it astonishes me

the young poets who come to my door

they are hip and tragic

and generally poorly read

they come to my door

looking for something I don't have

if I had answers i'd have used them

 

 

michael dennis

from stealing from bukowski

Michael Dennis is standing on a corner in the Byward Market.

It's an early morning in late March and Ashley Wright of CBO

Morning is holding a microphone to his face in preparation for a

live broadcast. CBO has asked Dennis to create a poem that will

herald the arrival, albeit the late arrival, of Spring. The subzero

temperatures seem to defeat the purpose of the broadcast as

gusts of wind whip around the players in a frenzy.

Dennis is not fazed. As one of Ottawa's most visible contemporary writers,

he has risen to the challenge. Like a lot of writers, his work does not garner

a huge income or the trappings that go with it. Like a lot of writers, he has

made the kind of sacrifices that make others shiver in the cold. Ask him for a

reading, or commission him to write something, and he's happy to oblige.

winter, for all its mirthful snow, is a mean bastard of a thing

and we are thankful to see it go

 

 

michael dennis

from spring

After the broadcast, Dennis heads off to the Canada Council Art Bank for a

day of work installing art, one of the few days of work he will manage to

land this week. His labours provide a sketchy income; but it can also be his

muse. While hauling paintings from a warehouse onto a truck, then through

a loading dock to the lobby of a corporation, Dennis engages in an endless

dialogue with all who cross his path. His is inordinately polite - a trait

which people find surprising and quirky - and observant of his colleagues.

This is old-fashioned politeness, sentences prefaced with "sirs" and

"ma'ams." From security guards bantering about the weather, to office

workers admiring the art being installed, Dennis responds to their comments

in kind, while absorbing each moment for possible use later on in a poem.

As an art technician, Dennis finds solace in the precision that the job

demands; measuring a work of art across the back, installing the hangers

just so, ensuring the client is pleased with the result - all contribute to a

demeanor which is rare in the life of a poet. Poets have often been accused

of powerful egos. It's not that Dennis doesn't have one - he must have, to

have ploughed along this far with an unwavering faith in his own abilities -

its just that his ego sometimes gets buried by other peoples' experience.

the young boy got no older

and we cannot begin to bear

our imagined memories

of his last hour

.....

it is a cruel life

more for some than others

our only hope

is time

 

michael dennis

from the young boy got no older

Many of his poems are reflections of the grief that others have survived.

Much of his work is about survival itself. Montreal writer Yann Martel

reflects on the sheer honesty in Dennis' work, the sense of survival that

pervades much of the verse. "Every day, he creates some small objects of

beauty. You can't write about living in the gutter until you've done it." While

interviewing Dennis, it comes out that a poem he wrote in the third person is

actually a self-portrait. It's one of his most powerful, dealing with the

painful death of his mother from cancer. But this is not a wallow-in-your-

pain kind of poem. Rather it is a sweet tribute to events which bring back

the emotions of dealing with death which have resurfaced as Dennis is

installing art in a cancer clinic. "You" and "him" can sometimes be

translated to mean "I". "You" is the eternal everyman." says Dennis.

as you carefully measure

distances between nails

checking to make sure

that everything is level

you overhear

hairless conversations

about chemotherapy

and morphine pumps

 

michael dennis

from carefully measured

Dennis has passed the manuscript for his next book, this day full of promise,

to a select group of friends. "Michael's work is about a sharing of

experience," says Yann Martel. "It lets you in on how he sees the world." Of

the new work, artist and writer Dennis Tourbin, who has known Dennis

since his early days as a student in Peterborough, says: "This is a book

about powerful love in all of its dark and mysterious forms."

Dennis has a bet with a friend who has recently become separated. Dennis

bets that, within a year, the friend will be in a new relationship. The friend

bets otherwise. It started as a one-year bet, but has been extended to ten

years. If, within ten years, the friend is attached, the friend treats them both

to dinner. If the reverse comes to pass, Dennis buys.

His interest in the love lives of others plays heavily into his current work.

