Bird Conjuring: Good omen, like a sudden appearance of birds, or just an inordinate urge to ascend.
The ancients knew words to be magic vehicles that when spoken or, better yet, sung with intention and intensity, could amend or alter trends and events. The power of the word. Seeking origins and consonances led to shaman songs and incantations, charms and spells where words are tools of transformation and healing. There are resonances too with gnomic verses and riddles, aphorisms and adages. The black soil of the primordial. Drawn by an insistent urge toward utterance, David Cloutier's poems emerge, unspooling meaning within meaning, image on image, one with its sonic architecture. The aural qualities of words become an arena, or better, playground. He says, "Poems are like dust, evidence of some decades' walking." Chronologically arranged (mostly), Bird Conjuring has five sections: Another Time, Tracks of the Dead, Other Lights, Pinnacles and Others, and Nightscripts, each with a focus or concern. There are several long poem sequences, opening horizons. Whatever else, this poetry tracks an inner direction along another axis of meaning. Bird Conjuring evokes, invokes and lays a humble claim to the legacy of orphic utterance: poem-making (poesis, to make).
