Editor's Note: Each day from December 1 -21, Halifax' poet laureate Sue Goyette will write a new poem to share with the city on The Coast's website and social media. "If I need this, I bet other people need this," she told us on day one—and we think she's right. In a year that's felt like a months-long dusk, this will be some light we can carry forward, together, until the days begin to grow again.
Here is her poem for December 9:
Here is her poem for December 9:
The origin of laughter could probably be traced to the yodel. Hear me out. Yodel, as you know, literally means: to utter the syllable "jo" (!), blending the sacred combo of low pitch “chest noise” (the noise of the season, I think, that low baying of "wtf" and "how?") with the higher pitch falsetto of “head noise” (given the pandemic, this high squeal is equally all "wtf" and "how??" but wordier). There’s a dumpster fire of feelings in my chest so I can only make a low noise that is on its knees tasting the distance between Halifax and Toronto; Halifax and Montreal; New York. The yodel demands this drama and the season is in the director’s chair saying: "can you do it again but this time with more feeling?" What I’m really after is the amateur electrician board laugh, aka “the family gathering laugh.” Sure, if the wrong wires are crossed, there could be a sudden fire but it’s that danger that charges the protons and electrons of our: "holy fork, I can’t believe you just said that" laughs that are one of the things I’m already missing.