Manuscript approved by Ekstasis Editions
Argentina Two, Uruguay Too, Cuba Tambien.
A fine editor has agreed to work with me – Annette LeBox – she’s not looking for more such work. đ
Here is the photo I hope to have on the cover of ARGENTINA TWO, URUGUAY TOO, CUBA TAMBIEN.
I say that’s how we looked after 6 months of buffet restaurants in Argentina.
On Friday. My 75th birthday. Rev Meg was wonderful. In and out. Two witnesses allowed. âFlower peopleâ later with champagne. Chocolate cake.
With three reasons, our dining table is half-full of flowers. đ
Charlie Henry Workman (1897-1976) ~ The Unspoken is a memoir that reports on the circumstances of the Charlie Henry Workmanâs immigration to Canada as an orphan in the British âhome childrenâ program of the early twentieth century. Not well historicized and for many years âunspokenâ, the practice of sending orphans to Canada once served as a source for child labour for settler farmers. Louann combines her accounts with two poems which evocatively honour his story and life.
Franci Louann describes and reads from The Unspoken in THIS VIDEO that was recorded at a Reading the Migration Library event during Art Book Month, on October 8, 2020.
$24.95: Available from http://www.ekstasiseditions.com.
Vancouver stores: Renaissance Books (604) 525-4566, New Westminster; and Western Sky Books (604) 461-5602; Port Coquitlam. Call before going to check that my book is in stock.
Reviews:
Franci Louannâs Argentina poesĂa is a travel diary transformed by kaleidoscopic language. From the very ďŹrst page, Argentina bursts into life in poems dripping with colours, fragrances, sensations. If you have not travelled to this vast country, these poems will take you there. î˘e swirl of words, intense and provocative, is mitigated with peals of laughter, ironic reďŹections, and gentle aďŹrmations. To be sure, Louannâs Argentina, where theî and muggings are just around the corner, is not a perfect place. Yet joyous friendship, little kindnesses, good food and conversation, light up each poem. In Louannâs trenchant poetic universe, living is not reasoned into place: it simply is.
âRobert Martens, poet, writer, editor;
little creatures, Hush, city of beasts (Ekstasis)
Franci Louannâs book captures the unique and sensuous qualities of Argentina and its cities. It gives the reader the view of an outsider looking through eyes of love â personal and cultural â but clear-sighted about dark political histories and present complexities, and the diďŹculties gaining knowledge of how to live in a new land. In Louannâs poetry, we hear the music, taste the wine, read the authors, and enjoy the artists and architects of this place, while we take up residence and wander its streets, grand and humble.
âAdrienne Drobnies, Salt and Ashes (Signature Editions) Gwendolyn MacEwen Award
Franci Louannâs love of Spanish and the locales in and around Buenos Aires raises this collection to the status of a âpalo borracho, a tree full of giant ďŹowers.â With leitmotifs of wine, street life, and relationships from a song that grows bilingually, Argentina poesĂa explores what makes up the patterns of our heartbeats. Rarely does a book so perfectly capture and express its authorâs growing worldview. By the end of the book, aîer weâve read poems written in both English and Spanish, we see how it is that someone can write the script for their dreams and how âat the orchid store they are ďŹlling a taxi with ďŹowers.â
âKevin Spenst, author, poet, teacher;
Hearts Amok: a memoir in verse (Anvil Press)
Sample poem:
PALERMO, I LOVE THAT NAME, PALERMO
I remember a Sunday
with family, after pizza
Bosques de Palermo
the Palermo Woods
Lagos de Palermo
three lakes
the zoo
botanical and Japanese gardens
we have photos
against gnarled and
sprawling trees
the lungs of Buenos Aires
âFranci Louann, from Argentina poesĂa
Ekstasis Editions 2020
Here is my Dad’s story. He was a British Home Child. There are two short poems “wrapped up” within the essay chapbook. (Chapbook essay?) Hope you can make the time (& that this link will work on my blog). Cheers.
First, here are photos of me doing some readings. (Sorry about the layout here. Oh, it’s better at the bottom. I’ll leave those there instead. Duh. )
Honing my craft as a poet was always important, since my English class in first year Dental Hygiene at the University of Toronto. I had submitted a (probably pathetic) ballad-style poem to her (no one seems to remember her name) and she gave me this advice.