One series of poems is based on the life of a young artist whose studio is

situated close to the apartment Dennis shares with his wife, Kirsty. As the

artist bounds through the kind of romantic alliances enjoyed by the young

and beautiful, Dennis follows along. Aware of the perks that go with

possessing raw beauty, the poems are tinted with envy - but tempered with

reverence. The artist is to remain anonymous in all of this(he is known only

as "D"), but those close to Dennis know him despite his identity being

couched within the actual poems.

i spoke to D. this morning

he was happy, exhausted

his newest flame is a dancer

he told me

that she was very limber

of course

being a gentleman

he would say no more

michael dennis

from the bachelor poems

 

"D" himself is amused by Dennis' interpretation of his romantic pursuits. Of

the bachelor poems, "D" says: "He's dating vicariously. He can't fool around

anymore." "D" also relates Dennis' wife saying "I know you wish you could

have "D's" life."

As almost any writer will attest, inspiration comes from passion. Dennis'

relationship with his wife, ever evolving, has sparked many series of poems,

many of them graphically sexual. These works are inspired by the most

powerful of Dennis' experiences, but are the least strong among his

writings. Perhaps translating the passion is the hurdle - where Dennis is

able to withdraw from other situations and review them from a distance to

create moving portraits of people and events, his relationship with the most

important person in his life has not resulted in the best of his work. But as

he publishes further volumes, the love poems round out the experience of

reading Dennis - we are invited into each facet of his life, where nothing is

hidden.

Growing up in an economically deprived, less than stable environment in

smalltown Ontario leads to two roads: one heads off in the direction of

continuum: stay there, maybe get a decent job, settle down, and ignore

external forces. The other is more risky: follow your bliss to the unknown.

Dennis chose the latter. His early years were rife with chaos - he attended

fourteen schools before graduating from high school - and could have easily

have stayed put. But he saw beyond the fence, and wanted some of what

was on the other side. His salvation was books: as soon as he could read, he

consumed everything he could find. The schools he attended lacked

libraries, and there was no books at home. His family grew up in subsidized

housing projects. Dennis figures that, among his neighbours, one in forty

attended university. It was clear that he, too, was an anomaly.

Dennis is a born optimist, a trait he inherited from a mother who was driven

by poverty to keep an immaculate house. Although sparse, their living

conditions were as pristine as she could make them. "People either made

the best of it," says Dennis, "or their houses were disasters." His mother

never attended high school, in spite of being awarded a scholarship.

Motherhood intervened - she gave birth to Dennis when she was sixteen -

and she always regretted the loss. Her first marriage ended after the birth

of Dennis' sister, and the family broke up, with the children bouncing from

one relative to another for many of the next several years. The early

experiences have all appeared in his work, in one form or another. Writer

Stuart Ross agrees that Dennis' optimism is crucial to his work: "He can turn

anything into a poem. He's understated, and devoid of pretension and

artifice. He finds kernels of hope and beauty in ugly things."

A story Dennis relates about his mother sums up the spit and vinegar that

kept her going. His sister invited a new boyfriend for dinner. It would be the

first time the boyfriend met the family. He arrived late, having played a

baseball game that went into extra innings. As he walked through the door,

Dennis' mother threw a baseball at his head, missing by less than an inch,

saying "You won't be late for dinner next time, will you?"

Among the many households that Dennis lived in during the years he was

separated from his mother was the one which exposed him to sexual abuse.

He can now write about the experience, and he is open to questions about it.

But it has been a long road. "It's only through the happiness and security

that I have at this stage of my life that I've had the courage to look at the

demons," he says. "You accept it, and get on with it. You come to an

understanding with your past."

He started writing before finishing elementary school. He read on the sly -

among his friends, reading was sacrilegious. But he met the older brother of

a friend with whom he found common ground, who loved music, books, art.

Dennis told him that he was writing, and the friend's brother demanded to

see his work. In high school, Dennis discovered Earle Birney and began to

live the poetic myth, realizing that poetry was what he would end up doing.

He has never wavered, and has since consumed the works of others

voraciously. His current work - in - progress is dedicated to Louis Fagan,

Charles Bukowski, Earle Birney, Allen Ginsberg "and all other fallen angels."

He published his first poem when he was nineteen in a women's anthology,

under the pseudonym Michelle Dennis ("I thought, naively, that a women's

anthology was sexist"). He finished Grade 13, just so he could stay in

school; it was the first school he had attended for more than an one - year

stretch. He got involved in sports and in the student's council. He credits his

teachers for urging him on. University was to follow, but he started first

year at Trent University in Peterborough no fewer than four times: he was

called for jury duty shortly after starting the first time. He then took a train

north and worked in construction, then landed a job at the Ford plant in

Windsor. Dennis is a hard worker, and he was a loyal and reliable

employee, but when he went to his foreman and asked for a night off, the

foreman refused. Dennis shut his machine off, and walked out, to the

applause of his fellow workers.

