P06TIC FORM - University of British Columbia

EDITORIALSpace, sound, movement: a map of translation: these are the metaphors ofour understanding.Metaphor.In the images of sound is language transformed. We can manipulate the formsit takes and so reshape the ways we see. Seeing by saying, at one level we say byseeing too. All we have to do is abandon that donkey formula, lift the spirits witha dash of formaldejekyll, and recognize the lore of the letters we live by. For byus, they occupy space, make maps, draw their own conclusions :a brF R M ГЧ i °fогmrΡ Ο ~·They pun visually as well as aurally, either in straightforward fashion —matmatmatmat— or with an extra twist, asking readers to play games with the words they knowand at the same time to be literal-minded with the words they see :

EDITORIALFORUNMEDUNIFORMUNIFORMUNIFORMPARADELetters have designs, and picture truths. They join in "magic squares" and canbe caught in the act of dissolving :F O R MO G E ER E E LM E L TAlways on the edge of their next possibility, they invite the reader to take chargeof reforming them, whatever challenge that might be, and cast their own spells.Do such games with words remove us from reality? Not at all. Words are simplysome of the elves we keep on hand to help us, while we grow, to continue tocombat the giants and quell the rats.W.N.

WHITE sPRucewindfingeringmy green sharpcombing the early mistthe sun brushing mycones sliding through my tousledfir into dark stillnessonly the green wind sighsin my arms outstretched the morningbranches the air to weavedark brown inner space nest inspiked green the pith the spine green spikedhard at the centre my body grows[in rings in bark sheath rising slow]heavy through phloem spring capillary sucking sweet bloodrising up sap my stem my sap up risingfrom dark earth wells my roots fetch saltwater sickering from cell to cell branching into green fingerspointing at reaching for pulling the lightdown into dark chambers melting the light into green intocones quivering with resin drops of light filtering down xylem canalsdownbarkdeeprootdeepdarkearthHenry Beissel

from CHRONICLESPatrick LaneWe remember minutely and preciselyall those things that did not happen to us.ERIC HOFFERI'm just picking scabs out of my mouth.JOHN NEWLOVEI.Remember the heart. Fog on the still river. First frost.Passion. Flowers. The love of windows in old cities.The painting is a dead eye. A window going nowhere.This one is alive. This one has a chance to live. This one.Look in or out. Beauty is starved and love is afraid.Dead children. The night in mothers. Remembered delight.The heart is an argument with darkness. Moon silver.Dead eye. The room rings. I do not answer it again.Magpie, magpie, do not take a lower branch than this.Last home I dreamed I was night. Poverty and song.Autumn. The crabapple grows its small and bitter fruit.The old attend to their gardens. Under the earth. Love.The ones who are lost sing longer than the ones who are alone.Blind at birth, I want you back. Chrysanthemums in frost.Return to the garden what you left when you left behind.I was thinking of last leaves. The beauty of beginning.The noun also moves, incomparable, describing peace.The young man is elegant. He knows the polite arts.io

POEMEven the highest bird must descend for the body's sake.No one goes. The cultural event is no part of praise.Shoot an arrow. Write well. The etiquette of the chariot.Improvisational music. Notes from a tired verb. Reside.The correct glass has nothing to do with wine.Imitations. We have forgotten how to be strangers.The line is doubtful. The meaning is clear. Endure.We remember a boy in wind, a bell in the open field.Full moon, I love you, your falling and your rising.The cedar waxwings are drunk. Frost on the berries.Rhythm. Give of your grace. The sun forgives.I am afraid of nothing. Blow wind. The bell is lonely.The new world. The anvil. The water in deep well.Between your hips the only parasite is me.6.I tried hard to imagine a linen crow, a caftan magpie.I believe I believe. I am the problem to the solution.The rhythms of pride are false impressions.Troubles in my mind. The search for complaint, complaining.She holds the needle but sews no stitch in time.Holes in my socks. Fallen apples. Variance. Systems.The love of the naive. The tender integrity.Born in woman I hide my words in caves. Water-cress.I crave the honey yet complain of life. Be vivid. Be.Exclude me. I am not fit to govern. Dictator. Maggot.Parallel lines are relentless. The death of understanding.Quiet men. I make no sense of this.And the world is not this, is this and not that.Forty-three years and still I refuse.II

POEMA knife in the life is the official heart.Give me nothing. A caftan crow, a linen magpie.12.Piano exercises. The ci tied islands.To make of winds a hand, the sea a birth.Metonymy. Creating nothing. The mind. The implacable.Creating something out of nothing. Metaphor. Dancing.First daughters walking the waters.О foamy dance.The old man muttering. Pliny.Mangroves. He wandered the world. The trees, the trees.16.A bad line, breaking wrong, hurts the eye.The road going nowhere is going nowhere anyway.A mouth in a tree cries forgive, forgive.Like a body fallen on a bed. A white bed. A body.Forgive me in my sleeping.I did not know your name.The eyes that name you have no tongues.Old roads. The arrival in time. Witnesses.The child slides from the bone cage.Only the rare eagle, the coyote, the enemy called man.The answer to the answer. The wind knows where.Eat the soft shell of the womb. Stormy waters.The eye turns to horizons. Interface. The between.It is this moment she remembers. Relief. Recognition.A wet sack on the snow. Soft pain.She sings her seed to stand. Binding. The spare grasses.12

POEMWho will explain the bones?The porcupine challenges my passing. Step aside.West of the west is the last thing you want.Meet me again when I am hungry.Politeness has nothing to do with it.The doe breaks through to clear water.Old buck hides. Words come slowly. Or not at all.Goshun painted the young willows. This way. Now.Mike Doyleto Mary di MichèleIt's a still life. The bottle is empty.The room is empty.The chairs in the room are empty,the table, bareexcept for the plate, with crumbs,the deflated cork,the butterdish in which there is onlya smear,& the dulled knifecarelessly tossed aside &, flungin a corner, the discardednewspaper.The room is empty.The crumbs huddle together to keep warm.The newspaper flutters faintly& from the noise it makesseems to be reading itself almostaloud.The sea murmurs in its green bottle.The afternoon air stirs,& the knife glints & tautens, ready

THE SAVING GRACERalph Gustaf sonSAVING GRACE IS POETRY. If one defines poetry as theenlightenment of fact,ΤЖНЕ the worth of experience, the attainment of sensibility, theestablishment of compassion — in any of the ways in contradiction to the disharmony,the structural collapse, the pollution of right ritual, the violence anddisgrace of our times — then poetry is the saving grace. It is the saving gracebecause it exhibits the worth of sensible harmony, of man with man, of man withhimself, of man with nature. We need this worth if we are to survive even on themost pragmatic level. And poetry does not leave man on a pragmatic level; itsprocedure is never toward the lowest common denominator; its procedure istoward the highest common factor; it is elitist, it demands the ablest men, therarest quotient; it is after the elimination of the mediocre; it desires to be leftwith only the most peaceable delight, sensual and cerebral. With a fraction ofthis desirable attainment achieved, our world is solvent and worthful.Poetry fools no one with romanticism and sentimentality. Its commencementis from the crudest foundation of disillusionment, the wringingest awareness ofirony, the very hatred and futility that is in historical mankind. Poetry is restlessfrom the absurdity of not knowing; the refusal of the heavens to answer is itssubject-matter. There they are, those black holes stuck in heaven,swallowing spaceBeyond ingestion while we walk streets,The universe up to something and SophieBuying shoes for sore feet.Poor Sophie. Poor universeNot having Sophie know why.The colossal swirl and mammoth pinpoint,Children spinning tops, mankindScrewing openings, birth to incontinency,Dark about the eyes. MeanwhileThe true and starry heavens goingSomewhere with the reasons.Redundancy! Infinity turning insideOut while we eat prunes at breakfast.We are kept ignorant; we are imposed upon. What insolence! We have to die toknow the ultimate answer !14

I want the answer,I'm here now with circumstance,Not exalted with God.In the aspiring mind, even faith's not enough. Faith is an ignorance.There he is: mankind in mid-Atlantic clinging to kindling,This urge upon his mounting soul, heightMagisterial and managed by a wind,Transcendent take-off fiddling Venus.GUSTAFSONHe is hero for a hairpin, spilled milk, an upright genetive with a creaky pump,seekingHimself between his huff and misty glass,for now we see through a glass, darkly.His incompletion, mankind's, poetry abundantly acknowledges, not with melancholybut with paradoxical acknowledgement ; its stance is that of John Falstaff's :Lord, Lord ! man made after supper of a cheese-paring :When a' was naked, he was, for all the world,like a forked radish, with a head fantasticallycarved upon it with a knife.Poetry has no illusions. But it knows what is possible. There indeed Adam sitslooking at permanent apples — and he's no more !He shifts sitting bare-assed on the sodAdjusting his balls to comfort. Alas.But, a poet in the beginning if he is a sinner in the end, he notes something:The bee sucks. He watches the tendril.Above him falls syrupy melody.He thinks a thought. Perception is perceived.He sees himself sitting there, hearing birds.Not much. But he's got his senses. At the very least, he perceives himself. Hemoves on, that first Adam.SometimesThe far scent of a downward windOvertops melancholy, fingersBuild structures of outlasting music.Mostly not, perhaps. Structures of music sound little in our day. We strive andsomething gives way, that flaw in the blood that has been there anonymous forwho knows how long, and there we are, one day, stricken, mortal !What a celestialTautology to get there! fun in the dreaming,Irony in choice, tragedy in the waste,Getting nowhere with injustice.

GUSTAFSONIHE CLICHES CATCH UP WITH US : life is brief and all isΤIHJvanity. Looking around itself, poetry is aware of not much to praise. WallaceStevens's attributive to poetry, "A sacrament of praise," diminishes itself. Themajesty of man is derided. Youth is crucified in Cambodia for stealing a handfulof rice ; the bomb is hurled indifferently, a leg comically flies across the restaurant ;in County Sligo a child is blown up in the boat of his grandfather; a little girlruns screaming down a road in Vietnam trying to tear the flaming napalm offher; a smell comes from ovens; treads roll in the streets of Budapest, Prague,Warsaw; accident is denied admission at a hospital. What newer? The poetmakes his poem out of the unstructured world ; he is driven to the last expression ;he finds his lines in grievousness; his rhythm halts. His thoughts are confined tonarrow nights:It would seem that God is in natureBut not in history. Roses bloomAnd are pretty. We can smell them. We alsoSmell ovens if you know what I mean. . .The lack of divineIntervention is unaccountable.Loaves and fishes. But divinity since then?Best leave contemplation of history out of itAnd go smell jonquils.And so he does, the poet, when the world seems insoluble and he gives way.Lacklustre, he gathers in to coteries. He goes to green gardens and cultivates hisown shade from the glaring sun. He cuts up useful words into jots and syllables,scatters empty spaces around. He praises silence. He draws pictures with his typewriter.But the game does not satisfy. No one listens. Solipsism won't do. He getssick of his ego, he gets bored with pretension. There is nothing for it but negativecapability, losing himself to find himself. The true world greets him.He is pitched headlong into irony and clarity. He is made human. The truth isdelight. He is moral.His defence against grievousness is the justification of his profession. Hollowpretension is exposed. He is returned to delight, the first function of his art. Heknows that if his poem lies it is a bad poem. A poem cannot lie; its delight isspoiled — the magnificence of structuring verbal music, of moving it through itsform so that the very outward existence of itself is the equivalence of its innerconviction, so that the very conveyance is the meaning of what it conveys.Untruth unravels it. He is on the side of love.In agony he faces the world. He writes it down. Something is worth while. Thepoem and its meaning. He will make what he says engaging, significant, nay,16

GUSTAFSONexalted, so that he will force listening. Revolutionary, he drags the world intoacknowledgement, adjusts what is knownTo new announcements.The rage isn't easy.Small minds persuade their triumph,The electrode harmsWhere no mark is left,Abraham puts the knifeThrough the throat of Isaac.Channels run littleness.But the challenge is the delight. He knows all about violence and mortality;they are what he is writing about with delight.Born to greatness is the manWho sees his skull :Again that poolIs come to that the torrent splashed to rainbow —That love is made whose finish was allThat there was though morning was at the shutterStars that night would be held by.We are still naked Adam. But we want to be, we want to be ! Make the worstof the glorious mortality of biology, biological man ! What a corkscrew of pumpsand arteries and sluices and drainages !Micturition and dawns, not oneWithout the other, current for life.Amalgam of rude civilities !Not a naked early riserIsn't in for it, handsomenessIn contempt, aspirationsIn contradiction .. .Mortalities of toilet!Wheelchair, swaddling, whatever drinksHas to go, nothing's for it.Epitaphs prove the worth of repairs,Birthdays confirm the ending!О mortality, О crudities ! How easy to put the site of evacuation and love together !But not a man-jack who is potent but welcomes the hard on,Take-offs, aftermaths and plumbing.Notice at brink of dawn what's up !Lovers love it, popes start washing .. .No cold shower for the poet !In the very tightest of straits, notice what the poet finds for comfort, for hispoem: comedy; puns, plays and paradoxes! That's the saving grace: art and17

GUSTAFSONcomedy. Even in the veriest straits, the poet finds rescue: in affirmations andincongruities. He who laughs, lasts. Charlie Chaplin's immortality. The hitch ofthe leg as he walks into the battered sunset.Once upon a time the day was sacred to Saturn; nothing prevented thegrandeur of bawdiness and paraphernalia :lovers came;Thoroughbreds mounted ; spuds sprouted ;Autocracy crumbled ; sails went upThe river, majestic; pinwheels spouted.Three achieved their poem, the othersShouted. Everything came off.Our Lady (a little tipsy) wonderedWhat it was really like. MirthCompounded. Scheherezade gargled,Jongleurs juggled. (No joke).Irreverence and uncensorship, these the poet does not forget even though somethings are sacred and the sheriff beats at the tavern door and, like Falstaff, thepoet is left standing empty-pursed at the Abbey door. Poetry is never solemn.Assumption of comedy, abilities of objectivity, these are one way out of thedilemma. It is never easy, that laughter :Never stay downFor the count of ten, said the little girlRunning nowhere, her napalm on fire,And that Jewish kid in WarsawWith his hands up gettingThe handout. Ha, ha.Nevertheless, it is either that, sometimes, or black despair and despair is whatpoetry cannot be, being, as it is, on the side of life.Not all is despair. Bitterness is the only emotion denied a poem. Compassionand affirmation, the two irrefutable instincts of poetry, eschew it, bitterness. Tryto take the bitterness affirmation away from everyman, the sensitive man, andsee what happens. No sir, he'll none of it.18Even the suffering's worth it.When the ground-phlox bloomsWhat of the pain ; there is cessation ;The jonquil is white, the orioleSings? No? Then surely there isRemembrance, that first ecstasy? . . .

GUSTAFSONThere is a sobering beyond allComprehension. It is this leavingOf suffering, of birds, oriole and elmAnd remembrance and lake's side,And hearing of music.The poet, everyman, remembers that day, that epiphany of experience howeverrarely it repeats, that first ecstasy when it was also love.Mind-boggling was the day.There was sun and a clear air.There was no fear of heartOr lung or joint, the beginning of the endAnonymous, across the world no oneWas inflicting death but in three places,The television was turned off,The colour was highly placed, blueWith white clouds, a quick birdAcross, ruby-throated, LearWas read . . .It was the radiance of roots working, naturalVisitation, the iridescence,Green, of a red-headed fly,Absurdity, evolutions ofThe inexplicable, tendrils, the wasp,Unswallowable sea-urchins, and of courseThe mean mean enough to sit thereInsensitive. Someone pushed a lawn-mower.Rabelais and Jesus had just met.And why wouldn't, with the world like that, the poet write down affirmations?The heart endures, the houseAchieves its warmth and whereHe needs to, man in woollenMitts, in muffler, withoutA deathwish, northern, walks.Except he stop at driftsHe cannot hear this snow,The wind has fallen, and whereThe lake awaits, the roadIs his. Softly the snowFalls. Chance is against him.But softly the snow falls.

GUSTAFSONΤIMPULSE, IN WHATEVER KIND OF MAN, is called creativity,we call it creativity. The poet calls it poetry. It is all the same thing. The1н]poet is a lackluck, like all of us, but he targets love. He knows what he must do:Oh, nothing now but I must out of oceansLift leviathan like a Job, my MobyDangle on a hook.That is to say, nothing's left to doBut drag up god in the wig of my words. The rest'sA muddle of farewells.He has believed that from the beginning. He ends up still determined to do that,"drag up god in the wig of his words." He knows that poetry is an art, that heis crafty. His poem is not the world but the world with something done to it.Poetry is not a substitute for anything, above all for religion. Poetry may give thepoet solace and assurance and redemption but he knows that his poem is stillonly but a wig of words, not the real thing ; no less necessary if divinity is to beexhibited, but still not the incarnation. The grace, surely it is and the dovedescends, but only by angelic guidance.His epiphanies are profane but no less of the nature of urgent beatitude. Hesays that no man can live without them. He finds them in the most wondrousareas, in the ordinary, the commonplace, the trivial.The choiceBetween weedy violet and potentialGround-phlox massed in May and redAnd white and to be propagated is TroyFallen or not, a thing of momentAnd momentous choice whether the midge succeedIn swallowing smaller than itself or,Should birdsong cease? Let HelenWaddle down the street and be beautiful.I shall go to bed far later onAnd pull the sheet up over time.Now I watch the cataclysmic gulpBy midges made and conjugateWhat question lies in oriole songOblivious of Agamemnon and a thousand ships.A segment of ten minutes can cause in the poet poetry. Especially if thosesegments of ten minutes are now few and mortality crowds in. Truth to tell, themortality has attached itself to the poet from the start.20Never having clasped life so tightlyAs in the leaving of it, he listens to the callOf birds as though trees were an ultimate purpose.