POEM FOR MY ENGLISH PROFESSOR WHO SAID, WHEN YOU WRITE POETRY, ASK EVERY WORD WHAT ITâS DOING THERE; IF IT DOESNâT HAVE A DAMNED GOOD REASON, LEAVE IT OUT!
thanks
This is one of my shortest poems, and definitely my longest title. With it, I came 4th in the 1st round of a Poetry Slam at CafĂŠ Deux Soleils on June 7, 2010 (Momâs birthday). In the 2nd round, I maintained my 4th place with âTHE THREE Rs OF POETRYâ. Â Got a prize. There is/was a Poetic Justice/Facebook/YouTube video of me/this poem, also one at LitFest, along with other tiny poems.
There I am, still preferring to âshoutâ my titles. In full capital letters, bolded even. Almost all of them. Do other poets vary how they create their titles? I know it might depend on the publicationâs guidelines. Iâd like for my titles to be different from the texts of the poems, in some ways. Maybe my titles have been distracting or annoying for some judges or editors. How best not to distract or annoy? Iâll stop bolding them.
I still like Arial font, for its simplicity. Why use a serif, when a non-serif letter will do? Well, Calvin Wharton told me why, and he was a typesetter. If you type the word âillâ, for example, with a capital âIâ â âIllâ is hard to read. (Is that first letter really wider?)
These days, while Iâm rewriting, Iâm asking lots of punctuation what itâs doing there.
For decades I was not using periods in my poems. Now Iâm still embracing a ânew kind of narrativeâ, which I see/hear is popular. Whoâd have thought that I might find periods ârefreshingâ, along with some capital where appropriate?
Incredibly, while at Douglas College studying poetry (Introduction in 2011 with Liz Bachinsky, Advanced in 2015 with Calvin Wharton) I did not question their âGPSâ (Grammar, Punctuation and Spelling) rule as applied to poetry. Perhaps my sarcasm (or subtle passive-aggressiveness) was not recognized when I produced my Perfectly Punctuated Poetry Portfolio as a chapbook at the end of the first course. Such a publication was not required till the end of the second course. It was halfway through that term that I realized that they meant to have different ârulesâ for poetry. Perhaps that syllabus has been rewritten.
These days Iâm not banning periods. But I am removing many ellipses, some of which have been used improperly, I confess. They are âthree periodsâ each.
Iâm also deleting many of my âlong, sexy em dashesâ, of which I have been quite fond.
After all, I am not Emily Dickinson, though I admire her work greatly. Her very long (hand-written) dashes went sometimes up and other times down. She was light years ahead of her time and maybe even ahead of us now. We still donât have symbols on our keyboards for her dashes. âForward slashâ and backward slashâ just wonât do.
Yes, Iâm removing exclamation marks, those âscreamersâ. Thank you, my friends.
And Iâve been removing lots of white space, where Iâve had three or five spaces. Most times Iâm adding a comma instead. Horrors? I do resist having commas dangle on the ends of lines. That use of white space seems to be enough. Commas? (We poets do still need to sweat over those?)
What about self-publications? Our little chapbooks. Iâve made quite a few. I plan to purchase one of those long staplers so I can do more myself. Or maybe Iâll let Bryan at Royal City Mail do more of the work. Or maybe Iâll never ever self-publish again. There were so few copies made, perhaps they shouldnât count at all. Perhaps Iâll consider those to be early drafts of submissions to publishers, and rethink them a lot.
I give publishing credits on the same pages as my single poems, as a way of tracking. Also, this year, I have started a spreadsheet. (Oh, Franci, Donât forget that spreadsheet. I need to learn how to add more lines and columns, as insertions.) But, with these little works with manuscripts made and a few given away or sold, how to be honest about whether these have been self-âpublishedâ, and where? Should I search for each poem title, before making a submission? Perhaps I should consult with my mentors at Douglas College about that.
