Showing posts with label Layton (Irving). Show all posts
Showing posts with label Layton (Irving). Show all posts

27 October 2021

Blue Plaque Special: Quebec City Edition


In the early days of the Dusty Bookcase – more than twelve years ago! –  I heaped praise upon London's blue plaques, singling out favourites affixed to the former homes of George Frideric Handel, Jimi Hendrix, and Canadian British Prime Minister Andrew Bonnar Law. "Despite all good intentions, and a great deal of effort, we have nothing that compares in this country," I wrote.

I was wrong.

As I discovered last week during a visit to my home and native province, plaques abound in Quebec City! Consider the above, which recognizes Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's 1942 stay at 25, avenue Sainte-Geneviève (below).

One night? Two?

Never mind, it's worthy of a plaque.

As in London, the plaques of Quebec are blue. I saw them on nearly every street in the old city. Here we have two plaques, both dedicated to literary figures – Félix-Antoine Savard (1896-1982) and Luc Lacourcière (1910-1989) – who at different times called 2, rue des Remparts home:


Below is a photo of 5, rue Hébert, once the residence of  Sir James MacPherson Le Moine (1825-1912). A lawyer and historian, Sir James is the author of Quebec Past and Present (1876) and, appropriately, Picturesque Quebec (1882).

(A mystery: The Répertoire du patrimoine culturel du Québec website lists the plaque as being located at 1½, rue Hébert when in fact it is at number five. Installed in 2001, it would appear to have been moved one address over at some point after 2006. Waymarking.com has a photograph of the plaque in its former location.)

My favourite plaque bleu is found at 34, rue St-Louis, which served as residence of Philippe-Joseph Aubert de Gaspé (1786-1871) between the years 1816 and 1822. Built in 1675, one of the oldest standing houses in old Quebec, it's now home to the restaurant Aux Anciens Canadiens.

You can't see the blue plaque in this photo, but it's there.


Sadly, the pleasure derived in seeing Quebec's blue plaques was tempered by the knowledge that Montreal has no similar programme.

Why not?

I speculated as to the reason in that twelve-year-old post... and have not changed my thought on the matter.

My last day in the province found me walking through Montreal's Notre-Dame-de-Grâce. I passed 6879 Monkland Avenue. It once belonged to Irving Layton. The poet owned and lived in the house for more than four decades.


There is no plaque of any kind.

O Montreal!

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25 July 2014

Leonard Cohen Erotica… and John Glassco Porn



Five glimpses of Leonard Cohen's short story "Barbers and Lovers", from the Spring 1971 issue of Ingluvin.


The artwork is by Susan Hales.

Five pages later, John Glassco offers "Saisons de l'avenir" and "The Marital Sex Education Film":


All three published once… and never again.

05 May 2014

L’enfer c’est les autres: Crad Kilodney, 1948–2014



It's my honour to present this guest post, a tribute to the late Crad Kilodney by his friend Ruth Bradley-St-Cyr. The photo of Crad comes courtesy of Lorette C. Luzajic.

Crad Kilodney and I became friends about 1980, the day he walked into the Kentucky Fried Chicken takeout where I worked, looked me square in the eye, and asked, “Do your chickens die in a state of grace?” To a geeky teenager with a quirky sense of humour, this was irresistible. “I certainly hope so,” I replied.

Crad lived in my North Toronto neighbourhood around Avenue Road and Wilson. After I moved to Hamilton, I had a dream about him and wrote to tell him about it. I dreamt that he had moved to a new basement apartment on the south side of Old Orchard Grove, about six houses down from Avenue Road. He wrote back and asked me to pick his lottery numbers for him, because he had just moved, exactly where I had said.

But Crad didn’t need the lottery. Lotteries are for poor people. Smart people invest in the stock market. So when Crad’s Long Island grandparents died and left him money, he invested in gold stocks and told me to do the same. Excellent advice. I wish I had had the money to invest, though I was leery of the social benefits of mining companies.


