Like Windsor, the photographs in and the river, too are gritty, bold, beautiful; each is a story; each is a poem. Music overflows the poetry – perfect since we grew up on Motown, on the jazz that crossed the river, on our own homegrown – and each poem also suggests the grit and sensuous experiences that connect the poets to the place.
Some of my favourite lines include:
“I am a crow, caught on lift of current, restless and open.” (“Migration Patterns,” Kim Fahner)
“…but the guy-wires of the bridge
appear strung in pairs
like piano wires / carrying the music of the wind”
(“The Gordie Howe International Bridge,” John B. Lee)
“A smooth descent down a fretless spin.” (“Honey Suckle Steel Beneath a Blue Sun (Jazz)” Teajai Travis)
“Here in the alley,” a phrase repeated, beginning four of the seven stanzas, creating music and echoes (“Here in the Alley, Peter Hrastovec)
“I’m made from rivermud, muck-sludge with scrap metal,
truck traffic, human traffic, tunnel traffic, bridge traffic
Georgian buildings turned to falafel shops. A wreckage
[…]
(“Ground Zero: Ouellette and Riverside,” Micheline Maylor — I love the rush of it, the music of it, the truth of it)
Kathryn MacDonald 