Brendan McLeod is an award-winning poet, theatre creator, and musician. On his sixth day of social isolation, he started writing a poem a day. We’re posting these day by day, in non-sequential order, because time is weird now. It’ll be a book after that.
Poet In (Their Own) Residence
I don’t know how the mind decides which memory to ship across the ocean of consciousness, or when to do it, or why, but it does.
This essay was published on CBC's website, as part of Brendan's segment on "Now or Never" about his pandemic poems. To hear his interview go HERE I don’t remember the first poem I ever performed. The adrenaline knocked me for a loop. What I can recall is how vividly I perceived reactions from the audience. Someone lifted an eyebrow and my heart leapt. Someone else looked away, down at the table, and I was crushed. I got one laugh and it felt like I was flying. It was like being in that slow motion scene in The Matrix, but instead of bullets it...
If I end up in hospital, I expect my friends to joke.