The Coffee Guest    Bonnie Nish interviews ~ Shulamit Joffre      This December will mark the second anniversary of the very successful reading series ‘The First Assembly of Poets’, run by Shulamit Joffre at Chapters on Robson. Anyone who has attended this reading series knows that part of the secret of its success is the warmth, enthusiasm and encouragement that Joffre brings to the event. Add to that her wonderful and heartfelt poetry that she shares with the audience and you have a loyal following of poets developing who want to come to read, but just as important who want to come to listen and support.    “When I started this there was The World Poetry Readings Series and a reading series in a bookstore on Denman. When the later closed down I realized I was dependant on other people for these kinds of things and thought o.k. let’s see what I can do.”    And what she says she has done is to create an environment that gives a place to people who may hesitate to read where they feel safe and welcome. Shulamit also believes that part of the success of this event is that the audience is wonderful. She acknowledges that it is the applause and appreciation of the audience that makes people feel accepted and draws them to the podium to read.    “ If this encourages even one person at every event to get up and read, or to continue or come back then I feel that I have done some good.”    Shulamit understands better than most, the importance of being recognized for your work. With another book on the horizon it is almost impossible to try to image this successful poet as ever having been reluctant to share her work, but there was a time in her life when she was just that and with good cause.    “In my twenties I would tell people I was a poet and they would tell me my stuff was crap and so I became a closet poet.”    It wasn’t until her thirties and some significant life experiences that she realized that she could once again share her work without losing who she was. With the birth of her daughter, the death of her mother and her own near death experience Shulamit realized something significant had changed for her.     “Poetry has given me a sense of myself and how I relate to the rest of the world. It has helped me to heal certain areas of my life that were wounded. When I write about them I can change the ending.”    A mystical poet, Shulamit admits that as a teenager Leonard Cohen was a huge influence on her writing but overall Rumi has been the greatest influence on her life. Her poetry comes from somewhere deep inside herself and her advice to someone starting out is to listen to that inner voice. She tells us with utter certainty,” Don’t retreat and pretend you are someone you are not. Keep writing.”    But she also draws very much on her life experience listening at the same time to that voice inside. Recently, when her husband Raymond (her greatest supporter and fan) was in the hospital, her writing came from a very deep place and once again helped her through a very trying time in her life. But Shulamit has a humorous side as while. A few years ago when she had a fall while walking to work, as she sat on the curb trying to regain her dignity, her mind was working overtime trying to visualize how the fall must have looked from the outside and composing a poem about it. (See below for the poem)    Shulamit is very humane, compassionate and understanding. She will listen to you encourage you and move you. Give license to your voice. Check out the ‘First Assembly of Poets’ the first Tuesday of every month. If you don’t read at first then just listen. You will be glad you came out.   THE FALL   Before the fall, before I tumbled stumbled bumbled dropped like a stone onto cold concrete I was in 1958 thinking about twice baked potatoes baked in an oil stove on Saturday mornings in the winter with my brother.  In 1958 I used to fall a lot, not the graceless tumble, stumble bumble drop like a stone fall; just a casual land on my ass down a flight of stairs fall, thump             thump                         thump                                     bump at the bottom fall.   In 2001, falling is more complicated. As you go down, down, down you have black thoughts about broken arms and legs hips and knees. You have dark thoughts about being late for work or having to go to emergency. And you think about how fine it would be if Mom was around to kiss it and make it better. You think about being able to get up from the sidewalk, gracefully. And you ponder defeat.   My fall was graceless. I reeled, trying to hold myself upright. I twisted and turned, plastic lunch bag swinging my mouth forming an O as I landed on my knees, side and hand. Oh shit Oh damn Oh hell, I’ve fallen down. My lunch is crushed under my hand my backpack has fallen off and the beloved was not there because I did not fall like a silvered leaf from a winter-bound tree, and I did not fall carried on the winds of heaven gently, falling down, down, down, floating this way then gliding that I did not fall into waiting arms open arms treasured, I just fell.   This used to be my daughter’s forte falling, skinning knees bruising shins.  I thought I outgrew it sometime in 1967.  Let that be a lesson I reflected as I caught my breath and examined the damage. Not very much, considering. Not very much, at all. I think the beloved was there to catch me, even if I did not fall like a silvered leaf from a winter-bound tree. A kind stranger wearing the beloved’s face assisted me and was quickly on his way. I dusted myself off, inspecting my clothes for damages and stains.  A quiet thank-you was spoken while I wiped the blood from hand and knee and vacillated between tears and laughter.   Yes, let that be a lesson: at almost 51 you’re not too old to fall, even if it’s more like a stone than a feather, even if it looks like a stumble-bum tumbling, twisting and weaving, you’re still young enough to survive and think dark thoughts. And the beloved will catch you because the beloved doesn’t mind .    © Shulamit Joffre Previous Interviews: Sean McGarragle and Chystalene Buhler T Paul Ste. Marie Ariadne Sawyer ~ Re: The world Poetry Reading Series Johnny Frem ~ Re: Bolts of Fiction Liars of Orpheus ~ Re: The intentions of Orpheus Estelle Bogoch ~ Re: Crosswords for Gardeners Byron Sheardown ~ Re: Quills Canadian Poetry Magazine Home