He started at Trent again, and excelled until he broke both ankles playing

sports. He drove a cab for awhile, then took another stab at Trent. He was

living with a woman who called herself Blanche Dubois (he found out later

that her real name was Barb) and they were running out of money. It was

decided that he would work, and she would finish university. He started

work in a group home for violent offenders.

After a stint out west, then in Toronto, Dennis went back to Peterborough

and finally managed to finish first year at Trent, despite being hospitalized

three times during the year for various ailments and surgery to replace his

ankles.

After meeting his first wife, he gave up a scholarship to continue at Trent to

move to Ottawa, where he attended Carleton University. He petitioned to

attend courses in English and Cultural Studies. He never did finish, and

remains two credits shy of a degree.

Throughout these years, he continued to write. While in Peterborough, he

approached a local café and asked if he could do a reading. He ended up

opening for Willie P. Bennett. It was at the Hangman's Café that he met up

with members of the local arts community. Dennis Tourbin was among them.

"At his first reading, one could tell right from the beginning that he had a

natural ability to communicate with people in poetic verse."

He lived with painter Dan Sharp in a warehouse and also met artists David

Bierk and Dorothy Caldwell. "They were a tremendous influence," he now

says. Of the lean years they shared the warehouse, Dan Sharp will only say

"Michael and I have an agreement not to tell secrets about each other."

Coming to Ottawa was liberating. For one thing, there were more books.

And there are the booksellers, with whom Dennis has found powerful

connections. He has worked for many of them, giving up part of his

paycheque to add to his collection. He now restricts himself to collecting

poetry, having sold off the bulk of his book collection of more than 5,000

volumes several years ago.

While building up a library, he also began collecting art. Walking into the

modest downtown apartment Dennis shares with wife Kirsty is like walking

into a gallery dedicated to local talent. The apartment is modest only from

the outside: the walls are covered, floor to ceiling, with Dennis' passion. He

has bought many of the works, but has also traded many for poems. As

anyone who collects art seriously will attest, it's a habit - and a hard one to

break. He and Kirsty use birthdays and Christmas as opportunities to

present each other with works of art.

"Artists make the same life choices as poets," says Dennis, and this

connection may be what initially drew him to them. "Artists don't

necessarily show up for poetry readings, in the same way that poets don't

show up for gallery openings. But many artists show up for mine."

"His interest in the visual arts is a beautiful balance to the literary work he

does," says Dennis Tourbin. "He understands the life of the artist." Dennis'

marriage to Kirsty is crucial to his writing. After a tumultuous upbringing,

and much unevenness in his early years, he has reached a sort of plateau,

and a relationship completely without malice rounds out Dennis' inner life.

They managed to marry after several failed attempts, first in Scotland

where they were told they had to post a public notice for two weeks before

getting approval (they didn't have enough money to hang around for that

long). In Greece, and then Turkey, bureaucracy held them up. They finally

settled on an informal ceremony in Ottawa surrounded by close friends.

The odd jobs, which now include art technician, bookstore clerk, and video

store clerk, feed his literary work. "(They) have allowed me to learn more.

My experiences have given me a bigger frame of reference, something to

echo off of. you see that there's room enough for everyone," he says.

"There's so much that may not be our own experience, but it's still valid

and worthwhile." One wonders, then, what would happen if someone

handed Dennis a million dollars tomorrow. "He'd spend it in a year," says

Dan Sharp. "And he would write no matter what." Writer Stuart Ross

agrees. "I can't imagine it would change him. It would probably increase his

output." Ross then adds: "he'd probably buy a fine bottle of wine."

Until the million dollar moment arrives, Dennis will continue to play a

balancing act with the odd jobs and the writing. At this stage of his life,

where he has passed the 40 mark but has not yet reached middle age, he

has published thirteen books, has received numerous grants and awards,

and has had his work reviewed and published in publications ranging from

the Globe and Mail to the Poetry Canada Review.

Dennis runs into the friend with whom he has the ten - year bet. The friend

is smiling wryly - Dennis has heard that a new relationship is in the works.

"I can almost taste dinner," he is saying. "Think I better make a

reservation." The friend brushes him off. Dennis is wondering what he'll

order.

 

Copyright© Melanie Scott

used with her kind permission

 

 

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