GUSTAFSONHe sits in the sun and grieves on behalf of those who have had to clasp mortality ;he acts as though the turning on of a tap is important, as though flowers in a vaseare significant. Mankind makes it easy to have done with the world and get outof it, the world's sanctification of cheapness and the handwashing. But not theimmediate rare grace he can make of it will he do without, the morning's vastlyresponsible announcements,Bats, belfry, proclamations,Bees at blossoms — the whole nightshirtGet-up and celestial existence of existence,for the most trivial happening of a segment of ten minutes has happened to him :Sun just reached the scarlet geraniumSet out in the antique fire-bucket.The fear of having missed a segment of significant ten minutes grips him, gripshim the more he has time taken away from him. Waste and missings impel himto warnings. Regret is futile. A great compassion overcomes him, that the worldlose the world, that an awareness of suffering has been missed, that what couldhave been exaltation was indifference. The most ordinary happenings of a daywill bring this compassion upon him. The man nailing a step, repairing the biasesof winter; she launching laundry out on a line that ran from the kitchen to theyard telephone, sheets smelling of winter's cold, each time the line is launched,the pulley squeaking, may have missed the significance, how those happenings oflife quietly and lovingly lived may be thought neither important nor memorable,how, as they happenneitherShe nor the man pounding the clear airFixing the green step with another nail,Will be aware of the importance, twentyYears later thought of by himWho drove nails and saw laundry,Who thought little of cardinals and clothespinsAnd now love life, loves life.Too late, too late.Cardinals and clothespins, cathedrals and doughnuts, what trivia! And whatgreatness when in the truth of poetry !It all boils down to love. Love is the answer.The poet writes it down.Love without hurtThe only choice.21

GUSTAFSONThe irreplaceable reconstitutionOf desirable experienceIs what he scrapes out . . .The kettle of fish would boil overWith clarity so to speak,Taps in the midst of heatwavesRun breathlessSpring water,Heaven would put pleas on its backburnersAnd buckets of risen bread,That yeast in them, go bustOverflowingIf the worldListened.The poet knows that love is short but that it is for all time; he knows thatheaven is miles-high, that as he drives west into hostile territory he will be besieged,driven to draw into circular defences his wagons, but he primes his guns,His immediate preference not celestial,But sundowns and prairies, pioneersTurning cartwheels to the next corral.THR66 PO€MSRalph GustafsonTH€ MIND NŒDS WH71T TH€роем DoesWhite lilacs and Berlioz —Take them as standing for the world and whatWe make of it. Say it is Berlioz' operaLes Troyens, and let us sayThey are white lilacs clipped from the bushThat last afternoon of May;With late evening, the dark fragranceIn the room and burning Troy.22

POEMWhich was as real as the other?What man creates in meaning isThe world we live in though the rockyEarth is what we ride on. FlowersAt the cost of wooden horses : heroicFoolishness.Stars we got free.Fashioned, finagled implements.A door-hinge, wheel, straight nails :Worthier than the starry night,What we make of them, histories.More than ourselves, lilacs are amorousTroy; without the town, abstractMusic is competent mockery.R7IINThe downpour is a cataclysm.Trees slant, eaves along the houseGush, no one can see beyond the walk.The mind's drenched. Deserts blow sand.What has that to do with it? CellarWindows spill, sills rise.Each has his own anxieties truthfully,Green is perhaps everywhere dry,Ducks do not feel like song.Each one's corner is his world, AllahYelling and Christ hanging and Buddha supine.What is the god for rain ? Oblique it pours !Levels accumulate. Worms come out,Lying on the grass openly,Depressions wash over. I haven't spoken^3

POEMOf the noise, the great swallowing ditch,Surfaces rush. GeneralitiesWill no longer do, truth,Truth, wrong positions, the universe,Are what it's about, misapprehension.Watch, outside ! It can't last.IN TH6 €V€RGUIDeSAll animals are holy,They are themselves.The birds are sacred,The sky theirs.The heron stands for hoursOn one legAnd the roseate spoonbillSeeks side to side.The alligator eats once a weekAnd slides inAnd among the mangrove rootsHis small one waits.A movement ! The spotterAdjusts his lens,He does not know whyBut feels worship,The fat woman feels worship,And the camper, and the baseballCap, and bright eyes.No one is articulate :24

POEMThe egret is beautiful and the blueHeron and the ibis.No one can say why.Each is itself.The people do not move,Each in identity.TRUC6R. A. D. Ford"Le coeur, comme des rois, sous la forme de paixperpétuelle, ne signe donc que les trêves"AMIELThe war goes on, the words woundMurderously, the blood flows and quickens,Until the sacrifice is too greatAnd the heart sickens.The emissaries sound out the enemy,Cease-fire is called, the barrage dies down,The sky is seen again through the haze,And recognizable is the dawn.Peace for a century should be ours,But the heart opts only for a truce,Though there is time enough for a hand-claspIn the ruins of those countless Troys.We think it is the threshold,The going-in, the promise, the rosyFuture. But the armisticeIs like the wraith of a passing thought,And our hearts harden with the sight of peace.

ROBERT FINCH ANDTHE TEMPTATION OF FORMG. V. DowriesIT WAS CONSCIOUS CHOICE rather than the "naked nonchalanceof chance" which determined the form of the poems in the last sectionof Robert Finch's recent (1980) Variations and Theme. They are composed oftwenty-six lines in thirteen rhymed couplets, a number which even the mostcasual Tarot student knows has been used since time immemorial as a symbolicrepresentation of death and resurrection in the sense of change, becoming, theperpetual flow of Heraclitus where "Things that are known turn into unknownthings." Change, paradoxically, seems the one constant in Finch's poetry. It isvividly expressed in his first volume Poems ( 1946 ) :Lost at the centre of change, seeing how strange isNew beside old, we move, to stranger placesFor as we move, our sorrow moves, and passesThrough us and we through it and so all changesIt is the subject of the last poem in the carefully orchestrated Variations andTheme, and therefore of some significance. A recent academic article by Finch isalso concerned with the theme of change reflected in a very different way and ina different milieu — the use made of the Metamorphoses of Ovid by the Frenchpoet Bensserade in the seventeenth century, a writer, incidentally, just as independentof fashionable trends as Finch himself. "Je suis dehors," he remarked.Such overlapping of professional activity and private occupation should alertcritics to the possibility of there being more layers of meaning, more subtleties ofassociation in Finch's work than have been commonly noticed by his reviewers.With the admirable exception of William Walsh, 1 critics have tended to stress thesuperficial aspects of form in his poetry rather than treating the form as part of atotal vision, an expression of patterns of mental structure and sensibility, one ofwhose outward and visible signs is coherent language. The very expressions used— "casual and arbitrary brilliance," "careful and consummate workmanship,""pure surface image," and others more critical, "neat," "brisk" — indicate theemphasis. And for all the notice that has been taken of his long involvement withFrench poetic theory and practice (the French who are so logically articulate26

FINCHabout their poetry) he might as well have been studying the culture of the ancientSumerians. International, cosmopolitan, European — these epithets certainlyreflect a consciousness of his wide cultural interests including German literature— but surely more relevant descriptions are required, and careful studies, tobring out the importance of this French background.Reviewers have, nevertheless, been perfectly justified in picking up the effectof the gleaming surface, the organized débris of experience (sensation, emotion,memory) which make up the poem. For Robert Finch's eye is fundamentally thatof the artist, a painter who has had many successful exhibitions to his creditbetween 1921 and 1978. He is also a musician, and in his academic persona acritic of aesthetic theory. This combination of visual experience, musical aptitude,and understanding of the creative process in the work of others is unusual inCanada, opening as it does perspectives in criticism as tantalizing as they areimpossible to pursue here. To mention merely one example, there seems anobvious parallel between the position of the eighteenth-century French poetsstudied by Finch in The Sixth Sense, who were looking for new modes of expressionin poetry and music to match a changing sensibility, and the early work ofA. J. M. Smith, Frank Scott, and Finch himself in bringing fresh perspectivesinto the Canadian poetry of the 1930's and 1940's.In considering the importance of form in Finch's vision, it seems to be essentialto take his painting into account ; he has been an artist for as long as or even longerthan he has been a poet. From time to time, there occurs a fusion of the two modesof consciousness, and I do not mean by that simply the anthology pieces such as"Statue" or "Train Window" with their realistic evocation of a moment in timepermanently caught on the page. In "Sea-piece" the poet uses pictorial terms toconjure up the image :The pencil lines of the pale brown deckexplode from the point of the mast's white crayonand the white net rope of the railsfences this gouache geometry.Music is not forgotten. There are trombones too.A more analytic approach can be seen in "The Painter ii" from SilverthornBush thirty years later :I first studied bamboo-painting using bamboosThemselves as my instructors. Then I tried,Unorthodoxly perhaps, with an air of humour,In writing, supple, wiry, flowing as wind,To paint the sound of footsteps in lonely valleys,The colour of voices from a drifting night27

FINCHAlthough Finch has experimented with many styles of painting, the elementwhich ties them together, and relates the work to the poetry, is a sense of structureas firm as it is unobtrusive. This is particularly so in paintings where the natureof the subject lends itself to patterns in gouache or watercolour whose originalform is architectural — blocks, triangles, oblongs, half-circles of houses andbuildings. Their shapes may be very simply suggested à la chinoise with a fewstrokes of crayon or wash; complexities of inner space may be fully explored; orthey may be presented flat face, as in a watercolour of a house in Prince EdwardIsland whose ultimate effect, while suggesting the primitive eye, is neverthelessone of extreme sophistication. There are also pure abstracts where the form isco-terminous with the rich, irregular blocks of colour.One's first impression is that there are no human beings at all in this continuingpanorama. This is curious, for the poetry is thronged with people, either observedpassing by in park, street, or corridor, or so closely connected with the author thatcertain sequences such as no. 3 of Poems could easily be interpreted as plots forJamesian novels or dramatic monologues reminiscent of Browning. This isequally true of individual poems of any date up to the present, including thosein the most recent (1981) Has and Is, such as "Sight Unseen" and "Enclave,"and the complex Variations VIII and IX whose shadowy protagonists are knownonly by the enigma of their responses against backgrounds whose material décoris elegantly sketched. The geography, whether it be town or country, is alwaysmore definite than the identities even though the psychological stance of thespeaker is precisely indicated.Finch points out that, in addition to the types of painting mentioned above, hehas always executed works arising out of fantasy and dream where figures ofpeople do indeed play a central role. It would be astonishing for someone exposedto French surrealism and the visions of earlier artists such as Odilon Redon notto bear some traces of these influences. But in the poetry, direct references to thesubconscious are rare, and it is possible that this aspect of the changing proteanpsyche has found its most satisfactory expression in forms offered by art ratherthan in language. There are certainly dream worlds in Finch's literary work, butthey are traditional rather than Jungian, idealistic rather than bizarre.Yet the very absence of the human element suggests its presence off-stage. Asin early Di Chirico paintings, there is a faintly disturbing quality about theempty streets and cafés, the quays where no boats dock. Even such differing worksas a realistic drawing of ornamental cane chairs (used as a poster for the 1978exhibition) and a more complex outdoor scene of two lighthouses at Grau manifestthis sense of otherness. Who belongs to these seats with their intertwiningknots, their Tarot wands-hearts symbolism? And where have all the ships gone?A simple trick of perspective, lines meeting on the horizon, allows the structureto point to more than itself.28

FINCHA,^THOUGH THE OBSERVANT EYE is of course basic toFinch's poetry, the visual element, especially in his early work, becomes merelyone of many in a closely woven network of images, feelings, sensation, and comment.And perhaps because his mind is a naturally reflective one as well as beingacutely conscious of its own functioning, one enters into a universe where themoral is as pervasively present as the aesthetic. Birds become part of the problemof religious doubt :pigeons that flaunt the feigned arcadein copper wings and ashen tails,that sink their beaks in necks of suède,or pinkly drift on smoky sails("Doubt's Holiday")The pond in "The Hole in the Day" becomes a symbol of illusion, while both seaand trees are constantly invoked as part of the inevitable process of human decayin time, with its corollary, in Finch's world, of spiritual growth.William Walsh may be right, in a general way, in pointing out Finch's kinshipwith Matthew Arnold. But it would be more true to say that long exposure tothe French habit of mind, and particularly to the moralistes of the seventeenthand eighteenth centuries, has been instrumental in forming his marked tendencyto generalize, like the Augustans, on human experience. And from both thesesources come the witty epigram, the flourish of the rhymed couplet, the steadypractice of poetry as intellectual fun in vers de circonstance or verses which arewritten deliberately in order to become familiar with the possibilities and limitationsof a formal metre. The long sonnet sequences of Renaissance poets —Italian, French, English — also come to mind."No poem, however light, can afford to be less than perfect." This is theMargaret Avison of 1945, replying in the Canadian Forum to a howl from IrvingLayton over what he considered an unfair review, and the statement seems toexpress succinctly the attitude of most serious poets of the forties who wereindirectly or directly absorbing the influence of Eliot, Pound, Yeats, and therichly varied intellectual scene in Europe during the first part of the century. Asa corrective to parochialism and watered-down Victorianism this experiencecould hardly have been bettered, and it is clear that in his formative years Finchreceived earlier, and more directly than most, the impact of a point of view onaesthetics which transcends fashion and which, apart from its classical roots, canbe traced in modern terms back to Baudelaire and Théophile Gautier. The latter,pointing out that the artist must work at his medium, said "Que ton rêve flottant /Se scelle / Dans le bloc résistant," and for the poet the "bloc résistant" is language,that infinitely tricky medium facing thought in one direction and music in another.29

FINCHAnd one must make it clear here that Margaret Avison was not discussing themerits of metrical or non-metrical verse, she was talking about sloppy writingfrom a poet capable of better things. Finch's practice, whether he is using metricalforms or not, brings him squarely into Avison's court, into the camp of theartistes rather than the voyants, artificial though Marcel Raymond's famous distinctionmay be, and particularly so if applied to English texts. Since some ofFinch's most successful effects, such as "Scroll Section" and "Campaspe" are notin formal metre at all, one can conclude that the care for language which will beadequate to the occasion of the poem is for him an aesthetic necessity quitedivorced from the choice of poetic pattern.Useful though the distinction is for academic criticism, I find it difficult as awriter to accept any formulation of the creative act which says or implies thatform is imposed upon content. What the reader finds in the poem represents afinal crystallization of language dynamically at work in the mind after an infinitenumber of starts involving echoes and associations which eventually create a textthat the author (originally struck by a phrase or a rhythm) may never haveintended or expected. In this connection, one can say that twentieth-centuryexplorations into subconscious mental processes, and a growing literary interestin authors' drafts, have both contributed to an understanding that the poem is aresult of organic growth rather than a content poured into a restrictive form.Finch is completely aware of the complexity inherent in the poetic process("The Reticent Phrase," "The Poem") as well as the ultimate mystery of theorigins of the word. But since metrical forms do seem to predominate in hiswork, it seems reasonable to enquire why, and to ask why he has not followedthe paths of Dorothy Livesay, P. K. Page, and Earle Birney, whose first publicationsare roughly contemporary with his own, and who have all shown moreenthusiasm for experiment in various ways. It is not as though Finch cannot hearand use the colloquial when he chooses.One answer may lie in the Gautier quotation above, and in what Yeats called"the fascination of what's difficult." The fixed form, like Everest, is always thereas a continual challenge. And if by constant manipulation of a certain form thewriter makes it part of automatic or unconscious neurological processes, it is possibleto arrive at the stage where the actual germ of the poem occurs as a spontaneouslygenerated unit of language already attached to a rhythm which ischaracteristic of some fixed form. For some poets, such as Paul Valéry, who leftsuch a valuable record of his creative life, the first intimation of a poem in thehinterland of the mind may even be a suggestion of rhythm without words at all.The value of such deliberate familiarity with form lies here : there is a fusion atthe subliminal level of word and metrical stress which allows experiences to risefrom the depths not just in form but as form.30

FINCH"A shape to hold the form begin to bloom" — there appear to be other advantagesoffered by the metrical form. For those who enjoy practising it, there is anextra element of linguistic tension added to the already complex variables whichmake up the poem. Undoubtedly the counterpointing of natural speech againsta basic beat allows the poet to create effects which might otherwise go unrealized,just as the search for a rhyme can reveal hitherto unsuspected truths about therealities of a theme which may or may not be the true subject of the poem. Wouldit be fair to say that all serious poetry, apart from pure narrative, is truth-tellingof a kind, whatever the temporary masks donned by the poet for the exercise, andthat metrical form helps in the process of listening to one's truths? "The word onthe lips / Only re-shapes / The mask it rips" ("The Words").A .. j. M. SMITH USED то STRESS that poetry — or any art— was a way of bringing order into chaos, and that the formal patterns of poetryenabled the poet to tame his experiences by becoming more conscious of themthrough the very effort of articulation. Finch's attitude to form seems to take theprocess one step further, because, as the religious poems in Has and Is make clear,the poet's act of creation parallels the Word: "And yet a Poet by this alchemy /Is making what is His belong to me." He has exploited an infinite number ofmetrical effects which, through the counterpointing of voice patterns against abasic beat, provide a continuing framework of musical expectation at a levelwhich is subliminal rather than obtrusive. The patterns exist outside trends,outside time, and they do not depend for their impact on the personality or theemotionally charged voice of the poet at a public reading. But the reader mustlisten; the syntax may be complicated.The variety of forms, in spite of the ubiquitous sonnet, is matched by complexityof thought and feeling. Finch's range is wide. The ironic manipulativewit of "The Rule" where there is just one stress in each line (except line 7 whereboth monosyllabic adjectives must have equal force) represents a deliberatelyformal art which simply amuses itself by its own expertise: "Adrift / Lest gift /Of all / Should pall / And much / At odds / With gods / And ends." Inmore classic form, the social scene is satirized :While the refreshments spread and with them girthsAs imperceptibly as the convictionThat gratified desire has no connectionWith either deaths or marriages or births("All Their Parts")3 1

FINCHBut this flourish of technique is only, in a sense, the beginning. The door thenopens on more deeply felt experiences such as some of the love poems or thesimple religious certainty of the last poem of Dover Beach Revisited:Once in a timeless interim I touched it,Alone in a crowd, crowding the other lonely,Unheard, unseen, with nothing at all that vouched it,I touched it, it touched me, once, once only.("The Certainty")Some of Finch's most effective work is seen when the natural syntax and emphasisof the voice breathes so easily in the formal pattern that the latter is simplyabsorbed into the total texture of the poem, as in "Effect of Snow — iii," partof a suite in Ads in Oxford which in 1962 won Finch his second GovernorGeneral's award as well as some criticism from poets who were listening to thebeat of more modern drummers. This poem is particularly interesting because,like no. xiv of Variations, it suggests the world of dream, maya, illusion, which isnever far from Robert Finch's perceptions ("waking self and sleeping self") andexists along with the perfectly observed momentary reality :I have seen the snow like a mirage impendingUpon the eyelids of the dreaming airI have heard it sing one note against anotherSo quiet only the quiet heart could hear,Or lay its silence down, feather by featherOn the discordant day, the restless fearThe arabesques of thought move out and back until they come to rest in controlledharmony.The first poem in the suite is much sharper in its effects, both visual and aural,depending as it does on the contrast between black and white, dark sky andwhite ground, recalling a chessboard with trees as pieces. As so often, the momentis poised in a perilous equilibrium :What is the move ? One move from left to rightAnd the whole wood will move from bleak to bright.What wood? An ordinary Ontario lot? Dante's? Eliot's? The tight form allowsvistas to open here, although frequently in Finch's work one finds endings whichseem, because of the necessities of the stanza form, to close off the flow abruptly.This is, of course, one of the real disadvantages of formal verse ; the second poemin the series illustrates this :And, with its lacquered cornices of snowA white pagoda, once a bungalow.The descent into suburbia is disconcerting.32

FINCHLooking at Finch's work as a whole, one is struck not just by his many voicesbut by the persistence of an angle of vision whose probing illumination sparesneither the poet himself nor the dramatis personae he conjures up and buries inhis well-wrought urns. The technical interest for the reader in many poems of therecent Variations and Theme lies in the way a traditional form can hold a subtleand mysterious balance between what is said and what is unsaid, for the poet'sJamesian eye, added to a Racinian sensibility, roves like the shifting camera ofa contemporary film over scenes where only a look, a profile, a moving handdefine the progress of the action. These scenes are dateless and in their own waytimeless, and once the ear gets used to the convention of the rhymed couplet, forexample, we are made free of moments of intensely realized drama. There is theironically presented seduction scene where candles throw a Georges de la Tourlight on two figures in a claustrophobic dining-room; on the next page, by contrast,a sunlit Mediterranean salon and garden, fresh as a Matisse, after a decisionwhich seems also to involve a crime :Hide,Leave by the window on the other side,From where detection will remain remote.Pinned to the pillow is a pencilled note.Pinned by a stiletto? The high decorum of Finch's art demands that the recipient'shysteria remain unsung.Any definitive study of form in Robert Finch's work would be bound to considernot only the comparatively modern concepts briefly mentioned here, butalso the aesthetic theories of the Renaissance and the eighteenth century whenthe dynamic relationships between the arts (music, painting, poetry, architecture)were not only more real than they are today, but also apprehended more deeplyat a philosophical level. A final word is provided by Louis Dudek, discussingPhyllis Webb: "After all, what matters is the form, whether of joy or sorrow,when it comes to the ritual of art."NOTES1 William Walsh, "The Poetry of Robert Finch," Bulletin of Canadian Studies,2 (April 1978), 1-15.33

ΆΝΌ OF TH€ M€71SURe OF W1NT6RW€ me SUR€(for Miriam Mandel)Patrick LaneYou have taken the measure of wintermakingwith your craft a tree no one could climbsoupon your limbs the star-fruit hangswith the secret buried withinthe dark seedin the centre of your world moltenred as the moment before darknessIn your livesthe mother took your moodstook your brooding in herplayingthe measured line that broke youThe music sang to your care the achiotethe sweet despairthe rare fruit that falls in windWinter you have beaten us againThe beautiful dead are lying upon silencetheir mouths full of wordsunspokenof sleep of caring of the sweetprayer they uttered when sound was goneGriefand the note of release Shecries on her bed where her body liesall of her gone but the flesh and the musicas of birds leavingО winter( I must leave here soon34

DREAMING OF RIV6RSEric TretheweyOne autumn night in your thirtiesyou bob up from sleep.You've been dreaming of rivers.Dazed, warm in the blankets,you turn the dream over,burnish the edges, hidden corners,before the glow goes flatin the morning light.The Ellershouse River.Begin with the girl, the spotwhere your bodies blazedin the sweetfern.The river noses in there,shoulders the lane,turns back to the trees,and you trace the clear waterupstream, slowly,bend by bend,pausing to fish as you did thenthe foam-scummed pools.You cross on a deadfall,skirt rapids to the oxbowon a lop-stick trail.There the land takes a breath, risesto the bridge and thick woodson the other side. From below,you see again how the trestle hovers,creaks like death in the air,and crossing over, smell that oldpreserver on the ties. On the far sidethe beeches sidle in to waterfalls,black pools, waterstriders movingin the gloom. Fishing gets betterand you bring the boys in from the dream,give names to them,keep on climbing in your mindtoward the thin source of the stream,push on until, short of it,35

POEMdeep in the shadow of spruceand straggle of swale,memory stammers, repeats itself,and for all your cunningthis river fades into other rivers,all rivers.Holding on before daylight,you wheel in your circle of loss,pine and resin, damp moss fragranton memory's air, and go for one more crackat the orange-bellied troutwhere the water hooks downthrough the trees, through the gorge,around water-honed granite,past the trestle to a pause, doubles backon itself, widens, lightens,and eases on down to the lane —-where the hunted Indian, Shires,one step ahead of the Mountiesleaped into legend that swollen spring —then over shoals, under willow overhangs,past cutbanks and, highballing on current now,you sweep through alders, by the mill,the bridge, past Deming's store,and wind through flat pastureto the big-bend camp-meetingshallows of baptismwhere the water leans backand foots it under the elms,to the swimming-hole full of bodies, breasts,and one final shoot through a meadowto the highway bridgeand beyond where you've been yet,ocean bound now,with all those other riversblinking silver through the trees,golden in the sunand though you've lost it againyou know it doesn't end here.

