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The Poems Of Eileen Powell
The Poems Of Eileen Powell
The Poems Of Eileen Powell
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The Poems Of Eileen Powell

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When Eileen Powell gathered her Poems & sent them to Newfoundland Press - it was a delight to discover just how many poems, on so many topics, were in one manuscript envelope. Eileen Powell still lives in Corner Brook - her home and turf. In her late eighties, she gathered together her poems and sent them to Pilot Hill Press. That inspired our Development of "Newfoundland Press"; our Lost & Found Division. Here we publish books that are truly treasures, and until now - buried treasures. On Dec 21, 2013 we released her poems to the world. A deliberate choice to reflect the move from shadow to light. You won't have seen these poems before in any collection. This is truly 'Found Poetry' already formed.
For more information about Eileen Powell, please visit our website at: http://www.pilothillpress.org/newfoundland-press.php

LanguageEnglish
PublisherWilliam Gough
Release dateDec 20, 2013
ISBN9781927046265
The Poems Of Eileen Powell
Author

William Gough

William Gough is a writer, publisher and director. He has won such awards as the Gemini, Actra, Prix Anik, Genie, Bijou, Blue Ribbon - American Film Festival, and the Columbus Film Festival’s ‘Chris Plaque. He also teaches writing online for Vancouver Island University. PRAISE for William Gough's Books: "Gough’s writing is...poignant, spare, with the strength and subtlety of a fine woodcut..." E. Annie Proulx/ Maud’s House...is a literary compliment paid to a people whose richest bounty, next to the sea, is the gift of language. It is also a detailed snapshot of a lost era, lovingly developed in the darkroom of the writer’s memory. ...it’s clear that the richness of language as it is spoken in Newfoundland is in Gough’s literary blood.” Michael Harris, The Globe and Mail “A good novel does something which happens only rarely in our day-to-day perceptions; It sets down what can happen in an instant of time. “Maud’s House is a wonderful book, a treat to read, and one of the best books I’ve read this year, period...” Peter Gard, The Evening Telegram

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    The Poems Of Eileen Powell - William Gough

    Prologue

    My Aunt Eileen...

    ...I know her from Laite’s Lane, where I ran to play with my cousins in Corner Brook. And I noticed that she had a certain look. What that look was, I didn’t totally recognize myself, until years spun me far away from my childhood and into poetry. I walked into the dark shadows of San Fernando Valley to find my natural home as a Newfoundland poet of my own variety.

    In her look, even as I remember it from childhood, I had a sense that Aunt Eileen was always in two worlds at once. What she saw, heard and felt, was recorded to emerge as a poem, in the web of observation & connection of her perception. That combined with the necessary other part of this strange dual-vision - the everyday world in all its wonder-filled reality, and yet as ephemeral as all our lives. Caught like leaves upon the stream – we trade stories until we are dragged along spinning and supported by our yarns ...

    ... I could see that the mother of Diane, of Marilyn, of Linda, of Jim and of David was a Poet. She saw her children in the context of an Epic Poem that allows all directions. She is, like most writers, a jack or jill of all trades in her thinking life. A wonder-fuelled mother, a Nurse who saw death and destruction play across the wards in the way that it moves, giving wisdom as we learn how much may be lost, and yet how much may be endured.

    Writers’ words help us heal, become our Nurses. They give us a place to speak the truth; to listen to one’s heart as closely as one listens to a small child.

    She has the ear of a Burke, can sing her own tunes, will sit at a Hammond Chord organ and play what she’s thinking. She takes on inept politicians and slams whole Political Parties with a song.

    In her work I also see her Mother, my grandmother Alice, who also had the main trait of a poet – the ability to allow all into the circle. There were, and are, for Eileen Powell no ‘them’; her faith is the faith of a poet: that, having heard the necessary story, we will be moved to action. Like me, she knows the way of the tea-leaves, and how she and her mother could envision in the swirl-and-blur a reflection of life projected upon a cloud.

    And she learned from Newman, her father – a natural-born, and war-warped writer himself. His letters home, the diaries he kept, the love he had for books, and the ways he could take them apart and repair & rebuild them – allowed me to run a press, take a book apart and look at the glorious text and space, nesting all our thoughts.

    The true lineage of a poet is not what we studied in Literature, but what happened at home, in the small Infinite world of childhood, with neighbors, friends, simple trips to the store, a letter from a distant friend. It’s what we learn in life – for there were poets long, long before there were schools.

    No wonder she

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