At The Quinte Hotel - By Al Purdy, the greatest Canadian poet

At The Quinte Hotel
I am drinking
I am drinking yellow flowers
in underground sunlight
and you can see that I am a sensitive man
and I notice that the bartender is a sensitive man
so I tell him the beer he draws
is half fart and half horse piss
and all wonderful yellow flowers
But the bartender is not quite
so sensitive as I supposed he was
the way he looks at me now
and does not appreciate my exquisite analogy
Over in one corner two guys
are quietly making love
in the brief prelude to infinity
Opposite them a peculiar fight
enables the drinkers to lay aside
their comic books and watch with interest
while I watch with interest
a wiry little man slugs another guy
then tracks him bleeding into the toliet
and slugs him to the floor again
with ugly red flowers on the tile
three minutes later he roosters over
to the table where his drunk friend sits
with another friend and slugs both
of em ass-over-electric-kettle
so I have to walk around
on my way for a piss
Now I am a sensitive man
so I say to him mildly as hell
"You shouldn'ta knocked over that good beer
with them beautiful flowers in it"
So he says "Come on"
So I Come On
like a rabbit with weak kidneys I guess
like a yellow streak charging
on flower power I suppose
& knock the shit outa him & sit on him
(he is just a little guy)
and say reprovingly
"Violence will get you nowhere this time chum
Now you take me
I am a sensitive man
and would you believe I write poems?"
But I could see the doubt in his upside down face
in fact in all the faces
"What kind of poems?"
"Flower poems"
"So tell us a poem"
I got off the little guy but reluctantly
for he was comfortable
and told them this poem
They crowded around me with tears
in their eyes and wrung my hands feelingly
for my pockets for
it was a heart-warming moment for literature
and moved bt the demonstrable effect
of great Art and the brotherhood of people I remarked
"-the poem oughta be worth some beer"
It was a mistake in terminology
for silence came
and it was brought home to me in the tavern
that poems will not realy buy beer or flowers
or a goddam thing
and I was sad
for I am a sensitive man
- From his book "Poems For All The Annettes"
Al Purdy is a great poet. While most poetry enthusiasts know of Canadian poets Margaret Atwood or Leonard Cohen, not many know of Al Purdy, and that is a shame. Purdy has put his whole life down on paper. He paints a picutre of Canada that no other writer has been able to. He captures in vivid colour the people and places he has seen. He has written over fourty books of poetry, and, now in his 80's, still writes. I will post a Purdy poem every day for the next few days, so that everyone out there on the net can appreciate his brilliance. - River
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Thanks River, this poem's a beaut...fallon
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Yea River he sort of says the same thing that Auden said but I sure as hell like the way he got there..Poems have never feed the bulldog and never will...Jake
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A sad footnote to this poem. The Quinte in Trenton, Ont. the setting for this poem, burned to the ground this morning. It was a landmark in town.
Jenn
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Quinte Hotel aka Clarion Inn was located at Bridge and Pinnacle in Belleville, not Trenton!
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The Quinte Hotel is (was, I guess) in Belleville Ontario, about 10 miles from Trenton.
Al Purdy drove a taxi in Belleville, among other things.
The Tragically Hip's lead singer, Gord Downie, has done a filmed recitation of this poem. It is excellent!
-Rob
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According to the man himself At the Quinte Hotel took place at the old Quinte Hotel in Trenton, not belleville's.