RECYCLINGPat JasperThe usual ingredients clutteredmy mother's sewing basket :pastel-headed pins, needles, tangledspools and a rattly button-box,in this case, a recommissionedpink Almond Roca tin.Clothes never got thrown outat our house until they wereshorn of eye-holing adornment :brass buttons, bone buttonssqueaky leather buttons,assembled for reassignmentagain and again.On days she wanted us out of her hair,she would let us sort theminto satisfying patterns,string them into necklacesor barter them as coinsin a rainy-day game of store.For lunch she'd fix ustomato soup and grilled cheese sandwicheswith Almond Roca to sweetenour cranky dispositions.Last week, taking refuge from the rain,I noticed pink tins stackedon the shelves of a real store.They hadn't changed a bit,except for the inflated price.I splurged and bought one anyway,then went home and fixedtomato soupand grilled cheese sandwichesfor lunch.When the tin was empty,I couldn't bring myself37

POEMto throw it outbut began to round up buttons,snipping off a second childhoodfor safekeeping in a can.TH6 D7INC1NG IN TH€ WINDThere are days when I find it hard to bendSkyward. Something in the flesh failsTo hear the dancing in the wind ;Something in the heart takes leaveAnd I am grounded, among stones.Where is the will that trains the beastTo Fly. It has wandered off, a sudden fogWafting across the ice-bright fieldTo where the crows lurch and squawk.Ernest HekkanenЯ SONN6T IS m €7ISY PO6M TOWRITEFred CogswellA sonnet is an easy poem to writeIf you remember that it needs to beNo more than a quadruple harmonyIn which grammar, sound, feeling, thought, uniteTo make, thereby, a new thing — one whose mightIs more than its ingredients ; designedTo blend like music, eye, ear, heart, and mindInto its own crescendo of delight.Whether you close two thoughts — octave, sestet —Or open one three times, then nail it shutWith the sharp bang of a final couplet,In any sonnet you have but to putRight words in right places at the right timesAnd just fourteen of them will do for rhymes.

DICTION IN POETRYGeorge JohnstonM,LODERN ENGLISH is AN IMPURE and undisciplinedliterary language. It is style-less, a writer must make his own style in it. Animportant element of a style is its vocabulary. This matters in every kind ofwriting, but especially in poetry. Words carry their full weight in a poem andwill embarrass it if they are out of place or under strain. Therefore it behoves apoet writing in English to know his words well.In structure and grammatical vocabulary English is a West Germanic language;its closest relations are Flemish, Dutch, Frisian, Platt-Deutsch and, at aslight remove, German. The first Germanic settlers of England, in the sixth,seventh and eighth centuries A.D., spoke pure dialects of West Germanic, whichhad a few borrowed Latin words. Then Danes and Norwegians began settlingthe country too, and the West Germanic dialects began borrowing their closelyrelatedwords. Somehow the language of the Celts had almost no effect on thatof their conquerors, and the Romans left nothing in the language of the countrythey had occupied except a few place names. After the Norman Conquest, inthe eleventh century, French words came into the vocabularies of these dialectsin great numbers, and for nearly two centuries French was the language of Courtand Church and of much literature, but not of the common people. By thefourteenth century West Germanic had re-established itself as the language ofgovernment and literature, as well as of the people. After the Reformation itwas the language of the Church as well. The predominant dialect was that ofLondon, which was mostly Anglian, and the language was known as English.It was by now already an impure language, full of borrowed words, fromFrench, Scandinavian, Latin direct and Latin through French. It was ready towelcome more. Important English scholars of the Renaissance made a point ofwriting in English instead of Latin, but they brought Latin and Greek words intoit to give it substance, as they thought, and dignity. Shakespeare made fun ofthese hard words but he too made considerable and effective use of Latin words,and Milton used Latin words and constructions extensively. Our common speechand our literary language are both full of borrowings that Shakespeare and Miltonbrought into English.39

DICTIONBorrowing from Latin and Greek and, once again, from French went on in theeighteenth century, and meanwhile words had been coming in from Flemish andDutch, from the New World, from Africa and the Middle East and, later, fromIndia. With the advancement of the natural sciences and technologies in thenineteenth century, hundreds of new words were coined from Latin and Greek,and this process carried over into politics and the social sciences. English is nowfull of newcomers, words from these specialized vocabularies that have acquiredpopular currency. And there are modern regional dialects, claiming literaryautonomy: there is American English, which has sub-dialects, and there areAustralian and Canadian Englishes and West Indian English, and others. Besidesthese there are many slang vocabularies that arise from underworlds, from wars,from the media, from sports and other sources, which flourish briefly and aregone, leaving maybe a word or two more or less permanently in the language.Bureaucracy has contributed many words and turns of speech.In the latter half of the nineteenth century some writers became dissatisfiedwith the impurity of English. Best known among these was William Morris. Hemade serious efforts to clear his vocabulary of borrowings, and went so far as toreintroduce English words that had become obsolete, and he invented modernforms for English words that had not survived the Middle Ages. Paradoxicallyone gets an impression of outlandishness from this purified English vocabularyat a first reading, but it grows on one, it has strength and grace, its moods seemtrue. It is not hard to feel a longing for such a language; Ernest Hemingway feltit. An awareness of the English in a literary vocabulary is most helpful in understandingits over-all make-up and quality. The great virtue of the study of OldEnglish is the insight it gives into the heart and bone structure of our language.The origin and family connections of a word may be learned from its etymologicalnote in a good dictionary, or better, from an etymological dictionary. A poetalso wants to know a word's history, what its meanings have been and how theyhave changed over the centuries. Many words have changed meaning somewhatin crossing an ocean. The stages and wanderings of a word's life, the ways it hasbeen used, are all helpful things for a writer to know. Dictionaries are differentfrom one another in the kind of information they provide; the most comprehensiveand generous is the great Oxford English Dictionary, with its modernsupplements.To illustrate these preliminary remarks on the subject of diction I shall quotefour Canadian poems. The first is "A Shadow," by Raymond Souster:40A shadow should bea comfort, a companionespecially on cold winter nights.Mine's neither,being more of a nuisance,

either playing at stepping on my heels,or making like terror, fond of showingblackness so close behinddarker than anything I've seeneven deepest in myself. 1DICTIONSouster writes as down-to-earth and consistent an English as one is likely tofind in any writer. The words I have italicized are borrowings, mostly fromFrench but they have been in English use for so long that they hardly colour theplain Englishness of the poem. Their meanings have changed little, though theearly meaning of "comfort" is "a strengthening" and of "companion" is "sharerof bread," helpful things to know. The poem's English words have had theircurrent sense for over a thousand years, as far back as can be known. The phrase"making like terror" sounds very modern, but there are early intransitive usesof "make." "Fond" is a borrowing, but from another Germanic language,Swedish or Icelandic. Its meaning has changed, though its earliest sense, "foolish,"is still in it, and gives it its flavour. "Nuisance" was a stronger word to begin with,and meant something harmful. It was derived from a verb, and still feels likeone. The English words have acquired shades of meaning and dropped themagain on the way through the centuries; some fill many columns in the OxfordDictionary; the verb "play" fills ten and the verb "step" seven.Souster might scorn the bringing to bear of this kind of learning on his poem.I would not suggest that he had composed in a learned way. But I do know thathe is a careful and well-informed poet, and it is clear that he knows his vocabulary.Few poets are as consistent ; every word he writes has the ring of the same voice,and the same passion and conviction of truth.Here is a sonnet, now, from Robert Finch's recent collection, Has and Is. Itshows an almost opposite kind of skill and awareness of diction, so that whereasRaymond Souster's art is to conceal art, Robert Finch's is to rejoice in it.This rose you give me cannot ever fadeUntil I fade with it and it with me,And should you give me others they would beNot a succession but an accolade.The first rose is the last and all between,Its fragrance too is theirs, its imbricationsIn them repeat unending celebrationsOf what is seen and what will yet be seen,Incessantly discernible as roses,Though clothed in costumes infinitely varied,The good intent that launches them is carriedBy the most tenuous vehicle it chooses,Even the semblance of a voice one knowsCan make the silence blossom like a rose. 2 41

DICTIONIt is not hard to see the difference in vocabulary between this poem and RaymondSouster's. It has twenty-one different borrowed words, five of which areLatin, and of the French borrowings many are late. Of the English words, a highproportion are merely grammatical: demonstratives, prepositions, conjunctionsand auxiliary verbs. Much of the meaning is carried by the borrowings. This ratioof borrowed to English words is now more normal, for conversation as well aswriting, than Souster's, though Souster's vocabulary draws less attention to itself.Finch's Latin words give an impression of wit and pleasure, one can share thepoem's relish in the exotic sounds of "imbrications," and their rhythms andrhymes are sprightly. At the same time they convey a sentiment, gracefully, thatwe respond to.M,JCHAEL ONDAATJE'S POEM, "Henri Rousseau andFriends" is as form-conscious as Robert Finch's, but its rhythms and its irregularverse pattern are very different. It shows the same candid delight in Latin, however,and a brightness of style in using it, along with a counterpoise of ferocityand gentleness of sentiment that is characteristic of Ondaatje's writing. Here isthe third stanza, which speaks of the creatures in the douanier Rousseau'spainting :They are the ideals of dreams.Among the exactness,the symmetrical petals,the efficiently flying angels,there is complete liberation.The parrot is interchangeable ;tomorrow in its placea waltzing man and a tiger,brash legs of a bird. 3Again, the borrowed words are italicized. "Dreams" and and "legs" are from OldNorse and "waltzing" is from modern German, so they are borrowed from withinthe Germanic family. There was an English word "dream," but it meant "joy"and was displaced by that French word. "Brash," in this sense, seems to havebeen a sixteenth-century coinage; here it must mean "brittle" and in this contextit is an unusual and effective word.Ondaatje's stanza is quite as Latinate as Finch's sonnet, but its tone is different ;the Latin words are used familiarly, they are not flourished. "Brash," whoseorigins are probably English, is the most attention-getting word in the stanza.The second section of Margaret Atwood's poem "He Reappears" exemplifiesanother sort of diction altogether, cunningly employed, as one would expect.42

DICTIONYou take my hand andI'm suddenly in a bad movie,it goes on and on andwhy am I fascinatedWe waltz in slow motionthrough an air stale with aphorismswe meet behind endless potted palmsyou climb through the wrong windowsOther people are leavingbut I always stay till the endI paid my money, Iwant to see what happens.In chance bathtubs I have topeel you off mein the form of smoke and meltedcelluloidHave to face it I'mfinally an addict,the smell of popcorn and worn plushlingers for weeks. 4This poem is as English in its vocabulary as Souster's; its setting might also behis though he would not be likely to use it in so sustained and interlocked a way,almost as an allegory, nor in so sharp a voice. The key words, "bad movie," standout, as they should. They are a pairing of English — bad — and a modern coinagefrom an old Anglo-French word — movie — and their combined sense is sonarrowly modern as to be already slightly archaic. Many of the poem's wordsdraw their meanings from a common but period-limited activity, that of watchinga moving picture in a post-war cinema ( as it is now more frequently called ).The particular sense of "bad movie" may have been current in the 1930's buthardly before, and the single word "movie" already feels dated. The words "slowmotion," "popcorn," and "plush" belong to the movie language; so does thethird stanza, though its words, taken separately, have no special connotations."Air stale with aphorisms," "potted palms," the adjective "worn" in "wornplush," and the image of climbing through wrong windows belong to the allegorybut not to the special language, they are the poet's own words.The poem's diction, as I have said, is mainly English, and the borrowings are oldand well-established; only "fascinated," "aphorisms," "celluloid," and "addict"seem at all exotic, and "fascinated" and "addict" are often found in slangy company.Virtually every word in the poem, however, must be understood in somethinglike a cult sense. The poet is aware of all this, and works with dazzling skill.43

DICTIONIt is a very modern poem. One day, however, in the not too distant future, it willprovide delightful drudgery for a student of Canadian Literature, footnoting theovertones of "bad movie."All four poems have been consistent in vocabulary. Their words keep to themood of the poem they are in and do not vary from its voice. Margaret Atwood'spoem makes use of a specialized vocabulary, and does so with a sure touch; noword takes us out of the bad movie, though "aphorisms" was a risk. Consistencyis not easy; Modern English is full of distracting sub-languages: those of thesciences, pseudo-sciences and technologies, of bureaucracy, of sports, of dialects,of jazz, business and so on. And especially since the eighteenth century, with thegrowth of huge cities, writers have been tempted by the seductive ephemera ofslang. Few of the scientific, technical or bureaucratic vocabularies have depth,and a poet who knows the sound of his or her voice is unlikely to use them. Theirmeanings tend to be expressed in phrases rather than words. But the slang vocabularies,though their elements too tend to be phrases rather than words, haveatmosphere, mood and often feeling. They are ephemera, however, as I havesaid, and may date the poem they are in, or cause it to be forgotten.A poem's vocabulary need not sound natural. "Naturalness," using the wordin a current, imprecise but intelligible sense, is one of poetry's less valuable attributes.A poem should read out confidently, however, without confusion, and in aconsistently recognizable voice. It is proper to think of the voice as the poem'srather than as the poet's. Some poets do have a vocabulary of their own, but itis a limitation, even in a strong poet; it limits the kind of things that can be said.Limitation, however, is preferable to inconsistency. Inconsistency intrudes a falsenote. A poem should be true in its stuff, in the way that anything well made is.Poetry is as various as life, and its conventions will be tested and altered constantly.But it must always work with words. They are wilful and treacherous,they will say what they are going to say regardless of the poet's intentions. Thepoet can simply know everything knowable about them and remember that theyare living creatures. It is in their wilfulness that the poem will live or die.NOTES1 Raymond Souster, "A Shadow," Collected Poems, Vol. Ill (Ottawa: Oberon,1982), p. 198; rpt. by permission of Oberon Press.2 Robert Finch, "This Rose You Gave Me," Has and Is (Erin: Porcupine's Quill,1981 ), p. 75; rpt. by permission of the author.3 Michael Ondaatje, "Henri Rousseau and Friends," There's a Trick With a KnifeI'm Learning To Do (Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1979), p. 10; rpt. by permissionof the author.4 Margaret Atwood, "He Reappears," Power Politics (Toronto: Anansi, 1971), p. 3;rpt. by permission of House of Anansi Press.44

IDIOM BIRDSErin MourêThe cars in the shut lot are burning their doors.Sandwiches unravel their tongues,sucking the mouth.All the idioms have been written out.Modernity is a hard beak, to cherish.Unwrite idiom.Tip over idiom, tailless haunted bird,stable currency,that which speaks,that which wanders, cloud with trousers,yo-yo,brink, my sad revolver, my door.Open up or be stolen, passing sentencein the getaway car,gunning its verbs like a motor.Unseal.Unrip & sew, bluster, speak, who listens, who hearsor writesunless I'm smirking, pulling phraseout of the cupboards, idiom birdsCome on, birdstrying to dance their bone skullson the windowhard syllables named Apollinaire, their gunsthrown in the gas-tank,trapped birds,my idiom, soft idiom, tastes like hay45

TWO PO€MSFlorence McNeilK1RSTY OT€Old Kirsty (said my mother) drinks too muchthey'll find her dead somedaybut my father said nothing could kill herand it seemed nothing couldShe was a hero to usand a jokebumping into swollen trees slipping on the finny bladesof wet grasssliding along polished floorswith scatter rugs flapping as she fellshe stayed triumphantly in one pieceUntil that night a gatheringwith our living room a tangle of shoesabandoned for the intricate quick manoeuvresof quadrillesand the sounds of bagpipes still glowinglike coals in the airOld Kirsty staggered to the front porchinhaled seaweed while the rainsprinkled its blessings on herand raised her voice like a heron in painWhen the Roses Bloom Again she sangand slipped head over heelsdown steps wet as a salmon's backAnd when they rushed half laughing half frightenedto prop her up adjust the crepe dressnow tangled indecently around herlike sodden fish scalesshe raised her head and whispered fart on the rosesand closed her eyesher face suddenly old and leatheredlike the skins of kippers blanched in supermarketsthe bones of her face outlined in the rainand the party as empty now as a parched stream.46

TILLEN ST6W7IRTAllan Stewart sits at his windowin his green eyeshade with his bookwith the words that fade likespots on a bleached out sheetlooking over the treetopsthat slant downwards likea green ski slopeto the ocean with its fishboatssplashed by a green sunand the mountains blown sky hightinted snapshots in the clear dayHis world is split into two halvesthe preface a summer when his eyes were wholehis body perfect as theads for muscle tone he cut from magazinesAnd ever afterwardafter the green fingers of gasrushed his lungsAnd the magazine ad was trampledin the slime of the trenchAnd stillwars laterhe wakes his hands impaledin a wet pillowhis eyes liquid blurseven nowwhen his war has been rationalized into ahundred leather volumeswith their spines splitmould eating the golden nameseven nowwhen they have all become mythshe sees only through a split screenon one sidethe perfect clarityof form and lineon the other before his eyesthe words that rush and tumblethat fuse into small repetitive explosionsthat even the greenest flare of lightcannot control.47

