On
January 20, 2011, at its 3rd Thursday Readings Series,
the Cobourg Poetry Workshop celebrates the poetic life
of one of its founder-members, Douglas Stewart, who will
be retiring from the group due to health concerns. A true
renaissance man - ballet dancer, actor, writer, world
traveler, farmer, poet - Doug had a big influence on the
Workshop's evolution to what is, today, a significant
contributor to Northumberland County's arts' scene. He
has published three books of poetry, Glenquaich,
Mactalla - Echoes of our Ancestral Past, and Skywriting.
"Doug
is very knowledgeable about his Scottish heritage and
the role of the Scots settling in Canada." says James
Pickersgill. "I think his family arrived in Canada
150 years ago by route of some of the 'clearances' by
the local Laird in Scotland. There is a strong family
connection to both Perth County farming around Stratford,
Ontario and the area south of Peterborough. If memory
serves, Doug's farm in Bailieboro, north of Rice Lake,
has been in the family since that time."
FROM
AN EAST WINDOW: RICE LAKE
What
eyes, from here, looking east
Cannot recognize basswood and maple
Whose great height, position, stand pillar-couple
Framing sight vision through hayfield below;
And lakeshore's edge of tall poplars, willows
Opening eyesight to West Grape Island first;
Whose broadside view shows gun-turrets, masts
Of navy cruiser from First World War look-alike.
Then sight soars, by sunlight or moon-glow lake
From pre-dawn's auroras, to dazzling sunburst
Past many islands, skyline moraine uplands
Past marsh reed bays, native burial grounds
Sun-prism, clouds, sky, water; their defiant beauty's
hour
That far line, landlift above lake, turn islands into
cloud tower.
----
"I don't know if he still is, but Doug was a good
cook and baker, a fabulous gardener and jack-of-all-trades
utilitarian handyman, naturalist. He's hosted some excellent
summer afternoon get-togethers for the Workshop members.
Lots of sunshine, good food, and of course, poetry read
aloud. He and his wife, Kit, are also great lovers of
the arts, classical music, opera. One of their granddaughters
is poet, so it's firmly in their DNA"
James Pickersgill
Nine
Black Horses Running
See
now, October sky, far and wide
With only one raft of mackerel clouds
Baked, as by a grid-iron, waffled
Drifting with a lazy, light wind
The air from night's frost, was still cold
Along these high upland moraine roads
Where they pass through maple beech woods
Amidst road's grassy, wild flower sides
At
every foot level, tousled, with vetch buds
With shy, pink petals, strange in month gone cold
Softening this high landscape's mood;
And suddenly, the wind turns mild
(excerpt
from Nine Black Horses Running by Doug Stewart)
-----
"Doug
writes so carefully about what he wholeheartedly cares
about - whether he's angry at injustice or amused by absurdities
or amazed at the beauty of the natural world, he pours
himself into it. He was trained as a ballet dancer, one
of the most demanding of arts, and I think that's reflected
in his poetry - how he relies on the discipline of the
craft to guide him through these huge subjects. He's such
a gentleman ... gentle man."
Deborah Panko
As now they vanish in shadowed green woods
Eyes in sun frenzy of their world revealed
Of this golden forest where they have fled
To their own conscience creed, deeply moved
(excerpt
from Nine Black Horses Running by Doug Stewart)
----
"When one thinks of Doug Stewart, one thinks of consistently
thoughtful, measured sincerity. This is as evident in
his poetry readings as it is in his conversation. In his
writing it characterizes his quiet interest in nature
and the world about him, and all in a manner which makes
us feel that he comes closer than most of us to writing
what he lives."
Wayne Schlepp
Left, is vision of mystery so profound
Resolved only by those with emptied minds
Who've woken to that world beyond all words
Who ride in peace with both living and the dead.
(excerpt
from Nine Black Horses Running by Doug Stewart)
----
"Many
of us who are acquainted with Doug's recent
works think of them as reflections of the Northumberland
Hills, where he lives. But that's not all. He has been
writing an publishing since the sixties. I have before
me, Blown Leaves, an early collection which shows the
same alert response to events and situations; a child
lost in a mall, Russian ships in Halifax, a little boy's
shoes, and a poem on the dying of the elms. A man of many
perspectives."
Eric Winter
----
Rice
Lake Farm
"Sadly, I have listened and observed my state of
health and have had to make some decisions that cut out
erstwhile joys and companionship in the Cobourg Poetry
Workshop. Who know what the future holds? I will continue
to pursue, attend daytime, good weather events in town
and will work on a theatrical play. I'm working on several
now.
Best wishes,
Doug S.
