Sue Goyette
Biography
Sue Goyette - Photo Courtesy of Katherine Wooler, via dal.ca
Sue Goyette was born in Sherbrooke, Quebec in 1964. She is the author of two books of poetry and one novel. Her first poetry book, The True Names of Birds (1998), was nominated for the 1999 Governor General’s Award, the Pat Lowther Award, and the Gerald Lampert Award. Selections of her work have won the 2008 CBC Literary Prize for Poetry, the 2010 Earle Birney Award, 2011 Bliss Carman Poetry Award, and the 2012 Pat Lowther Award.
Goyette has taught at the Banff Centre for the Arts, the Blue Heron Workshop, the Sage Hill Experience, and currently teaches at Dalhousie University. Gaspereau Press will publish her fourth book of poetry, Ocean, in 2013. She presently calls Halifax, Nova Scotia, home.
Sue Goyette is Halifax's current poet laureate.
Goyette has taught at the Banff Centre for the Arts, the Blue Heron Workshop, the Sage Hill Experience, and currently teaches at Dalhousie University. Gaspereau Press will publish her fourth book of poetry, Ocean, in 2013. She presently calls Halifax, Nova Scotia, home.
Sue Goyette is Halifax's current poet laureate.
Multiply the time of your birth with the year
your house was built. Now stretch out your arms
and measure the length from the tip of your right index finger
to your left ring finger and add that to the weight of your first true
sorrow, the first time something actually stopped you
in your tracks and dismantled you. This is when you might
want to hire someone to help with the research: go out into the field
and count the population of the nomadic letter s. It’s
everywhere, wreaking havoc and making even the smallest
of mistakes plural. Now add to that the number of wine bottles
you’ve uncorked, thinking that pouring wine should be a type
of ceremony, a threshold to the countless possibilities of passion. Then subtract
the number of footsteps it takes to walk the territory the mockingbird
so ferociously guards in your neighbourhood; ignore his impersonation
of a burglar alarm, his menacing cat noise, his clothesline pulley. He’s just a bird
cursed with tail feathers that look like the last two petals
of a plucked daisy, he loves me, and O, as he flies away, he loves me
not. Now you should have one big number on your hands.
Write it down somewhere, on next year’s calendar maybe,
on the day the clocks spring forward or if you’re feeling even the slightest bit
melancholy, on the day the clocks fall back. I think we might’ve been barking
up the wrong tree. Numbers may be the true metaphor. Try this little test:
think of a number between one and ten then figure out
what that number represents, how it’s significant to you.
Maybe it’s the number of people you have really opened up to
in bed, or the number of times you truly regret not saying yes,
or the times you were caught straddling a window, escaping
or sneaking in. Isn’t it strange, eerie how it works out? Coincidence?
I think not. The big number you’ve written down is either how many breaths
you’ve already breathed, the number of kilometres left for your feet
to walk or the weight in ounces of your next real joy. That part of the formula
is still foggy. I went to the sacred well and drank the deep water
of the Otherworld, I ate salmon, rowan berries, hazelnuts and danced
around a fire for several days. Apparently I spoke in tongues and left drawings
of the square root of my spirit on several of the village walls.
I took a young sparrow from its nest and fed it slivered almonds for forty days
then carried it back to the meadow and recited the geometrical formula
for the angles of white light that move through birds before releasing
them to the longitude of blue, latitude of sky. Sure, I left it
with a few treasured words by Rumi, but I couldn’t help myself.
Flight and ecstasy always seem to go hand in hand. I even bought
and read the easy how-to book they were selling on the last day
of the workshop, I went to the readings and heard masters recite
the height of their huts multiplied by the cubic weight of their unrequited
love added to the 243 earth days that make up one day
on the planet Venus, but I’m new at this and, to be honest,
I’m still not sure I really get it.
Published in Undone (Brick Books, 2004).
Used with permission of the author.
your house was built. Now stretch out your arms
and measure the length from the tip of your right index finger
to your left ring finger and add that to the weight of your first true
sorrow, the first time something actually stopped you
in your tracks and dismantled you. This is when you might
want to hire someone to help with the research: go out into the field
and count the population of the nomadic letter s. It’s
everywhere, wreaking havoc and making even the smallest
of mistakes plural. Now add to that the number of wine bottles
you’ve uncorked, thinking that pouring wine should be a type
of ceremony, a threshold to the countless possibilities of passion. Then subtract
the number of footsteps it takes to walk the territory the mockingbird
so ferociously guards in your neighbourhood; ignore his impersonation
of a burglar alarm, his menacing cat noise, his clothesline pulley. He’s just a bird
cursed with tail feathers that look like the last two petals
of a plucked daisy, he loves me, and O, as he flies away, he loves me
not. Now you should have one big number on your hands.