PRATT'S TREATMENT OFHISTORY IN "TOWARDS THELAST SPIKE"Catherine McKinnon Pfqff1IN A LECTURE DELIVERED IN 1969, "The Documentary Poem:A Canadian Genre," 1 Dorothy Livesay argued that it was the documentary poem,and not the lyric or historical epic, that formed the most enduring tradition inCanadian poetry. From Lampman on the path was clear. Poetic developmentwas "not into straight narrative but into the use of facts as the basis for an interpretationof a theme." 2 Livesay's examples were drawn from the poetry of Crawford,Lampman, D. C. Scott, Pratt, and Birney, as well as from her own work.The Roosevelt and the Antinoe (1930) was the Pratt poem that she chose todiscuss but the later work, Towards the Last Spike (1952), would have servedher purposes equally well. It has all the features she requires of a documentarypoem. Thematic interest takes precedence over a simple chronological narrative,there is no single protagonist, the natural landscape plays an important part,there is conflict between men and between men and nature, and there is a concernwith the oral qualities of the work. Perhaps most important is the statement thata successful documentary poem needs to be based on solid factual knowledge.With this point E. J. Pratt would have agreed wholeheartedly.Since his experience with "The Cachalot" in 1926, the composition of allPratt's longer poems had been preceded by extensive research. 3 The facts, or atleast all the important ones, had to be correct. The poet constantly sought advicefrom others and would revise on their recommendations. With Brébeuf and HisBrethren ( 1940 ) Pratt immersed himself in the Jesuit Relations and seems tohave emerged convinced that the documents often spoke best for themselves.When he decided to write a poem about the building of the Canadian PacificRailway he chose to tell another central story of Canadian history. The tale hadalready been chronicled by the historians and the biographers. Their books werereadily available to Pratt and he made extensive use of them. His remarks aboutTowards the Last Spike in a speech given shortly before the publication of thepoem in 1952 contain no surprising news about his methods of research:I am fully aware that the historians know much more about that span of 15 yearsthan I do, and that the geologists are more familiar with the Canadian strata thanI am, and that the Railroad engineers know [more] about tunneling and curves48

PRATTand gradients than I ever hope to learn, but in accordance with my usual methodsof writing, I have gone to these specialists for needed information besides what Ihave learned in spending four summers in the Rockies and on the Coast. 4The pages of notes on history and geology that he took attest to the poet's effortin mastering the technical side of the subject. Pratt, however, was not a historian,but a poet. The desire to bring his material to life and to shape it in accordancewith his own design made as many demands on him as the claims of factualaccuracy.When Pratt chose to write a poem about the building of the Canadian PacificRailway, he was choosing to retell a story from Canadian history that had alreadybeen extensively documented. For sixty-five years biographers and historians hadproduced a bulk of material, a good deal of it of mediocre quality, which wasmeted out annually to Canadian students. Most adults retained little more thana vague outline of the story and some of the names. Pratt seems to have knownlittle about the subject before he began work on the poem. A marginal note inone of the earliest notebooks shows him in a familiar Canadian dilemma: "Lookup the difference between CN &P" he scrawled. 5 In the early fifties when Prattwas writing Towards the Last Spike the story of the railroad was in Canadianbooks and not in Canadian minds. Over the next twenty-five years the situationwould change somewhat. Donald Creighton produced the first volume of hisbiography of Sir John A. Macdonald in 1952 and the second in 1955. The interestin Confederation which the 1967 Centennial generated was bound, sooner orlater, to focus on Confederation's inevitable partner — the railroad. By the 1970'sthe country would see Pierre Berton riding a steam engine and the phrases "TheNational Dream" and "The Last Spike" would stare from Canadian bookstallsand television screens. All this development, however, was yet to come whenTowards the Last Spike was in the process of composition.The careful documentary approach Pratt favoured is evident right from thebeginning of the poem. The sub-title which appears in the original edition of1952 sets out the historical framework of Towards the Last Spike. It announcesboldly that the poem that follows isA Verse-Panorama of the Struggle to Build the first Canadian Transcontinentalfrom the Time of the Proposed Terms of Union with British Columbia (1870) tothe Hammering of the Last Spike in the Eagle Pass (1885).Such an approach may have helped many readers who, unfamiliar with the outlineof the events, might have been puzzled by a freer or more revolutionarytreatment of the material. But Pratt was not writing another textbook accountand he refused to spoonfeed his readers. Some, but not all, of the chronologicalnarrative is there. No time is lost in explaining who Onderdonk is. Pratt assumesthat what the reader does not know he will look up. He had learned from The49

PRATTTitanic, from Brébeuf and His Brethren, and from Dunkirk that the way to treatlarge-scale adventures was to concentrate upon the dramatic incidents and principalcharacters and to eliminate all that was not essential to his view of theevents and people involved. 6 The eliminated material throws into relief the partshe chose to retain and both tell a good deal about his thematic concerns. Towardsthe Last Spike is a remarkable poem for the way it both casually assumes someof its story (much more casually than Brébeuf and His Brethren for instance) andmeticulously records the rest.A,N EXAMINATION OF THE Pratt Papers, preserved in VictoriaUniversity Library, Toronto, is the natural starting place for an examinationof Pratt's source material. There in Box 6 are two thick exercise books withmanuscript drafts and extensive notes (Numbers 43 and 44) ; a file with loosepages torn from an exercise book and covered with more draft passages (45) ; athird notebook written, for the most part, in ink ( 46 ) ; a corrected typescriptbearing a close relation to the published text (47); an incomplete typescript(carbon copy) which seems to have served as Pratt's copy for public readings(48) ; and, lastly, a file containing several talks or speeches he gave about thepoem (49). Notebooks 43 and 44 and loose pages 45 are early drafts closelywritten with a dull pencil. They are extraordinarily difficult to read; in places,illegible. 7 Notebook 46, largely in ink, is much easier to make out. All the notebooks,however, contain tantalizing information. They are covered with marginalnotes which reveal the poet's constant concern with accuracy. "Watch chronology"he put beside an early version of Macdonald's catalogue of Arctic explorers (44)and against the passage that has Sir John summarizing two centuries of Canadianhistory (Towards the Last Spike [hereafter TLS], Collected Poems, p. 362), hewrote: "look up the date of [Union] Jack" (46). The poet also sought to providesolid factual bases for his own imaginative passages. A preliminary draft of thesection entitled "The Gathering," in which Pratt discussed the miraculous contributionof oatmeal to the building of the railway, did not satisfy him and headded the note, "put in a little more physiology" (44). He adopted his ownadvice and the published version had the liver, the duodenum, the amino acids.Often, but not always, in these early notebooks he wrote on the rectos andreserved the versos for notes and for reworking difficult passages. On one versohe can be found experimenting with the cards for the more elaborate pokergame of the early drafts (43). The ideas and notes he jotted down were oftennot incorporated into the poem. "What names did Indians give the mountains"(43) and "George Brown was a Scot" (43) were matters he deliberately choseto neglect.50

PRATTThe notes in these scribblers also indicate many of Pratt's sources. "SandfordFleming 113T" (43) is a typical entry, and notebooks 43 and 44 are full ofreferences to T., to G. or M.G., to Bruce H., to McNaught., and to MacBeth.Checking the manuscript references has made it clear that Pratt read and tooknotes from the following books :T. Thompson, Norman and J. H. Edgar. Canadian Railway Development fromthe Earliest Times. Toronto: Macmillan, 1933.G. or M.G. Gibbon, John Murray. Steel of Empire, the Romantic History of theCanadian Pacific, the North West Passage of Today. Indianapolis & New York:Bobbs-Merrill, 1935.Bruce H. Hutchison, Bruce. The Fraser. Toronto: Clarke, Irwin, 1950.McNaught. Macnaughton, John. Lord Strathcona. Makers of Canada Series,Anniversary Edition. London & Toronto: Oxford, 1926.MacBeth MacBeth, R. G. The Romance of the Canadian Pacific Railway.Toronto: Ryerson, 1924.There are other books that Pratt must have used though the references to themin the notebooks are less direct. His portrait of Van Hörne (TLS, pp. 364-65)contains childhood biographical details reported only in Walter Vaughan's SirWilliam Van Home. This book, originally published in 1920, was re-issued bythe Oxford University Press in 1926 as part of the popular Makers of CanadaSeries and was bound together with Macnaughton's Lord Strathcona. Like mostof these books, the Vaughan was in the Victoria College Library and perhapseven among Pratt's own books.Howard Angus Kennedy's pamphlets for the Ryerson Canadian HistoryReaders Series, Origin of the Canadian Pacific Railway and Lord Strathcona(both Toronto, 1909) are also likely sources. These slender pamphlets rely fortheir information on other books and fill out the facts with national pieties. Theywere miserable histories, but there was something in the first of them whichappears to have interested Pratt. Praising the leaders of the C.P.R. enterprise,Kennedy writes :Every one of them was a genius in his own way. Stephen and Smith, full of thefaith that "removes mountains," had to raise the money when that was nearly ashard as squeezing blood out of a stone. 8Opposite the poetic description of Smith {TLS, pp. 362-63), Pratt wrote in anearly notebook: "blood from stone why not? the myth?" (43). "Blood fromstone" does not appear in the poem, but the image of "water from rock" (as asign of Smith's miraculous powers) does, and the two phrases are sufficiently closeto suggest a connection. "The faith that removes mountains" as well as the possibilityfor a pun may have acted obliquely on Pratt to produce the Atlas analogyfor Stephen (TLS, p. 363).5 1

PRATTIt is also likely that Pratt read general histories like Dominion of the North(1944) by Donald Creighton, his colleague at the University of Toronto. Thefirst volume of Creighton's biography of Sir John A. Macdonald, The YoungPolitician (1952), appeared too late to have influenced Pratt in his characterizationof the Prime Minister though it is possible that he heard oral progress reportsfrom the author. Sandra Djwa in her fine study, E. J. Pratt — The EvolutionaryVision, suggests that Towards the Last Spike reflects the influences of HaroldInnis's writing. 9 She may be right in saying that Innis's communications theories— especially in Empire and Communications ( 1950) and Bias of Communication( 1951 ) — shaped Pratt's thinking, but there is nothing in the manuscripts or inthe finished poem to suggest that the poet regarded the arid, highly statisticalA History of The Canadian Pacific Railway ( 1924) as a valuable source for thestory he was telling. The books of Gibbon and MacBeth were more congenial tohim than was the Innis history. They, as their very titles indicate, emphasized theromantic adventure of the undertaking and not the details of economic development.If one examines Pratt's use of the material that he culled from these secondarysources some interesting points are revealed. Descriptions of the landscape aresometimes unexpectedly close to the history text. In the part of the poem aboutrailway construction on the prairies these lines occur :The grass that fed the buffalo was turned over,The black alluvial mould laid bare, the bedLevelled and scraped.(TLS, p. 368)In Sir William Van Home Vaughan had written :Following upon the heels of the locating parties came the ploughs and scrapers,tearing into the old buffalo land, moulding it and branding it to the new bondageof progress. 10Following Vaughan, as he so often did, R. G. MacBeth provided this description :The ploughs and scrapers of this great constructive army were making their waythrough the buffalo wallows and casting up a high grade where the Red River carthad worn deep ruts in the rich dark mould. 11Quite deliberately, then, in this picture of the prairies Pratt is reporting what heread. Of course, his natural descriptions are not always like this: some of thefinest passages in Towards the Last Spike are those which portray the Pre-Cambrian Shield as a great lizard, and for these the sources provide no parallels.Such writing is the result of Pratt's imaginative grasp of Canadian geologicalhistory. The image of the reptile is successful partly because it is flexible enoughto survive extensive development. The poet devotes the whole of the sectionentitled "Number Two" to the lizard, returns to her in "Dynamite on the North52

PRATTShore," and has her sound the closing notes of the poem. The initial descriptionis sufficiently broad in its outlines (the lizard is ageless, sprawling, strong) thatPratt's emphasis can fall on different aspects as it suits his needs and the personificationis never forced. Thus, in one place, he can suggest that she is somethingof a curiosity, an anachronistic dinosaur "Top-heavy with accumulated power /And overgrown survival without function" (TLS, p. 370) and in another placeinsist on all her primeval terror — "She'd claim their bones as her possessiveright / And wrap them cold in her pre-Cambrian folds" {TLS, p. 379). Thedescription of the dynamiting of the North Shore of Lake Superior begins in analmost playful way as the poet adopts the point of view of the lizard. She ispuzzled and irritated by the "horde of bipeds" crawling over her with theirunfamiliar accessories :They tickled her with shovels, dug pickaxesInto her scales and got under her skin,And potted holes in her with drills and filledThem up with what looked like fine grains of sand,Black sand.{TLS, p. 370)A prolonged passage like this runs the risk of diminishing the reptile's stature andso the poet moved away from the actual events of the narrative to emphasize thecreature's noble past and her endurance of natural forces from the Ice Age on.It wasn't noise that bothered her,For thunder she was used to from her cradle —The head-push and nose-blowing of the ice,The height and pressure of its body : theseLike winds native to clime and habitatHad served only to lull her drowsing coils.(TLS, p. 370)It is the lizard's strength and immense geological age that make her so formidablean enemy in the poem's conflict between small man and intractable nature.A second reason for the success of the image of the lizard is as important as thefirst and leads us back to the documentary qualities of the poem. It is just becausethe other natural descriptions of Towards the Last Spike are largely realisticand familiar that the reptilian landscape is able to command such a dominantposition in the natural imagery of the poem. Every Canadian recognizes theprairies of Towards the Last Spike. The mountains of the section "NumberThree" with their "terror and beauty" are equally familiar. True, the controllingmetaphor for this passage is a powerful and resonant phrase of Sir EdwardBlake's ("That sea of mountains"), but even a Canadian whose experience ofthe Rocky Mountains is limited to a winter landscape on a kitchen calendarshould find nothing strange in such a description. Nothing, not even the increased53

PRATTpersonification of "Internecine Strife," rivals the scale of the lizard image. Prattquite wisely saw that the importance of the latter would be lost if combined withan elaborate array of other monsters and so he always framed his fearsome reptilewithin a recognizable and well-documented Canadian landscape.Pratt must have been delighted when he discovered historical facts that alsorang true imaginatively. Both Vaughan and MacBeth reported that Van Hornearrived in Winnipeg on December 31, 1881 when the temperature was fortydegrees below zero. Pratt records these circumstances of time and temperaturein the stage instructions that head Van Home's soliloquy in Towards the LastSpike (pp. 364-66) and then goes on to develop their imaginative possibilities.MacBeth had commented on the sense of exhilaration that such temperaturescan produce and there is just such a feeling in the Pratt passage. When VanHorne scrapes the deep frost off the window and surveys the winter sky, heexperiences the same challenge of the West as Macdonald did in a parallelsection (TLS, pp. 349-50) but with none of the Prime Minister's premonitionsof disaster. Van Horne sees nature at her most unbending but is confident in hisability to command the future passage of events. He is a man charged with energy,caught for one moment on the eve of a new year, on the eve of a great adventure.Many of the stories of Towards the Last Spike are recounted by every historianof the C.P.R. All of them explain the origin of the name "Craigellachie" whichPratt footnotes on p. 348; all produce the famous Opposition phrase that therailway would not pay for its own axle grease {TLS, p. 356) ; and all describethe scene of the hammering of the last spike (TLS, pp. 386-87). Pratt could havegot from almost any of them Л^ап Home's order that the last spike be iron andhis one sentence speech at the ceremony in the mountains in which he is supposedto have said, "All I can say is that the work has been well done in every way."Pratt's version of this appears in the finished poem asIt ended when Van Horne spat out some phlegmTo ratify the tumult with "Well Done"Tied in a knot of monosyllables.(TLS, p. 388)IN ALL THESE CASES the poem adheres closely to documentedevents, but sometimes the treatment of history could be a good deal freer. Thesection entitled "Suspense in the Montreal Board Room" is a good example ofthis. In a talk about the poem, Pratt explained that the passage had originated ina passing reference of Van Home's "to their school boy antics in flinging chairsaround," a reference which he had elaborated in the poem. 12Besides a draft ofthis section in notebook 46 Pratt wrote "ecstasy" and "Taken from MacBeth,Change a little." MacBeth does record the episode and so do Vaughan and54

PRATTGibbon. All speak of the relief experienced by Angus and Van Home on thereceipt of Stephen's London cable and of their subsequent high spirits but twoof their descriptions do not extend beyond a picture of flying books and chairs.Gibbon is the only one to mention the clerks who waited outside the board roomto collect the sketches Van Home doodled during meetings. It is Thompson andEdgar's account on page 160 of Canadian Railway Development from theEarliest Times that provides the closest parallel to Pratt's passage though theyplace the event in a different context. According to them, the railway sponsorswere in Ottawa awaiting a government decision and when the guarantee ofmoney came through their exuberance overflowed :At last the message came! "I think we waited until the Minister left the room,"said Van Home, "I believe we had that much sanity left us and then we began.We tossed up chairs to the ceiling; we trampled on desks; I believe we danced ontables. I do not fancy any of us knows now what occurred, and no one who wasthere can ever remember anything except loud yells of joy and the sound of thingsbreaking."Van Home's comments found their way into the poem inand inTwo chairs flew to the ceiling — one retired,The other roosted on the chandelier.He leaped and turned a cartwheel on the table,Driving heel sparables into the oak,Came down to teach his partner a Dutch dance ;(TLS,p. 3 8 5 )It is obvious that Pratt's picture of the scene in the Montreal board room is acomposite one. He cites MacBeth in a draft, he adapts Gibbon's amazed andwaiting clerks into an "immobilized messenger," and he draws on all of the suggestionsof the account in Thompson and Edgar's book. As he said, he did elaboratethe story and there is a good deal that is pure high-spirited Pratt — the vividdescriptions of the waiting Van Home and Angus, the maps, blotting paper andinkstand thrown through the window, and then Van Home turning cartwheelsand stuffing a Grand Trunk folder down his colleague's trousers. The facts of therecord are there in Pratt's passage but his exaggeration of them makes the storyloom larger in the poem than it does in the histories. "Suspense in the MontrealBoard Room" becomes another way of characterizing Van Home — of demonstratinghis tremendous natural vitality — and it provides a dramatic climax forone important side of the Railway story, the achievement of financial security.Pratt relied more heavily on some of his sources than on others. Gibbon's Steelof Empire seems to have been one of his favourites probably because it containsa good deal of information that does not appear elsewhere and because it incor-55

PRATTporates many first-hand accounts. Many of the details of the Western surveyscould have come from Gibbon. The picture of Rogers certainly did. 13 Steel ofEmpire is the only source which tells that Smith bent the first spike of the ceremonywhich marked the completion of the railroad — a fact which Pratt considersimportant enough to include in his own poem. Where statistics differ heoften adopts Gibbon's estimate, as with the number of tracks and locomotivessunk in the muskeg. 14 Perhaps the most interesting evidence for his use of Gibbonis the vivid description of the mule which is closely based on a detailed first-handaccount of the construction. Steel of Empire quotes from a man called StephenPardoe:The horses knew as well as the foreman when 'unhook' should be called, whileeach mule was a foreman unto itself in that respect. A minute or two before theexpiration of each five-hour of work one wise old mule would bray, and from thattime until 'unhook' the air was hideous with fearful sounds. Stolidly patient,incredibly strong, endued with infinite and devilish vice, no mule would move onesecond before 'hook up' sounded or one second after the correct time for 'unhook'to be called had passed. 15In Towards the Last Spike the idea of mule unionization is Pratt's, as is the happythought of the animals unhinging their joints and unhitching their tendons, but allelse is documented history which the poet is content to retell.Pratt's research for Towards the Last Spike also led him into the study of someprimary documents. The Debates of the House of Commons were available atthe library and his scribblers reveal that he consulted them. In exercise book 43he made some notes on Blake's April 15th, 16th, 1880 speech and in 44 thereare several pages of notes on Blake's Pacific Scandal speech in the House ofCommons, November 3rd and 4th, 1873. The latter he may have known througha small pamphlet entitled Three Speeches by the Hon. Edward Blake, Q.C., M.P.on the Pacific Scandal. It contains the speeches in Bowmanville (August 26,1873) an d London (August 28, 1873) to which Pratt's notes also make reference.Although he read the historical record carefully, Pratt chose to handle thetexts of the speeches freely in his poem. In Towards the Last Spike he is moreconcerned with the problems of rhetoric that the speeches raise than he is withtheir actual statements. His typical approach is to describe the effect of thespeech on its audience, as in the lines describing the members of the House ofCommons listening to Sir Edward Blake :The minds went first ; the bodies sagged ; the necksCurved on the benches and the legs sprawled out.(TLS, p. 361)as well as to insist on the power of some of the most well-known phrases. Out ofthe parliamentary record he picks words like Sir John's "I throw myself on this56

