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It's a byootiful Canada Day in the Blabber . . . er . . . BloggerHood.

Right off the top, it brings us quidditious pride and pleasuredom to get down to class facts root-a-toot-tooting our horn of dartlin' doozie delights announcing the publication of Dusie 10, a distinctively distinguished Switzerland-based online journal / e-book of discriminating standards and fundamentally sound production values, bien sûr (xspecially when it comes to consistently stellar entries of the first magnitude bedazzle-dancin' around artists Adrian Göllner's plus Danny Hussey's lovingly executed complementary visual contributions). Dusie 10's makers and shapers go the distance proving the sky's no limit in this abso-obvo extraordinary enterprise showcasing brand-spangly brill-thrill selections from comets the calibre of George Bowering (pictured above), Emily Carr, derek beaulieu, Monty Reid and Monika Kidd to shooting stars comme Lainna Lane El Jabi, Kim Minkus, Joe Blades, Pearl Pirie, Asher Ghaffar, Sharon Harris and Sandra Ridley plus your humbled Moodith jitter-sloggin' along the Milky Way, the odd broad most conveniently accessible on Canada Day to grant permission to reproduce "Que Besa Sus Pies, Que Besa Sus Manos" (© 2009-10 Judith Fitzgerald):

The delicate gorgeosity of your vital words, each shimmering with irresistible possibility, barely containing the truth catching in one's throat, such exquisite intensity, the blackness each repudiates, porous with damage and longing, indelibly sorrow- streaked in one transparent universe where knives of knowledge carve wide swaths through history, luminous among moon's slow-dawning curves, now arcing to pull you towards the radiance of darkness serrated, swallowing pain, gasping for air in those shadowed chambers of the heart yielding to the contours of thinking skin in the perfect syntax of stone and aether, grasping the universal finality language's liquid purity salvages almost anything but that, solves all conundra but that, that which you cannot overcome, that cacophony of time wound up, ground down, astounding in its irrefutable injury; the circus of our love, its amusement-park attentions spanning a millennium of, ultimately, swift midnights (where the hands on the doomsway clock stand still an instant, stand at attention, stand ready to embrace whatever remains of a human face gone missing without a trace). Hear that? It is cold; it is lethal; and, it is threatening to break into itself in the name of answers materialising on the horizon when the sun rises to reveal dysphoria in all that splendorous glory. That? Think crux. Think matter. Think father, son, and wholly ghost-trace host. Think shatter.

Put plainly? To cement our destination here @ IOW station, Dusie 10 celebrates Made-in-Canada cut-above work from Canucks of verve, swerve and nerve (not to mention the occasionally discombrainiacal left-field curve. (Erm, I'm fixing a vicurious quizzical raised gee-whizzical I-brow stare in precisely your direction, Stan Rogal ^o)).

Bonus? Universally considered one of Cyberia's pre-eminent online poetic repositories, the Homeric Simpsonian cover of Volume 3, Number 2 ( guest-edited by "In Other Words" Planetary-Poetry-Month's 2010 Editor / Writer-in-Residence rob mclennan), subtly reminds US that CAN comedians and cartoonists indisputably own LA, Hollywood, New York, et so onnera (or, despite what similarly Canadianized Contrarian Stephen Colbert asserts, we ain't quite the ice-holes he suggests we are, particularly since he ain't never - to my knowledge, at any rate - joined The Plashing Canoe Club presided over by Leonard Cohen's Blessed Kateri Tekakwitha :))


"Last year, Nobel Laureate Derek Walcott pulled out of the election for Oxford professor of poetry; now, the only woman standing in this year's contest, poet Paula Claire, has withdrawn in protest over what she is describing as 'serious flaws' in the election process that she believes have pushed best-known candidate Geoffrey Hill ahead of all other contenders." The Guardian's always lively and indubitably straight-shootin' Alison Flood provides readers with the scoop on this year's poop, a not-to-miss pissoffering worth its weight in with-it snarks, snaps, barks, snippets and sparks; however, given the contendahs, Claire really cannot believe her work as, well, as great as the Brit Geoffrey Hill's whose oeuvre, indeedly, ranks among that of the top eight poets populating our planet . . . One of the leading lights of the LGBT community, Lambda Literary, presents some fun 'n' stun-wondrously breath-catching words of justly deserved and beautifully written praise for a pair of recent luminous works - Unleashed (BookThug); Expressway (Coach House) - from our very own freshly minted Poet Laureate of the Blogosphere™ as well as Lemon Hound overseer), Canada's own poet, bloggadociotica and self-described bon vivant Sina Queyras . . . The Venerable Paris Review recently announced its pink-tickledness in revealing respected critic, translator and scholar Robyn Creswell's name will grace its masthead as its new poetry editor come this fall: "The Review is one of the most vital organs of American literary culture, and its poetry section has always been a place where emerging as well as established poets have their say. It's exciting to become part of a magazine that has published the whole spectrum of brilliance from John Ashbery to Amy Clampitt, from Charles Olson to [Canadian/American]Anne Carson. The Review also has an impressive history of publishing translations of the [work of the]best poets from abroad, and I look forward to continuing that tradition," enthuses Creswell . . .

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