#f.r. scott

[oldshowbiz]

Canadian socialist F.R. Scott

[oldshowbiz]

"Frank Scott was working on the Regina Manifesto," said a contemporary of the Canadian poet who co-founded the CCF, Canada's first mainstream socialist party.

"He believed that a decentralist Canada would be a Canada at the mercy of the major corporations." Scott's party was ultimately responsible for the creation of the Canadian universal health care system.

[wine-stained-dawn]

North Stream / F.R. Scott

[valyoushouldtravel]

F.R. Scott Found this while cleaning through some old boxes from high school.

[iamconfounded]

This was no Fall, but Creation, For although the Terrible Voice Condemned them to sweat and to labour, They had conquered the power of choice.

Eden

~F.R. Scott

[meandmontreal]

Long standing calamity; potentially perpetual

This poem is a featured favourite from my morning reading. It's been a very Sarah morning: a full pot of coffee taken in my Grandmother's teacup, peanut butter and clover honey on toast (the bread I proudly made with my own two hands, this time with cinnamon!), Julie Nesrallah guiding me musically through the morning (featuring classical improvisations), and poetry. I have not passed a morning like this in some time. There have been far too many distractions, unfortunately. So, this morning was especially splendid, and honest. This poem mentions Westmount, the neighbourhood just a five minute walk from my place, where I love to walk and sing and do all sorts of crazy things. It's one of those doors-closed, windows-shut, well-lit, stalely-lifeless neighbourhoods, save for the gracious few children who have not yet met the walls of their environment. For some reason, places like Westmount charge me artistically. It could be because I grew up in the Edmonton equivalent, or maybe it's because these places yern for art. They are not filled with people who cannot appreciate artistic impulse, quite the opposite actually. These are the sorts of people (as made obvious by the way they arrange their homes, their patience with their gardens of flowers, and the appreciative smiles the send me when they catch me in action writing furiously under a willow tree) who do not know where to find the path of expression, but every so often happily catch a glimpse through their stained-glass windows or from the refuge of their SUV's, giving them enough life so-as not to rot and making them long for another glimpse. This poem makes more sense of my concept than I am currently able to manage:

Calamity F.R. Scott A laundry truck Rolled down the hill And crashed into my maple tree. It was a truly North American calamity. Three cans of beer fell out (Which in itself was revealing) And a jumble of skirts and shirts Spilled onto the ploughed grass. Dogs barked, and the children Sprouted like dandelions on my lawn. Normally we do not speak to one another on this avenue, But the excitement made us suddenly neighbours. People exchanged remarks Who had never been introduced And for a while we were quite human. Then the policeman came-- Sedately, for this was Westmount-- And carefully took down all names and numbers. The towing truck soon followed, Order was restored. The starch came raining down.

[learningfromthehands-blog]

What is my personal conception of poetry? If I could define it, it would not be too different from conception of life itself. THe making of something new and true. An exploring of the frontiers of the world inside and the world outside man. And a kind of umbilical contemplation from within the poem itself of its own dynamic and central structure.

F.R. Scott

[fuckyeahcanadianpoetry]

F.R. Scott (1899-1985)

Eclipse

I looked the sun straight in the eye. He put on dark glasses.