PRATTHouse; I throw myself on this country; I throw myself on posterity ..."(November 3, 1873), and his "from sea to sea" or Blake's "to build a road overthat sea of mountains" and "lost in the gorges of the Fraser" (April 15-16, 1880),and has them carry the force of the whole speech. There is nothing aboutstripping the Knights of Malta (TLS, p. 354) in Blake's 1873 address to theHouse. This phrase enters the poem because Pratt read the politician's speech,grasped the progression of the thought, and then imagined its movement againin different terms. The "Knights" are also a remnant of an extended passage inan early draft which will be examined later.Pratt found his source material all around him. He was fond of consultingpeople he knew when he ran up against a technical problem. He tells of askingnutritionists and physiologists about the exact effect of oatmeal on the digestivesystem (for the lines in the poem on pages 347-48) and asking Scots and doctorsabout the effect of alcohol on a melancholy man (for the treatment of Sir JohnA. Macdonald, pages 383-84). A "physical instructor and coach" provided himwith the proper terms for the tug-of-war in Sir John's nightmare (TLS, p. 349).George Douglas, Professor of Geology at Dalhousie University, furnished himwith some of the geological information he needed, as did an engineer who workedon the Connaught Tunnel in the 1920's. 17 In general, his geological sources areharder to trace than his historical ones. He may have read full-length first-handaccounts of the early surveying parties, such as George Monro Grant's Ocean toOcean (1872), though the scribblers provide no direct evidence for this. Notebook44 includes the only full geological notes which sort out some names andclassification of rocks and record the heights of mountain ranges. The muskeg istreated in some detail and a quotation from the Winnipeg Tribune appears to bethe source for the treacherously inviting grass of the muskeg and especially forthe linesAnd herds of cariboo had left their hoof-marks,Betraying visual solidity., p. 379)"PRATT SAW MUCH OF THE STORY of the building ofthe railroad in terms of five individuals, the reading of biographies was an importantarea of his research. Once this was accomplished, as a poet, he had to takedocumented historical figures and make them into living men. This was partlyaccomplished by using "soliloquies" for Van Home and Macdonald and bydramatically recreating the parliamentary speeches of the Hon. Edward Blake.Since the poem is a narrative and not a dramatic one, however, Pratt was alwaysin and out of the minds of his principal human subjects rather than simply pro-57

PRATTjecting their voices. Neither story nor personality was the end of his tale: heneeded to present both in terms of the shaping themes of his poem. To do this, heapparently decided to treat his biographical research on William Van Home,Donald Smith, George Stephen, Edward Blake, and John A. Macdonald in quitedifferent ways.Some of the portraits of Towards the Last Spike, like that of Van Home, and,to a lesser extent, that of Smith, are careful reconstructions. The lives of the twomen were well-documented and Pratt had read the full-length biographies whichappeared in 1926 in the Makers of Canada series (Macnaughton, Lord Strathcona\Vaughan, Sir William Van Home) as well as the character sketches inthe general histories. In the treatment of both men Pratt adhered closely to hissources. Not only did he incorporate many of the facts that the biographiesreported, he also followed them in their interpretation of the character. In thecase of Van Home, all the early material on childhood (TLS, pp. 364-65) camefrom Vaughan. So too did the facts that the railway manager flourished on onlya few hours of sleep (Vaughan, pp. 83-84; TLS, p. 364) and was fearless ofphysical danger. Vaughan reported that he would cross unsteady trestles fromwhich men had fallen to their deaths a few days before (Vaughan, p. 111 ; TLS,p. 372). MacBeth wrote that Van Home hated incompetence and that he was apractical joker (MacBeth, p. 78). All the sources agreed that the manager wasa dynamo (MacBeth, p. 78), a whirlwind of activity (Vaughan, pp. 83-84), anadventurous pioneer, and something of a visionary (MacBeth, p. 77). He evenhad a reputation among railway workers and in government circles as a kind ofsuperman (Vaughan, p. 115). Pratt's Van Home incorporates all these qualitiesthough the poet, of course, could work with broader strokes than the biographer.He could condense a long anecdote into two lines — the boss who fired VanHome when he received a shock from the boy's buried ground wire (Vaughan,pp. 16-17; TLS, p. 364) —rearrange the chronology of youth, embroider theschoolboy caricatures {TLS, pp. 364-65), and dramatize his subject's thoughts.He could also insist on doing something that good biographers do only cautiously :juxtapose past and future for the purpose of interpretation :He would come home, his pockets stuffed with fossils —Crinoids and fish-teeth — and his tongue jabberingOf the earth's crust before the birth of life,Prophetic of the days when he would digInto Laurentian rock.Pratt was able to portray Van Home very much as his sources had because theoutstanding aspects of the man which they had noted (the miraculous quality ofhis achievements, his almost supernatural powers in confounding time and space)were the very qualities that appealed to the poet. Van Home's place in a poem58

PRATTabout the superiority of vision and dream to logic and argument was an obviousone.Like Van Home, Donald Smith is introduced into the poem in a detailedbiographical passage. The facts, from the Highland ancestry to the melon-growingin Labrador, come from Macnaughton. Howard Angus Kennedy's Lord Strathconaadded a few more touches. 19 In the Smith portrait, however, Pratt's selectivityis more obvious. His Smith has the heroic character of a man who "foughtthe climate like a weathered yak / And conquered it" (TLS, p. 363). There areno weaknesses in him, and Pratt says nothing about the early suffering fromsnowblindness which caused Smith trouble with Hudson's Bay officials and almostled to his resignation (Kennedy, p. 6). Moreover, the poet makes no mention ofthe well-documented coolness between Smith and Macdonald, a result of Smith'saction during the Pacific Scandal when he spoke against the government (Macnaughton,pp. 185-86). Macdonald's grudge was long-held and it even preventedSmith's direct participation in the early meetings between the Canadiangovernment and the businessman sponsors of the railway scheme. Pratt's poemconveys rather the opposite — Smith is the first man to whom Macdonald turnswhen the Londoners desert him (TLS, p. 362). Towards the Last Spike, then,rounds off the edges of Smith and simplifies his character. The poet does give twovivid pictures of the man — one in his early days in Labrador and the other onthe famous occasion of the hammering of the last spike — but he is as muchinterested in Smith's mythic qualities as he is in the facts of life. Smith as "amiracle on legs" is a line of thought that may have been suggested by Pratt'ssources. We have already noted the connection between Kennedy's "blood fromstone" and Pratt's "water from rock," and Gibbon too referred to Smith asMoses. 20 The development of this idea, though, along with the extraordinaryalchemical powers given to Smith, are all Pratt's own creation.The treatment of George Stephen is even freer than that of Smith. This wasperhaps because there was not such a wealth of biographical material availableon Stephen (Volume I of Heather Gilbert's Awakening Continent — The Lifeof Lord Mount Stephen, published by the Aberdeen University Press, did notappear until 1965) and perhaps because the life of the stalwart banker did notlend itself to such vivid treatment as that of his quicksilver cousin. At any rate,Pratt's portrait is a sketchy one which reveals the biographical facts incidentallyas they relate to the theme and story of the poem. Stephen's Banffshire originsand his early days as a draper's apprentice emerge in Macdonald's fear of a man"Tongue-trained on Aberdonian bargain-counters." The "Banffshire-cradled r,"which distinguishes Stephen's speech, is as irritating to the Prime Minister as thebusinessman's skill in close, logical argument (TLS, p. 377). Like Pratt's Smith,his Stephen is a heroic figure, a "banking metallurgist" with mythic dimensions.His wizardry with stocks and bonds turns them into minerals and mountains and,59

PRATTwith a neat reference to the peak in the Rockies named after Mount Stephen,Pratt claims of the man :He grew so Atlas-strong that he could carryA mountain like a namesake on his shoulders.(TLS, p. 363)Pratt does not disturb the simple outlines of his figure by incorporating Stephen'sinitial reluctance to become involved, his constant caution, and his frequentdepressions when business troubles would cause him to dissolve into tears. 21 Forthe same reason he eliminated from the railway story the tangle of rival syndicatesand the financial details of the various contracts. He had to tell a coherent taleand one that concentrated on the most dramatic points. All his efforts in psychologicalunderstanding went into Macdonald and Van Home and the supportingcharacters had to be crisp and clear in their outlines.With Edward Blake and John A. Macdonald, only a few of the recordedbiographical facts were of interest to the poet. Blake, in any case, had been largelyneglected by the historians and there was little material available apart fromthumbnail sketches in general texts and biographical dictionaries. Some of thefew notes Pratt took on Blake ("prodigious memory," notebook 44) suggest thathe may have looked at J. C. Dent's The Canadian Portrait Gallery (Toronto:John B. Magurn, 1880). Other notes he jotted down were facts widely knownabout Blake. "Put in Blake's respect for sequence" (notebook 43) probablyoriginates in the frequent observation that the politician dealt with matters inexhaustive detail. This also seems to have put the idea of Euclid into Pratt's mind,for an early draft describing Blake's rhetoric reads :A fact annointed with Euclidean unction,He could deliver as a gospel truth.(notebook 43)Beside another early draft of the section which became in the finished poem"Blake in Mood," Pratt wrote "Euclidean mind" (notebook 44).The sources available on Macdonald's life were much more extensive. By 1950a good deal had been written about Canada's first Prime Minister. Many, butnot all, of the early books and pamphlets were essentially appreciations, and thislaudatory tone was generally carried over into productions of the next century. 22The treatment was almost uniformly formal with the occasional chapter thatreported, with varying degrees of frankness, the details of Macdonald's privatelife. 23 Pratt's portrait was quite different. He seems to have been under no illusionsabout Macdonald's pragmatism. In one of his notebooks he wrote down thequotation, "He recognized the truth that there was a time to oppose and a timeto accept" (44), and, in the poem, dwells on the nickname "Old Tomorrow."His Macdonald, however, emerges as an intensely sympathetic figure. The situa-60

PRATTtions in which the Prime Minister is viewed are almost always intimate (tormentedby insomnia, snuggled into the sheets, sunk in depression ) but the picturethat is produced is that of a hero whose only rival in the railway story is VanHome.Even Macdonald's most notorious weakness, his fondness for alcohol was somehowconnected with his genius. In his treatment of the two politicians Pratt wasnot interested in an objective presentation of the facts. His Blake is a caricatureand much more of a villain than the man of the history books. His Macdonald isthe supreme politician — long-sighted and nimble on his feet. This free handlingof the two leaders allowed Pratt's themes to be developed in terms of opposites.Against an early draft of the Blake-Macdonald debate in notebook 43, Prattwrote in the margin "logic versus vision," and this is the most important of hisoppositions. It is bolstered, however, by a whole series of related contrasts — closeargument vs. magic phrases or metaphors; slow or dragging time vs. quickenedtempo and musical command; the ascetic, the plain, the home-grown vs. theluxurious, the romantic, the foreign.This last contrast is perhaps even more evident in the drafts of the poem thanit is in the final version. In a long passage that survives all the way to typescript48, there is a portrait of Blake at the time of the Pacific Scandal which seems tohave come entirely from Pratt's imagination. 24The politician is introduced as hesits in an Ottawa restaurant. The poet tells us that Blake dislikes eating outbecause the meals served are not plain enough for his taste. Hors d'oeuvres, hefeels, are no food for an honest man, and he suspects seasonings and spices areonly used to disguise poorly-prepared meals. Alcohol holds no temptations for him:For him, as well the port had no seductions.His appetite was in his moral sense.When his dinner arrives he discovers that it is bad and, after chastising the chef,he hastens back to the House of Commons with his exhibits to confront "theManagement." The dirty-green sardines in their rusty can (Exhibit A) and thegreasy herrings (Exhibit В and perhaps there because of a marginal phrase innotebook 44— "Put in somewhere how Blake detested oil . . . ") are revoltingspecimens.But these were not the things concerned him mostMalodorous with the whiff of barnaclesStaled by the Firth of Clyde they were but entréesBrought over in the busy Allan holdsAnd being fish they could have suffered sea-change.It is Exhibit C, an omelette smothered in parsley and mushroom sauce, that reallyarouses his ire. Its greenish tinge proclaims it could not be an honest egg and whenBlake lets it drop, it bounces upon the floor.61

PRATTThis hardness had a cause : it was its age.The orator raised his voice : "Some months have passedSince it was cooked. Why this delay? It wasThe trick of Prorogation of the HouseDesigned to calcify the egg, depressThe fumes, desensitize the public nose ;Had long been prearranged and failed its purposeFor no deodorant in art or natureCould offset this.' He passed the dish around :The smell was hybrid, with a foreign airAs from Chicago, a domestic airAs from the stuffy steamship officesOf Montreal, and something that defiedAHalysi»-.~What-he»-ha

PRATTI IINALLY, IN THE DRAFT PASSAGE provides a detailed picture ofBlake of which only the outlines are retained in the final version. In both, Blake'seating preferences are taken as signs of his personality and political-moral stance.His longing for plain food at the restaurant (which is evident in notebook 46)or his opinion that "A meal was meant by nature for nutrition — " (TLS, p. 354)explains not just his censure of luxurious luncheons but the solid factual contentof his substantial speeches and his contempt for the expansive free-ranging mind.Macdonald is obviously the man who lets his thoughtsRoam, like a goblet up before the lightTo bask in natural colour, or by whimOf its own choice to sway luxuriouslyIn tantalizing arcs before the nostrils.{TLS, p. 354)And Blake has no use for such dreamers. 26 Their moving eloquence is equallyforeign to him, for his speeches are "massive in design" (TLS, p. 360) and losetheir listeners in excessive detail. Sometimes, however, Blake stumbles on a magicphrase and then Macdonald fears the consequences. In Towards the Last Spikethe power of the right words is real. Words can make mountains into seas andthey can threaten to decide the question of railway subsidies by transporting theCommons to a dangerous mountain ledge and leaving them shivering below anavalanche (TLS, p. 360).Successful communication was, of course, an old Pratt theme. The power ofthe female ape in "The Great Feud" sprang from her ability to command aresponse in her audience :She spoke : and every throat and every lungOf herbivore and carnivoreIn volleying symphonic roarRang with persuasion of her tongue.(Collected Poems, p. 162)In Towards the Last Spike Pratt portrays the building of the railway as a struggle"Against two fortresses : the mind, the rock" (TLS, p. 372 ), and of these two jobsThe moulding of men's minds was harder farThan moulding of the steel and prior to it.(TLS, P. 358)The tools for moulding men's minds are words, and so the heroes of Pratt's poemare not only visionaries but also individuals who can convince others that theirdreams can be transformed into reality. Van Home is a man of practical affairs63

PRATTwhose job is to fight the rock and direct the laying of the steel, but he is also adreamer and a man who "loved to work on shadows" (TLS, p. 364). When hesurveys the sky in Winnipeg, he knows that the task ahead of him can be accomplished;it is the sceptics, not the dreamers, who are insane, he thinks. In Montrealhe presents his plans with such energy and daring that the financiers forgettheir doubts, throw in their lot with him, and approve his grand scheme. LikeVan Home, Macdonald is also a dreamer ; and he has an even bigger audience topersuade — not just a board, but a country.The Pratt Papers suggest that it was this idea of two visionaries that was thestarting point of Towards the Last Spike. The exact order of the poem's compositionis difficult to determine, but it appears from notebook 43 that Pratt beganwriting with a passage about two men sweeping the sky with telescopes. Thissymmetry is preserved in the published version with the two "soliloquies" — SirJohn surveying the sky with a telescope and Van Home looking at the stars —though there, since the passages are separated, Pratt seems to feel that the connectionsbetween the two men have to be expressed through a direct comparison(TLS, p. 365). An interesting direction the poem could have taken is illustratedby a page in notebook 43 headed :[one illegible line]Two people looking at the starsTwo farmers looking at the market train.Draft titles for the first section of the poem continue this idea. In scribblers 43,44 and 46 Pratt headed the beginning of the poem "Star Gazers and LandSurveyors" and 44 also has the suggestive alternative title "Land and MindSurveyors." So, right from the start, Pratt had made the connection betweenvisions of the future and telescopes and between the comparable activities of landand mind surveying. He had decided on his shaping theme and it was in termsof that theme that he would see the principal characters and events of the railwaystory. Sometimes, as in the case of Van Home, Pratt's biographical and historicalsources would suggest the same interpretation of the facts, and the poet carriedon where they left off. On other occasions, as in the descriptions of Blake andMacdonald, the documented material had to be more freely treated. In thesesections and in the parts of the poem about public opinion on the railway issue,Pratt developed his picture with broad imaginative strokes. It is clear that thestrongest influence on these "logic vs. vision" passages was not carefully researchedmaterial but the religious parallels and the Biblical echoes that sprang naturally toPratt's mind. The struggle between those who believe in the railway and thosewho do not is like the opposition between St. Paul and Doubting Thomas ( TLS,p. 346) ; laying the line across the barren prairie is an act of faith in a differentfuture (TLS, p. 368); and Sir John's "From sea to sea" is a Biblical phrase64

PRATTconfronting Blake's pagan one {TLS, p. 360). The Bible is full of visionaries ordreamers as a line in an early draft of the beginning of the poem reminds us. Joel11: 28 is rewritten as Pratt describes the expanding country straining into thefuture — "How what the young men saw in vision what / The old had dreamed"(notebook 43).The idea of the visionary, or what Sandra Djwa, who explains Towards theLast Spike in terms of T. G. Smut's concept of holism, calls the idea of Personality,is obviously at the centre of the poem, but there are also other imaginativeorganizing principles at work. Perhaps the most important of these is the musicaltheme which Professor Djwa traces from the note hard to catch to the swellingsymphony. 27 She may well be right that Pratt is picking up a line of imageryalready evident in Smut's writing but it is interesting to note that Sir John as amaestro on a podium may have been derived from so simple a source as a nineteenth-centurycartoon entitled "The Grand Ministerial Overture" published inthe Canadian Illustrated News of February 13, 1879, and that the developmentof the musical theme went on from there. Moreover, the musical command is notjust the successful orchestration of various instruments — it is the forcing of afaster tempo. Edward Blake and Alexander Mackenzie are associated withdragging time and "five years delay" on the railway. The slow progress of theminutes during Blake's speeches in the Commons is unbearably tedious and thereader's restlessness is increased by the description of the cautious pace of thestolid Mackenzie. He is content to move the railwayAcross the prairies in God's own good time,His plodding, patient, planetary time.(TLS t p. 357)When Macdonald returns to office in 1878, he has to begin delicately but hemanages to drown Blake's warnings, his "beautiful but ruinous piece of music,"with the stirring martial tune of fife and drum. By the end of the poem this musichas become a "continental chorus," but the drumming rhythm is still insistentand it drives the country forward into the era of faster times and broken recordsmet in the lines which introduce and set the mood for Towards the Last Spike —"It was the same world then as now — / Except for little differences of speed /And power" (TLS, p. 346).In Pratt's railway poem there are two other elements that are closer to fantasythan to record though one is advanced a good deal more seriously than the other.The personification of British Columbia as a reluctant fiancée seems to have beenan attempt to render vivid a necessary part of political history and to provideanother sympathetic picture of Macdonald, this time as the desperate suitor. Thegeneral idea was not a new one and it could easily have been suggested to Prattby another cartoon. This one by Henri Julien was originally published in the65

