A Poetic Grimoire: A review of Procession by Katherena Vermette
Procession by Katherena Vermette
Katherina Vermette’s third collection of poetry begins with “grimoire,” a poem that introduces a grand theme: “before you were this / you were / the dream /of a hundred martyrs / you were /a wish.” The poem speaks of becoming, and ends: “your birth has taken /centuries / a labour that nearly killed / them all / you are /now // and you have / so much magick in you / stories that have waited / lifetimes / to be told”
A grimoire is a book of spells, and magic, and talismans, and to me this promises a hopeful tale. The title Procession, too, suggests a forward momentum, a becoming of some sort. That is exactly what this book delivered to me, and it was fantastic. To be sure, there is sadness and difficulty (what life is possible without that?) but Vermette has written a well-composed set of poems that have momentum.
The first section is “Biindigen,” an Anishinaabemowin word for “welcome.” I felt welcomed, and the poems here are like a greeting, with a kind invitation and odes to traditional language. From Taanishi Kiiya (trans. “Hello, how are you?”): "not only do I greet you / but I ask how / you are // how you feel / or how you have / come to be // here or maybe what / brought us / all here / what could / make us all / so lucky / to be.” It is wonderful to be here in this place at this time with friends and family, and also to “be” in the greater sense. And in “Procession,” she speaks to our interconnected, transient being, one that is so fleeting and precious. “You are only here / to learn from those who came before / and make space / for those who come after” Here, I got the sense that the poet was wrestling with the right words to capture the idea of life’s movement through childhood, to the person we are now, to ancestor.
The next section is “Carry Memory,” and it explores photography as a vehicle for documenting and remembering, but also challenges the notions of its accuracy. Vermette carries memories in her mind, as do we all; we are the vehicles that hold the past in many ways. But stories also hold the past, and she remembers stories of her grandfather and uncle. She winds her way to matriarchs: the ones who often curate the photo albums, who are sometimes behind the camera, but who also carry ancestors and children in their own faces. “You can see/ your children / in you // reflection of a now- / long-gone face that smiles from behind the camera.” (your ancestors there). I loved “Mamere,” a poem about her mother, especially this line, which is so tangible: “you’re noxema on a nightstand / stale scotch mints / on the table by the door / in a fancy glass bowl / with the lid always on.”
In “Make Beautiful,” the book takes a different tone. Vermette keeps us grounded in her own “present,” as she presents snapshots-in-verse of her formative years, and her development as a poet. I loved the poem “surrey 1980,” when, “a wave of grey smoke overlapped the clouds / the whole ground rumbled…” This is when Mt. St. Helen’s erupted in Washington State, and I remember that, as I was living in Victoria BC at the time. It’s a small point of connection to the poet. As she recalls her fledgling attempts at writing, I sensed such a kindness for her teenaged self as she mourned a loss and wrote “cringey but beautiful,” words. Years later, her understanding of the process put to the page: “we don’t do art to be good / we get good at art by doing art / but real good art is the love of it.” (make beautiful 1992). This section ends with an introduction to the magic of matriarchs and quiet revolution.
And at last, a celebration of Elders and an anticipation of ourselves aging and moving along the wheel of time. She almost eulogises herself in “things you can say about me when I’m dead:” which was rather inspiring and makes me want to write my own poem eulogy. She talks aging and burial rites in “bury me dirty,” noting “let them take me to rivers / oceans / drop me bit by bit / I will care for nothing.” In the last poem, “Peyahtik,” she realizes her position as woman and storyteller, and the poems come full circle to the very first poem, the one that birthed this poet, the one of revolution. Remember? “and you have / so much magick in you / stories that have waited / lifetimes / to be told.” Here, at the end:
then one day I realized
if I deny my voice
I deny my grandmothers
my many mothers
before my mother
as inadequate as I may be
I am all they have
This collection lives up to its moniker: This is a procession, from the beauty of interconnectedness, through to memory of our ancestors, our own lives as grounded markers yet transient, all to end on notes of Elders passing as we become Elders in turn. It’s full of home and joy, and–at times–subtle, practical humour. At the end of reading the book I felt welcomed into her space and her world, and I fully enjoyed being her guest. I hope you consider enjoying these poems as well.