Write it down somewhere, on next year’s calendar maybe,
on the day the clocks spring forward or if you’re feeling even the slightest bit
melancholy, on the day the clocks fall back. I think we might’ve been barking
up the wrong tree. Numbers may be the true metaphor. Try this little test:
think of a number between one and ten then figure out
what that number represents, how it’s significant to you.
Maybe it’s the number of people you have really opened up to
in bed, or the number of times you truly regret not saying yes,
or the times you were caught straddling a window, escaping
or sneaking in. Isn’t it strange, eerie how it works out? Coincidence?
I think not. The big number you’ve written down is either how many breaths
you’ve already breathed, the number of kilometres left for your feet
to walk or the weight in ounces of your next real joy. That part of the formula
is still foggy. I went to the sacred well and drank the deep water
of the Otherworld, I ate salmon, rowan berries, hazelnuts and danced
around a fire for several days. Apparently I spoke in tongues and left drawings
of the square root of my spirit on several of the village walls.
I took a young sparrow from its nest and fed it slivered almonds for forty days
then carried it back to the meadow and recited the geometrical formula
for the angles of white light that move through birds before releasing
them to the longitude of blue, latitude of sky. Sure, I left it
with a few treasured words by Rumi, but I couldn’t help myself.
Flight and ecstasy always seem to go hand in hand. I even bought
and read the easy how-to book they were selling on the last day
of the workshop, I went to the readings and heard masters recite
the height of their huts multiplied by the cubic weight of their unrequited
love added to the 243 earth days that make up one day
on the planet Venus, but I’m new at this and, to be honest,
I’m still not sure I really get it.
Published in Undone (Brick Books, 2004).
Used with permission of the author.
Critical Analysis: Poetic Community and Belonging in "A New Form"
Michelle MacNeil (for ENGL 4416: Atlantic Canadian Women Poets)
In her poetry, Sue Goyette strives to articulate the transformative nature of poetry and poetic community. Whether exploring familial relationships or the nature of the poetic process, a sense of loss pervades Goyette’s work. Her focus lies not only in the realm of poetic transformation, but also narrows to meditate on belonging and the act of writing. Such acts become integral to exploring the speaker’s transformation, serving as a means to exert control over one’s environment. Goyette’s “A New Form” reflects on the writing process as a way to ward off loss and instil a sense of belonging.
Initially, Goyette’s speaker instructs “stretch out your arms / and measure the length of the tip of your right index finger / to your left ring finger” (2-4). The domestic nature of this image speaks to an initial sense of community in marriage, arguably marred by “the weight of your first true / sorrow” (4-5). With marriage now marred Goyette’s speaker retreats to the solitary act of writing.
Yet from this isolation, Goyette weaves a sense of artistic community. As a collection, Undonecontinually plays on the writing, voice, and inspiration of other artists, particularly in “A New Form.” Goyette’s speaker focuses not only on the poetic process, but also how the poetic process shapes the individual. As the poem shifts from expected numerical values to unexpected intangibles, a sense of community is slowly created:
This is when you might
want to hire someone to help with the research: go out into the field
and count the population of the nomadic letter s. It’s
everywhere, wreaking havoc and making even the smallest
of mistakes plural. (6-10)
Interestingly, however, it is through finding others that Goyette’s speaker begins to experience discontent, as evident through this pluralisation which only “wreak[s] havoc” (9). From this point on, the poem focuses heavily on pluralisation: “wine bottles” (10), “possibilities” (12), and “footsteps” (13). The domestic image which opened the poem is being replaced by a community of kindred spirits which Goyette and her speaker strive to find and belong to. However, Goyette retains an individualist tone, drawing the reader back to their own experience of the poem as she pronounces “now you should have one big number on your hands” (18), with the meaning of the number itself still unclear:
The big number you’ve written down is either how many breaths
you’ve already breathed, the number of kilometres left for your feet
to walk or the weight in ounces of your next real job. That part of the formula
is still foggy (29-32).