PRATT66

PRATT6 7

PRATTCanadian Illustrated News of September 9, 1876. It depicted the Prime Ministerof the day, Alexander Mackenzie, in the guise of Uncle Aleck attempting to conciliatea sulky niece, Miss B. Columbia, who threatened to complain to her mother(Great Britain) unless she got her railway immediately. When Gibbon reproducedthe cartoon in his book ( about half its original size ), he retained only the largecaption "British Columbia in a Pet" and eliminated the short dialogue betweenuncle and niece. 28 It seems entirely possible that Pratt's eye was attracted by theillustration in Gibbon's book and that both the shortened caption and the drawingsuggested a romantic rather than a familial relationship to him — hence the transformationof the avuncular Mackenzie to the anxious lover Macdonald whoappears in the poem (TLS, pp. 351-52). 29 As usual all the embroidery connectedwith these personifications (California as the sailor-lover and rival, the Ladysoaping off the engagement ring) is Pratt's own. In fact, the original drafts of thepassage on p. 352 were much longer than the final version, and contained anelaborate poker game along the lines of that in The Titanic. It survived as late astypescript 48 where the section was entitled "Across a Telepathic Table." Prattalso continued to refer to the poker game in later parts of the poem. After theline "It was the following burning corollary" (TLS, p. 360), draft 47 had the line"Springing from that erotic poker game," and original versions of "Threats ofSecession" continued to speak of "the poker debt so many years unhonoured"(notebooks 44, 46). Eventually these later poker references were expunged and"The Long-Distance Proposal" was substituted for "Across a Telepathic Table."In the final version the game only lurks in the background in phrases like"A game it was and the Pacific lass / Had poker wisdom on her face," and "Shewatched for bluff" (TLS, p. 352). The poker passage is like the omelette one.Both seem to have no origin in documented events, 30 both show a high-spiritedPratt enjoying himself immensely, and both were largely eliminated before thepoem was finished.The "oatmeal" passage in the section of the poem entitled "The Gathering" isquite different. In one sense it seems as if a move inside a Scotsman's stomach isa move away from the railway story but, in fact, the passage is closely connectedwith two of Pratt's themes. He remarked afterwards that he knew many nationalitieswere involved in the construction of the railroad, but that he had decided (astwo of his sources, Gibbon and MacBeth, had) that the key men were the Scots. 31In Dunkirk the poet had already had some fun with Scottish names but here thecommon racial origin most evident in "the everlasting tread of Macs" is takenseriously. Stephen's Highland burr speaks to Macdonald more powerfully thanthe speech of other men and he cannot ignore its demands (TLS, pp. 366-67).The Prime Minister is portrayed not only as a nimble politician but also as a clanchieftain and the "general of the patronymic march" (TLS, p. 348), as courageousas he is canny. The other important Scottish touches in the poem are the68

PRATTinsistence on the ancestry of Smith and Stephen and the view of the hammeringof the last spike as a victory accomplished by a people who had suffered bitterdefeat at Flodden almost four hundred years earlier.The second theme with which the "oatmeal" passage is connected is the complexquestion of the relation between man and the natural world in the poem.This was a matter of limited interest to the historians and the geologists, but itwas of great interest to Pratt. When he suggested that the men who built the railwaygrew into rock themselves {TLS, p. 347 ), when he explored the resemblancesbetween the human struggle against the land and the great battles among theelements ("Internecine Strife"), and when he envisioned the Canadian landscapeas a great lizard, then he brought some of his most revolutionary innovationsto the railway story.When Pratt praised Stephen Vincent Benét's poem on the American Civil War,John Brown's Body ( 1928), it was not just for its careful historical treatment, butbecause he saw in it passion fused with the facts. 32 He brought his own passion,perhaps even his own brand of nationalism, to the story of the railroad. Thepolitical oratory, the character of the builders, the land itself, are all there butexpressed in terms of enduring Pratt themes — heroism, vision, communication,and evolutionary struggle. The perspective is intimate as often as it is panoramicand, while the finished poem is considerably more restrained than the early drafts,it still contains strong comic elements. Towards the Last Spike, in fact, presentsthe same combination that Sir John A. Macdonald hoped that his speech on theSelkirk pioneers would deliver: "Romance and realism, double dose." The poethimself put it more modestly when he explained that "It is half a record and halfa fantasy." 33 Since both aspects of the poem are so vividly conceived and socarefully executed, Pratt's last narrative work is an entirely successful documentarypoem.NOTES1 The lecture was published in Contexts of Canadian Criticism, ed. Eli Mandel(Chicago and London: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1971), pp. 267-81.2 Ibid., p. 277.3 Carl F. Klinck and Henry W. Wells, Edwin J. Pratt — The Man and His Poetry(Toronto: Ryerson, 1947), p. 51. Since this paper was originally written, SusanBeckmann has explored the subject more fully in "Java to Geneva : the Making ofa Pratt Poem," Canadian Literature, No. 87 (Winter 1980), pp. 6-23. There isdiscussion in this valuable article of the sources of many of the narrative poems, butnot of Towards the Last Spike.4 Pratt Papers, Typescript, Box 6, no. 49, Victoria University Library (Toronto) ;quotations from Pratt Papers are used by permission.5 Pratt Papers, Notebook, Box 6, no. 43.6 Klinck and Wells, p. 46.69

PRATT7 Jay Macpherson makes the same observation about her experience with the manuscriptsof "The Witches' Brew" and notes that the dull pencil was caused by "thechildhood economy of cutting all new pencils into three before using them." SeePratt's Romantic Mythology: The Witches' Brew (Pratt Lectures, 1972), pp. 4, 18.8 Howard Angus Kennedy, Origin of the Canadian Pacific Railway (Toronto:Ryerson, 1928), p. 21.s Sandra Djwa, E. ]. Pratt — the Evolutionary Vision (Toronto: Copp Clark, 1974),pp· 134-35·10 Walter Vaughan, Sir William Van Home (Toronto: Oxford, 1926).11 R. G. MacBeth, The Romance of the Canadian Pacific Railway (Toronto: Ryerson,1924).12 Pratt Papers, Typescript, Box 6, no. 49.13 Compare J. H. E. Secretan's description of Rogers (from Canada's Great Highwaywhich appeared in Gibbon, p. 215) with Pratt's description.Secretan: He was a master of picturesque profanity, who continually chewedtobacco and was an artist in expectoration. He wore overalls with pocketsbehind, and had a plug of tobacco in one pocket and a sea-biscuit in theother, which was his idea of a season's provisions for an engineer. Hisscientific equipment consisted of a compass and an aneroid slung aroundhis neck.Pratt : Now Rogers was traversing it on foot,Reading an aneroid and compass, chewingSea-biscuit and tobacco.Moberly's remark to Macdonald which Pratt quotes (TLS, p. 353) also comesfrom Gibbon (p. 159).14 Ibid., p. 264.15 Ibid., p. 239. Gibbon is quoting from an article in Engineering Wonders of theWorld by J. M. Gibbon and Stephen Pardoe.16 It was in the collection of the Victoria University Library (Toronto) and is nowkept in its Canadiana section.17 These debts are acknowledged in the typescript of the York Club speech, PrattPapers, Box 6, no. 49.18 As recopied by Pratt in typescript, Box 6, no. 49, the quotation from Pailón (?) inthe Winnipeg Tribune reads :apparently the tussocks are important as a warning to keep well back, as thetussocks may present a friendly uniform grassy surface around the edge, so hardto tell where the meadow ends and the (concealed) lake begins. Some of thetussocky muskegs look as if they had been methodically pockmarked by moosehooves.19 For example, the description of Smith as a young Hudson's Bay Company trader(TLS, p. 363) ultimately originates in Macnaughton (p. 76) but Kennedy's versionis so much more detailed and vivid (pp. 5-6) that it may well have beenPratt's main source.20 The context is different. Gibbon (p. 347) is referring to Lord Strathcona the imperialistnot Donald Smith the railway builder, but the image may still have suggestedsomething to Pratt.21 The point is made in Walter Vaughan's Sir William Van Home, p. 120.22 The pamphlet on the Prime Minister in Louis J. C. Taché's Men of the Day: A70

PRATTCanadian Portrait Gallery is an example of a pro-Macdonald view. Sir RichardCartwright's Reminiscences (Toronto, 1912) is, by contrast, highly critical.23 The exceptional book is Biggar's Anecdotal Life of Sir John A. Macdonald (Montreal,1891).24 There is certainly nothing in Blake's speeches to suggest it, and even a remark likeGibbon's "The odour so far acquired by the Canadian Pacific Railway was not thatof Araby" (p. 199) is nothing in comparison with Pratt's soaring vision of therotten egg in the House of Commons.25 See the notes on his reading copy in which he summarized parts of the poem :I had to put the charges in the form of a menu which is offered to the House ofCommons by the Hon. Edward Blake, leader of the Opposition. He presents thedishes which are not very savoury, the main dish is an egg now an omelette whichthrough age has become very high.(Typescript, Box 6, no. 48)The same point can be found in other speeches.26 The passage about wine illustrates my point that in Towards the Last Spike it isthe far-sighted dreamer who has a taste for alcohol. "Hollow Echoes from theTreasury Vault" also demonstrates the efficacy of whiskey. Sir John's drink is hismedicine; when he has drained the glass he can see clearly the task that lies aheadof him. The whiskey also has the magic Scottish touch responsible for so many ofthe poem's miracles.27 Djwa, pp. 132-33.28 Gibbon, p. 179.29 It is even possible that Pratt looked quickly at the cartoon in Gibbon's book andassumed he was seeing Macdonald and not Mackenzie.30 Nothing in the material consulted suggested that Macdonald was a poker player.In one of the Parliamentary debates he uses an image drawn from gambling andthen apologizes to the House for doing so. The Poker Game passage that waseliminated from the final poem reads as follows :The Lady dealt the cards. It was agreedThat one-eyed Jacks were wild. With easy graceShe floated Sir John's five across the baize.He asked for but one card upon the draw.Quite unconcerned, she looked at her three queens —The three were on the deal — and on the drawA one-eyed Jack, an ace. Could he beat that?Where was the other queen? the other aces?Where was the other Jack — a tricky knaveThat might have smuggled up MacDonald's sleeve?She took a casual look at Sir John's face,A mask as imperturbable as hersExcept for arrowy flashes in his eyes,Searching for filly quivers on her lips.The bidding started, slow and meditative,As lacking confidence. Sir John studiedA "flush." He wanted a "full-house," but thisWas good. He "anted" and the Lady raised it.To speed it up, she took her handkerchiefAnd tapped her nose. The orange-blossom fragranceActed like overproof upon the Knight.(Box 6, no. 47 )71

PRATTHe doubled, so did she ; again the Knight.Was his a straight? A flush? or a full-house?A straight flush? Hardly on a bet of chances.There must be bluff behind those chipmunk eyesEngaged in forthcoming a contract-time.There was a lull before his next advance ;So she must keep him in the game. She pursedHer lips ever so slightly to betray.A doubt to match the flicker of a shadowWhich caught unguarded those Disraeli features.It worked ! The bidding leaped to a fresh pace.She looked at the wild chap beside the queens.Four of a kind was good enough to riskThe skyline of the Rockies as her limit —"Begin the Road in two years, end in ten"Sir John, dropping his mask, threw in the chips.31 MacBeth, p. 58; Gibbon, p. 296.32 Klinck and Wells, pp. 50-51.33 Pratt Papers, Typescript, Box 6, no. 49.(Box 6, no. 46)TH€ CO7IST OF CHILDHOODR. A. D. FordThe coast of childhood looms close,And there is a sudden pinchingOf the muscles below the heart —Either a premonition of the end,Or a spilling-over of regret.And suddenly I have a desperate needTo know the books which define us,To pursue the contours of the past,To seize the inevitabilityOf decay in our precarious age.I want to walk back into timeWith the clear eye of understanding,And to search on those distant shoresFor the word lost long ago, knowingIt is not there and never was.72

TWO PO€MSFINDINGG. McWhirterThe pickers out visiting the goodSpots, startled by my dogs, seem clumsyOr ashamed, as if caughtRelieving themselves,Bent over, there. They show me buttons,A whole regalia of mushroomsMinted by the rain.Each finding what they needCherishes the difficult search. For no reasonLight threads onto a thin, dead branch.Between dense firs, there's the tallest dogwoodToo. Her long elastic armHas grown thin with reaching for that thread.SUCCESSFULLYWill all that weight of water on the webBreak or brighten it. Because the high meadowGrass is laced beautifully with both webs and waterThis morning. So, how should her hand depressThe boy's ignition properly. And will he pegThe whole tent of day again for her. The shoulder sags,The bare body skids hotly into eiderdownsAnd skies, the weightlessness of sleep. Two-tonSlumberer, at the centre of each coupling sulksA spider, scenting infinities, but nothing sticksTo its wet web. Too soon the sun dries out the dew.If everything were as sly and slow and successfulAs the damp snail mounted on the mushroom,Devouring it on the ground beside you.73

Ά W0M7IN ΆΤ 4 IM.gulps from the glass besideher bed watches the starlightchill her thumbs palebeam journeying a thousandyears to reach herwrenchesher lover's hair "Wake!look at me! tellme I am alive" theclock clattersH€RD OF SORSThe stars are a larger herd than buffaloand an excellent opportunityfor clubby sportsmen, but we can't kill Heaveneasily as passenger pigeons, baby sealsor the celebrated last Great Auk at Fogo Island.We could shatter the moon with a rocketand end our fine days blowing out the sun.The gun clubs likely can't get many starsfrom the herd far off and careless of mankind.G7ITHeR€D FROM TH€ ЖSince somewhere around December 191 οI have measured out my life in findingwhat will suffice : petalson a wet black bough, iceon a red hot stove, no ideasbut with real toads ina red wheel barrow, dependable,in the hyacinth garden.The imperfect is our paradisealthough Idaho mi fe &my little horse must think it queer.Craig PowellR. G. Ever sonMike Doyle74

GADJI BERI BIMBAThe Problem of Abstraction in PoetryStephen ScobieI dreamed I saw Hugo Ballthe night was cold I couldn't even callhis name though I triedso I hung my head and criedI dreamed I saw Hugo Balland he looked fine he stood tallbut he lived in a world of painI never saw Hugo againbp Nicholz,URiCH, 1916: a city at peace in a world at war; a cityof exiles, of refugees, of revolutionaries both artistic and political. 1 On the Spiegelgasse,Alley of Mirrors, a narrow street climbing up from the banks of the riverLimmat, Lenin sits waiting for his closed train, for his moment in history. Andjust down the street, obliquely across the Alley of Mirrors, in an emblematic juxtapositionwhich has delighted writers and historians, 2 is a cafe in which Leninoccasionally eats, and which also houses the Cabaret Voltaire, the birthplace ofDada. In Switzerland, the linguistic crossroads of central Europe, there cametogether Jean or Hans Arp, sculptor and poet, from Strasbourg; Tristan Tzara,writer, from Bucharest ; and Hugo Ball, dramaturge and religious visionary, fromthe Rhineland Palatinate of Germany. At a time when the nationalist ideals ofEuropean high culture had produced the institutionalized insanity of trench warfare,Dada proclaimed the end of that high culture. It promoted the cult of theirrational, the chance, the spontaneous: in the various possible (and laterfiercely debated) origins of its name, "Dada" was a child's rocking-horse, theaffirmation of the Russian "yes," the tail of a sacred cow, a repetition of theinitials of Dionysius the Areopagite, or merely nonsense syllables. In place of art,Dada promised anti-art, and in doing so fell into the inevitable paradox of producingart again, such as the lovely, chance-generated drawings of Arp, or theoddly haunting and compelling poems of Hugo Ball.On June 23, 1916, Ball wrote in his diary, "I have invented a new genre ofpoems, 'Verse ohne Worte' [poems without words] or 'Lautgedichte' [sound75

ABSTRACTIONpoems]." 3 Ball's claim to have "invented" this form of experimentation may wellbe challenged, and the date is also in dispute, but the name he used for it — soundpoetry — has (despite certain theoretical inadequacies) persisted to this day. Onthat evening, the diary continues,I gave a reading of the first one of these poems. ... I had made myself a specialcostume for it. My legs were in a cylinder of shiny blue cardboard, which came upto my hips so that I looked like an obelisk. Over it I wore a huge coat collar cutout of cardboard, scarlet inside and gold outside. It was fastened at the neck insuch a way that I could give the impression of winglike movement by raising andlowering my elbows. I also wore a high, blue-and-white-striped witch doctor's hat.On all three sides of the stage I had set up music stands facing the audience, andI put my red-pencilled manuscript on them ; I officiated at one stand or the other.... I could not walk inside the cylinder so I was carried onto the stage in the darkand began slowly and solemnly :gadji beri bimbaglandridi lauli lonni cadorigadjama bim beri glassalaglandridi glassala tuffm i zimbrabimblassa galassasa tuffm i zimbrabim. . . .*Ball, who was later to retreat from this kind of experimentation into a bothliterally and metaphorically Byzantine mysticism, never developed a fully articulatedtheory for sound poetry. 5 His remarks are scattered through his diary, FlightOut Of Time, whose entries he often reworked and revised before publication.On the day after his performance at the Cabaret Voltaire, he wrote, "In thesephonetic poems we totally renounce the language that journalism has abused andcorrupted. We must return to the innermost alchemy of the word, we must evengive up the word too, to keep for poetry its last and holiest refuge." 6 And thefollowing year, on March 5, 1917, he concluded, "The next step is for poetry todiscard language as painting has discarded the object, and for similar reasons." 7Sixty years later, in 1978, the Dutch sound poet Greta Monach repeated thesame simple faith :Familiarity with music from an early age led me to think in terms of abstract art.Given the fact that, after music, the visual arts also emancipated from thefigurative into the abstract, it seems a matter of course to me to follow this examplein poetry. 8It is not, however, "a matter of course." I would call these two statements —so strikingly similar, despite the sixty years of experience and experimentationbetween them — simplistic, even naive, precisely because they propose, as easyand obvious assumptions, that there is a direct parallel between the history ofpainting and the possible history of literature, and that abstract poetry is bothpossible and desirable. Not that these propositions are necessarily invalid: but76

ABSTRACTIONthey cannot be made as assumptions, they have to be argued. It is my purpose inthis essay to suggest some lines which that argument might follow.It should be clear that, by "abstract poetry," I do not mean simply poetrywhich is about abstract ideas, or which uses abstract vocabulary, like, for example,Eliot's "Burnt Norton" : "Time present and time past / Are both perhaps presentin time future," etc. Rather, I mean abstraction at the deeper levels of poeticstructure, syntax, and semantics. But it will be useful, before going any further, toclarify the various senses in which the word "abstract" is used, and in doing so Iam greatly indebted to a book by Harold Osborne entitled Abstraction and Artificein Twentieth-Century Art. Osborne speaks of the "Constant misunderstandingsand confusion [which] occur, even among artists themselves, owing to failureto grasp the difference between . . . two uses of 'abstract.' " 9 The first use, whichOsborne classifies as "Semantic Abstraction," derives from the fact that "Both inphilosophical and in everyday language 'to abstract' means to withdraw or separate,particularly to withdraw attention from something or from some aspect of athing." Thus,a work of figurative or representational art, i.e. one which ... transmits informationabout some segment of the visible world outside itself, is said to be more or lessabstract according as the information it transmits is less or more complete. In thissense abstraction is equivalent to incomplete specification. . . . Abstraction in thissense is a matter of degree and the term has no relevance or application outsidethe sphere of representational art. It is a factor of the relation between a work ofart and that which the work represents. 10Under this heading of Semantic Abstraction, Osborne is able to discuss suchdiverse schools of painting as German Expressionism, Neo-Impressionism, Cubism,and Futurism."But," Osborne continues,"abstract" is also commonly employed as a general descriptive term denoting allthe many kinds of art production which do not transmit, or purport to transmit,information about anything in the world apart from themselves. Other terms thathave been used are: "non-representational," "non-figurative," "non-objective,""non-iconic." "Abstract" is the term which has obtained the widest currencyalthough it is perhaps the least appropriate of all both linguistically and because ofits established use in a different sense within the sphere of representational art.There are many types of pictures and sculptures within the wide spectrum oftwentieth-century art which are not pictures or sculptures of anything at all; theyare artefacts made up from non-iconic elements fashioned into non-iconic structures.These works are not more "abstract" or less "abstract." There is no relationbetween the work and something represented because the work represents nothingapart from what it is. 11Under this second heading, "Non-Iconic Abstraction," Osborne discusses the workof such painters as Kandinsky, Malevich, and Mondrian, and such general movementsas Suprematism, Constructivism, and Abstract Expressionism.77

