Coucoumellisms

Words! Descriptive words, funny words, old words, new slang... The history behind the words, the culture, the imagination...  I am currently studying translation at Concordia University in Montreal. One of my classes was on the influence of the French language on the English language in Québec. In that class, we not only saw borrowings from the French language, such as "dépanneur" or "méchoui" for example, we also looked at Canadianisms. Words that are commonly used in the English language around the world, but that ALSO have a specific Canadian use (meaning.)  Here are a few examples: Canadianisms To table – bring forward for discussion or consideration at a meeting (parliament) ROC – Rest of Canada (parts of Canada outside of Québec) Have-not province – province whose per capita tax revenue falls below a certain average level, and is entitled to receive equalization payments from the federal government Drop the gloves – to remove one’s gloves (in hocke...

From Gerard Manly Hopkins, that my grade eleven English teacher, Mr. Maclean, had me discover... Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844–89). Poems. 1918. Pied Beauty GLORY be to God for dappled things— For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow; For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim; Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings; Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough; And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim. All things counter, original, spare, strange; Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?) With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim; He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: Praise him. I like his style. It's different. And the way he uses words or turns father into a verb... The Windhover To Christ our Lord I CAUGHT this morning morning’s minion, king- dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding High there, how he rung upon the rein of...

Bear with me please, it’s hard to find the words I need to find, to tell you what it is You need to know. Take care with me, my heart’s too damn fragile I’m so afraid, to tell you what it is I want you to know. I am here, body and soul Will you take me, take me whole? If I strip down, come out of hiding If I show you my soul, confiding Will you want me then? Want me whole? If I bare all, body and soul This was never something I intended To share my life with one who’s a stranger To how I feel I’m so lonely, but I’m never alone. I want you here, inside, but it’s so hard To open the door Naked, anxious, defenceless before you I only wish that you would snatch me up Take me here, now. My body’s yours, my soul I offer you Make love to me, hold me close, let’s renew Those vows we once spoke.

If I let you in again, would you laugh at me then, or would you try to understand? Would you let me tell my story, Or would you only want to see it your way? Would you touch me when you spoke to me? Would you hold my hand as we walked? Would you touch my face and look at me, The way you never have before? Would you say those words you've barely ever said? So I wouldn't have to guess anymore. I've shut you out, I've closed the windows Locked the door and thrown away the key. Strangers to verbal intimacy, Our dreams tucked safely away out of sight. Would you just take the time to hold me? Would you just sit in the moonlight, silent with me? Would your eyes follow me around the room, The way they never have before? Would you say those words I've rarely ever heard? So I wouldn't have to guess anymore. If I let you into the private garden of my thoughts, Would you find the fruit exotic and the flowers rare, Or would you turn away, looking for some distraction? Would ...

This sounds like a song for Juana la Cubana Bon Jovi Lyrics Lost Highway Lyrics

For Jeanne I stand beneath the doorframe, this functional arch that serves as a threshold separating me from the infinite space in which you kneel, hands splayed on the wooden floor, womb heavy and distended. The space engulfing you is an in-between space that belongs to the dying and to the child that slips from you, umbilical cord for an instant the blue of cornflowers or of the sky drowning in the sea off Malta or Cephalonia.* And I think of all the things that go unsaid, cannot be said yet fill the spaces we leave open, the pauses we wrap ourselves in as we sip burning coffee from white Styrofoam cups and distribute Timbits among four pairs of tiny hands. These pauses which, like the child bursting from you, emerge from some in-between space, its silence filled with things that come before language before the sounds we push past throats and lips. Before words like ‘sister’, And ‘friend’. * She's been to Greece since the last version, can you tell?

One of my favourite poems, back in grade eleven English, was this one by Elizabeth Barrett Browning: How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of every day's Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men strive for right; I love thee purely, as they turn from praise, I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints -I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life! -and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death. Just as there is more than one way to love a person, there is more than one way to miss a person. There are also many ways to miss one's dog, when he has died an untimely death: I miss you Toby, when I get up in the morning and I look down at the foot of my bed, t...

Back in June, I entered a contest that Chom FM was having, in which I wrote a poem, in honour of our dad, (well, my childrens' dad to be specific, my husband). I turned the thing into a Father's Day card, and always intended to post it up here, but never got around to it. So here it is: (And I have to admit, I am pretty proud of it.)

It's a work in progress,... I keep editing it, but here is the latest draft, which isn't too bad: (Still untitled) Morning sunlight reflects off windows, freshly washed Spotless tables in a row, stand waiting. Voices; laughing, talking, people sharing Happiness is: Hands wrapped around a hot mug Feet slowly thawing, Watching my children cheerfully wave At people in cars lined up outside, To buy a hot coffee on a cold winter day.

Written by Rose Anne Chabot: (My sister) Standing beneath the doorframe On the threshold of the infinite space In which you kneel, Hands splayed on the wooden floor Womb heavy and distended. A space more powerful Than the bones and skin We wander around in, An in-between space that belongs To the dying And the child that slips from you Umbilical cord for an instant The blue of cornflowers Or the sky drowning in the sea Off some Greek Island. And I think of all the things That go unsaid, cannot be said Yet fill the spaces we leave open The pauses we wrap ourselves in As we sip burning coffee From white styrofoam cups And distribute Timbits* Among four pairs of tiny hands, or lean against a counter Cramped with envelopes and stickers, Barbie doll limbs, empty wine bottles And a discarded apple core Slowly rusting in the open air. These pauses which Like the child bursting from you Emerge from some in-between space Its silence filled with things That come before language Before the soun...

Chom FM in Montreal is having this contest where you can win a Flat-screened Plasma TV for Father's day. Marc would really like to have one, but it's obviously not number one on the list of priorities. It would be really cool if he won. All I had to do was write about why our Dad was the best. So I wrote this: Our Dad’s the best, There’s simply no contest. Father to five, That’s no jive. He toils all day, The bills to pay. No time for fun, His work’s not done. The house needs repair, So Dad does his share. The kids all play soccer, And Dad plays chauffeur. When is there time to rest and unwind? Will he some leisure find? Only when our heads hit the pillows, Can Dad watch his shows, On his old T.V., We come first, as you can see. A plasma T.V. he’d love to obtain, But his family first, he must sustain. Thus you can clearly understand, Why our Dad’s so grand. We’re sure you’ll agree. That a winner he must be. Let's all cross our fingers!!!

(Circa 1989-90) Around me in their stench they lie, A thousand falsehoods left to rot and die. In the vigor of their life they did so well As in the ocean the waves do swell, They were so high, then came down low And we have damned their flow. In the heat of the fire They cry out from the mire; The mess that they have created. And we walk by with breath that is bated Lest we smell of the stench that is theirs, Or one should fool us into thinking he cares. We have nearly overcome Though the job is yet undone. And in some places they still cause pain. And we cry as it seems we struggle just to gain A life that is hard for all But especially for those that are small.

Circa 1994-95? The student in the corner, The man staring at me, The beer on the counter, The Dali on the wall. The tears on her face, The words on his lips, Thoughts in one's mind, Dirt on the floor. He will sleep with her tonight, Tommorrow he is gone, Policeman at the door, "Sorry Madam." Nothing more. Quiet in the house, She looks in the crib, At the son he left behind, Bullet through the heart. Struggling for a cause, Defending your beliefs, A small place in Heaven, Blood on sacred ground.

(Circa 1996) Everyone gets high I just get low Nobody knows me here Not even myself A stranger in a world Created by myself It's too late The sun is sinking And I can't see in the dark.