I
went on to host a creative book launch for four books last December; one that I
will never forget. On December 5 I held a Winteriade, hosted at a private home
location by my brother and his family.
What
is a Winteriade?
A
Winteriade is a seasonal celebration of poetry, music, and fellowship, modelled
after the historic Schubertiades of the 1820s. These gatherings, once centred
around the works of Austrian composer Franz Schubert, brought together friends
and admirers in private homes to enjoy music, poetry, and artistic conversation.
The Winteriade carries forward that spirit of intimacy and artistry,
reimagining it for the modern day while embracing the quiet beauty and
reflective atmosphere of the winter season.
The
origins of the Schubertiade trace back to Vienna, where small groups would
gather to experience the artistry of a single voice or a shared performance in
close quarters. These were evenings of refinement and connection, where the
boundary between performer and audience was softened, and where art became a
living conversation. The Winteriade honours this tradition, offering an
environment where the works of poet Emily Isaacson (also called Winter, or W.E.
Isaacson) can be heard, appreciated, and discussed in warm company with a warm
cup of coffee or spiced tea in hand.
In
keeping with its inspiration, the Winteriade is designed as an intimate event,
set within a salon, coffee shop, or similarly inviting venue. Guests are
welcomed into a space where readings of winter-themed poetry mingle with music
and gentle conversation. The atmosphere encourages a closeness not only between
the artist and audience but also among attendees, fostering a sense of
community during the colder, contemplative months.
The
performances at a Winteriade draw from a rich selection of Emily Isaacson’s
work, including new poems and chosen favourites from her published collections.
Each piece is presented with the intention of capturing the nuances of her
stylistic legacy—her long history in the Fraser Valley of publishing over 14
poetry collections, their unique brilliance, and quiet capacity for bringing
out the artist and art lover in everyone. Musical interludes and collaborative
poetry discussions may be included, enhancing the sensory experience and
echoing the diversity once found in Schubertiades, where song, spoken word, and
even discussion could share the same stage.
For
Winter 2025, the Winteriade would be held in a location in the Fraser Valley: in
December, by-invitation-only. But you could contact us and ask for an
invite from the poet. Locals, readers, and lovers of the arts were invited to
take part in these gatherings, not simply as spectators but as participants in
a tradition of shared culture. By reviving the salon-style artistry of the past
and weaving it with the voices of the present, the Winteriade planned to be a
season-focused event—an oasis of light, warmth, and inspiration amid the frost
of winter.
The
conclusion: what I posted
A few
nights ago, within the intimate, candle-lit living room of my brother’s family
home, I hosted a Winteriade to mark both my fiftieth birthday and the launch of
four new books. Outside, winter held the world in stillness; inside, we
gathered as one might for a vigil—quietly, deliberately, with warmth drawn
close. What began as a celebration unfolded as something older and more
ceremonial: a keeping of winter together.
In
the small, acoustic circle of seventeen souls, the evening took on the rhythm
of a living liturgy. Voices rose not in performance alone but in offering.
Between my own four-part reading—woven from the newest works and a few
long-held favorites—guests stepped to the mic to share poems, stories, and
songs. Each voice became a flame in the cold, a testimony that winter, too, is
meant to be spoken aloud.
A
Winteriade, at its heart, holds the paradox of public festival and private
trial, and that tension breathed gently through the room. Laughter moved
alongside silence; applause followed confession; warmth passed hand to hand
with fragile truths. The season’s cold was not denied—only gathered, named, and
held in common until it softened at the edges.
Beneath
the readings and the shared refreshments—simple, varied, and sustaining—ran the
deeper current of winter’s hidden work. Like seeds under frozen ground, the
words spoken that night carried their own quiet gestation. What could not yet
be seen was nevertheless alive: grief, gratitude, memory, endurance, and the
first unguarded hints of what might grow when the thaw arrives.
For
me, the evening became a personal rite of passage as much as a book launch—a
crossing not only into a new cycle of work, but into the widening circle of
fifty years. To read from four new titles in such close company felt less like
authorship and more like witness: standing in the cold season of things and
naming what has been survived, what continues, what still waits in the dark.
This is what I now mean when I speak of hosting a Winteriade. It is not merely a winter gathering, but a durational act of listening—a psalter of cold and candlelight, a ceremony of shared breath in the long night. For a few sacred hours, winter was not something we endured alone. It became something we sang together.
Where this post is online: http://winterpoet.com
Press release article: https://www.wildlilyinstitute.ca/press-releases
