Poetry Fire! This poster hangs on the backside of our garage in the window facing out towards our backyard. Printed in an edition of 8 or so, set in Kabel wood type and hand inked, it was designed to catch the attention of one person for whom the event was for. That is, my partner Rebecca. We were looking for an excuse to reacquaint ourselves with the poetry chapbooks sitting on our shelves in the house. So, during our first-stage* covid-lock-down-backyard-hang-outs (the two of us) we'd read poetry aloud around the backyard fire pit. We made a cocktail for the event as well. Recipe below.
Poetry Fire Cocktail
2 oz bourbon
1 oz lemon juice
¾ oz maple syrup
2 pinches fresh grated ginger
*During the first-stage of the pandemic, when very little was known about the Coronavirus - it was rumored that people could be stricken instantly with the bug, and drop dead to the sidewalk with no warning (remember that? yes, during the early months of 2020 this tale had traction). At this time the idea of transmission through aerosols was down-played, and the focus was on transmission through touch. At work we wore gloves, but didn’t wear masks. Impenetrable objects could host the virus for 72 hours or more, so you better not touch anything. That was the thought. Anyway, it was during this time that a lot of the world shut down. It was quiet. People were scared. The lock-down was on. Most people didn’t report to their workplaces in person. I was one of the folks who worked in-person with my colleagues as essential workers at the light rail train-yard. My brother was also one of the “essentials” showing up every night at the waste water treatment plant. People who turned wrenches, people who drove trucks, people who worked in the business of making food, moving food, delivering food, selling food, people who monitored systems of civilization did not slow their pace. At the time, many people who didn't work those types of jobs and who were sent home to hunker down recognized the importance of these “essential” jobs. Where would we be if we couldn’t go to the local market to pick up supplies? What would happen if while the rest of the city were shut down, my water, sewage and electricity was turned off because there weren’t workers monitoring those systems? Yeah, the essential workers were recognized. It was a sentiment that was very short lived. Anyway, I'll steer away from the bitter tone here. Perhaps another time will be appropriate to expound on those thoughts. Regardless, it was an interesting time, and Poetry Fire was born out of the surreal lock-down days.