Like F. O. Dolor, my favourite author, I remain a mysterious figure in the annals of Canadian Literature. In fact, you may not even know that I am part of the Canadian canon. That is how mysterious I am. But since this is my first and likely last book ever to be published, I am taking this opportunity to cast some light on the mysteries that are me and my writings.

Few authors write an explanatory introduction to their own works. In fact, I recall a single example, my favourite scholar, Theodor M. Smidgin, whose preface graced a collection of his poetry, Dry Thunder: Twelve Collected Poems, 1962-1992. The marvel of this 112-page opus is that he dedicates 100 pages to an introduction focusing more on Smidgin’s life than his poetry. I will not write anything demanding so many pages—my life was far less eventful—but will start by giving you a brief description of who I am. Or was. You decide.

I was born Richard Lawrence Steele, on July 10, 1954, in the city of Whitehorse, Yukon, Canada. I had several different jobs, in a variety of areas. My professional career started when I was 13, as a shoeshine boy on Main Street. In a matter of a few weeks, I was already the master shoeshine boy in town, to the envy and desperation of my colleagues. I made a lot of money for the time and perhaps because of this, the RCMP demanded that I needed a licence to stay in business. That was my first (and fortunately, last) conflict with the police and the end of my shining career.

I was not discouraged, however, from venturing onto other paths. As a young man, I was a customs officer in Beaver Creek and confiscated lots of guns. Later, I briefly became an assistant professor in the English department at the University of British Columbia, where I disagreed with “scholars” who thought structuralism had something to do with Moby Dick and Thomas Pynchon. In the process of ditching my advisor and divorcing my unfinished Master’s degree, I took on land surveying and helped build several Yukon roads that you now drive on. In the early 1990s, I had a desktop publishing business that nearly killed me financially but instructed me in computers. It was a time when my passion for technology and for connecting people really flourished. I am proud to say that I was one of the founding members of the YukonNet Operating Society (YOS), which helped bring Internet to the Yukon. I also managed YKnet, the first Internet service in the territory. So, if you are reading this online right now and you live in the Yukon Territory, you’re welcome.

After YKnet closed operations in 2004, I worked as a technology innovation officer for the Yukon Research Centre at Yukon College. In 2014, I adopted a somewhat related position: retired tech junkie. That was a surprisingly difficult position to hold, so sometime later I found another job as executive director of TechYukon. I again applied for retirement in December 2017 and initially got the job, but did not stay long in that position because I died on September 10, 2018, at age 64, just a few months shy of being eligible to apply for the full CPP retirement pension benefit. Talk about a guy who chooses the wrong time to walk out. My wife used to tell me I was not very good at tracking dates. I can’t remember exactly when she told me that, but I figure she was correct. The wife is always right.

What follows these pages, however, has nothing to do with my successful failures as a tech entrepreneur. Many people may not know this about me, but I used to be a writer not only of tech articles—for example, the Tech@Work column for the Yukon News from 2004 to 2012—but a writer of poems and stories. The poems here have been carefully chosen by my editor, by my wife (who is always right, unlike my editor), and by my sense of pride. Sadly, only one of my stories could be included in this collection, because the rest were stored on my personal hard drive—my brain—and my editor was unable to extract the data. Although he is normally good at solving all sorts of technical issues, the hard drive in question was too old and rusty to give up anything.

Most of the poems included here were written between 1975 and 2014. The themes are varied and many reflect my passions: The Iliad, by Homer, is a big one and influenced several poems. Religion is another favoured topic, though I’ve always been a self-declared atheist. Sadness is the pervasive tone in a lot of this poetry, which may surprise some of you, given my famously unique sense of humour. As a poet, you must live up to your craft. Serious poets are supposed to be serious and talk about serious stuff, such as life and death. Serious poets are not the lunatic lighthearted that they play in real life.

Also present are the impressions and observations that I had about places that were significant to me. These include places in the Yukon, but also others located in the distant, foreign lands of Ireland, Greece, Czech Republic, Argentina, and Brazil. I was not very good at keeping travel journals, so I wrote poems instead. They would be unsuitable as part of any travel guide, however. I highly advise that you consult a certified travel agent or an adventurous blogger if you travel to any of these places.

I rarely wrote poems about specific people, but you may recognize some of the characters referred to in this collection. Some are historical figures, while others are references to mythological entities, particularly from Greek mythology. For historical or mythological characters, a few notes are included at the end of this book. There are also some poems inspired by real people who played a role in my life, but I will not provide any notes about those characters. You’re welcome to figure out who they are. Who knows? One of them could even be you.

Lardass, the sole story included in this collection, is set in Whitehorse in the early 2000s. It uses the technology and the Internet habits that were popular at the time as contextual background. You could look at it as a satire, needling the early nerdiness that was becoming part of our normal lives, but Lardass is actually quite formal. It follows a classic dramatic structure (like what you would see in Shakespearean drama) and is divided in five parts, or acts, each with a defined function. I did that not because I wanted to imitate Shakespeare—that would have been absurd—but because I am a formalist. To hear that I am a formalist may elicit surprise, but in matters of literature I really cared about form. A lot. You may notice this aspect in much of my poetry as well.

Lardass may seem to be inspired by my personal life, but that is not the case, at least for the most part. For starters, in the early 2000s I was quite skinny—there is video and photographic evidence to prove it. I also know no one in Australia and have no specific connection to that land other than the language we partially share. Other references may or may not be connected to my personal life, but not even my editor will ever know for sure.

In the end, perhaps that is the whole point of reading poetry or fiction: to guess certain things about the author, or what influences and meanings could be hidden in his writings, or none of the above. In some cases, you might ask the author directly. Unfortunately, that does not apply to me: I’m now a ghost and most people are afraid of ghosts. I don’t think I would respond, anyway. I’m a private spirit.

Rick Steele