
And, seriously, let’s celebrate the country that gave us Leonard Cohen, Joni Mitchell, Anne Carson, Michael J Fox and Degrassi Junior High. And ignore for a moment that Celine Dion is also Canadian. A favourite moment in the series The West Wing came when Donna finds out that she is considered Canadian after a border was clarified, and Amy asks her, “Canadian, hey? Do you feel funnier?”

This year marks the 400th anniversary of Quebec City, founded by Samuel de Champlain.
So after those initial four provinces formed a federation, Canada took control of the North-Western Territory and Rupert’s Land, which became part of the Northwest Territories. Why do we not hear more about Rupert’s Land? Manitoba was created in 1870, and in 1871 British Columbia joined Confederation, followed by Prince Edward Islands in 1873. (PE Island—do I hear the Anne of Green Gables fans sighing?) Then 1898 brought the Yukon into the mix (after the Klondike Gold Rush, the setting for Chaplin’s wonderful The Gold Rush), and Alberta and Saskatchewan became provinces in 1905. And still it’s not over! Newfoundland only joined in 1949, and Nunavut only became a territory in 1999 when it separated from the Northwest Territories.
Canada is, of course, in a peaceful part of the world—there is, however, a tension between Anglophone Canada and Francophone Canada—there is a Quebecois separatist movement that has been bubbling along for decades.
My favourite poet is Canadian. Anne Carson. I can’t get enough of her. And now, in turn, I’m handing some of her work over to you. This poem, “Essay on Error (2nd draft)” is from the wonderful Men in the Off Hours. Buy it. I dare you.
Essay on Error (2nd draft)
It is also true I dream about soiled suede gloves.
And have done so
since the day I read
in the third published volume of Freud’s letters
(this was years after I stopped seeing him)
a sentence which I shall quote here in full.
Letter to Ferenczi 7.5.1909:
“He doesn’t look a bit like a poet except for the lashes.”
Freud hesitates to name me
but
let me tell you
that was no
pollen stain.
Here
I could paraphrase Descartes
the hand that busy instrument
or just let it go.
After all
what are you and I compared to him?
Smell of burnt pastilles.
I still remember the phrase every time I pass that spot.
—Anne Carson
from Men in the Off Hours
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