ABSTRACTIONIt is obviously in this second, non-iconic sense that Hugo Ball and GretaMonach intend the notion of "abstract poetry," and many of the rhetorical manifestoesof sound poetry have postulated this kind of "abstraction" as an ideal. Atthe same time, there is a large body of experimental work which fits into theloosely defined area for which the term "sound poetry" is a generally accepted, ifnot entirely accurate label, but which is not "abstract" at all, in the non-iconicsense. It may, however, be possible to see this writing as "abstract" in Osborne'sfirst sense, especially when we consider the potential of that suggestive phrase,"incomplete specification." So another purpose of my essay is to attempt anapplication of Osborne's terminology to the whole field of sound poetry.IIRST, HOWEVER, ι HAVE то CONSIDER the parallel to paintingsuggested by both Ball and Monach. They pointed towards painting because itwas the clearest example (or even the only example) of an art form which hadactually made the transition from a representational to a non-representationaldiscourse. The painters, in turn, had sought their inspiration in music, 12whoseideal self-reflexive containment had been described, by Schopenhauer and byWalter Pater, as the "condition" towards which all art "aspires." Kandinsky, inOn the Spiritual in Art, speaks of the "envy" with which artists in other mediaregard music, "the art which employs its resources, not in order to representnatural appearances, but as a means of expressing the inner life of the artist." 13Music, of course, had always possessed this characteristic ; in the space of approximatelysixty years, from i860 to 1920, painting, through a conscious and heroicstruggle, acquired it.In 1890, the French painter and critic Maurice Denis wrote: "We mustremember that a painting, before it is a warhorse or a nude or any kind of anecdote,is a flat surface covered by colours arranged in a certain order." 14Thisstatement later came to be regarded as one of the first slogans of abstract art, andas a foundation for the dogma of "flatness" which Tom Wolfe burlesqued inThe Painted Word but, strictly speaking, it refers not to non-iconic abstractionbut to semantic abstraction, or to a balance between representation and selfreflexiveness.16The painting is not yet only surface and colours: these things maycome before the nude or the anecdote, but they do not displace them. The Impressionistshad "abstracted" light, in Osborne's sense, by withdrawing attention fromother aspects of representation. In doing so, they brought the painting forward tothat "flat surface" which Denis speaks of, thereby setting up an unresolved tensionwith the recessional "depth" of the image, which they still organized by traditionalperspective. That tension in turn became the focal point for the semanticabstractions of Cézanne and the Cubists, who may push their visual analysis and78

ABSTRACTIONsynthesis to the very border of the non-iconic, but who never cross it. Indeed, thetheory of Cubism, as enunciated in its most dogmatic form by Daniel-HenryKahnweiler, is violently hostile to non-iconic abstraction: "Let us hope," wroteKahnweiler in his definitive study of Juan Gris, "that all 'abstract painting' —which is neither painting nor abstract — will soon disappear. It has done a greatdeal of harm, for it has largely prevented Cubism being understood and hasturned more than one painter and collector against real painting. It has absolutelynothing to do with real painting." 17 However, despite its own theory, Cubismbecame — historically — a stepping-stone on the path towards non-iconic abstraction.The great Cubist painters — Braque, Gris, Picasso — never painted anynon-representational canvases; but other artists, like Delaunay and Malevich,passed through Cubism to the purified realms of, respectively, colour and form.By 1912 Delaunay was painting the brightly coloured discs of what Apollinairechristened Orphism; other painters, such as Kuka and Kandinsky, had achievednon-iconic abstraction through other, more idealist routes; and in 1914 theRussian Kasimir Malevich arrived in one giant stride at the minimal abstractionof form, painting a black square on a white ground.It is an understandable error — though I think an error nevertheless — to seethe history of modern painting as a steady progression (or, in Monach's word,"emancipation") towards the non-iconic, the minimal, the conceptual, zero. Theimagery of the "avant-garde" supports this notion of an advancing line, andallows the dubious terminology of statements that Malevich was "ahead of"Braque, who had "gone farther than" Cézanne. Abstraction is not the sole goalof painting; and if there is a "line of advance," then it has been twisting back onitself ever since that black square. One major problem of contemporary paintingis that there is no front line any more for the avant-garde to man. Everything ispossible, from minimal conceptualism through to photo-realism, so no one styleoccupies a privileged position. The contemporary painter must move eclecticallythrough the whole range of possibilities the last century has laid out before him— or else, as a naif, bypass them altogether.Given, then, this exemplary progression, in painting, away from representationtowards the many and various forms of abstraction, what possible consequencesare there for poetry? There are indeed many significant parallels between literatureand the visual arts, but they are parallels of analogy rather than of identity.During the twentieth century, there has been a continuous interchange betweenpoets and painters, and there have been many attempts to translate the effects ofone medium into another. Apollinaire, for instance, developed the principles ofliterary collage, in his poem, "Lundi, Rue Christine," as a direct result of theCubist collages of Braque and Picasso; his original title for the volume Calligrammeswas Moi Aussi, Je Suis Peintre. But he was not a painter, just as Picassowas not a poet. The process of translation — whether from one language to79

ABSTRACTIONanother, or from one code to another within the same language, or from oneartistic medium to another — always involves change ; whenever it clings tooclosely to the stylistic or structural features of the original, it fails; it succeeds onlywhen it adapts to the conditions of the new medium. What Greta Monach callsthe "emancipation from the figurative into the abstract" is a process which mustbe worked out, not in terms of painting, but in terms of literature : not in terms ofshape, line, and colour, but in terms of language.It is at this point, obviously, that the analogy between painting and literaturebecomes problematic, and that Hugo Ball's casual assumption that poetry can"discard language" stumbles upon the intractability of the medium. Can languagein fact be rendered truly abstract, in either of Osborne's senses? A totally noniconicart declares its own materials — sound, harmony, and rhythm in music;shape, line, and colour in painting — to be sufficient, without any need to supportthemselves by external reference, or to justify themselves in terms of their fidelityto some preconceived standard of "the real." Music — excluding for the momentsuch mixed media as opera and song — may indeed evoke emotions, may "expressthis emotional substratum which exists, at times, beneath our ideas," 18 but it doesnot refer directly to objects, or concepts, or fictional worlds. The note B-flat doesnot signify anything except itself, and its place in relation to a series of othernotes: in this it is quite different from the word "guitar," or from the curved line,however abstracted or formalised, which signifies "guitar" in many Cubist paintings.That line, in turn, is adaptable : while it may be made to signify a guitar, ora mountain, it may also be made to signify nothing but itself, or its place in relationto a composition of other lines. A word, however, is always significant. Theword "guitar" must always direct the listener — provided, of course, that thelistener speaks English — to the mental image or concept of a wooden stringedinstrument; it can never be construed purely as an arbitrary composition of theg, t and r consonant sounds with the vowels i and a. Language is inherently referential.As a medium, it resists abstraction much more strongly than painting did :the difference is not simply one of degree, but of kind. 19IF, THEN, WE ARE TO TALK AT ALL about an "abstract poetry"— a poetry, that is, that abstracts not merely at the level of vocabulary but at thelevel of structure — we must look at techniques whereby the inherent referentialityof language may be circumvented or subverted. How can this be done? If the wordis to be retained as a compositional unit, then it must be placed in a context whichwill drastically qualify, undercut, or cancel altogether its function as signifier : thiswill lead the writer towards what Bruce Andrews has called "an experimentationof diminished or obliterated reference," 20 or, more simply, to Osborne's "incom-80

ABSTRACTIONpíete specification," semantic abstraction. If the word is not retained, the poetmoves to non-iconic abstraction, and must work with sub-vocal elements orspeech: individual letter-sounds, phonemes, morphemes, or the whole range ofpre-verbal vocalization : grunts, groans, yells, whistles, passionate gurgling, heavybreathing.The kind of context in which word-meaning may be cancelled is simplyillustrated by Richard Kostelanetz in terms of a tongue-twister :If a Hottentot taught a Hottentot tot to talk 'ere the tot could totter, ought theHottentot to be taught to say ought or naught or what ought to be taught 'er?Kostelanetz comments :The subject of this ditty is clearly neither Hottentots nor pedagogy but the relatedsounds of "ot" and "ought," and what holds this series or words together is notthe thought or the syntax but those two repeated sounds. 21The form cancels the content: the words are dis-contented, reduced to patternsof sound. This principle can be applied in a multitude of ways: through chant,through repetition, through simultaneous performance by several voices impedingthe understanding of any single voice, and through all the technical devices oftape manipulation such as multi-tracking and phase distortion. Ernest Robsondescribes how a writermay destroy contextual meaning with such excessive repetition that attention togrammar or meaning is eliminated by exhaustion of all its information. Once thiselimination has occurred the residual messages are acoustic patterns of speech.Then by default no other information remains but sounds, sounds, sounds. 22The technique of simultaneous readings was certainly used at the CabaretVoltaire. Nicholas Zurbrugg comments thatThe Dada poets manifest the two main tendencies of all twentieth-century creativity— the impulse towards abstraction and the impulse towards expressivesimultaneity. While the impulse towards abstraction reduced language to elementarysounds (just as abstract art reduced the subject-matter of painting to nonfigurative,elementary forms ), the impulse towards simultaneity attempted to communicateseveral sonic statements at the same time (just as the collages and montagesof the Dada artists condensed several visual statements by juxtaposing andsuperimposing images in one composite message). 23Ball himself may have picked up the notion of this use of repetition from thepainter whom he most admired, Wassily Kandinsky. John Elderfield, in hisIntroduction to the translated edition of Ball's diary, notes thatIn ... Concerning the Spiritual in Art, Kandinsky makes only a brief mention ofliterature, but it is a very significant one. Just as images are the outward containersof spiritual truths, he writes, so words have two functions: to denote anobject or notion, and to reflect an "inner sound" ("innerer Klang"). The inner81

ABSTRACTIONsounds of words are dependent upon the words' denotive context — but the poet'stask is to manipulate his material so as to efface this outer meaning, or at least topermit other meanings to emerge in "vibrations" that will affect the audience ona spiritual level. Repetition of a word can "bring out unsuspected spiritual properties... [and] deprives the word of its external reference. Similarly, the symbolicreference of a designated object tends to be forgotten and only the sound isretained. We hear this pure sound ... [which] exercises a direct impression onthe soul." 24The mystical tone here would certainly appeal to Ball. Brian Henderson, in hisvery detailed and perceptive account, "Radical Poetics," plays particular stress onthe idea of sound poetry as an attempt to recover an original Adamic language."Dada's dismantling of the word," he writes, "was a process that was to releasethe hidden energies of it. ... This dismantling of the word for the Word is Hermetic,and would not only be an unmasking, but a revolutionary spiritual act." 25Theorists of non-iconic abstraction, whether in poetry or in the visual arts, returnfrequently to such appeals to a mystical ground or justification. Religious chantshave long used repetition as a means of occupying and distracting the foregroundof consciousness in order to facilitate the unconscious mind's access to a state ofmeditation. Ball himself noted that, while performing at the Cabaret Voltaire,"my voice had no choice but to take on the ancient cadence of priestly lamentation,that style of liturgical singing that wails in all the Catholic churches of Eastand West." 26There are, obviously, infinite gradations available to the writer/performer/composer, depending on the degree of intelligibility the piece allows, betweensemantic and non-iconic abstraction. The American musician Steve Reich hascreated a brilliant piece of what I would call sound poetry (though he presumablycalls it music), whose sole acoustic material consists of a few words on tape.Reich describes the process of composition :The voice is that of Daniel Hamm, then nineteen, describing a beating hetook in the Harlem 28th precinct. The police were about to take the boys out tobe "cleaned up" and were only taking those that were visibly bleeding. SinceHamm had no actual open bleeding, he proceeded to squeeze open a bruise on hisleg so that he would be taken to the hospital — "I had to, like, open the bruise upand let some of the bruise blood come out to show them."The phrase "come out to show them" was recorded on both channels, first inunison and then with channel 2 slowly beginning to move ahead. As the phasebegins to shift a gradually increasing reverberation is heard which slowly passesinto a sort of canon or round. Eventually the two voices divide into four and theninto eight. 27The piece thus moves from a completely intelligible phrase, isolated from itscontext — in Osborne's term, given "incomplete specification" — to purely abstractor musical noise, in which no linguistic element can any longer be de-82

ABSTRACTIONtected. Apart from its intrinsic fascination as a compelling and hypnotic work,"Come Out" thus illustrates the range and the limits of sound poetry.Repetition, however, need not always be used as a means of cancelling surfacemeaning, but rather of insisting on it. bpNichol's "You are city hall my people"uses its emphatic repetitions as a means of enforcing a very direct statement,which is clearly and syntactically about civic politics. The work of Gertrude Stein,though it attenuates meaning to a precarious edge by its insistent and convolutedrepetitions, never cancels it entirely. I would prefer to argue that Stein's work is"Cubist," bearing in mind that Osborne includes Cubism in his category ofsemantic abstraction. Again the notion of "incomplete specification" would comein very handy, especially in relation to those works of Stein which correspondmost closely to the "synthetic" stage of Cubism, namely, her later "Portraits," andthe "still lives" of Tender Buttons. But that is a whole different paper.Another technique for undercutting the meanings of words is to arrange them,not in terms of their syntactic or semantic relations, but at random, using chancetechniques to generate the text. Tristan Tzara, in 1924, gave his "recipe" for aDada poem :Take a newspaper.Take a pair of scissors.Choose in the newspaper an article which is the same length as youwish to make your poem.Cut out the article.Then carefully cut out the words which make up this article, andput them in a bag.Shake gently.Then take out each scrap of paper, one after the other.Copy them out conscientiously in the order in which they cameout of the bag.The poem will resemble you. 28And, indeed, it usually does. One of the theoretical advantages of chance structuresis that they are supposed to be impersonal; they free the artist from thecompulsions of self-expression, and liberate his imagination to operate in areashe would otherwise never have access to. While this is true to a certain extent, anartist's personal style is too fundamental and pervasive to be entirely denied ordisguised, even in chance-generated structures. Arp's drawings, for instance, determinedby the positions in which dropped scraps of paper fell to the floor, areabsolutely identifiable as Arp's work. The same is true, as Tzara suggests, inpoetry.Brian Henderson argues for a stricter conception of chance as producing "thedisappearance of the self" or "a kind of pure detachment of being." 29 In doingso, he aligns himself with Steve McCaffery in the espousal of a Derridean senseof the primacy of writing, which questions the metaphysics of presence and the83

ABSTRACTIONlocation of value in the authenticity of an authorial voice. The problem is that agreat deal of sound poetry depends, absolutely, on the authenticity of voice. WhileI am intrigued by the Derridean focus on writing, and recognize the kind ofautonomy that a text can (or indeed must) take on, I am still reluctant to abandonthe notion that the writer, when faced by the infinite range of possibilitieswhich chance-generated structures open up, still has a role to play — a role whichdepends upon the existential authenticity of the choices he makes in such a situation."The poem will resemble you."More complex chance structures have been worked out by recent writers, mostnotably by the American musician and composer, John Cage. Refining on Tzara'selementary methods, Cage has created and performed "treated texts" based onThoreau's Journals and on James Joyce's Finnegans Wake. The Thoreau text —Empty Words — uses the / С hing to determine the chance selection of phrases,words, syllables and individual letters from the original, which are then performedby Cage in counterpoint to periods of silence whose frequency and duration arealso chance-determined. 30 The result is minimal and austere, yet also — thankslargely to Cage's compelling performance and presence — totally fascinating.The treatment of pre-existing texts in this way has sometimes been referred toas "homolinguistic translation," and has been practised in Canada by bpNichol,in Translating Translating Apollinaire, by Steve McCaffery, in Intimate Distortions,and by Douglas Barbour and myself, in The Pirates of Pen's Chance. Take,for instance, the following poem :84the incantatory paintings etc.proposed it artchallenges Platoorder ordinary imitationspainting for bedtherefore uselessbecausePlato'sAristotle'scounters dangerous inin advocates decorativea outsidethe upon Greekthrough works is which off the formeven discarded realitythe conceive a thecontent lucidly contentdefinition X 31

ABSTRACTIONThis work, I submit, conforms exactly to the notion of "incomplete specification."Its text has been "abstracted from" another text — in this case, the opening pageof Susan Sontag's famous essay, "Against Interpretation" — using the techniqueof reading only the left-hand margin, the first word of each line from a page ofprose, where the line divisions have been produced by the accidents of a particulartypesetting. The vocabulary is still, identifiably, Sontag's; but the informationwhich would allow the reader to specify the message — i.e., the surroundingwords and syntax — is incomplete. The result is a poem which hovers on theedges of meaning, without ever totally abandoning or embracing it. 32Wr E HAVE BEEN DEALING SO FAR With poems which USecomplete and identifiable words, albeit in contexts which severely limit or obscuretheir intelligibility; all such works fall, I would argue, into the category of semanticabstraction. Non-iconic abstraction is possible only when the word is abandonedaltogether, and the performer moves into the area of non-verbal vocalsound. Here the problem of the inherent referentiality of words is by-passed byresorting to fragments of vocal sound at a pre- or sub-verbal level. Although theelements of language are still present, they have been abstracted from any semanticcontext, in the same way as non-iconic painting abstracts line, colour andshape from their representative functions. Vocal sound becomes self-sufficient andself-reflexive, as the total material and subject-matter of the composition.Hugo Ball's attempts in this direction may now appear, in retrospect, quitetentative. Although his poems use invented "words," in no recognizable language,many of these words are in fact quite clearly onomatopoeic, and he gave most ofhis poem titles — "Clouds," "Elephant Caravan" — whose specifications of areferential subject-matter must inevitably affect and condition the response of thelistener. 33Ball's fellow Dadaist, Raoul Hausmann, asked the obvious question:Why bother with words? ... It is in this sense that I differ from Ball. His poemscreated new words . . . mine were based on letters, on something without theslightest possibility of offering meaningful language. 34From as early as 1918, Hausmann wrote poems at this level of non-iconic abstraction,which was taken to its highest pitch of sophistication by Kurt Schwitters inhis great Ur-Sonate, begun in 1923, and the subsequent history of sound poetryaffords many further examples. Among recent works, I would cite particularlyTom Johnson's "Secret Songs," 35 which use rigidly limited series of letter-soundsto produce vocal patterns of astonishing energy and grace.It is not the purpose of this essay to trace a complete history of sound poetry, orto enter into the many quarrels about who discovered what first, but it is worth85

ABSTRACTIONnoting that the principles of non-iconic abstraction in poetry had in fact beenfully stated and put into practice, at least three years before Hugo Ball's muchbetter-mythologized performance at the Cabaret Voltaire, by the zaum poets ofRussian Futurism. 36 Zaum (two syllables) is a contraction of "zaumnyj jazyk,"which may best be translated as "transrational speech" — though later Sovietcritics have tended to use it simply to mean nonsensical gibberish. The threeleading poets associated with zaum are Velimir Khlebnikov, Alexei Kruchenykh,and Ilya Zdanevich, known as Iliazde. The first of these poets to achieve recognitionin the West was Iliazde, whose zaum play, Ledentu as a Beacon, was publishedin Paris in 1923.Kruchenykh was the most extreme of the three (so much so that it became fartoo easy for later critics to dismiss and forget him altogether) ; he had a genuinedislike for all previous literature, and Pushkin was his favourite target. He oncedeclared that a randomly chosen laundry bill had better sound values than any ofPushkin's poetry; and he also claimed that the following zaum poem of his was"more Russian than all of Pushkin's poetry" : 37dyr bul shchylubeshshchurskumvy so bur 1 ezThis poem was first published in January 1913; later that year Kruchenykhpublished his manifesto Declaration of the Word as Such. He declared the bankruptcyof normal language, which keeps the word chained in subordination to itsmeaning. Vladimir Markov summarizes his argument: "Whereas artists of thepast went through the idea to the word, futurists go through the word to directknowledge. . . . The word is broader than its meaning (this statement laterbecame Kruchenykh's favourite slogan)." 38Velimir Khlebnikov held a more restrained view of zaum, believing it could beused to create a "universal language of pure concepts clearly expressed by speechsounds." He developed an esoteric linguistic theory based on the beliefs that "thesound of a word is deeply related to its meaning" and that "the first consonant ofa word root expresses a definite idea." For instance, he believed that the letter Lexpressed the idea of "a vertical movement that finally spreads across a surface." 39By discovering these original meanings he hoped to create a new, universal, and(in contrast to Kruchenykh) meaningful zaum, which he idealistically believedwould put an end to all misunderstanding, strife, and war between people.By 1919, however, Khlebnikov had abandoned his ideas, and wrote that "Awork written entirely with the New Word does not affect the consciousness. Ergo,its efforts are in vain." 40 Similarly, Tristan Tzara eventually wrote that sound86

