War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele


today, 8 hrs of rehearsal. a cold hall. dark. hard surfaces. over and over we mark, we block. read fragments of poetry. others’. for tomorrow’s In Arms (www.inarms.ca)

and when there is a stretch without me. when the other readers, actors, take over, I sit, close my eyes, force myself to rest. and I think of all the hours I spent in LAVs with young boys during their rehearsals for Afghanistan. infantry meditation I called it. inside the steel can. bumping over landscape. or idling. the diesel engine whining, or thrumming at a stop. 24 hrs a day burning diesel. 7 or 8 men completely kitted up inside the LAV belly, and me, always squished against the turret because I was always the smallest and wasn’t needed for patrols. always protected or left behind like the baby brother nobody really wanted along for the ride but whom mother told must be looked after.

and in those LAVs I learned to let go of time. let go of restlessness. go into my head.

I nodded off a few times today. probably caused our director some alarm. poor man, he has a poet not an actor at hand to deliver words on stage tomorrow night. and a depleted poet at that. poor man.

and someone wrote to me a letter of great compassion today. compassion for what I am doing. he said, acknowledge their pain, then let it go. the dead, the wounded.

I acknowledge it. I let it go. thank you Alan.

up up I watch it. the brown hawk above Suffield, Shilo.

circle circle. the burnt range. the men asleep. leaguered.

the men. on patrol.

I let it go. the voice on the telephone.

I let it go.

through the mercy. tenderness.

of rehearsal.

I let it.


About This Page

The page you're reading contains a single diary entry entitled rehearsal. It was posted here on November 09, 2010.


Complete diary archive