The Unofficial Sarah Binks Golden Jubilee Poetry Anthology 1947-1997

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The UnofficialSarah Binks Golden JubileePoetry Anthology1947-1997sponsored byThe Saskatchewan Centre for Soil Research and the Prairie Ecosystem Studycompiled by Colette Stushnoff
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The Saskatchewan Dinner and Sarah Binks Golden Jubilee Poetry Reading Friday, January 31,1997 Marquis Hall Evening Program6:00 Cash Bar6:30 Dinner with a Saskatchewan Theme7:30 Silver Strings Old-Time Fiddlers8:00 Poetry Readings: � Finalists in the Sarah Binks Poetry Competition � Evaluations by the Eminent Judges, Lea Pennock and Ron Marken8:45 Social Time � Viewing of the U of S Library's Display featuring the Original Manuscripts for "Sarah Binks" and "Willows Revisited"1
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THE ORCHESTRAThe world is being torn asunder By clans and tribes, so now I wonder, Can the Tower of Babel be our fate? Do the gaping jaws of warfare wait? For the foolish creature of many tongues Who answers the foreigner with swords and guns And fails to hear the common song In all the voices that sing along.We'll learn from the farmer's beast and bird, Sweet harmonies, but no common word. The quacking duck and the honking goose Negotiate no fragile truce. Pig and cow; a sweet duet, Common futures; lard and suet. And all together and ankle-deep Sing the goat, and the horse and the bleating sheep.Cannot we be the chorus of Man? Different instruments but just one band? Francophones can be the strings, The gentle Chinese for those triangle things.Spanish for rhythm; Swahili for jazz, Add in some German for the 'oom-pah' it has. And leading the band in stirring tones Those strident Anglosaxophones.- Clint Hilliard & Alex Brooks3
Pages 4 and 5
ODE TO SOLONETZIn lands so green there may never be A poem quite so lovely as a tree, But on the prairie, as Ole often frets There's no soil as grumpy as a Solonetz. Round-topped columns in the B, so very hard when dry, On the plough, Buttercup and Dairy Queen, sweat and sigh.You may ask, perhaps with a tear in your beer, How on earth did these terrible soils get here? The reasons are many, obscure and so complex, That explain the salts in these soils that vex.Cretaceous seas with pterodactyl and crocodile, Soaring above, or swimming in elegant style. The seas dried up and the continents drifted 'round And salty, clayey shale became the ground.Time goes on, Eocene and now the Ole-gocene, Out west thrust up the tallest mountains ever seen, Moist ocean breezes get caught on craggy peaks, And on the prairie no rain for weeks and weeks.Eons and epochs go by, it's now the Plasticine,And from The Bay, glaciers big, slow and mean,They scrape and grind, mix, level and fillTo make the stuff that's called glacial till.All together, salts and clay and not enough rain,And you get the grumpy Solonetz, the farmers' bain.Oh somewhere in this prairie land, the crops are lush and green Looks a lot like forty bushels, and thirteen point five protein, But on the North-East of 37, in the summer of the drought, It's thistles and disappointment on the Solonetz , no doubt- Darwin Anderson4ODE TO INTERDISCIPLINARY COMMUNITY BASED RESEARCHWe folks of 3BN* were worried When into our midst ecologists scurried, And others too because, you see, Their study is interdisciplinary.One day they ask about our pesticides, Then about ponds where critters hide, Some of them wallow in the mud, While others ask for a little blood.They seem concerned about our health, But also probe our source of wealth. Do we have, they ask, the facility To qualify for sustainability?They study the fields wherein we toil To judge our stewardship of the soil. Do we still practice summer fallow? Do we till the land deep or shallow?They want to know our attitudes And are never pleased with platitudes, Are we able, they ask, to make a distinction Between prosperity and species extinction?They tell us we live in an ecosystem And if birds disappear we'll surely miss'em, But can they help us to survive Beyond the year two thousand five?PECOS# they call their lofty project, Sustainability is their object, To be interdisciplinary they are surely keen, But that's the way we've always been.- Taylor Steeves* An agricultural census district in beautiful Saskatchewan, site of the celebrated Prairie Ecosystem Study.# Prairie Ecosystem Study. Any suggestion of a river or town in Texas is definitely not intended.5
Pages 6 and 7
