This is the eighth
in a series of short essays/reminiscences by a variety of authors and friends
of the press to help mark the quarter century mark of above/ground. See links to the whole series here.
My basement
flooded last spring. I’m finally getting around to sorting out what’s left
after we had to get rid of those things that didn’t survive the flood. Unicorns
and sinners. But I lost a bunch of diaries and sketchbooks filled with angsty
teenage scrawlings as well as some photos of the kids and some very pretentious
work for string quartet from grad school. It’s been sad, but, at the same time,
there are many boxes which survived the deluge. Forgotten boxes. Mystery boxes.
Who knew what was in them? One thing that has been a great delight is
uncovering a vast number of small press publications which I’ve collected since
I was about 18 and first moved to Toronto. I didn’t remember that I had these
old friends.
Among these
are a substantial number of above/ground publications. How did they come to be
in my damp basement? They’ve come with me through many moves. Many were handed to me by rob at some reading
or other, some were mailed, some I bought at small press events or readings.
Though I know rob is diligent about sending work to subscribers, friends of the
press, and other interested parties, and is a tireless reading and bookfair
organizer, I think of above/ground press distribution as ambient. It’s there even
when you don’t know it. The publications end up everywhere. There’s some below
ground above/ground rhizomatic network which connects this work with readers.
It’s not a showy release with heralds blasting away on flag-festooned trumpets,
but something so constant that it just becomes part of the environment. The
work finds its readers.
For
twenty-five years, CanLit has included this dependable stream of interesting,
surprising, new work from newcomers, outsiders,
insiders-doing-something-surprising, Ottawans, Canadians, non-Canadians, the
established, the those-who’ve-met-rob, the those-who-haven’t, the
those-who-are-me, the those-who-aren’t, the those-who-are-like-rob (is anyone
that indefatigueable?), the those-who-aren’t. Like water in a basement, it finds
its way into even the most surprising and out-of-the-way places.
I know this
doesn’t just happen, like the wind or gravity. It has taken rob’s abiding
commitment to this work of supporting writers, believing in the power of
keeping-on-keeping on, and, especially, to trusting in the power of a thousand
thousand thousand small acts of encouragement, enthusiasm, cultivation,
publishing, organizing, and sharing.
Congratulations,
rob and above/ground press. And thanks.
Gary
Barwin is a writer, musician and multimedia artist and the
author of 21 books. His bestselling novel, Yiddish
for Pirates won the Stephen Leacock Medal for Humour, the Canadian Jewish
Literary Award, and the Hamilton Literary Award and was shortlisted for the
Scotiabank Giller Prize and the Governor General’s Award. His latest book is No TV for Woodpeckers. His latest
chapbooks are Broken Light (Penteract
Press, 2017) and Quantum Typography
(Timglaset Editions, 2018.) He is currently Writer in Residence at McMaster
University and the Hamilton Public Library. garybarwin.com
Barwin is the author of four above/ground press chapbooks,
including “SYNONYMS FORFISH,” STANZAS #26 (March, 2001) and Seedpod, Microfiche (2013), as well as
two collaborations forthcoming in March 2018: PLEASURE BRISTLES (with Alice Burdick) and gravitynipplemilk anthroposcenesters (with Tom Prime).
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