What do you think? Have you written about your own style of poetics and how it might be changing? When you make a submission, do you consider the style of the poetry judge, or the editor? It seems that many poems could be adapted to other styles. Would you say something about the style in the keywords?
Do you use keywords? I have always signed my single poem files with my name, my email address, and the date the poem was typed in. One summer I started adding keywords to all my poems. That took months. Another ruse to avoid submissions? I did claim to have submission-phobia. Friends expressed surprise and were supportive. That helped for a while.
Also Iâve claimed to have my-own-blog-phobia. But, here we are again, just not as soon as planned. This post is in aid of, or in homage to, Poetry Month – April. It is likely that Iâve mentioned poetry every day this month on Facebook.
Facebook is my blah, blah, blog? What do you think?
It is as though I have stepped into a magazine article. I ask Susana, in my limited castellano (Argentine Spanish, Castilian), and I learn that none has been written. Immediately I have permission to use my camera. Iâve kept thirty-four photos and could have taken many more. (The blog story will continue below these photos.)
Susana is artistic (an understatement) and the home she has built with Jorge is Rusticana. First they built a quincho, meant to be a small house behind a larger one. Susanâs father had helped to clear the lot, with a big saw which now hangs behind their outdoor âporchâ table.
Perhaps it was Susanâs decorating (and building) skills that had her & Jorge fall in love with this one-bedroom house. They decided to stay here.
Reclaimed wood is used for cupboards, doors, counters, kitchen bar, tables and triangular foot stools with stretched (goat?) hides. An old treadle sewing machine has become the base for the bathroom sink. The kitchen has several different ovens and a fireplace. Her pottery and tile work appear here and there. Wooden fruit boxes hold books above and around the computer, while four people could sit on the large dark wooden trunks. Susan did all of this in five years.
In the centre of the living room is a huge square table with two chairs on each side. Twelve people could be seated here.
So many photos and still I donât have the railway tie used for a doorsill, the clock made from a burl, the indoor glass shower, the outdoor shower (which, yes, also has hot water), and the interior of the tool shed. I got a peek at the latter â it was amazingly well-organized. Susanaâs âofficeâ, no doubt.
In front of this adorable cottage (after the outdoor shower and the tool shed) we find an outdoor kitchen on a long porch, complete with a sink with running water, a high bar with stools, two stoves, a stereo and a dining table with chairs. One of the stoves is a small antique functioning wood stove complete with a reservoir for heating water. I expect that this oven had just been used to bake our âblack sugarâ cookies.
Weâve all heard about Susanaâs latest project â el horno, the oven â an outdoor wood-burning oven. A friend built the walls and Susana applied the clay covering. It uses gas as well, when more heat is needed to finish the cooking process. A thermometer gauge is imbedded in the front wall. They got the plan off the internet. (I thought that maybe Jorge had built the walls, but my partner assures me that Jorge âcouldnât hammer a nailâ. Jorge is absolutely charming and I was pleased to learn that he watches a movie every day on Netflix. This was his reply, when I said I was going to one movie a week in La Plata.)
So with this fabulous wood-burning oven that had just been built, I expected that the amazing aromas were coming from pizza. We were presented with plates full of roast beef, stuffed with ham and cheese and laiden with herbs fresh from their garden. There were roasted red peppers with regular and sweet potatoes, drizzled with a cheese (and some green veggie) salsa. Rosemary and garlic predominated. When my plate arrived, I exclaimed âYo estoy muerte y en cieloâ, meaning (I hoped) âI have died and am in heavenâ. As usual, Susana seemed to understand what I said and was pleased.
We had beer and wine, and more available on the outdoor bar. Also on the table and from their garden were preserved eggplant (which we enjoy as table service at Portofino Restobar, our regular hangout near our apartment in La Plata), and long yellow peppers. (The latter were too hot for me.)
Later, along with the homemade black sugar cookies, we enjoyed masas finas (small sweet pastries) which Natalina had purchased that morning. Susan provided a fine herb tea (again from their plants) in a beautiful glass tea pot with an infuser.