With his stock market dividends, he moved downtown to a rooming house, retired from standing on street corners, and divested himself of the tools of his trade. One souvenir is an original cardboard sign, complete with the shoelace he hung around his neck, which hangs now on my bookshelf. One side says, “CHANEL DOG ENEMAS $5-$12,” the other, “BOOKS FOR U. OF T. DUMMIES $5-$10.” When he asked me which sign I would like, this one particularly spoke to me, since I went to Glendon and York.


I have all of his books, mostly signed, up until 1992’s The Second Charnel House Anthology of Bad Poetry. A copy of his Worst Canadian Stories (volume 2, I think) was stolen in Nicaragua in 1988 and presumably is still in circulation there. His titles were always provocative, my favourites being Blood-Sucking Monkeys from North Tonawanda and Suburban Chicken-Strangling Stories. My favourite inscriptions are on The Green Book – “To Ruth, Avoid inhaling. Discontinue use if rash develops” – and on Human Secrets: Book Two – “To Ruth, Last copy of this book I will ever sell. Glad you got it.”


Yes, he was cranky. How could he not be? He sold his books not at fancy author signings with self-selected literary groupies, but on the streets of downtown Toronto, exposing himself day after day to the inanity of people who couldn’t even read his signs, never mind his books. “SLIMY DEGENERATE LITERATURE,” read one sign, and some illiterate soul asked if he was selling detergent. But Margaret Atwood talked to him whenever she saw him, and that was something of a balm to his wounded genius.


His best pokes at the literary establishment were two pranks, one of which I helped with. In the first prank, he took selected poems of Irving Layton, put a pseudonym on them, and submitted them to publishers. Nobody, except Layton’s own publisher, picked up on this; the other publishers rejected the work. The second prank, requiring the assistance of his friends, was to submit rather bad stories from great writers to the CBC literary competition. I got to be Maxim Gorky. All the stories were rejected but, again, without anyone identifying any of the real authors.


Kilodney’s style was brooding, raw, and spare. He always struck me as a man already in purgatory. But he was always happy to meet a kindred spirit, and he was not entirely solitary in his publishing endeavours. Besides his own Charnel House imprint, he also published with Black Moss Press, Coach House Press, The Canadian Fiction Magazine, The Carolina Quarterly, Descant, Lowlands Review, and others. Some of his correspondence can be found in The Canadian Fiction Magazine fonds (Box 16, file 131) at the McMaster University archives. But his own extensive papers (26 archival boxes/5 linear metres) he donated to the Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library at the University of Toronto.


Some of his letters – along with his “street tapes,” noir films on VHS, and a couple of vanity press books he had worked on, including one about a barber – is no doubt buried in one of my own bankers boxes of CanLit archives. Crad and I were always happy to run into each other – he kept box 281 at the Avenue Road post office – but I moved away from Toronto a dozen years ago and left him to his gold stocks. His real name wasn’t Crad. I think it was Lou, but I’m not sure now. He had beautiful hands. He claimed not to be a draft dodger. He has a sister somewhere who he never contacted. I’m sure she doesn’t acknowledge him either, but he was a wonderful, unforgettable, eccentric character and Toronto is poorer without him.

Ruth Bradley-St-Cyr
Embrun, Ontario

18 November 2013

T is for Thievery


Pettes Memorial Library, Knowlton, Quebec
Hugely flattered to hear you stole my book. This is fame. I used to steal a lot of books myself, mostly from libraries: my method was to look at the little card in the back envelope and if it hadn’t been taken out more than twice in the past year I would figure I needed it more than the public. 
— John Glassco, letter to Al Purdy, 18 September 1964
John Glassco, that self-proclaimed "great practitioner of deceit," made a very fine book thief. His personal library, most of which was purchased by Queen's University, included volumes lifted from McGill University, Macdonald College, the Westmount Public Library and the Royal Edward Laurentian Hospital.

Queen's is not alone in having profited from Glassco's ill-gotten gains. Twenty-three years ago, I purchased what I thought to be his copy of Irving Layton's Balls for a One-Armed Juggler (Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1963).