THE ROADS OF SASKATCHEWAN (PART I) (A Summer Drive)Driving the roads of Saskatchewanin prairie summer's midday sunsweat pours from my nose right down to my toeswhile I drive my battered and run down old carwhere the air conditioner is windows ajar.In addition to the sweltering heat driving the country I often will meet a washboard beneath which rattles my teeth, and roads rife with deep, treacherous ruts causing considerable bouncing of butts.Gravel roads produce great volumes of dust which, in my old car corroded by rust, comes right through the floor and under the door so all I can see is a dusty brown blur meaning hazardous things are apt to occur.While a summer drive on the gravel grid may to you sound positively abhorred, fresh prairie air and the view found there make the discomforts flee from my thoughts as I watch for perfect picnicking spots.Now a drive through winter's frosty glory, there's a completely different story.- Johanne Kristjanson6THE ROADS OF SASKATCHEWAN (PART II) (Ode to a Faithful Old Car)Winter's frosty glory indeed.When driving in my rusty steed,We challenge GLORIOUS drifts of snow.We slide on FROSTY hoar below.Should prairie wind with icy finger Breach rust-laced frame, it will not linger. A tap on the top and a kick from the floor Starts the heater up with a mighty roar.Though it's 30 below, her service is loyal. All she asks is a quart - (oops) a litre of oil. To start her a stovepipe and blowtorch are nice. You just fire up the torch and melt out the ice.This valiant charge on balding tire Withstands the prairie winter's ire. She gets me where I want to go, though where that is, I don't always know!- Lisa Dale7
Pages 8 and 9
An ode to PECOS lands:OH! PECOS LANDS!Oh! PECOS lands, so wide and so free!It lends itself nicely to geomorphology,Smokey and Scarp, me and Monique,We all roamed this land, this place so unique,Observing the earth is the thing that we practice,But sometimes I forget, and I sit on a cactus.There are parabolic dunes and ice-thrust moraine, So much to admire in this varied terrain! Notice the valleys with their rotational slumps, Gaze at the hummocks, the land of the bumps, The "wet parts" are many, like marshes with leeches, Or small saline ponds, or nice sandy beaches.The "dry parts" have cattle, with cows out to roam, But crops like more water, and soils of good loam, There are fields of canola, with a bright yellow glow, The "crop of gold" found at the end of the rainbow, There is an area that they call the "Coteau", It's French for "hill", if you didn't already know.The many meanders of ol' Speedy Creek, Holds "sedimental" value to us, the Meek, And while we shall inherit the earth, Do others understand its true value and worth??Although we study the things that are glacial,Geographers are interested in anything spatial,The many R.M.'s in this area "3BN",Include Lacadena, Swift Current, Webb and Canaan,Go and visit the mammoth in Kyle,And stop by its drive-in, up norm 'bout one mile,But while there is weathering going on in them hills,There are other things erosional (much more than just rills)8Where are the elevators chock full of ripe grain? Where are the hoppers, the stations, the trains? Could it be that by losing the "Crow", The eroding highways are the only way to go? How about that road, down south to Hodgeville?! After one ride, you'll have gone through the mill.But back to landforms, and it doesn't matter where,Since it is certain that they'll always be there,I've never heard of a hummock migration,Unless it was caused by a sudden deflation.So I shall return to study one day,The loess plains, the shorelines, the glacial spillways.(Unless I forget, during an excitable flap,The most important thing, my topographic map).Oh! PECOS lands, so wide and so free! My special part of the vast Prairie."Enna Moore-Rayne" (aka Irene Terashima)9
Pages 10 and 11
Here is a poem dedicated to Scott, fellow "PECOS dude"SCOTT'S BLUFFS (or HOW SCARP GOT HIS NICKNAME)Scott, Scott, going off cliffs,If you're not careful, you'll end up a stiff,Be it in Jamaica, or in the 'Hills,I think it's a cheap way to get your thrills.At Negril, you jumped into the sea, And gave yourself a giant wedge-ee, Painful saltwater shooting up your sinuses, Cliff jumping does have its pluses and minuses.And in the 'Hills, as far as we can see, You were trying to become one with gravity, Beaned in the head by a rock with a WHACK! You nearly gave poor Dave a heart attack! Smokey and Lowell, atop the escarpment, Definitely thought you were in the gonner department.So Scarp, Scarp, please give me your pledge, Don't go on living out on the edge.- "Enna Moore-Rayne" (aka Irene Terashima)10As an added bonus, here is a poem by an eyewitness to the (in)famous 'Hills incident, who wishes to be known simply as "Smokey".MELLON-HEADFalling, falling from the sky, The question is: why-oh-why did he ever think that he could fly?Down, down the hill he went,His time on earth was nearly spent.He dislodged a rock when he made his jumpand upon his head it left a bump.Ouch!! Ouch!! that must have hurt, with danger one mustn't flirt. Although the jump was made by Scott, he did not give it very much thought.What else can be said? The silly fellow could be dead! But, the result was instead, a thump and lump on his head. (Which of course turned red), Put the poor boy to bed!- "Smokey"11
Pages 12 and 13
