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Yvonne Adalian
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Born in Sussex, England, Yvonne emigrated to Vancouver in 1959 with her first husband. She loved the wildness of BC, and although she lived and worked across Canada, she always returned to it. She enjoyed her acting career in radio, stage, TV, and film, and on Salt Spring Island, she also enjoyed directing and producing with her own theatre company.
She loved animals, wild or tame. Her travels included a trip to Kenya, where she could experience the raw wild of that continent in person. As an activist and always the optimist, she expected the people of this planet to grow up very soon, pull themselves together, and honour the sacredness of every living thing.
She is survived by her son Eric; predeceased by her brother Barry, father John, mother Flora, and grandson Kai.
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From: Haywards Funerals
Haywards Funerals staff send our condolences to family and friends.
From: Fiona Tinwei Lam
Relation: Poetry teacher
My sincere condolences on the passing of a vibrant, vivacious and vivid woman! Yvonne attended our poetry course at SFU Continuing Studies a few times, and we loved her enthusiasm, passion for poetry, her fabulous stories and her wonderful voice. She read and wrote poems with drama and flair. She will be missed!
From: Fiona Tinwei Lam
Relation: teacher
Here’s a poem that Yvonne wrote for the SFU Weekend Poetry Series class in 2021
THE THEATRE by Yvonne Adalian 2021
Red is the conventional colour inside.
it reflects our own insides.
The deep red cushions of the seats, where human seats have sat,
are seats of emotion.
A silent theatre holds the intimacy of
lives lived in public,
Where released emotions have
nowhere to go but in.
Into the thick red velvet curtains,
the paint on the walls,
reflected and broadcast by crystals
in the chandeliers
that can resonate for years.
Some are haunted by an
excess of emotion which echoes
and grows in the dark.
A cold shiver? A sliver of fear
and malice remaining from “Macbeth.”
Invitation, celebration? A musical laughs and lingers.
This is home,
though I left it, like men, many times.
Weeks of preparation, cultivating soil
to conjure up an unknown soul. A place
Where it can live.
Finally the dressing room where all the parts
assemble and costumed to meet an audience.
The bottomless orchestra pit,
the endless dark of the house
halted by red EXIT signs, which promise
the real world if the one we have conjured prove too potent.
Seats abruptly sit to attention, ears pricked.
This life is lived two or three hours each night,
then still glowing from intimacy shared
we bounce back to the dressing room in a race
to return to life outside .
Sometimes, I’ll stop a minute in the middle of the darkened stage
to listen to the echoes of the audience,
absorb their reactions hovering like mist over their seats,
bless the night and leave for sleep
in my other home.
From: F T Lam
Relation: Yvonne was a poetry student at SFU Continuing Studies.
This winter, I made a donation in Yvonne’s name to the Cultch too!
Service Schedule
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Website: https://www.haywardsfuneral.ca/
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