About the book
The flesh of blood and memory populates the world of BE, a collection of poems that stubbornly seek human identity in an increasingly inhumane world. In micropoetic narratives, the collective I says, “I am here,” and proceeds to explore the insular and peculiar ways language, emotion, and truth-telling scour the painful moments of vision that lurk beneath calm and unknown depths.
There are things one cannot ever hope to understand. Does existence precede essence even if essence was available? In a collage of disparate images, the BE poems spin together individual and collective states of feelings to examine the fragments of the human condition in little existences. Picture the man and woman wandering forlornly through an abandoned universe or what happens to some of the people in the villages, in the feudal backwaters where inhabitants become stupefied, brutalized and spiritually impoverished yet to the outside world appear to suffer a quiet, gentle contentment and peace. Or how we all live by pushing rocks up slopes, or as in some of the poet’s characters, by bottling the ashes of a once-dormant-now-live volcano for hawking to tourists as souvenirs.
Brooding. Teasing. Questioning. Doubting. Discovering. The quest could be tragic or comic, but the endeavour could stretch the most ordinary things into new shapes and meanings. As an assemblage, BE proves that it is possible to recover a semblance of reality, if not truth itself, through inferences that quite closely resemble it.
About the author
The Time Between is Patria Rivera’s fourth poetry collection. Her first poetry collection, Puti/White, was shortlisted for the Trillium Book Award for Poetry. She has co-authored two chapbooks, Weathering: An Exchange of Poems and Sixth from the Sixth. Rivera’s poetry is featured in Oxford University Press’s Perspectives in Ideology, and in Elana Wolff’s Implicate me: Short essays on reading contemporary poems. Her poems have also been published in the Literary Review of Canada, Fireweed, and other Canadian and international publications. In 1997 Rivera won an honourable mention in the ARC Poetry Magazine Second Annual Poem of the Year Contest for her poem, “Living on the borders, dying in the margins.” In 2005 her poem “Rare species” was selected as the second-prize winner in the QWERTY’s Eric Hill Award of Poetic Excellence competition. Rivera was also a recipient of the Global Filipino Literary Award for Poetry. Born and raised in the Philippines, Rivera graduated with a journalism degree from the University of the Philippines. She has also studied in Sydney, Australia, Berlin, Germany, and in the Nieman Center at Harvard University.
A way before
She loved to sleep
and wake up when she’d slept
around the corner, too.
Near the cop station
on Saturday as usual.
have had three winks
and might have been
dozing when she dreamt
all the way, trying to sleep
on Friday and wake up
on Sunday morning but didn’t.
She was still beautiful
while she slept scraping
the wall behind the bed
with her knuckles—
not actually remembering that—
the only place she could go
for as long as she wanted. It
might have been the same
night she stretched
and yawned and pulled
down the blinds and woke up
on a Monday twenty-six
Maybe because the mass of old trees
was not visible from the house
The only signs of life
flourished in the modest flower
of my imagination
The old house run-down and peeling
stirred uncomfortably like a restless bird
in the heat-exhausted sky
The minutes shut in their concentration
the table returning
to tree with my profuse admiration
Most of the melody would go
in the height of that stumbled-across summer
All the wrong shoes and sandals
the accepted offer of a ride
the abandoned furniture
Not even a fan or photographs
on the table to overcome my embarrassment
The hurts came
at night one after the other
not just along with the crazy mail
which did no harm
when the season changed
And we drank the evening lying
in that solitude united
by the full length of our denials
because unlike the tears
when the pilgrims reached their destination
afterwards the house opened inside
Heavy clouds sail low through the raging battle
in that ancient place sighted from the hills.
Time parcelling old fires
carries what remains of the disputed order.
The seasons sit pure in their extremes.
Variations of folded nights,
object and image transporting significance—
nothing will pass through the darkening radiance
Too late to uncrumple the world of silences,
shifts of discord,
the quiet lies waving at a distance.
In the morning burning sands will reveal
the imagined diminishing surface of water.
Watch out for the moon.
Expect bad weather.
Fish scales foretell a bad storm.
Moods— like pressure-system winds—
may last for days.
An old backing wind
shapes earth and expected news
as buoyant water hangs unsteady in midair.
Most wisdom never navigates backwards
but moves clockwise on the odd day.
Rivers run regnant with shiver,
skim through squall and inconstant billows,
stay inside the solace of a sudden stir,
seek harbour from the gathering runt.
Every salt-laden tree
can sting cheeks,
like the subtle teasing stress
of touching grasses or green surf.
History is a witch that turned—
stopped and hastened,
Later, it said, not then, not now,
turning the moment over and over.
Here, it offers blare and spill,
a flood of canvas.
The willing that looks like belonging.
The story of someone—
climbing out of a pit,
bare arms and feet clawing into effaced rock,
sliding over probability.
“Two new bright literary lights.... The other bright light in the expat literary firmament is Patria C. Rivera, or “Patty” when she was our colleague at the Economic Information Staff of the National Economic and Development Authority (NEDA) ages ago.…” >>
— Jose Y. Dalisay Jr. The Philippine Star
“Filipino-Canadian poet Patria Rivera of Toronto is a late bloomer: she did not write poetry until the early 1990s, after she was done parenting her brood of four girls — Rani, Kim, Isobel and Jenny. Rivera — Patty to family…” >>
— Jun Medina The Manila Times