The poem becomes more reliant on a sense of community, a dependency on others and what they can offer, illustrating the importance of belonging and self-validation as a poet:
I even bought
and read the easy how-to book they were selling on the last day
of the workshop. I went to the readings and heard masters recite (41-3).
The speaker’s earlier losses are juxtaposed against a burgeoning feeling of belonging. However, due to the tonal shift as the book is being bought and the speaker is taught, the reader is forced to re-evaluate the entire poem as a result of this admission. With a new frame of understanding, it becomes clear that Goyette herself is commenting not only on the difference between domesticity and poetic community, but also on the space between. As her speaker closes the poem with the admission that “I’m still not sure I really get it,” (47), the hesitancy in belonging becomes apparent. As such, “A New Form” speaks not so much to a sense of belonging, but to a sense of self created through poetry.
Works Cited (for analysis):
Goyette, Sue. “A New Form.” Undone. London: Brick Books, 2004. 67-9.
In her poetry, Sue Goyette strives to articulate the transformative nature of poetry and poetic community. Whether exploring familial relationships or the nature of the poetic process, a sense of loss pervades Goyette’s work. Her focus lies not only in the realm of poetic transformation, but also narrows to meditate on belonging and the act of writing. Such acts become integral to exploring the speaker’s transformation, serving as a means to exert control over one’s environment. Goyette’s “A New Form” reflects on the writing process as a way to ward off loss and instil a sense of belonging.
Initially, Goyette’s speaker instructs “stretch out your arms / and measure the length of the tip of your right index finger / to your left ring finger” (2-4). The domestic nature of this image speaks to an initial sense of community in marriage, arguably marred by “the weight of your first true / sorrow” (4-5). With marriage now marred Goyette’s speaker retreats to the solitary act of writing.
Yet from this isolation, Goyette weaves a sense of artistic community. As a collection, Undonecontinually plays on the writing, voice, and inspiration of other artists, particularly in “A New Form.” Goyette’s speaker focuses not only on the poetic process, but also how the poetic process shapes the individual. As the poem shifts from expected numerical values to unexpected intangibles, a sense of community is slowly created:
This is when you might
want to hire someone to help with the research: go out into the field
and count the population of the nomadic letter s. It’s
everywhere, wreaking havoc and making even the smallest
of mistakes plural. (6-10)
Interestingly, however, it is through finding others that Goyette’s speaker begins to experience discontent, as evident through this pluralisation which only “wreak[s] havoc” (9). From this point on, the poem focuses heavily on pluralisation: “wine bottles” (10), “possibilities” (12), and “footsteps” (13). The domestic image which opened the poem is being replaced by a community of kindred spirits which Goyette and her speaker strive to find and belong to. However, Goyette retains an individualist tone, drawing the reader back to their own experience of the poem as she pronounces “now you should have one big number on your hands” (18), with the meaning of the number itself still unclear:
The big number you’ve written down is either how many breaths
you’ve already breathed, the number of kilometres left for your feet
to walk or the weight in ounces of your next real job. That part of the formula
is still foggy (29-32).
The poem becomes more reliant on a sense of community, a dependency on others and what they can offer, illustrating the importance of belonging and self-validation as a poet:
I even bought
and read the easy how-to book they were selling on the last day
of the workshop. I went to the readings and heard masters recite (41-3).
The speaker’s earlier losses are juxtaposed against a burgeoning feeling of belonging. However, due to the tonal shift as the book is being bought and the speaker is taught, the reader is forced to re-evaluate the entire poem as a result of this admission. With a new frame of understanding, it becomes clear that Goyette herself is commenting not only on the difference between domesticity and poetic community, but also on the space between. As her speaker closes the poem with the admission that “I’m still not sure I really get it,” (47), the hesitancy in belonging becomes apparent. As such, “A New Form” speaks not so much to a sense of belonging, but to a sense of self created through poetry.
Works Cited (for analysis):
Goyette, Sue. “A New Form.” Undone. London: Brick Books, 2004. 67-9.
Bibliography
Primary Sources:
Aitken, Kelley, Susan Goyette and Barbara Scott. First Writes. Banff: Banff Centre Press, 2005.
Goyette, Sue. Anthesis: A Memoir. Kentville: Gaspereau Press, 2020.
---. "Anthesis (an excerpt)." The Fiddlehead 75th Anniversary Issue (2020): 163-168.
---. The Brief Reincarnation of a Girl,. Kentville: Gaspereau Press, 2015.
---. "Cooked to Tears." Geist. 27.93 (2014): 26.
