P.E.I. poet-fisherman debuts collection of salty verses
'I'll spend whatever little literary career I have undoing everything Lucy Maud Montgomery did'
Fisherman Chris Bailey of North Lake, P.E.I., launched his debut collection of poems What Your Hands Have Done Monday night in Charlottetown.
Bailey comes from a fishing family in the tiny village and says his poems — laced with plenty of profanity — reflect life on the sea and in rural P.E.I.
"I try to be honest with it," Bailey told Mainstreet P.E.I.'s Angela Walker. "There's dialogue in the poems ... there's some word choices in there ... the creative and casual use of profanity."
Bailey said he hopes his poems reach those who don't like to read or think it's not cool to read.
"Bring them to it and make them realize, they are here. My nephew, he lives in Souris, he might be able to pick this up and enjoy it," Bailey said.
'An act of love'
Although much of what he writes is personal, Bailey said he has also tried to fictionalize the poems to give his family their privacy.
"To write about someone or something with a close observance, it's an act of love really," he said. "You have to fictionalize it but if I've done my work properly, everything will seem true."
Bailey has been working on the collection of poems for several years and is thrilled to finally see it in print.
"I'll spend whatever little literary career I have undoing everything Lucy Maud Montgomery did," Bailey laughed. "She did a really idyllic way of looking at the Island — and there's nothing wrong with that. But ... there's a lot of things you don't hear about here, you don't talk about."
Here's an excerpt from What Your Hands Have Done.
The place that's held you
You don't need to look to the stars to feel small.
Insignificance is found downtown at the foot of the CN Tower.
There's nothing up there anyway.
All haze and rigid constellations squared against the silhouettes of buildings.
To the east, a place that was home falls into disrepair.
In a nest of rust-coloured potato fields and smashed glass bottles.
The place that's held you so long.
The pockmarked bedroom door.
The bodies of your dog and cat beneath the lobster traps stacked out back.
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With files from Angela Walker