The afternoon was a celebration for another Susana, who was leaving for Australia the next day. There she is spending April with her daughter and family. âThe Two Susanasâ are a bit famous around Villa Elisa. Susana One, the artist, was Enriqueâs first wife. (Their daughter is Natalia.) Susana Two, the traveler, is Enriqueâs partner now. With Jorge, they are frequently partying together. We had met them at bar-b-qs at Enriqueâs. Just the week before this glorious Saturday afternoon, Susana and Jorge had brought whole wheat miga sandwiches to a pizza dinner at Natalinaâs. (Natalina is Enriqueâs mother and my partner JosĂŠâs sister. Natalia is Natalinaâs granddaughter.) Sadly, Iâve missed a photo of Ruben, Susana Oneâs handsome brother, who left early.
If fairies do exist, Iâm sure some of them have chosen to live in this enchanted garden near City Bell, in the province of Buenos Aires in Argentina.
Duh, it has been more than 3 months since my last entry. Let’s start easily. Some of you may have read this. (More “news” soon.)Â WOW & Whew! That worked well. My birthday pictures.
BIRTHDAY REPORT, MARCH 2017 â FIESTA LATINA, ARGENTINA
We took the bus to Villa Elisa â ½ hour, see poem. I’ll delete line breaks to save space.
SCENES FROM VILLA ELISA
those birds sing  so earnestly  at 4 a.m.
guests for lunch  sisters long separate  peace lilies in a vase
this long green beak  piercing eyes of indigo  orange crown flashing
this bird-of-paradise  this bloom
against grey sky  jacaranda purple  more royal than ever
as we say goodnight  on the sidewalk  two snails kiss
Franci Louann  November 2007
Second Prize, Kisses and Popsicles Contest 2009, www.pandorascollective.com
Sent with 2nd set of three poems when deadline was extended.
Published in the Royal City Poets anthology 2012 (Silver Bow Publishing)
Gee, Iâd forgotten â I have translated that one into Spanish/castellano.
I felt we could count on Natalinaâs family for a good fiesta. I suggested El Boyo restaurant, just across the plaza. Natalia/Naty/Nati? reserved a table for six, for the 8-30 setting. Her dad Enrique and his partner Susana would join us.
Natalina and JosĂŠ prepared lunch for us three. They were cutting a very long piece of beef. Some went to the freezer. Our steaks were grilled on top of the stove. The meat was extraordinarily tender. I asked what cut it was. Lomo, tenderloin, filet mignon! We had enough for seconds. This was served with roasted potatoes and carrots and mixed salad, both with basil, my favourite addition. I felt loved.
By the way, when Natalina or Carmen prepare a meal, Iâm usually so overwhelmed, I forget to take a picture. So I have a photo halfway through Natalinaâs lunch for me. Yes, of the second serving of lomo.
At El Boyo I ordered pasta â ravioli stuffed with ricotta and spinach. The sauce was crema with ham and mushrooms. For âappetizersâ, someone had ordered deep-fried calamari (there were gorgeous big succulent pieces) and French fries. Stella Artois and Lopez Malbec were our beverages (with water for Natalina).
Susana tipped off the waiter and a tall slice of ice cream cake appeared with a candle for me, when we were done. As people clapped and sang, I got three wishes. (I was thankful that we shared that dessert.)
After dinner, we went back to Natalinaâs, where I knew there was a cake in the fridge. It was a huge package that had arrived that afternoon. I was pleased to see that a tall candle was responsible for its height. This was a meringue and raspberry cake with dulce de leche filling, served with cider in tall celebratory glasses. Delicious.
We overnighted with Natalinaâs âSheraton treatmentâ – she even irons her sheets. For breakfast I enjoyed the rest of my pasta and another piece of birthday cake, before we returned to La Plata.
I LOVE LA PLATA
me gusta La Plata  me encanta La Plata  I love La Plata
with its plazas  its trees, el verde, the green                                Â
      linden trees  tilia  la ciudad de los tilos  city of linden blossoms
streets are numbered  avenidas wider
      las diagonales  mas misteriosas  the diagonals, more mysterious
the locals know  walking the diagonals  saves time;
we foreigners  are cautious
      la ciudad de las diagonales  city of diagonals
Plaza Moreno is central  the largest, longer
with its giant cathedral  Italian style  built a century before
Museo de La Plata  dinosaurs from Patagonia
some of worldâs best natural history  since 1888
me encanta  La Plata
      Franci Louann  December 22, 2011
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_Plata
Last year my age was evenly divisible by both five and ten. I like to celebrate those days in style, but we just couldnât do it, as weâd had a death in the family. My sister Mariannâs partner of twenty-five years, Lloyd, had died the year before. Lloyd and I were born in the same year. We had celebrated many birthdays together. He had been generous.