---. "Fashion: a Blend of Shyness." Prairie Fire. 33.2 (2012): 67.
---. "Fashion: for the Crossing." Malahat Review. (2012): 15.
---. "Fashion: Grief Wear." Prairie Fire. 33.2 (2012): 68.
---. "Fashion: Inspiration Wear." Prairie Fire. 33.2 (2012): 66.
---. "From ‘Ocean’." Malahat Review. (2012): 14.
---. “Full House.” Canadian Literature 166 (Autumn 2000): 62. WorldCat.
---. "I Miss All My People. I Miss the People Who Aren't My People." The Coast, thecoast.ca, 15 Apr 2020.
---. Lures: a novel. Toronto: HarperFlamingo Canada, 2002.
---. “Meadow.” Canadian Literature 166 (Autumn 2000): 125. WorldCat.
---. “The moon on Friday night.” Compton, Anne, Laurence Hutchman, Ross Leckie, and Robin McGrath. Coastlines: the Poetry of Atlantic Canada. Fredericton: Goose Lane, 2002. 128.
---. Ocean. Kentville: Gaspereau Press, 2013.
---. Océan. Translated by Georgette Leblanc. Moncton: Perce-Neige, 2019.
---. “On Building a Nest.” Compton et. al. 130.
---. Outskirts. London: Brick Books, 2011.
---. Penelope. Kentville: Gaspereau Press, 2017.
---. “The Peonies.” Compton et. al. 129.
---, ed. Resistance. Regina: Coteau Books, 2018.
---. “The True Names of Birds.” Compton et. al. 128.
---. Undone. London: Brick Books, 2004.
---, and Carla Gunn. "Conversation 6." The Scales Project, thescalesproject.com.
---, and Molly Peacock, eds. The Best Canadian Poetry in English 2013. Barrie: Tightrope Books, 2013.
Secondary Sources:
Andrew, Suzanne Alyssa. "How editors Sue Goyette, Jen Sookfong Lee, and Stacey May Fowles created an inclusive environment for working with sexual-assault survivors." Quill & Quire, quillandquire.com, 22 April 2019.
Bast, Laura. "Sue Goyette’s Quagmire." Canadian Notes and Queries. (2015): 67.
Bird, Lindsay. "Deeply homesick for a woman's voice." Rev. of Penelope by Sue Goyette. The Coast, thecoast.ca, 14 Dec 2017.
Conrad, Paisley. "'Stalking like a coyote'" Complicity and Unwanted Responsibility in Gue Goyette's Ocean." The New Twenties, thenewtwenties.ca, 19 June 2020.
Glenn, Lorri Neilsen. “Rev. of Undone, by Sue Goyette.” Antigonish Review 141/142 (Spring 2005): 179-185. Literature Online.
Goyette, Sue, and Linda Besner. "An Acquiescence to Not Knowing." What the Poets Are Doing: Canadian Poets in Conversation. Edited by Rob Taylor, Gibsons: Nightwood Editions, 2018.
Jackson, Lorna. “Rev. Of Lures by Sue Goyette.” Quill & Quire (2002).
Kruck, Laurie. “Rev. of Lures, by Sue Goyette. “ Canadian Literature 181 (2004): 138-140. EBSCO.
Lane, M. Travis. "Haligonian Charm: review of Outskirts by Sue Goyette and Open Air Binderyby David Hickey." The Fiddlehead. 251 (2012): 103-106.
Mikalson, Kaarina. "The Brief Reincarnation of a Girl." Rev. of The Brief Reincarnation of a Girl, by Sue Goyette. Dalhousie Review. 96.1 (2016): 135.
Queyras, Sina. "Women, Epic, Live Wires: In Conversation with Sue Goyette." LEMONHOUND3.0, lemonhound.com, 12 Dec 2017.
Walbourne-Gough, Douglas. Interview with Sue Goyette. The Fiddlehead, thefiddlehead.ca, 7 Feb 2020.
Webb-Campbell, Shannon. "Resistance is an Act of Poetic Power for Women." Rev. of Resistance edited by Sue Goyette. Atlantic Books Today, atlanticbookstoday.ca, 25 Oct 2018.
Aitken, Kelley, Susan Goyette and Barbara Scott. First Writes. Banff: Banff Centre Press, 2005.
Goyette, Sue. Anthesis: A Memoir. Kentville: Gaspereau Press, 2020.
