My sister Jenn and I finally made it to Poetry Night at Deux Maples Gallery last night.

Every month we plan to attend but something always comes up at the last minute, the kids get sick, her husband needs to work, the weather is terrible, etc. Last night even on the drive in from Blackville we refused to even acknowledge our final destination just in case we jinxed ourselves into having an accident or getting stuck in some sort of freak construction or something. I’m sure Esther was surprised to see us.

Anyone who thinks the arts are dead or non-existent in Miramichi should drop by Deux Maples sometime for the poetry or to browse the art. You’ll soon change your mind. We’ve got so many creative people on the river, so many artistic outings to attend, this is just one of them.

One of my favourite local poets, Dorinda Glover, gave a reading last night. I’ve always loved Dorinda’s poetry because it tends to be dark and deep but at recent events I’ve also been extremely impressed by her presentation skills. Dorinda has grown into a terrific performance artist, a real expert of Spoken Word.

We arrived a little bit late and missed some of the beginning readings. My sister especially loved Doug Underhill’s vivid nature imagery and poems about his daughters. She said one of the poems brought the tears to her eyes as she thought about her own kids and she was worried she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from crying and embarrass herself in front of everyone.

Perhaps, the biggest surprise and treat of the evening for me was the closing lecture with Doug Shanahan. I hadn’t expected this final portion of the evening. I’ve never been to a group reading that ended with a lecture before. But I loved it! Talking about Shelley and Byron made me miss university and realise how much I crave literature discussion and learning.

Just when I thought the night was perfect, that it couldn’t get any better, it did. I could have listened to Doug talk about the Romantics for many more hours.

I’m hoping nothing will come up and we’ll be able to go again next month . . . and the next . . . and the next . . .

Who knows? The atmosphere is so non-threatening and amicable that maybe I might even get up the courage to share some of my thoughts that I try to pass off as poetry.

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