(December 2001) Page 2
was born on March 11, 1945 in Guelph, Ontario Canada. He was raised on the Naval Base, H.M.C.S. Cornwallis, on the Western shore of the Province of Nova Scotia in the Maritimes. After traversing the beautiful Bay of Fundy many times during his childhood, he became addicted to the sea.
When Richard was 10 his family moved to Stratford-upon-Avon, in southern Ontario, sister city to her namesake in both England and in the United States. The new Shakespearian Theatre was constructed there in 1953.
He then went on to high school and graduated from Grade 13 with flying colours, taking the Ontario Scholarship Award for his school. Then he went on to earn an Honours B.A. at Sir Wilfred Laurier University (1968), and a Master of Library Science degree at the University of Western Ontario, London (1975).
After that he worked for several years as a Reference Librarian, first at Sudbury Public Library, then Alqonquin College of Arts and Technology (Ottawa), and finally, the University of Ottawa.
Severe alcoholism forced Richard to retire on long-term disability, nine years ago, at the age of 47. He says this is the best thing that could have happened: "I stopped drinking cold turkey on March 25th., 1992, and have never looked back since.... Before age 47, I might have composed about 200 poems. Since that age, I have written at least another 1,500, of which about 1,000 are sonnets. It's just mind-boggling! Oh well, there are always late bloomers in life. I guess I'm one of them."
Since then he has lived a "passionate, sometimes a 'tempest in a teapot' - but almost always reasonably happy life". He lives in a happy, long-term relationship with his boyfriend, Louis-Dominique Genest, who was born in Sherbrooke, Quebec, on April 11, 1950. They have been together for four years.
UK Smart Groups:
le Chevalier vermeil|
© par Richard Vallance, le 6 & 8 septembre, 2001
d'après Pierre de Ronsard,
«Le poète des Princes, et le Prince des poètes»
Dressé à la chasse, le Chevalier vermeil
The Vermilion Cavalier
in the style of Pierre de Ronsard
"The Poet of Princes, and the Prince of Poets"
Eager for the chase, the Vermilion Cavalier
Lune aux Étoiles © Richard Vallance, le 27 décembre 1998, partiellement pour mon bel ami de coeur, Louis-DominiqueVoilà l’inévitable!
© par Richard Vallance, le 20 Oct, 2000
Voilà donc l'inévitable!
Il n'arrive qu'un seul jour
que le quai des Écomertours
t’invite au bal de ces fables!
C’est loin de la magique!
Regardes-moi! Ce legerdemain 
À l'appel du départ, les passagers
 Le premier, déjà-vu, signifie, "subir une expérience personnelle et intime, qui évoque des mémoires inquiètes relatives à sa propre vie, ou quand même une expérience perturbante, souvent même horrifique, de la vie de quelqu'un qui est déjà décédé ". Cela va beaucoup plus loin que la phrase équivalente en français, qui n'a rien de spécial et qui ne signifie pour autant que "l'on a déjà vu" quelqu'un ou quelque chose, et rien de plus.  Le prochain est un mot ancien du français du Moyen Âge, qui signifie, "la prestidigitation ".On peut facilement se poser la question, "Pourquoi utiliser de telles expressions dans un poème composé en français?"
C'est qu'il agit d'un poème canadien. Bien que ces expressions soient inconnues (pour la plupart) en France, cela n'est pas nécessairement le cas au Canada. Car il y a chez nous une assez large population de gens qui sont parfaitement bilingues, et quant à ceux que ne le sont pas, ils n'ont qu'à demander à n'importe quel ami ou collègue, et la réponse voit le jour!
Mettons que c'est un enjeu, soit un peit défi aux lecteurs.
Richard Vallance, le 27 novembre, 2001
Translation into English Prose by the Author: Well, I suppose it's inevitable! © Richard Vallance, 20 Oct, 2000
Also available at Ian's personal web site http://ianthorpe.airtime.co.uk is a free download of this book, some reviews and readers comments showing it is not the heavy, schmaltzy memoir one might expect but a funny, irreverent and entertaining piece of writing.
