Ever lost a blogger friend?

Someone you never met in person but whose posts touched your heart and mind?

Or perhaps that person’s writing made you sit up and say: “Wow. I wish I could write like that!”

Such a person was Cynthia Jobin. Her unique voice came through in her marvellous poetry and her responses to comments on her blog. I “heard” it in the email notes she sent me, the reviews of my books that she wrote.

But mostly, in her poems.

Blog Photo - Cynthia Jobin Photo

Modern poets usually intimidate me because half the time I don’t know what they’re trying to say — making me suspect that I must be deeply superficial.

But Cynthia wrote poetry like no-one else I’d ever read. Deep and moving, yes. But witty, surprising, and funny at times too. You felt you were sharing the joke, not on the outside looking in.

CONVERSATION WITH A CREEK

Posted on October 5, 2016 by Cynthia Jobin

I will slap your face
I said
and the water said
go right ahead.

I’ll beat you with a stick
I said
and the water said
go right ahead.

I will stomp on you
I said
and the water said
go right ahead.

I’ll cut you with my knife
I said
and the water said
go right ahead.

I will nail you in a box
I said
and the water said
go right ahead

as it glittered
in a zillion squints
of dancing glints
along its pebbly bed.

I may be daft
but that was when
I think I heard
the water laugh.

Cynthia died from cancer days after posting one final poem on December 6, 2016.

An American, Cynthia had entrusted her poems to UK poet John Looker. A new book of her poetry has been published by Bennison Books.

Blog Photo - Book cover of cynthia Jobin book Song of Paper

Amazon.com(https://amzn.to/2A8Pq3d)

Amazon UK(https://amzn.to/2NFTF9M)

In the introduction, John Looker writes about Cynthia’s “unobtrusive intellect at work”. It was one of her special gifts: she was undeniably brilliant, but not show-offy about it. Her poetry is accessible, even to me.

“The poems in this collection show that variety of theme and equally her range of tone; she would write just for fun as well as with serious intent.

“When reading a new poem from Cynthia Jobin I have always had that comfortable feeling of being in good hands: we know that the verses are going to be impeccably crafted but we can’t predict what path they will take.”

Thank you, John and Bennison Books.

Brava, Cynthia.

That funny sound across the land

Is not the geese in flying band

That sound across this country mine

Is just a fine Canadian whine

Photo by Hamlin Grange — Photos by Hamlin Grange ©

We whine and whine about our weather

Spring and Summer, Fall and Winter,

We whine at snow, heat, fog and rain

We whine, we carp and we complain

“Winter is hell”, we cried and said

(Forgetting hell is hot and red)

“Come Spring, come soon, or we shall rot”

So Spring herself is what we got

We’d dreamed of Spring’s so-pretty flowers

Forgetting Spring’s cold wind and showers

Spring came with those accompaniments

Arousing such crude sentiments

“Can you believe this awful cold?”

“Come on now Spring, break Winter’s hold!”

“Can you believe this awful wet?”

“Good God, this Spring is the worse yet!”

And on and on Canadians go

As if our lives were full of woe

Day in, day out we moan and groan

As if bad weather were ours alone

But grateful gardeners aren’t such grumps

We take the good and take the bumps

We welcome all the days of Spring

And give our thanks for what they bring

And so we wait the Winter out

And though at times we feel some doubt

We know that flowers need the rain

Without it, we would toil in vain

Without it, what would be the point

Without it, we’d be rolling joints

Oh, wait – out by our West-Coast way

Some people do that night and day

Okay, alright that was a slur

‘Gainst folks whose Springs are oft a blur

Of rain. Offense, they do deserve it not

(Their “B.C. Bud” is known as hot)

My West Coast friends, I will refrain

From mention of your weed and rain

I will not write about your pot

At least I will not write a lot

Back to my garden I will go

Back to a subject that I know

And walk between the growing plants

And tend to what the garden wants

At evening, sounds rise o’er the land

(It’s not the geese in flying band)

That pleasant sigh is me and mine

Sipping a fine Canadian wine.

****

I’m dedicating this poem to my friends on Canada’s west coast, hoping their sense of humour is working well today.

And especially to Louise, in Niagara-On-The-Lake, who has a lovely garden, and her husband Neil, who loved his work at a winery in Niagara-on-the-Lake. Despite the uncertain weather of some growing seasons, the story of Canadian wineries (in both the east and the west) is remarkable, with many award-winning wines. Way to go, Canadian wines!