Praise for Courtney Bates-Hardy
The poems in
House of Mystery begin in the places the reader knows: in the fairy tales of Cinderella and Jack and the Beanstalk, in high school biology classes or movies like
The Wizard of Oz. So its easy for readers to find their way in. But, a canny reader of cultures many texts, Bates-Hardy questions these stories at every turn, sometimes revealing their dark underside, sometimes offering a liberated way out of the labyrinths. Her minimalist style welcomes the reader. But dont be fooled: layers and layers of fantasy and reality lurk beneath her powerful images. legend. legend.
Kelley Jo Burke, playwright and author of Charming and Rose and The Selkie Wife Bates-Hardy uses the mystic, animal-human hybrid of the mermaid to examine themes like the body, femininity, dual states and fairy tales. Bates-Hardy is a contemplative poet with a keen sense of paradox. Sea Foam urges us to breathe beneath the surface of normal life and inhale the language of the fantastic, transforming the mundane into the surreal. Devin Pacholik, Vice columnist
FIRST EDITIONHouse of Mystery 2016 by Courtney Bates-Hardy
Cover artwork 2016 by Erik Mohr
Cover design 2016 by Samantha Beiko
Interior design 2016 by David Bigham & Samantha Beiko All Rights Reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Distributed in Canada by Publishers Group Canada 76 Stafford Street, Unit 300 Toronto, Ontario, M6J 2S1 Toll Free: 800-747-8147 e-mail: | Distributed in the U.S. by Consortium Book Sales & Distribution 34 Thirteenth Avenue, NE, Suite 101 Minneapolis, MN 55413 Phone: (612) 746-2600 e-mail: |
Library and Archives Canada Data Cataloguing in Publication
Bates-Hardy, Courtney, author
House of mystery / Courtney Bates-Hardy. Poems.
Issued in print and electronic formats.
ISBN 978-1-77148-403-9 (paperback).--ISBN 978-1-77148-404-6 (pdf) I. Title.
Published with the generous assistance of the Ontario Arts Council.
for Christian,who listens to my dreamsTable of Contents
I.
for Christian,who listens to my dreamsTable of Contents
I.
Siren Undine Letter of the Mermaid Captive Siren = Pool Human Perfection A Mermaid in Love with the Sun Three Girls II. Hating Cinderella Midnight The Step-Sister Speaks The Birth of Beauty The Good People Beauty, Sleeping Red I Red II Father Ocean Ivory Tower m Jacks Forgotten Sister Diamonds and Toads The Word and the Wing Meditations on Yellow III. Origin Story House of Mystery Origin Story Bedtime Alice Donkeyskin Eclipse Dorothy Romantic Comedy Office Girl Working Woman Camping Wolf Princess Lessons Not Like Fairy Tales Upon Marriage Snow White Leaves I Understand You, Step-Mother After Ever After Ogress Dishes Witch I Witch II Wendy Mother-Witch Grandmother Red Swing Set
I. Siren
Undine
Wind down the seaside path, lit by the moon, notice a tail trace on the sand, a slight splash, ripples. Follow the shadowed animal, a mystery in blue, an enigma, not ice, not sky, not you, not me.
Letter of the Mermaid
My dearest, If I could, Id choose to be speaking, reassuring you I know how to make this world less full of leave-taking and shape our separate bodies into sea foam.
While I wait, theres a persuasive terror to these words drawing me out of this room, away from this table and my damned impotent lines. Yet your breath lures. Your voice. Mine. Is all I can see on this weak paper. Already plotting out two-word worlds imagined but aborted.
They hang in the air like my own personal mene mene tekel upharsin. What we need is a dreaming voice to bring us to ourselves. With love, la sirenetta.
Captive
When I caught her, bathing: scales slipping over pink skin like silk sliding over her waist or grain flowing over fingertips, the sting made its way into my blood where it burned. I needed her near me so I stole her skin, kept it close, wove it into rope and bound her to me.
Siren
I understand the siren impulse to scream until you turn away.
Siren
I understand the siren impulse to scream until you turn away.
If you responded, I would leave this rock behind. I know what comes next: lashed to the mast, you will not yield.
=
They tell us mutilation is not enough, that quick slash through our pointed tongue; what is required equals sea foam. Those final damning strokes tell us our desired separate legs equal a violation of skin, our original definition. Fairy Tale = a too unreal castle in the sky where a gullible child is thin, pretty, rescued, and happily ever after in a cloud that breaks to impale her on a thorn. Little Mermaid = a too bloody girl on torn legs, until she dissolves and is then three hundred years too late for redemption.
There is something wrong with tearing our fin in two on the path to equals, they tell us. If they had their way, wed slip the knife in and let our feet splash with blood. In a world full of me, where is you? Perhaps our definitions need to be revised. Fairy Tale = a hovel at the edge of town where children learn nothing but lies. Bread crumbs wont lead them home. Little Mermaid = a fish in the sea who cannot cry or grant wishes as she writhes on a hook.
Choice puts our first skin aside and gains someone else. Do we know how to touch that foaming wave when it brushes our lips or do we slap it away, burst into water drops? Fairy Tale = a house in the woods where our children die from selfishness, only finding a way upon the sacrifice of bread crumbs. Little Mermaid = a girl who chooses to let a groom live, for we find that fulfillment floats out of our skin. One is equal and one is not equal to.
Pool
I creep down the blue floor of the pool, hands first, gliding over the smooth tiles, pulling the rest of my weighted body, balanced on finger tips. Silence beats my ear drums, increasing with the slope.
The pool walls fade until only blue surrounds me. The black drain in the centre of the deep is my escape; if I can reach it, I know it will open a door to the ocean. But my chest cramps and bubbles escape my mouth, betraying me to the silent water. My legs move as one. I rise with a flicker at the edge of my eyes, which, if I had turned fast enough, might have been a tail.
II.
This murky sludge plays tricks;
I saw a clear bulb in the blur
and, terrified, breathed in
the potent seawater,
although remembering,