Young Michael Ondaatje

Photo of Michael Ondaatje by Shelly Grimson, 1970

There just is nothing more perfect for a lonesome summer night than Michael Ondaatje. I have been doing a bit more reading of literature & yesterday after an evening of thunderstorms & power outages the house got dark & humid & I retreated to bed with Secular Love.

I have an English degree but I am not a reviewer of literature. What I can tell you is that I like Ondaatje’s books a lot. I got to see him do a talk & a reading when Divisidero came out, and it was wonderful. Also it is none of my business but I get the distinct impression from reading Ondaatje that if you had sex with him it would probably be great sex. I’m not just talking about young Michael Ondaatje either.

Also I love listening to him read out loud.

Here’s the poem that stuck in my brain this morning:

(‘The space in which we have dissolved – does it taste of us?’)

Summer night came out of the water 
climbed into my car and drove home 
got out of the car still wet towel round me 
opened the gate and walked to the house 

Disintegration of the spirit 
no stars 
leaf being eaten by moonlight 

The small creatures who are blind 
who travel with the aid of petite white horns 
take over the world 

Sound of a moth 

The screen door in its suspicion 
allows nothing in, as I allow nothing in. 
The raspberries my son gave me 
wild, cold out of the fridge, a few I put 
in my mouth, some in my shirt pocket 
and forgot 

I sit here 
in a half dark kitchen 
the stain at my heart 
caused by this gift

As a bonus you should probably check out this Torontoist article about Shelly Grimson’s babely portraiture of Canada’s young poets. I’m talking about dreamgirl and role model young Margaret Atwood. Swoonsville.