John Stiles was born and raised in the Annapolis Valley in Nova Scotia and currently lives in London, England. John is the author of the novel Taking the Stairs and is the subject of the critically acclaimed and award-winning poetry documentary Scouts are Cancelled. John has worked as a rock-n-roll roadie, door-to-door salesman, telemarketer, school teacher, journalist, cashier for a church charity and as a library assistant in London. Other works include John’s debut novel The Insolent Boy and the poetry collection Creamsicle Stick Shivs.
OO
The Vision Express
Out with me dad, me n ‘im
Up by The Angel,
Near The Vision Express
O
“They are too dark, too big,
says my wife,
“Are there any others?”
“They don’t suit you, “ mouthes your Dad
sitting on the couch, squinting.
But you can’t see I say then
“John,” a little tug on the arm from my wife
and my man Patrick rushes to the back to contemplate a lost sale
then SHE comes,
“Can I show you something else?”
“No, we want to go!” A pause, a look round, “What do you have in mind?”
I am looking at my wife, two females in charge now.
“Well, if you trade these in,” SHE takes my glasses
(I want to say take care with those they are stuck together with glue and the lenses are scratched but I just mumble)
– My wife warms to this –
“He can get thirty pounds off? Here how about these there?”
I say are you German because SHE is always talking about the Preiss and SHE says no I am Lithuanian
– and so it goes
Loyalty card pitch –
NO! (3) three times –
and so it is done – with
variable tint on one pair and thick lenses on the other
my father can barely see – (but he likes the company)
we don’t need to drink much then do we
so we go for noodles near The Red Lion Theatre and my wife orders
wine – a whole bottle.
Po, Po, Po, we’ll have the Beef Po.
Says my father, sound good?
I don’t drink much I say to my father
It affects my brain
Well you should think like that he snaps back
And has a spoonful of my wife’s noodles – this
One is much better I say but my blind father
Just smiles
Because he’s always been like that.
OO
Excuse me my friend but I cannot account for myself
Excuse me my friend but I cannot account for myself except
I may be the small incision on the skull of a dug-up nurse or
baker. I don’t particularly like this line of questioning. Don’t
think you can put me on display. I come for no reason than to
OO
listen with hands folded neatly in the audience. Yes I walk
away afterwards, make sure to call my wife.
OO
“Don’t complain.” She might say
And I might say, “But it is in my nature.”
And she will say, “Just like my brother.”
OO
Many others scurry up, to get their books signed but not me.
A passing of glances and a sharing of a moment, fine OK.
I will walk down the alleyways afterwards and it will be with
the fondest regards that I pass on my well wishes but I can
OO
tell you I am equally at home in the garden of a maiden aunt,
talking of Roman roads, Calais Lane, (Oh, hang on…) Mrs. Wotsit?
I’ve been thinking a lot lately fooling people into thinking I am certain
of their abilities, profitable or otherwise.
OO
I was thinking of Fathers
I was thinking of fathers
All the mixed things you feel,
Irritated by the lack of interest in mutual things
A smile when he can’t hear properly, a willingness
To watch Crime Watch when he doesn’t want to (or has
no interest in it) A ‘thankyou’ for everything realizing
That strictly is not as good as on iplayer as live
waiting on the couch, sighing, asking,
“Should I call Mum?” and wife with toothbrush
In her mouth saying “not now, papi, not now” and so what?
The Elton John, The Book, the laugh, oh forget it, who cares about Louie Walsh?
A wave from my wife
And still my Dad reads on the couch
A point to make but then my wife smiles.
So my wife takes a bath, instead.
OO
Subject FW: Aunt Joan
My dear darling sister,
OO
The operation is complete. Dad, Mum, Ninia and myself
have been to Westfield celebrated (both) birthdays, tums filled
extra large serving spoons. Then Aunt Joan bolstered by pills
OO
and medication but still (ALWAYS!) on form told of the
short fat man who came to do her taxes. And didn`t he,
find an overpayment of … seventy pounds! SEVENTY
O
POUNDS! Can you imagine? Dad started to yawn shout
terse answers to questions and Mum moved in for the kill.