The imminent marriage of a former lover|
© Ian Thorpe
Your guardians were all sleeping
On the night I lowered your guard
And we danced naked in moonglow
Pale against the sin - black slopes
of that sacreligious hill. The damned
were close that night, their dead love
reaching for your living flesh but no cold
touch blistered our skin or marked us
with madness. Even so you turned
to them .Though I tried to lead you away
I was no angel to wrap you in protective
light as you walked between two worlds,
unable to come with me; not wishing to return.
Darkness and light beckoned on the road
I had to take. Only the grey zone waited
In your direction and so you let me
lay you down and salve your fears.
Perhaps life burned bright in us as our
desires locked, The cold shades shrank
back to their waiting world, afraid to
claim you as their own. Perhaps. Or maybe
to let you find that hour was their cruel joke.
They knew I led you there not to offer my soul
but to steal yours. Fear won and passion
disowned you, We went in opposite directions,
me to walk between Angels and Demons,
you to the grey place where neither darkness
nor light colours a cadaverous love as
year on year it peels the life
from your abandoned bones.
She hears familiar footsteps
Then a key turns in the door
He's late, but when he holds her
She knows its been worth waiting for
Because love is a strange elusive thing
Sometimes you have to compromise
So she keeps the things she wants to say
Behind the pain that fills her eyes
A few hungry hours together
No morning kisses,
There's a twist in every story
No morning kisses,
To embrace the one whose birthing pain
No morning kisses,
The flower with the broken stem blooms first
racing upwards, reaching for warm light,
paints colours brighter, makes perfumes more sweet,
to call its winged lovers from their flight.
The bent and twisted stem may quickly heal
And you, my broken flower strove to shine,
And though you could not grow to the top
At last your beauty and presence found
Now we have grown together and still bloom
But your colours may last beyond time's curse
Author's note: Religion is a strange beast. It has no substance but contains the power to turn people from all that is in their nature.
The Sun Shone on closed petals
Jan Sand in New York
Recently Jan was published by Kedco Studios Artist Profile Press, on their latest CD ROM e-book, "A Way With Words (Poetry Real and Surreal), which also includes complete books by Dale Houstman, Sara L. Russell and Keith Gabriel Hendricks. Jan's illustrated book on the CD is called "Wild Figments And Odd Conjectures", which is also sold separately, in a limited-edition "single" CD.
To see an illustrated article about Jan's poems, visit the November '98 issue of Poetry Life & Times, and scroll down past the Editor's Letter. He also has his own poetry pages on Charlotte's Web at Artvilla.
WTC - AFTERWARDS|
© Jan Sand
The raucus music of the streets
Cannot pull the mind
From what the eye discerns,
Though one might prefer to be blind
To that image of the jaws of Hell
From which protrude black broken teeth,
While death exhales its acrid smell.
Around the crater circles a wreath
Of frightened crowds, their white faces
Move like animated worry beads
Horrified to see the places
Filled with stony dust, shattered needs
Of all the common things that fill our lives,
Scraps of bones and telephones, ripped wires
Charred chairs, flesh of husbands and wives
Bent, distorted, cooked, blasted, churned in fires.
The sweet clear blue stupid sky
Smiles with sunlight on this mess
And receives into its blank eye
The nightmare fumes of our distress.
It is now the hammer strikes the nail,
Convinces nail to bite the wood.
It is now the Sun melts the sky
to drain into the bowl of night.
It is now the city howls its dreams
With loud radios, brake squeals and screams.
Now gobbles down the soon to come
Spurting bright novelties, blood and fright.
Now sometimes answers questions why,
Separates should not from should,
Adjudicates what succeeds or fails
And quickly zips by like a mouse
That speeds from hole to hole in house.
Tall and thin.
Tall and thin with a grin.
An ironic smile, with guile
To permit an opening. Friendly enough
So that approach might coach
In anticipation a reciprocal
I saw him in the subway station.
"Hello," he said. Shook his head.
"Watch!", he said, and a red
I peered behind a nearby post.
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