So this year I wanted a âFiesta Latinaâ and thatâs what we had. Last year was a good year for me. I liked being that age.
Mariann and I are close in age. Next summer, July 16th, she will have that same âevenly divisible by tenâ birthday. I hope that we will be able to celebrate in style.
Franci Louann    March 10, 2017
THE 50th BIRTHDAY PARTY – remembered, cinquains
at my fiftieth  spontaneously I invite  everyone born in my year
to join me in an unrehearsed  cancan / chorus line dance
one man, one woman and myself;
I forgot  they both have  âhip issuesââ  I donât mean trendy
this is a touch of mortality  not to be confused  with morbidity
encouraging  humility
Franci Louann  March 29, 2007
Here we are in La Boca, where the tango was born.
SCENES FROM BUENOS AIRES
the airport crowdâfamiliar faces surprise us;
our driver, eyes blue-green as a rare lake
spring in Buenos Aires, some cherry blossoms, will there be more?
Recoleta, the artists´ market, our first souvenirs
at Florida and Lavalle the music entrancesâwhy your smile across the crowd?
later, my camera gone
at the internet cafĂŠ, a power failure, my dos pesos refused;
confusion at the bank machineâa man asks, are six hundred pesos ours?
a kiss on CĂłrdobaâyoung lovers, spring afternoon;
rainy day on CĂłrdobaâthat red shirtâhalf-price? no
Mother´s Day    a young man sleeps in a doorway
at the orchid store, they are filling a taxi with flowers
Avenida de Nueve de Julio  ninth of July, Independence Day;
worldâs widest streetâstrong wind at kioskâwe all pick up post cards
Monument for the Victims of Terrorism by the State
by the wide brown river, where some disappeared
two red umbrellas at Nueve de Julioâwe need two green lights to cross;
long hair before usâebony, brunette and blondeâa âshampoo commercialâ
jacaranda blossomsâtiny purple trumpets blanket plazas
pigeons hide in dark branches
narrow sidewalksâwalking is like the tango
would lessons help?
Franci Louann  October 2007 – March 2008
Argentina  travel  nature  trees   flowers
Argentinaâs independence was won on July 9, 1816.
Honourable Mention Kisses and Popsicles (spring) contest 2009,
Sent with 2nd set of three poems, when deadline was extended.
Mary, in every nativity scene, wears a hijab. Well, maybe it is technically a âveilâ. Women have had to wear head-covering in churches until 1981, sometimes just black lace. I remember school day tours of cathedrals, when we were required to put even just a âKleenexâ on our heads to show appropriate respect.
Recently a friend was purchasing Christmas ornaments for a tree for the Domestic Violence Response Team. Different colours were packed together. She decided to get purple and silver, âtheir coloursâ. A couple were standing there in front of the tall stack of decorations. The woman, who was wearing a hijab, asked my friend (in perfect English) why she had chosen those colours. That woman went on to explain that this was their first Christmas in Canada. A Christian couple had given them a tree and they wanted to decorate it, without offending those friends. They wondered what colours they should select. My friend said that they should choose the colours they liked best – that this is what Christmas is all about. The woman smiled, reached up and took a package of turquoise and silver balls.
This is a true story. Josie just told it at our Century House Association chairpersonsâ meeting. I gave her a standing ovation and a hug afterwards. I think it would be good for our whole country if this story could be shared from coast to coast to coast. (Some new immigrants are going ânorthâ, yes?)
A funny but sort of sad comment to finish is, in my rush to share a moving story, I misspelled “hijab”. This proves that I probably hadn’t even said it aloud. (I often say, about most words – if you can say it, you can spell it.) I need to pay attention and practice Arab words.
