Ben Blyth is a poet and scholar in Treaty 7 territory. A graduate of Christ’s College, Cambridge, and the University of Calgary, Ben’s poetry has been published this year in The Madrigal; Dawntreader; Cannon’s Mouth; Frogmore Press; Yolk; and Pinhole, among others. His work explores themes of liminality, homelessness, and dislocation in a fresh and poignant way.
You can read Aubade for the QE2 in the October 2025 issue.
Would you like to tell us a little bit more about your poem? For instance, how or why you wrote it, or perhaps provide some extra context?
This poem is about one of those stunning winter mornings in Alberta when it’s 40-below and the hoarfrost hangs in the air. I was commuting from Edmonton to Calgary at the time, scraping together some money teaching while trying to finish my PhD, and my classes started at 8.30 am. After I passed the fifteenth car in a ditch, I did start to wonder what I was doing it all for. It was the sort of schedule that put a strain on everything–relationships, money, purpose. When the sun rose, blue-white in the cold, I had to stop for a moment and catch my breath. There was so much beauty in the precarity of it all. I needed a moment to take it all in. Then, I didn’t write the poem until three years later.
Is there a collection of poetry that never leaves your (perhaps metaphorical) nightstand?
I’m not sure if this counts, but I’ve got three or four copies of The Spirit Level by Seamus Heaney across several countries. The one with the medieval bees on the front? Every time I see one in a bookshop, I’ll pick it up, forgetting that I’ve got shelves full of them. Another for the hive.
As a poet, what does creative success or achievement look like for you?
It’s always gratifying to have your poem published. Honestly, I find fulfillment in the striving, the sharing, and the growing. Messing about. Taking a risk. Trying something new and being terrible at it. I tried to learn how to ski after I turned 30. I think this will keep me alive longer.
Have you ever received advice (or has there been something you’ve learned on your own) about writing or revising poems that has made you a better poet? What was it?
My supervisor once told me there are two types of dissertations–perfect, and finished. At the time, I was chiseling away at academic writing that I’m still not happy with. At least these days I have the certificate on the wall. To my mind, a similar sentiment holds true for poetry. Rather than reaching for the ‘perfect’ poem, try to finish one — even something bad, something truly awful, is so much better than no poem at all.
Do you have a trusted first reader and how did they win the honour?
Yes, I do, but I couldn’t possibly share these trade secrets. Not without a Guinness first…
Do you write by routine or do you wait for the poetry to visit you?
I try to write something every day, if I can. I figure that way, at least, I’m working the muscle, even if it’s only for ten minutes. The discipline is often more of a dream than a reality, of course, and I’ve learned of myself that I rarely have more than one half-way decent poem in me a day. If I’m lucky.
How did you begin writing poetry? Was there a specific inspiration or reason?
When I was 9, I won a poetry competition. Every line rhymed. It was the last, best, poem I’ve ever written. Since then, I’ve written a lot of sonnets (once a Shakespearean…) but as it is 2025, noone was particularly interested. In this last year, I’ve been through some major upheavals. Poetry has always been there. This time, when I choose to listen, I let the lid off.