A couple of decades passed before I happened to notice this on the top edge:


Glassco dated the copy April 1963, the month of publication. It is presented here as evidence that he was not above breaking the rule described in his letter to Purdy:


Two summer's ago, I purchased another of Glassco's books, Henry de Montherlant's Perish in Their Pride [Les Célibataires] (New York: Knopf, 1936), only to notice this after the sale:

(cliquez pour agrandir)
The Laurentian Sanitarium became the Royal Edward Laurentian Hospital, at which Glassco spent a nearly all of 1961 undergoing treatment for tuberculosis. On 3 November of that year he wrote his wife:
Now that I’m getting ready to leave I’m casting a selective eye on the books in the library. There’s just so much stuff here I’d like to opt (organizieren) that no one has ever read or will ever read. But I’d better not: that’s bad medicine. Only two: Robert Elie’s La fin des songes (there are three copies, all untouched) and Madame Ellis’ book on Garneau. They’ll none of them be missed, as Gilbert says. Anyway, I’d like to give them a good home.
How's that for gratitude?

Trivia: The book Purdy pilfered was The Deficit Made Flesh (Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1958). The victim was a Montreal bookseller.

Plug: Both Glassco letters quoted feature in The Heart Accepts It All: Selected Letters of John Glassco, edited by yours truly.

Cross-posted at A Gentleman of Pleasure.

12 October 2013

The Foster Poetry Conference at Fifty


Irving Layton, Milton Wilson, Leonard Cohen, Eli Mandel and Aviva Layton,
Foster Poetry Conference,, October 1963
Off to the Eastern Townships this morning to celebrate the publication of The Heart Accepts It All: Selected Letters of John Glassco:
Brome Lake Books

265 E Knowlton Rd

Knowlton, QC 
12 October 2013, 2:00 pm
And what better day than today? 'Twas fifty years ago – 12 October 1963 – that Glassco's Foster Poetry Conference opened at the Glen Mountain Ski Chalet. With Glassco, F.R. Scott, A.J.M. Smith, Irving Layton, Louis Dudek, Ralph Gustafson, Eldon Grier, D. G. Jones, Leonard Cohen, Leonard Angel, Kenneth Hetrz, Henry Moscowitz and Seymour Mayne, it remains the greatest gathering of Quebec's English-language poets.

Three days of poetry, comradeship and drink, even the most subdued reports paint it as a great success. Scott was so fired by the experience that he pressured Glassco to edit the proceedings for McGill University Press.  


Glassco agreed to take on the project, but soon came to recognize that the contents failed to capture anything of the exuberant nature of the conference. The late night conversations, the raw exchanges, the drinking – almost all that had been informal, spontaneous, and dynamic had been left unrecorded. What's more he found work on the book a "horrible bore." On 4 May 1964, he wrote Jean Le Moyne: "I shall never be an editor again: this is the work for professionals who have secretaries, electric typewriters, photocopy machines, the co-ordinative faculty and endless patience: but the book is now ready for press."


When the galleys arrived Glassco found the quality so poor that the November 1964 publication date had to be scratched. For months the anthology hung over his head as he awaited, with dread, the reset galleys. What arrived was much improved and he moved quickly to clear the sheets from his desk. Then, just when his work appeared to be finished, Glassco discovered that he'd been saddled with the task of distributing payments to the twenty contributors. The irritation was only compounded by the small sums. Leonard Cohen received three dollars, barely enough to purchase a copy of the book.

My work in editing Glassco's letters was much more pleasurable.


12 August 2013

F is for First Statement


The editor of this mag, John Sutherland, is a very decent chap, about 30, a pretty good drinker too...
– John Glassco, letter to Robert McAlmon, 16 August 1944
The April & May 1945 issue of influential Montreal little magazine First Statement. Irving Layton, A.M. Klein, Patrick Anderson, Ralph Gustafson, Miriam Waddington... amongst the lesser-known writers we find Wingate Taylor, "a farmer in the Eastern townships [sic] of Quebec." He's better remembered – though, in truth, he's barely remembered at all – as Graeme Taylor, the man who shares many adventures with John Glassco in Memoirs of Montparnasse.