SEASON OF THE SNAKEOh timid little garter snake,You've made me do a double-take!You hide beneath the basement stair�Why must you spend the winter there?Every fall your friends come back,All squeezing through the stone wall crack.You hide in sewer drains and holes,Behind a box, or in toilet bowls!You slither up the stairs at night,To be found somewhere in morning's light.It's like Halloween the winter through,Always being surprised by you!Many folks would say you are evil, Scared of you, yet you're harmless to people. Tho' I know you need a place to sleep, While snow outside is cold and deep, I'd rather you'd stop exploring along, And stay in your hole where you belong!12ODE TO SAM McGEEAs I gaze out my window at the billowing smokeI know that winter on the prairie is no joke'Tis true what they say that you must be bornWith some special cold genes and of course, adornYour body with heavy clothes in layers rolledWhich is supposed to keep out the bone chilling coldBut a better approach it seems to meIs to employ the method of Sam McGeeAnd build a huge furnace that engulfs the prairieInto which we all go the first of JanuaryAnd come out in spring when the coals are embersBy which time the cold no one will rememberTo tell our grandchildren, how grand it would beThat we owe our warm winters to Sam McGEE!!- Maura Gillis-Cipywnyk- Colette Stushnoff13
Pages 14 and 15
PRAIRIE STOCKThere are recipes for soups from boullibaise to borschtBut the very best recipe that can be served for any courseIs the tried and true Prairie Stock, a veritable feastA mixture of special ingredients which do not in the leastResemble any other dish prepared by handYet we will share the recipe on demand,You begin with a cauldron of inclement weatherInto which you sprinkle birds of a featherAdd to this a small rain dropOr seasonal hail, if it killed the crop,A bushel of grasshoppers in a bad yearPlus a roast from the rump of the roaming deerWho gobbled the crops that were in their pathDon't forget a seasoning of pesticideBut use with restraint if you wish to survive,You must include beef, the best in the worldBut also some pork from pigs with tails curledThere must be ostrich eggs, one will sufficeTogether with some northern wild riceNever use rare plants to destroy the ecologyOr burrowing owls which would cause BiologyTo create legislation preventing the useOf this recipe by threatening the noose,We can't omit soil or Darwin would protestSince he views his department as one of the bestTo ensure the survival of communities would be expedientSo don't forget the sociology of combining ingredientsTo stir up the mixture we need to employThe merry band of interdisciplinary girls and boysWho comprise the PECOS group, the integration modelThey are developing a final product at rather a dawdleYet we are optimistic that perseverance will prevailAnd all others soups to the Prairie Stock will paleIn comparison, what promise it holdsTo achieve the objectives and keep all the gold,What a great legacy the Stock will provideTo the two universities in which will resideThe final recipe for all to seeWon't that be amazing for you and for me!- Maura Gillis-Cipywnyk14THE COMBINE TRADE (A True Story?)A hot summer day but no time to stop, One week till harvest, Big Red in the shop, Working together, father and son, Elephant ears on the rotor, auger flightings redone, New rub bars, tarp for the hopper, Chain in the feederhouse, Reddekopp chopper, Red runs like a top, the work is complete, Out to the field, we'll go combining wheat.Try them side by side, the dealer said, The Green Machine against Big Red, Straight-cut tough lentils, that's a test, We'll soon find out which one is best, 4 mile an hour and not a grumble, 2 and a half, kawump, kawumble, Poor Red is plugged, disappointment real, Green's still threshing, let's make a deal.The late fall nights are drawing in, Thanks were given for grain in the bin, Callouses soften on the farmers hand, A dusting of snow edges the land, Green's in the shed, Red is gone, Tring ring, the telephone, "A '96 you say", "I beg your pardon" "...only 200 hours", "...at Farm and Garden".....- Jane Elliott15
Pages 16 and 17
REVELATION OF A LOTUS LANDERRostad made the proclamation.Ponteix was our destination.Widely known as a holiday spot.I warned my colleagues that it might be hot.Oh no they said, to my dismay.You must be wrong, after all it's May.Our arrival was marked by a solar blast. At 40 above, surely this won't last. A local's comment had a Binksian ring. We've seen no rain since the previous spring.The land was parched, all black and brown. This sight would have made Mrs. Bentley frown. Not a blade of grass, not a shoot of wheat, The hoppers buzzed with a frenzied beat.Then on the horizon, through the shimmering heat, A cloud could be seen. Oh what a treat. This cloud seemed odd in a curious way. The underside looked, the colour of gray.It looked to be 10,000 feet tall, Moving across the fields like a great wall. It struck with a force, turning the air to a boil. A refreshing rain, God no it's soil.Black and dirty, dusty and gray, That soil was moving from far, to away. Ten feet, no more, was all we could sight. This rich prairie air, turned the day into night.Sometime that evening, the wind did abate.In Chez Larson, we quietly ate.My lotus land colleague, said with a sigh,I've discovered paradise, under this big prairie sky.