David Groulx was raised in the Northern Ontario mining community of Elliot Lake. He is proud of his Aboriginal roots – his mother is Ojibwe Indian and his father French Canadian.
After receiving his BA from Lakehead University where he won the Munro Poetry Prize. David studied creative writing at the En’owkin Centre in Penticton, B.C. where he won the Simon J Lucas Jr. Memorial Award for poetry. He has also studied at The University of Victoria Creative Writing Program. He has published six poetry books – Night in the Exude (Tyro Publications: Sault Ste Marie, 1997); and The Long Dance (Kegedonce Press,2000). Under God’s Pale Bones (Kegedonce Press, 2010), A Difficult Beauty (Wolsak & Wynn:Hamilton2011), Rising A Distant Dawn (BookLand Press:Toronto) is due out in the Spring of 2012 as well as Our Life Is Ceremony (Lummox Press: California).
David is a member of the League of Canadian Poets, as well as a member of The Ontario Poetry Society.David recently won the 3rd annual PoetryNOW Battle of the Bards.
David’s poetry has appeared in a 117 publications in England, Australia, Germany, Austria, Turkey, New Zealand and the USA. He lives in a log home near Ottawa, Canada.
This Is My Canada Shelia
In my Canada it’s cold enough for the cops to freeze
Neil Stonechild to death
In my Canada there are still two thousand
shell casings Gustafsen Lake
In my Canada
Poundmaker was broken and harrowed his flesh to
feed the earth
In my Canada we broke Big Bear too
and followed him all the way to his granddaughter’s
womb
there we built prisons for
the land
the animals
and the brown people
We slept beside the water
before Mahigan died
In my Canada
I’m afraid to go places
this new Babylon
and new Palestine
growing sick
In my Canada
I can hear my mother cry
like a strong wind
it drives me
Glossary:
Mahigan- Ojibwa for Wolf
Payday
The
police drive by
all night
the poor have money tonight
tonight we will be livin’ large
cooking in the backyard
boiling in the summer heat
the police drive by
We’ll be pouring drinks
and running to the store
for chicken
all night
the police drive by
tomorrow we’ll be working at
whatever we do
nobody gives a shit
after the landlords
are paid off
our backs
the merchants
holding out their hands like bums
and our children
will drink milk
with empty pockets
Swing-Crack
The police are dancing
with their batons to
whatever tune comes to mind
swing-crack
there is my welfare worker
worker swing
How come you don’t work?
Where did you drink all your money?
swing-crack
She sings
politicians on TV swing-crack
am I my brothers keeper?
am I am I am I am I swinging
cracking
the landlord is coming
swing-crack
the food bank running out of food
swing-crack
its thanksgiving and
nothing to shoot
except twenty-five partridge
swing-crack
can you here the tune?
swing-crack
can you hear it now?
It goes swing-crack
swing-crack banker
swing-crack miser
misery swing-crack
swing crack
swinging
swinging
swinging
falling