Toronto: House of Anansi, 2025
***
Katherina Vermette’s third collection of poetry begins with “grimoire,” a poem that introduces a grand theme: “before you were this / you were / the dream /of a hundred martyrs / you were /a wish.” The poem speaks of becoming, and ends: “your birth has taken /centuries / a labour that nearly killed / them all / you are /now // and you have / so much magick in you / stories that have waited / lifetimes / to be told”
A grimoire is a book of spells, and magic, and talismans, and to me this promises a hopeful tale. The title Procession, too, suggests a forward momentum, a becoming of some sort. That is exactly what this book delivered to me, and it was fantastic. To be sure, there is sadness and difficulty (what life is possible without that?) but Vermette has written a well-composed set of poems that have momentum.
The first section is “Biindigen,” an Anishinaabemowin word for “welcome.” I felt welcomed, and the poems here are like a greeting, with a kind invitation and odes to traditional language. From Taanishi Kiiya (trans. “Hello, how are you?”): "not only do I greet you / but I ask how / you are // how you feel / or how you have / come to be // here or maybe what / brought us / all here / what could / make us all / so lucky / to be.” It is wonderful to be here in this place at this time with friends and family, and also to “be” in the greater sense. And in “Procession,” she speaks to our interconnected, transient being, one that is so fleeting and precious. “You are only here / to learn from those who came before / and make space / for those who come after” Here, I got the sense that the poet was wrestling with the right words to capture the idea of life’s movement through childhood, to the person we are now, to ancestor.
The next section is “Carry Memory,” and it explores photography as a vehicle for documenting and remembering, but also challenges the notions of its accuracy. Vermette carries memories in her mind, as do we all; we are the vehicles that hold the past in many ways. But stories also hold the past, and she remembers stories of her grandfather and uncle. She winds her way to matriarchs: the ones who often curate the photo albums, who are sometimes behind the camera, but who also carry ancestors and children in their own faces. “You can see/ your children / in you // reflection of a now- / long-gone face that smiles from behind the camera.” (your ancestors there). I loved “Mamere,” a poem about her mother, especially this line, which is so tangible: “you’re noxema on a nightstand / stale scotch mints / on the table by the door / in a fancy glass bowl / with the lid always on.”
In “Make Beautiful,” the book takes a different tone. Vermette keeps us grounded in her own “present,” as she presents snapshots-in-verse of her formative years, and her development as a poet. I loved the poem “surrey 1980,” when, “a wave of grey smoke overlapped the clouds / the whole ground rumbled…” This is when Mt. St. Helen’s erupted in Washington State, and I remember that, as I was living in Victoria BC at the time. It’s a small point of connection to the poet. As she recalls her fledgling attempts at writing, I sensed such a kindness for her teenaged self as she mourned a loss and wrote “cringey but beautiful,” words. Years later, her understanding of the process put to the page: “we don’t do art to be good / we get good at art by doing art / but real good art is the love of it.” (make beautiful 1992). This section ends with an introduction to the magic of matriarchs and quiet revolution.
And at last, a celebration of Elders and an anticipation of ourselves aging and moving along the wheel of time. She almost eulogises herself in “things you can say about me when I’m dead:” which was rather inspiring and makes me want to write my own poem eulogy. She talks aging and burial rites in “bury me dirty,” noting “let them take me to rivers / oceans / drop me bit by bit / I will care for nothing.” In the last poem, “Peyahtik,” she realizes her position as woman and storyteller, and the poems come full circle to the very first poem, the one that birthed this poet, the one of revolution. Remember? “and you have / so much magick in you / stories that have waited / lifetimes / to be told.” Here, at the end:
then one day I realized
if I deny my voice
I deny my grandmothers
my many mothers
before my mother
as inadequate as I may be
I am all they have
This collection lives up to its moniker: This is a procession, from the beauty of interconnectedness, through to memory of our ancestors, our own lives as grounded markers yet transient, all to end on notes of Elders passing as we become Elders in turn. It’s full of home and joy, and–at times–subtle, practical humour. At the end of reading the book I felt welcomed into her space and her world, and I fully enjoyed being her guest. I hope you consider enjoying these poems as well.
Comments
Post a Comment