- Blair McCann16ODE TO THE SURVEYORSSpring is here, the Surveyors are itching To get out to the fields�or for office ditching? Survey trucks are all traversing across our prairie; Spring and freedom's here � oh the duties they carry!Summer's come to the Lab, the soils for analyses are back, Whether the sun shines bright, or the fields brown or black, The Surveyors gather, whether in heat, snow, sleet, hail or rain � Ah, the taste of cold coffee in a hot truck when they're in pain!Life's so rough out on the road, the turmoils they endure;Female surveyors, shovel in hand, can be sure That the farm boys driving by will holler, honk and beep; Others walk kilometres when the truck gets stuck in mud so deep!They remember, with fondness, when one was not stodgy or tart; The races were on to complete things completely, from the start. The days when competition led to kicking a vehicle door still; Or, when Les and Harry raced coasting Ford Falcons down Biggar hill!They had cooperative farmers help them with unsolicited advice, Maybe, tomorrow, they'd take a break with a beer and some dice; Soon it will be fall, their programs almost compiled; They'll live with the results from those transects stockpiled.And, then, again, they'll bear another long winter in the office Handling paperwork and politics, feeling something's amiss; yet, knowing results must be generated, hoping payday's here, It'll be nice to remember the summers past, the trips and the beer!- Sonja Wood17
Pages 18 and 19
A GRADUATE STUDENT ENTERS THE REAL WORLDHi, I'm a student in the field of pedology, Please tell, what is your farming methodology?I want to know about soil structure, crop yield, rotations and tilling. Do you practice chem. fallow? Do you sow seeds by drilling?What is your average precipitation? How many kilograms of fertilization?Throughout the long day I would fire at will, "How do you work the land? By hand or by till?"He answered my questions to the best of his knowledge And asked, "How long you plannin' on being in college?"You've got lots of books and that computer's real pretty, but those kind of tools are better left in the city.With a glint in his eye and a friendly smirk, The farmer said, "Gotta get back to my work!"So that ended my tour. Boy, that guy knew a lot! And made me aware that an expert I am not!- Maria Publicover (with a lot of help from her brother, Daniel)18SPRINGTIME IN WHEAT COUNTRY A SONNETOh glorious spring has arrived, what luck,So throw away mittens and scarves and old hockey's puck.Dust off your ball cap and o'eralls and tractor,It's spring already and no fun to be lacked for.Down the grid road come chem reps with their suits of bright checks,Pushing buckets and barrels of Laser, Pursuit and Avadex.A riding the sprayer, oh that's for me,A riding the sprayer, oh that's where I'll be.Oh Laser, Killex, Avenge and Round-Up,You're like really fine beer - good cup after cup.Your powers are daunting, your strength never flagging,The mist in the wake causes retching and gagging.Oh inputs are costly, oh inputs are fun,Its spring in wheat country - no more wild oats my son.- Catherine Greuel19
Pages 20 and 21
Nearly every small town in Saskatchewan now has a snowmobile rally or poker derby in the winter to raise money for worthy causes. It gives local residents a chance to socialize and have some fun in the snow. This poem is a Binksian reflection on the poker derby experience.SNOW DERBY JUNKIE0 what a curse this blessed ski-doo The jolts, the jerks to name a fewThat some would call us who ride these things They hope, they lust, they wait for springBut I myself enjoy the cold I'm not too fast, not too bold1 take some time to enjoy the view At least I have something to doThe windblown south gets mighty rough And northern trails twist very tough Still I think that winter's nice Despite the fog, the wind, and iceA more peaceful time is never had With snow machine spark plugs gone bad Soft falling snow, an old owl's hoot Man, this thing really sucks my loot!Some people ask what thrill is there? Your back is sore, your pockets bare! Let it not be me that wastes this snow Pull that throttle and let 'er go!- Jeff Schoenau20A RESEARCHER'S LAMENTJanuary arrives all cold and white, The work day begins in the middle of the night. And amidst this hellish deep-freeze, I am gripped with fear, All signs point to it, "The next field season's soon here!!"In bygone years, I have waited too late, To purchase new seed and buy new stakes. Only to discover, too my greatest regret, That by April, chickpea seed - I can not get.Wisdom comes with years, and as each comes and goes, I vow I will implement all that I know, So as the New Year dawns and Aid Lang Syne is sung, I'm firing up the tractor, "Looky here, spring has sprung!"Thirty below, it means not a thing, Field experiments go out, the minute it's spring. This year will be different, I'll be fully equipped, There will be no stone unturned, no step that I've skipped.I spend the cold months amassing my stock, Pay no heed to expense, I'm racing the clock! Twelve field sites, ten studies, eight designs, six crops, The numbers churn in my brain, the worries never stop.Then suddenly I am ready, each seed is in place, I gaze toward the snow-scape, a smile on my face. It is wonderfully fulfilling to know in advance, That this field season I'm ready, I've left nothing to chance.Continued....21

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