Why don`t I come for a visit in November? (WHAT? OH,
O
if you must!) I`ll wash the walls, dust… (EH? But Shirley,
SHIRLEY is Magnificent!) And wife and I, after I told A.J.
of the poem: Birthday Party for a Ninety Year-Old, retired
O
to the kitchen to wash the dishes. You dry I`ll wash and
so on. Then, just before leaving we had a look at the photos
in the living room. A cat seated in the window, (MY BARNY!
O
OH MY BARNY!) and then we were off. Cabbie said: Did you
have a lovely visit? And Mum said, she was dressed in her
finery, now she`ll sleep all afternoon.
OO
I’m not shy, you know
I’m not shy, you know.
I’m not a saint, you know.
I just go there,
in the air,
You know?
O
I like to sit, in the
back, writing things,
seeing things, thinking
things, you know
OO
I have chemistry,
you know?
With a few that
I know.
I’ve seen Angels,
I see it all.
O
From the back, in the train cars,
under signs, under lamps,
getting bumped,
gasping at people,
You know?
O
Testing ways I go on my instinct
waiting for what?
I heard it all – spirituality is wrong…
No. No. No. I don’t think so.
I don’t think so.
You know?
OO
Poet in a Bar
You told B___________ “I like the bit
‘bout colostomy bag,” I said “I’d like to
have a look at your book,” but he kept it
O
between his legs he said “you mean buy
it?” you said “I’m broke, but I’d like to
look at it,” he said “I remember you!”
O
(I was drunk and out of work at the Enterprise
it was at an Trespass launch, I guess) as I
look at my anniversary card torn to bits
O
And an invite to a literary festival
If he hates me too –
I’ve arrived, it is true.
OO
I’m a Prince in Exile
I’m a prince in exile, tall, wishful, with crook’d specs
rusty keys, loose pants, a sweet smile and teeth that whistle
O
I’m a prince in exile, with an old coat, paper clip
poppy in lapel, hunched shoulders, floppy hair.
O
I’m a prince in exile with stooped gait, punching digits into Metro
Scratching down names on the back of a ticket stub
Throwing out hands to old ladies (friends of my mother?)
O
I’m a prince in exile rolling a ticket stub that reads:
Al Green Theatre, talking to myself in a back alley
Ready to wrestle any comers, (Lundy?)
O
I’m a Prince in exile still blond from the summer,
Let me lie beneath the grape vine, let me hold
photos of us, cap from a second hand store,
O
Sneakers, and pockets
Filled with crumbs…
o
I’m a prince in exile, let the shrubs part,
Let me at the cabbage, let me dig up the
o
Cats I loved at a child, (Benji) the dog that nipped
Neath the sour cherries, me and my brother and sister.
WLBZ TV, Beachcombers… Was this paradise?
It was. Yes, I’m a prince in exile.
OO
Wedding Anniversary in Paris
In a crowded corridor on a sixth floor
(5th w staircase) and café up – and – downstairs
o
spiral, giant spiral clock on wall, thinking
you wouldn’t mind seeing the Van Gogh again,
o
Potato eaters or the fiery hair that painting set in
Blue. I’ve lost her, you know, I waited in the
corridor but saw the paintings marked in sections
o
Degas everywhere – in all the rooms, on show
– always– and your wife says you should write
about me, my Monet and I say you don’t like
o
when I do so I sit on the stone bench on the
2nd(ieme) and almost fall down from tiredness
there is a polar bear over there nose pointing
o
like a gun towards the door.
OO
A little too good for me?
I`m worried that things come too easily
you seem happy in this bar, glad to be drinking Guinness
oo
We get along great when I am about to leave your apartment
am I am such a fool to wait for you to come home?
oo
I said I thought you were a party girl and you said
that most were like that but not you
oo
Well I like to take you to the library
to be with you in the library and I can see how
much you like books
oo
people ask me if we are married
and I say I wish we were
oo
Could this be that girl dummie, just
take her down to the park just sit with her.
OO
I forgot there was a woman
(CCA revisited)
I forgot there was a woman
on the floor screaming
and another kneeling up the steps
o
I said to the HR lady
‘What is going on?’
o
She said, “I don’t know much about it
(She was a shit – I still think so now)
o
I’ve seen her in the smoking section –
with her brother, later on
o
he looks like he’s from anywhere, big moon face
And hysterical, friendly
o
He never spoke to me before and
He wants me to be cool with him now the
company is making money
o
Well I won’t even if he is from back home
This is not something I think about
A lot about now anyway.