---. "Anthesis (an excerpt)." The Fiddlehead 75th Anniversary Issue (2020): 163-168.
---. The Brief Reincarnation of a Girl,. Kentville: Gaspereau Press, 2015.
---. "Cooked to Tears." Geist. 27.93 (2014): 26.
---. "Fashion: a Blend of Shyness." Prairie Fire. 33.2 (2012): 67.
---. "Fashion: for the Crossing." Malahat Review. (2012): 15.
---. "Fashion: Grief Wear." Prairie Fire. 33.2 (2012): 68.
---. "Fashion: Inspiration Wear." Prairie Fire. 33.2 (2012): 66.
---. "From ‘Ocean’." Malahat Review. (2012): 14.
---. “Full House.” Canadian Literature 166 (Autumn 2000): 62. WorldCat.
---. "I Miss All My People. I Miss the People Who Aren't My People." The Coast, thecoast.ca, 15 Apr 2020.
---. Lures: a novel. Toronto: HarperFlamingo Canada, 2002.
---. “Meadow.” Canadian Literature 166 (Autumn 2000): 125. WorldCat.
---. “The moon on Friday night.” Compton, Anne, Laurence Hutchman, Ross Leckie, and Robin McGrath. Coastlines: the Poetry of Atlantic Canada. Fredericton: Goose Lane, 2002. 128.
---. Ocean. Kentville: Gaspereau Press, 2013.
---. Océan. Translated by Georgette Leblanc. Moncton: Perce-Neige, 2019.
---. “On Building a Nest.” Compton et. al. 130.
---. Outskirts. London: Brick Books, 2011.
---. Penelope. Kentville: Gaspereau Press, 2017.
---. “The Peonies.” Compton et. al. 129.
---, ed. Resistance. Regina: Coteau Books, 2018.
---. “The True Names of Birds.” Compton et. al. 128.
---. Undone. London: Brick Books, 2004.
---, and Carla Gunn. "Conversation 6." The Scales Project, thescalesproject.com.
---, and Molly Peacock, eds. The Best Canadian Poetry in English 2013. Barrie: Tightrope Books, 2013.
Secondary Sources:
Andrew, Suzanne Alyssa. "How editors Sue Goyette, Jen Sookfong Lee, and Stacey May Fowles created an inclusive environment for working with sexual-assault survivors." Quill & Quire, quillandquire.com, 22 April 2019.
Bast, Laura. "Sue Goyette’s Quagmire." Canadian Notes and Queries. (2015): 67.
Bird, Lindsay. "Deeply homesick for a woman's voice." Rev. of Penelope by Sue Goyette. The Coast, thecoast.ca, 14 Dec 2017.
Conrad, Paisley. "'Stalking like a coyote'" Complicity and Unwanted Responsibility in Gue Goyette's Ocean." The New Twenties, thenewtwenties.ca, 19 June 2020.
Glenn, Lorri Neilsen. “Rev. of Undone, by Sue Goyette.” Antigonish Review 141/142 (Spring 2005): 179-185. Literature Online.
Goyette, Sue, and Linda Besner. "An Acquiescence to Not Knowing." What the Poets Are Doing: Canadian Poets in Conversation. Edited by Rob Taylor, Gibsons: Nightwood Editions, 2018.
Jackson, Lorna. “Rev. Of Lures by Sue Goyette.” Quill & Quire (2002).
Kruck, Laurie. “Rev. of Lures, by Sue Goyette. “ Canadian Literature 181 (2004): 138-140. EBSCO.
Lane, M. Travis. "Haligonian Charm: review of Outskirts by Sue Goyette and Open Air Binderyby David Hickey." The Fiddlehead. 251 (2012): 103-106.
Mikalson, Kaarina. "The Brief Reincarnation of a Girl." Rev. of The Brief Reincarnation of a Girl, by Sue Goyette. Dalhousie Review. 96.1 (2016): 135.
Queyras, Sina. "Women, Epic, Live Wires: In Conversation with Sue Goyette." LEMONHOUND3.0, lemonhound.com, 12 Dec 2017.
Walbourne-Gough, Douglas. Interview with Sue Goyette. The Fiddlehead, thefiddlehead.ca, 7 Feb 2020.
Webb-Campbell, Shannon. "Resistance is an Act of Poetic Power for Women." Rev. of Resistance edited by Sue Goyette. Atlantic Books Today, atlanticbookstoday.ca, 25 Oct 2018.
