We milled about in the big room of the old Khyber
Building—
friends, family, local poets and Joe, who made sure
books were
stacked, drinks were set out, and a working mic was
ready. Even
my physician had shown up. I was elated; I felt I’d
finally landed
on the planet where I belonged.
Joe Blades came into my life at a critical point. I
couldn’t bear
to write another academic article. After finishing a
manuscript
of poems, I entered the Poets’ Corner Award offered by
Broken
Jaw Press. I knew nothing of small presses or of contests,
but
Joe’s press, one province over, seemed welcoming. To
my
shock, I won, which meant the poems would be published
as
a book. Joe was gracious and calm as we worked to
prepare
the manuscript. Yes, I could use a striking photograph
my
husband had taken for the cover. Of course, I could
send the
work to an external editor before it went to press. It
all happened
in about two months.
During that launch in Halifax, Joe threaded in and out
of the
crowd, wearing his enigmatic smile and holding one of
his
legendary commonplace books, a journal so stuffed with
notes,
drawings, brochures and clippings, so full the leaves
fanned
out wantonly as if the book was originally a circle, trying
to
make itself whole again.
I think of Joe as a spine of one of those journals,
gathering
in words, people and ideas--pages of ephemera and
insights
that spark conversation and creative works, opening
them all
to one another. I am forever grateful for his work in
the literary
community and for publishing my first poetry
collection.
Joe Blades was a contemporary rhapsode, traveling from
one
town to the next, sewing together stories.
After years as a scholar, Lorri Neilsen Glenn published All the Perfect Disguises with Joe Blades’ Broken Jaw Press in 2003.
