadian wilderness. OK, and I have to say Stompin' Tom Connors! Not technically a poet but as Canadian as they come! W. Schubmehl: Probably Margaret Atwood. She just has, to me, that Canadian ethos—a blend of stiff-upper-lip, fire-underneath stuff. Z. A. Jaimot: Margaret Atwood—even though "partially-educated" at the then "women's college" (Radcliffe) at Harvard in Cambridge, MA. Her books / poems always had a special "CANADA" feel to them, especially Two-Headed Poems and The Animals in That Country. D. E. Wilcox: I don't have the literary awareness to answer. My new project for this fall is to become familiar with modern Canadian poets, to stop being such an American provincial. M. Engle: Canadian haiku and tanka poets Kozue Uzawa, Angela Leuck, and George Swede come to mind. I don't know whether they are quintessentially Canadian, but they are excellent poets, known within international haiku and tanka communities. J. Harold Helsing: Unfortunately, I'm not familiar with Canadian poets. But I would like to learn more and see more cross-reading in both countries. C. Chandler: Louis Dudek. Because he continued to write poetry despite the fact that "He was often discouraged by poetry's invisibility in contemporary Canadian society (".001 per cent read poetry, / 200 out of 20 million"); but for all the times later in life when he confidently claimed to have written his last book, he never gave up writing poetry, nor abandoned belief in its efficacy." (Interview with Bruce Whiteman, 2001, Literary Montreal.) P. Allen: Easy! Thanks for this question especially! The poet is E. Pauline Johnson and my favourite poem of hers, The Lost Lagoon is about Lost Lagoon in Stanley Park, Vancouver, B.C. J. Terpstra: Don McKay: Wise, intellectual, but not overly-so. Very tied to nature. Funny. R. Taylor: Jesus, if anyone says anyone other than Al Purdy they should be smacked. Why? Transient, A Handful of Earth, The Country North of Belleville, etc. J. C. Goodman: I don't know if there's a typically Canadian poet, but I think there's a typical Canadian poetic form. Canadian poetry is predominantly didactic; it tells a little story that ends with a punch line, moral or personal insight. The poetry is mainly free verse, hugs the left margin, has lines of more or less regular length, and is often divided into equal-line stanzas. There is usually some nature imagery involved and the subject matter tends to be about daily events or memories of childhood from which the poet has learned something. Eighty percent of Canadian poetry follows this form—but the other twenty percent is really worth reading! May I recommend a book? Open Field: 30 Contemporary Canadian Poets gives an interesting introduction to today's Canadian poetry, ranging from conservative poets such as Lorna Crozier, to avant-garde poets such as Nicole Brossard. M. Williams: Leonard Cohen—he brings together poetry, songs and a Buddhist perspective.

Contemporary Poetry With An Eye Towards Resistance


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