I've long been fascinated by Taylor, in part because he was expected to do such great things. Writing in the 'twenties, Leon Edel described him as one of the three premier Canadian writers of his generation, while A.J.M. Smith recommended his writing to anthologist Raymond Knister. I read nothing of Taylor's  that would justify such praise, but it appears Edel and Smith weren't alone in seeing something; while living in Paris, Taylor's writing appeared in This Quarter and transition, sharing pages with James Joyce, Gertrude Stein, Paul Bowles and William Carlos Williams.


Taylor's lone contribution to First Statement, "The Horse-Stall" broke a fifteen year silence, marking his first appearance in print since those days in Montparnasse. It was also his last.


"The Horse-Stall" isn't a short story, but an excerpt from a lost, unpublished novel titled Brazenhead. The twelve pages in First Statement is all that survives  an apt reflection of a man who, as Michael Gnarowski has written, "remains unrealized and obscure to the present day."

A shorter, earlier version of this piece was cross-posted at A Gentleman of Pleasure. 

10 June 2013

The Year L.M. Montgomery Became Lucy Maud


The Canadian Bookman, January 1909
I have Erica Brown of the wonderful Reading 1900-1950 to blame for time wasted this past weekend. It was she who demonstrated just how much fun can be had with the Google Ngram Viewer, a tool used in charting words, names and phrases found in the 5.2-million books that the corporation has digitized.

Prof Brown, whose work focusses on the history of popular fiction, used the GNV to trace the rise of the term "middlebrow". I began with "Ontario Gothic" (as with all, click the graph to enlarge):


An interesting result, though one that should be viewed with a cautious eye. As Prof Brown points out, "5.2 million books digitized sounds great – and it is – but it isn’t everything, and it is skewed towards US publications." I'll add that the tool doesn't capture anything published after 2008, and that any ngram that occurs in fewer than 40 books will deliver a rather deceptive 0% flatline. Still, while not entirely accurate, I think it goes far in reflecting trends.

Here, for example, is a search that charts the shift away from "L.M. Montgomery" to "Lucy Maud Montgomery". Interesting to note that the two lines converge in the mid-nineties, when most of her work entered the public domain.


The real fun comes in drawing comparisons between writers. Here, for example, are Canada's Booker Prize winners:


How about this graph featuring mentor Irving Layton and pupil Leonard Cohen:


Better yet, Irving Layton versus Louis Dudek:


Here we see the careers of rivals Ernest Thompson Seton and Charles G.D. Roberts:


The declining interest in Seton and Sir Charles made me curious about Sir Gilbert Parker, our biggest fin de siecle author.


Sobering. Wonder how I'm doing. 


Oh.

28 February 2013

Freedom to Read Week: Irving Layton's Defence of Dog Show Girl and Deviate is Not Taken Seriously


The Globe & Mail, 17 April 1973


I began by attacking the puritanism and the anti-sexuality that was in this country then, and the philistinism and the materialism, and I still go on attacking those things which I find are defects in our body politic.
– Irving Layton, 1979

15 March 2012

Irving Layton Rides a Rooster



Frank Newfeld doesn't figure in Irving Layton's memoir Waiting for the Messiah, he makes no appearance in Elspeth Cameron's 517-page Layton biography, and yet I'd argue that the designer's work played a key role in the poet's public persona.

I don't think I'm stepping out on too frail a limb in writing that The Laughing Rooster (working titles: Poems in Bad Taste and The Indelicate Touch) is the most illustrious Layton cover. It displays a bit of the whimsy that we might have seen in Newfeld's rejected "tits" cover for Leonard Cohen. Published by McClelland & Stewart in 1964, it opens in cinematic style with sixteen pages of images, credits, contents, dedication and more. At one point, rooster and poet face off.


The former seems to win – the rooster's image appears four more times before Layton begins his Preface.

Of course, it all really begins with Newfeld's first Layton cover, A Red Carpet for the Sun (1959). The poet's big press debut, it sold more than 8000 copies, elevating Layton to the level of national celebrity.

A Red Carpet for the Sun
Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1959

Those eyes. Were they too intense for our cousins to the south? A different Newfeld design was used in the American edition. A shame. 

A Red Carpet for the Sun
Highlands, NC: Jonathan Williams, 1959

The Swinging Flesh
Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1961

Balls for a One-Armed Juggler
Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1963

Periods of the Moon
Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1967

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