Pandemic poetry project a positive weekly phenomenon

Nova Scotia icon Joe Howe once said, “Poetry was the maiden I loved, but politics was the harridan I married.”

When I was a teenager, I processed my evolving life by writing poetry, then I got wedded to journalism and was too busy to reflect that way.

Life changed for all of us with COVID-19. There was a burst of creativity after we all were locked up mid-March of 2020. Kitchen music flourished, but so did poetry. In Wolfville, a Main Street resident decided to share poems.

Elizabeth Kosters posted a Daily Poem for Strange Times for 50 days running. The last work to be hand lettered and nailed to a wooden box on Kosters’ Main

remember’ Street lawn was ‘History will by Donna Ashford. It was submitted by a friend and neighbour.

Lots of folks, near and far, got involved in the poetry project. Kosters, who is a geologist by training, was glad for the helpful contributions, as well as suggestions that came from the Twitter and Facebook worlds.

The box only fit 18 lines, so that was one limitation.

Passersby left painted rocks and anonymous lines of verse. Among them were lines from Sheree Fitch, George Elliott Clarke, James Baldwin, John O’Donahue, Rita Joe, Wendell Berry and the Rig Veda.

The carnage in Portapique prompted more poetry. The poetry wall began as entertainment but became replete with meaning for the whole community.

Poems were posted every day through lots of rain and a couple of snowfalls, during what Kosters called a never-ending non-spring. Those 50 days allowed her and others time to ponder the words and discover new poets.

I sent in an e.e. cummings poem about spring and in mid-May my husband contributed three canine

haiku. The focus had us thinking about the value of poetry and that’s how the poetry branch plant on our street was started.

Not long after the order to shelter in place, the two of us began writing doggerel, adding illustrations and posting it close to the sidewalk. We sent a friend our second poem, ‘Walk the Walk,’ and he responded, “Your poem is a weapon loaded with the future.”

Then he added a quote: “All perishes, only poetry remains,” from Nguyen Chi Thien.

The project began resonating with the increase in all the new walkers and dog owners out getting air.

Steven began looking at various forms of poetry and challenging himself with sonnet form and cinquain. We wrote separately and together on subjects such as time, isolation, birds and sunsets. Once polished by sending email versions back and forth, the poems got an illustration, were laser-printed, wrapped in a layer of plastic and placed on a signpost outside by the sidewalk.

With heart surgery to confront, Steve found composing poems helped him process health concerns. For several months he wrote one a day as a meditation. But writing one poem a week for 120 weeks, and sharing one we deemed good enough to post publicly, translated into a creative pandemic project for us.

Sometimes we’d challenge ourselves with topics as diverse as isolation, time, Pluto the dog (remember Pluto?), the fight against

goutweed, chasing sunsets — another favourite pandemic activity, gratitude, and simply celebrating the ordinary.

Folks would sometimes ask if we would turn the collected poems into a book. That was never our intention. The words we put together described moments in a world out of kilter. They certainly helped pass the time. But the rules have changed despite the pandemic not being over. There are fewer walkers and we decided to wind up at number 120, the end of June.

Let me share Pandemic Poem No. 9:

Sonnet for Washday

The weekly ritual of doing wash

Has always been a meditation fair Beginning with the spinning and the slosh.

When warm enough that clothes can dry in air

I clip them close and tightly to the line. Of sun, birdsong and breezes I’m aware.

A peace so fresh and simple becomes mine.

I am a seamless part of such a day And float upon a breeze that is sublime.

The order felt when folding soft, dry wash

Provides the saving grace that lightens loss.