Leaving Banff this morning, though probably not done posting about Banff. If you see me on the airporter do give a wave.

If you did the math, actually tallied up the number of Canadian novels and short story collections that Edna Alford had a hand in crafting, I’m quite sure it would be impressive. Last night members of the 2009 Writing Studio, along with faculty and former participants and faculty had a few words to say about...

Again and again that guy from Ottawa nails it! For your viewing pleasure, Monsieur Bök. You can check out John’s photostream at Flickr.

I agree with JWD, who is cooler, photographer or aging actor? It’s impossible to choose… The shot is here. Thanks John.

Several night hikes sweetened with resin from the Firs. At night they don’t fold in but the higher one goes the more they sway, and at the very top they are dwarfed by the elements, grow sideways, or squat and thick, or in a circular way, the bark twisting slowly over years.The air at this...

“What male teacher is going to escape a sexual harassment case? All you’ve got to do is stand there, and you’re sexually harassing them.” Ick, ick, ick. Here hear James read his poem for Walcott… It’s his dream job.The SofQ poets are particularly nasty Silliman suggests, but the Hound suspects excessive careerism might bite us...

Gawker strikes back at humorless salmon-eating, seal whacking Canadians. Step away from the invisible border people. We don’t like being gawked at up here. Ah hell, of course we do! We live for it.

For another wee trip down the Expressway.And thanks again to Evan Munday for the awesome book trailer. The Hound is a lucky poet.

Why did you leave early?Where are you now?Who are you?Listen, let’s have a talk.Did you leave early?Proven remedy for growthand happiness.Should I book 2 places?Would you like two blouses?Weekend park meeting.Or miracle thought. Sometimes the spam file can be alarming.

No question, it was the quality of the quad, the quadrangles quailed with queer queues that no queen—queer or not—would have sufficient qualities to (quarter or no) quarrel her way through. Though quarrelling might be thought common, a quest among quirky and quizzical quartets….it was quite uncommon. Quietly she quivered in the quicksilver quality of...

No, no, nothing is proved, nothing is known. And if I were to get up at this very moment and ascertain that the mark on the wall is really—what shall we say?–the head of a gigantic old nail, driven in two hundred years ago, which has now, owing to the patient attrition of many generations...

Can’t quite get enough greens…inside or out. Wishing that, like Jeff wall, I had a large format digital and could take about 36 small images of both scenes below and knit them together. Well not small actually, the bigger the better, but each image say, of a 12 x 12 inch space. The problem with...