POETSpause was created by Joan Baron, commissioned by the Resort Municipality of Whistler in 2007, to enrich and continue the ongoing appreciation of the arts in Whistler.

The artist, Joan Baron, wants the visitor of this site to experience this inter-active sculpture that creates a “larger-than-life” memory of Whistler. One that can be touched and remembered for years to come.

“Let the massiveness of this sculpture,”LAKESIDE COUPLE” encourage you to pause a second longer, as you allow the huge arms of the chair, the location and the poetry to embrace you.”

The poetry is contributed to this site through a local competition. Find yourself with words and participate by entering the competition when the call for poets is announced.

Enjoy this pause.

TWO

Your need is restless as pebbles in faraway surf,the train carries you towards promises: you will swim unafraidover kelp-shrouded secrets, you will guzzlewisdom from every tilted leaf, bungee dive into the rushof your fierce hopes. You deny steel rails their geometry-believe they will converge if only you follow far enough.Fever burns your eyes glassy with going; you are gone.

I carry my heart of dogwood, salal, dragonflies coupling above the cattails: careless beside the railway tracks I have yet to hear the whistle cry, the pledge of eternal light. I will learn how the darkness closes up behind that caboose like water after a swimmer, like ashes after embers, silence after goodbye.

You sing and un-sing your way through other arms, leave before you arrive, stop to drink the spoils of every country otherthan your own, you wake to the roar of life hurtling past, afraidto blink and miss one digital moment, until time turnsyour eyes heavy with knowing; you want some days to be alone.

I weave the weft of summer into reddening maples, deer tiptoeing like ballerinas en pointe through frosted grass. I keep my head down through the forest until the high alpine swirls its magician’s cape aside, says look at what I’ve saved just for you! I bide the hush of winter until impatient trees fling up their snow-burdened arms, like women doffing shawls, anoint me walking underneath. We have not met; I don’t even know I am waiting.

All trains return. You track the worn carpet trail throughdining cars, the endless movement within movement, you runup escalators to be faster. The tide moves within you, movesyou, brings you at last to this stop only, onlyme. Inevitable as water, the momentum of yesterday becomestoday. Love clears all debts yet owing; we are home.

Pam Barnsley, 2007

POETSpause was created by Joan Baron, commissioned by the Resort Municipality of Whistler in 2007, to enrich and continue the ongoing appreciation of the arts in Whistler.

The artist, Joan Baron, wants the visitor of this site to experience this inter-active sculpture that creates a “larger-than-life” memory of Whistler. One that can be touched and remembered for years to come.

“Let the magnitude of this sculpture,”LOST IN SOUND” encourage you to pause a second longer, as you allow the resonating sound of the chimes, the location and the poetry to capture you.”

The poetry is contributed to this site through a local competition. Find yourself with words and participate by entering the competition when the call for poets is announced.

Enjoy this pause.

NATURE’S ORCHESTRA

Cover your eyes and listenMy father used to say when I walked with him.To sounds near and sounds far, lifting and blendingIn nature’s way.

To me it was silent, the surface of the lake stretched flat as a drum,Suddenly, barely a whisper, fingers rippling on strings, wrestled my attention.I peeked to find a flock of ducks, their landing gear skimming on water,Something was there, performing.

After he died, I tried to re-trace our steps, meandering,But all I heard was my own breathing, and the slap, slap of my raincoat.The lake still and somber, the woods and the sky lifeless, and me disheartened.Nothing like I remembered it.

I took the narrow footpath through the woods and around the lake,Our old familiar, and closed my eyes until the wild beating of my heart calmed.Soon a faint wind opened, fluid, fluttering its way through treetops,Then high in a fir tree, the percussive rat-a-tat-tat of a woodpecker.There were crows too, squeaking an squawking, brassy and shrill,And at the bridge, a murmuring tremolo, the creek’s water surged and swelled:Timbres of the forest.

As each song unfolded, I began to remember the rhythm of our walks,Without sorrow.The great boisterous orchestra of nature.All of their voices, all of them still here.

Mary MacDonald, 2007