ABSTRACTIONpoetry "became ineffectual as soon as the poem was reduced to a succession ofsounds." 41These reservations must, of course, be taken seriously. Just as many respectablecritics, such as Kahnweiler (not only conservative cranks), have argued thatabstract painting betrays the very function of art, to provide an imaginative representationof material reality, so many listeners to non-iconic abstract poetry haveconcluded that it betrays the essence of language, and that it performs, less effectively,the functions of music. Response to this argument would have to stressthose aspects of sound poetry which, even in its most abstract manifestations, continueto link it to poetry. It is an art which is based on the voice : not the singingvoice, but the speaking voice, the primary medium in which language exists. It isalso an art which, in almost all of its forms, uses, or plays with, the notion of atext.ΤIHE MOST SERIOUS ALTERNATIVE to the name "sound poetry"Imis the description "text-sound," which obviously places a strong emphasis on thepresence of a text. That text may be a highly elaborate system of notation, or itmay be a few squiggles on a scrap of paper; in the inventive work of the Englishpoet Paula Claire, the notion of "text" has been expanded to allow the poet to"read" anything from the bark of a tree to the wall of a room. Most commonly,the text is simply the basis for improvisation. But the presence of a text, whateverits form, continues to imply a relationship to meaning. Even individual lettersounds — b, к, и — convey, if not meaning, at least an awareness of their potentialityto combine into meaning.I suspect that it is this potentiality which ultimately distinguishes text-soundfrom music. Richard Kostelanetz, in what is certainly the most thoughtful attemptso far to define text-sound, 42attempts to make that distinction by excluding fromhis definition any works which use specific pitch — but this definition, it seems tome, runs into trouble with various forms of chanting, such as Jerome Rothenberg's"Horse Songs," or the works of Bill Bissett. Text-sound, I would submit,always deals not with sound per se (music), but with sound as an aspect oflanguage: and even when that aspect is isolated (abstracted) from all otheraspects, isolated even from meaning, its ground is still in language, and its practitionersare called, properly, poets.Sound poetry is a manifestation of one of the most important general tendenciesof twentieth century art and culture : self-reflexiveness, the urge in all the arts toexamine their own means of expression, to find their subject-matter in the explorationof their own ontology and structure. The question becomes not so much"what is language about?" as "what is language?" 43Sound poetry is analytical,87

ABSTRACTIONand often highly theoretical, in its approach to language: but it combines thisintellectualism with a delight in the physicality of language, and the performancepieces which derive from the theory are often very entertaining, at an immediatelevel, even for audiences who know nothing of the theory.One major division within sound poetry is between those poets who use a widearray of tape technology — multi-tracking, editing, splicing together sound collages— and those who don't, who rely exclusively on the sounds which can beproduced by the unaided human voice. This division shows up clearly in thetheoretical justifications which the two groups offer for their work. Tape artiststalk of the need to make aesthetic use of the latest developments in technology:not to use what is available, they say, is as stupid as attempting to ignore thetypewriter or the printing press. Steve McCaffery summarizes the ideology asthe transcendence of the limits of the human body. The tape machine, consideredas an extension of human vocality allowed the poet to move beyond his own expressivity.The body is no longer the ultimate parameter, and voice becomes a point ofdeparture rather than the point of arrival. 44In contrast, the non-technological sound poets tend to justify their work indeliberately primitivistic terms, speaking of it as a return to earlier, more basicpoetic forms, such as the chant. The Swedish poet Sten Hanson writes:The sound poem appears to me as a homecoming for poetry, a return to its sourceclose to the spoken word, the rhythm and atmosphere of language and body, theirrites and sorcery, everything that centuries of written verse have replaced withmetaphors and advanced constructions. 45And Jerome Rothenberg:what is involved here is the search for a primal ground: a desire to bypass acivilization that has become problematic & to return, briefly, often by proxy, to theorigins of our humanity. 46Perhaps the most extravagant of all the manifesto-writers — he has a flair forthese things — is Steve McCaffery. His 1970 statement, "For a poetry of blood,"describes sound as "the poetry of direct emotional confrontation" and as "theextension of human biology into a context of challenge." 47 He believes that theenergy released in sound performancemarks an important stage in establishing the agencies for a general libidinal derepression.Sound poetry is much more than simply returning language to its ownmatter; it is an agency for desire production, for releasing energy flow, for securingthe passage of libido in a multiplicity of flows out of the Logos. 48McCaffery argues against tape technology on the interesting grounds that tapeis not performance but writing :For if we understand writing as what it is: the inscription of units of meaningwithin a framed space of retrievability and repeatability, then tape is none other88

ABSTRACTIONthan writing. To transcend writing, and the critical vocabulary built up aroundthe logocentricity of writing, and to achieve a totally phonocentric art, mustinvolve a renunciation of these two central canons of the written: repeatabilityand retrievability, a claiming of the transient, transitional, ephemeral, the intensityof the orgasm, the flow of energy through fissures, escape, the total burn, thefinite calorie, loss, displacement, excess: the total range of the nomadic consciousness.49In speaking for myself, both as a critic attempting to define the theory of soundpoetry and as a poet attempting to perform it in practice, I would find much toagree with in McCaffery's comments, even if I would hesitate to phrase my ideasin such an ecstatic fashion. It is clear that the energy of live performance is amajor component of the attraction of sound poetry, both for its performers andfor its audience. Further, as McCaffery says, the flow of this energy comes"through fissures": through the tensions between sense and sound, betweenlanguage as content and language as dis-contented, between semantic and noniconicabstraction, and through the displacements between the decorum of theprinted page and the unpredictability of live performance.At the same time, I must acknowledge some uneasiness with the romanticismimplicit in phrases like Hanson's "rites and sorcery," Rothenberg's "primalground," and McCaffery's "nomadic consciousness." 50Sound poetry may indeedreach into this area of our experience, but it is not confined to it: sound poetrymay also be used in very controlled, intelligent, witty, classical ways.To investigate the various forms of abstraction implicit in language may indeedlead one towards a mystical sense of Kandinsky's "inner sound," Ball's "alchemyof the word," or Henderson's "Adamic language"; but it may also induce asense of the precariousness of language, the sheerly arbitrary nature of those configurationsof sound on which the whole of our human intercourse depends. Iwould like to close this essay by describing an experiment of my own: like somuch of the work I have been discussing, it was undertaken in a spirit as muchwhimsical as serious, and has produced, I think, a result as beautiful as it is arbitrary,as profound as it is meaningless. Prompted by my usual spirit of cheerfuliconoclasm, I took one of the greatest speeches in Shakespearean tragedy —Macbeth's response to the news of his wife's death — and subjected it to a simplelinguistic shift. I moved every consonant one forward in the alphabet: с becamed, t became v. Generously, I left the vowels alone. The result is what I supposeDerrida might call a trace, or a deferral, of the Shakespearean original :Tje tjoukf jawe fief jeseagves;Vjese xoumf jawe ceep a vine gos tudj a xosf.Vonossox, apf vonossox, apf vonossox,Dseeqt ip ν jit qevvy quade gson fay vo fayVo vje matv tymmacme og sedosfef vine,Apf amm ous zetvesfayt jawe mihjvef goomt89

ABSTRACTIONVje xay vo futvy feavj. Ouv, ouv, csieg dapfme!Mige't cuv a xamliph tjafox, a qoos qmayes,Vjav tvsuvt apf gsevt jit jous uqop vje tvahe,Apf vjep it jeasf po nose ; iv it a vameVomf су ар ifiov, gumm og toupf apf gusy,Tihpigyiph povjiph.These final words — "Tihpigyiph povjiph" — do indeed form a sequence ofabstract sounds "signifying nothing." Or, do they?NOTES1This essay is a re-working of "Realism and Its Discontents," a lecture presented tothe Ne West Institute's conference on that topic, held in August 1980 at StrawberryCreek, Alberta. A slightly revised version was then published in Aural LiteratureCriticism, ed. Richard Kostelanetz (New York: Precisely, 1981), pp. 39-48. Amore substantially revised version was delivered as an Inaugural Professorial Lectureat the University of Victoria in March 1982.2See George Rickey, Constructivism: Origins and Evolution (London: StudioVista, 1967), p. 42, and also, of course, Tom Stoppard's play, Travesties.3Hugo Ball, Flight Out of Time: A Dada Diary, ed. John Elderfield (New York:Viking, 1974), p. 70.4Flight Out of Time, p. 70. This is the text as given in Ball's diary. The versionpublished in his Gesammelte Gedichte (1963) is longer, and has many variants.For a detailed discussion of the poem, see Brian Henderson, "Radical Poetics"(Ph.D. Dissertation, York University, 1982), pp. 125-31.6See Henderson, p. 119: "The recognition of the futility of actually achieving anatural language with a fallen tongue pushed Ball first, in the direction of thesound poem, and then straight on through and out the other side. For the soundpoem, though it strove for the divine, was only a striving human image for it, withwhich the poet became dissatisfied."6Flight Out of Time, p. 71.7This quote, which is not included in Elderfield's edition of the diary, is given byHans Richter, in Dada: Art and Anti-Art (London: Thames and Hudson, 1965),p. 41.8Greta Monach, "Statements: dated the 16th of July 1978," in Sound Poetry: ACatalogue, ed. Steve McCaffery and bpNichol (Toronto: Underwhich Editions,1978), p. 23.9Harold Osborne, Abstraction and Artifice in Twentieth-Century Art (Oxford:Clarendon, 1979), p. 25. My own earlier versions of this essay suffer from such aconfusion, and several of their arguments have been recast within the frameworkof Osborne's terminology.10Osborne, pp. 25-26.11Osborne, p. 26.12See Peter Vergo, "Music and Abstract Painting : Kandinsky, Goethe and Schoenberg,"in Towards a New Art: essays on the background to abstract art igio-20,ed. Michael Compton (London: Täte Gallery, 1980), pp. 41-63.13 Quoted in Vergo, p. 41.90

ABSTRACTION14 Maurice Denis, "Définition du Neo-Traditionnisme," first published in Art etcritique, August 1980; available in Maurice Denis, Theories (Paris: Hermann,1964).15 Tom Wolfe, "The Painted Word," Harper's (April 1975).16 See Joseph Masheck, "The Carpet Paradigm: Critical Prolegomena to a Theoryof Flatness," Arts Magazine, 51, No. 1 (September 1976), 93: "We should rememberthat what Denis actually said was that a picture is a plane with colour patchesarranged in order before it is something else. That is far from saying that it couldnot also be something else; in fact, it implies that the picture will be somethingelse."17 Daniel-Henry Kahnweiler, Juan Gris: His Life and Work (New York: Abrams,n.d.),p. 170.18 Teodor de Wyzewa ( 1885), quoted in Vergo, p. 47.19 It is of course possible to argue, at a more complex philosophical level, that thereferentiality of language is an illusion. Jacques Derrida, for instance, questions themetaphysics of inherent "presence," and sees the linguistic sign as a "trace." Suchideas are explored in Steve McCaffery's "The Death of the Subject," Open Letter,Third Series, No. 7 (Summer 1977), 61-67, and in Chapter IV of Brian Henderson'sdissertation, "The Horsemen: Adamic Language and the Politics of theReferent." However, even if we grant these arguments on a theoretical level, westill have to deal, on a pragmatic level, with the concept of language as havingreferential value, and we still have to act as if that were not an illusion.20 Bruce Andrews, "Writing Social Work & Political Practice," in Aural LiteratureCriticism, p. 92.21 Richard Kostelanetz, "Text-Sound Art: a Survey," in Text-Sound Texts, ed.Richard Kostelanetz (New York: William Morrow, 1980), p. 14.22 Ernest Robson, "The Concept of Phonetic Music," in Aural Literature Criticism,p. 113.23 Nicholas Zurbrugg, "Regarding Recorded Literature," in Aural Literature Criticism,pp. 62-63.24 Flight Out of Time, pp. xxvi-xxvii.25 Henderson, p. 103. See also pp. 11-12, and Chapter IV, passim.26 Flight Out of Time, p. 71.27 Steve Reich, liner notes to "Come Out," on New Sounds in Electronic Music,Odyssey 32 16 0160.28 Tristan Tzara, Sept Manifestes Dada (Paris, 1963), p. 64.29 Henderson, pp. 79-80.30 John Cage, Empty Words (Middletown: Wesleyan University Press, 1979).31 Douglas Barbour and Stephen Scobie, The Pirates of Pen's Chance (Toronto:Coach House, 1981 ), p. 64.32 Cf. Steve McCaffery, "The Death of the Subject," pp. 63-64: "Language ismaterial and primary and what's experienced is the tension and relationship ofletters and lettristic clusters, simultaneously struggling towards, yet refusing tobecome, significations."33 See also Henderson, p. 127.34 Quoted in Zurbrugg, p. 63.35 Tom Johnson, "Secret Songs," in Text-Sound Texts, pp. 168-71.91

ABSTRACTION363738394041424344454647484950The material in the next few paragraphs is recapitulated from my earlier essay, "IDreamed I Saw Hugo Ball: bpNichol, Dada and Sound Poetry," Boundary 2, 3,no. 1 (Fall 1974), 213-26.Quoted in Vladimir Markov, Russian Futurism: a History (London: MacGibbonand Kee, 1969), pp. 44, 130.Markov, p. 127.Markov, pp. 302-03.Quoted in Markov, p. 374.Quoted in Robert Motherwell, ed., The Dada Painters and Poets: An Anthology(New York: Wittenborn, i95i),p. 397.See Text-Sound Texts, p. 15: "The first exclusionary distinction then is that wordsthat have intentional pitches, or melodies, are not text-sound art but song."See Henderson, p. 82 : "Because of the multivalent manner in which radical poeticsperceives the relation of word to world, the writer's function is to maximize theprecipices, the bridgeless gorges, and the unfordable rivers, all the mysterioustopology of syntax and language the reader must confront."Sound Poetry: a Catalogue, p. 10. In relation to this and the next quotation, Imust acknowledge a certain irony in quoting McCaffery, who does not do a greatdeal of tape work, in support of tape, and Hanson, who is best known for his workin tape, against it.Sound Poetry: a Catalogue, p. 47.Sound Poetry: a Catalogue, p. 53.Steve McCaffery, "For a poetry of blood," manifesto issued in 1970, distributedby the author.Sound Poetry: a Catalogue, p. 72.Sound Poetry: a Catalogue, pp. 35-36.Henderson distinguishes between "primitivism" and "the truly primitive," andconcludes that "Our attempts at returning to what we consider primitive aredoomed to be parodies" (pp. 110-11 ).SEVEN SPECIALIZED BOOKSHOPS UNDERONE ROOF AT THE NEW UBC BOOKSTORE6200 UNIVERSITY BLVD.VANCOUVER, B.C. V5Y 1W9Шй BOOKSTORE• ARTS & HUMANITIES• LANGUAGE & LITERATURE• SOCIAL & BEHAVIOURALSCIENCES• PROFESSIONAL• HEALTH SCIENCES• GENERAL

TH6 WIND 7IND ТН€ SNOW'Douglas Barboursunchilldlake a white expansemovingthe snowstreamssideways belowover crustof / dunes ofwhite(snow)blowing'wind of madness'a thot blownchill thru chinks of wallthat frozen outsidemoving insidehere & the furnacefailingto hold it outthat windsnow blowsto the head the worldbled whitethreads ofstrife rifewith wind lashing the lake ghostly93

POEMwhat shiftingthere below'windblown'that snowivi see'solar wind' ora vision of cosmos'galaxies like grains of sand'blown outthereit traverses centuriesof whitewind in my earsblowingabout &fartheres that distance &the few lights arestarsin the far hillsdarkness falls on allsides for thewind/blownseeds ofsnowor near inside/outsidechinks of (white)lightswarms94

POEMin the treessurf sound(my facefreezing slowly redears hurt)green waves(above whitesubstantiality)inwindtosstviwhere language & landspace meetflickeringbefore the eyes the shiftof grains of windblownsnowan utterfadeintowhat opening outis all around ustherethat whiteviitherewatch it golightlyohyeahtherethat windthat snow95

in YeviewNEW TALENTSJOHN METCALF, ed., ThirdOberon, n.p.Impressions.MERNA SUMMERS, Calling Home. Oberon, n.p.KEATH FRASER, Taking Cover. Oberon, n.p.FOR A COUNTRY notoriously deficient indecent magazine outlets for shorter fiction,paying respectable remuneration, itremains a happy wonder that the individualcollections and anthologies of shortstories continue to appear without abatementas book publishing seasons followupon one another. It is equally fortuitousthat houses of the calibre of Oberon aresufficiently underwritten by the publicpurse to build their reputations from boththe veterans and the promising apprenticesof a literary genre which not onlyseems to suit the Canadian temperamentbut also to fit the fragmented times inwhich we live.Significantly, none of the stories appearingin the three-author collection,Third Impressions, appeared first in thosefew periodicals that pay more than peanuts(Editor Metcalf charitably refers tothe primarily campus publications in hisinteresting introduction, as "literary magazines")and if it were not for the likes ofOberon I suspect they would not appearat all.But whatever the genesis of publication,our gratitude or our gripes becomerealities only in terms of our response tothe stories themselves. Third Impressions,the work of three writers who have neverappeared in book form before, is generallycompetent and occasionally startling.That latter description I unhesitatinglyapply to the second of Barry Dempster'sthree contributions: a tale of a whiteman's visit to India with a dying, elderlyIndian. In the intensity of evocation, thesearing analysis of human conduct onalien soil, this proved one of the mostmemorable stories it has been my pleasureto read in many years.In "Dangerous Fish," Barry Dempstermakes playful presentation of a magicspell cast on an inhabitant of a small townin (presumably) Ontario. This charmingif slight story is surprisingly — consideringits powerful predecessor, "The Burial"— couched in unremarkable prose. Hisfinal contribution, "Barry's Bay," is concernedwith a son's youthful perceptionsof adult anguish in the person of hisfather. A soft melancholy, not to say madness,tints these paragraphs, and again Iwas convinced that a substantially talentedwriter is being presented here.Don Dickinson, the second contributor,belongs more to the routine world ofNorth American genre fiction. His storiesare not badly done, indeed, at a certainlevel, they are quite well done, but sometimesthe themes are hackneyed, and, asin the case of his "Fighting The Upstream,"the work seems stale and repetitive,especially in the light of prisonevocations from more assured and practicedpens. On the other hand, the tangyand invigorating resonances of smalltownlife in his "Kozicki & The LivingDog" also convey a humour which proveswelcome antidote from an overdose of thesometimes unduly breathless prose of someof our high-profile recorders of smalltownCanadian life who seem so unawareof Sherwood Anderson, who did it all sovery well for Ohio, so very long ago.The final contributor to this anthology,Dave Margoshes, is the weakest writer ofthe trio — given the extant evidence.What faintly discernible promise informs"Truckee Your Blues Away," and therest, is ultimately drowned in a sea offormulas. This is "creative writing" at itsinsufferable, self-conscious worst, when

BOOKS IN REVIEWwe can actually perceive the talent stifledfrom a refusal by the author to risk makinga fool of himself and leaping beyondthe labels of classroom construction.Merna Summers' second collection ofstories comes some eight years after herimpressive The Skating Party which, ashere in Calling Home, centred primarilyupon the female experience in rural andsmall-town Alberta. It is, in fact, a matterof an author loyally clinging to a thoroughlyfamiliar canvas — even though wehave moved somewhat from rememberedchildhood in some of the new tales.But it is not those regional and traditionalconstituents which provide theengaging signature of this author. It is hersteady insistence on restricting her literarycanvas to a very special kind of person:those who normally live undramatic andquiet lives ; whose horizons are the immediatefacts of life and death, work andplay, illness and domestic celebration. Inher story, "A Pailful of Patridges," sherefers to "people who took risks andsqueaked through, and people who playedit safe and lost out." The impression onegets is that the distance between the twokinds of folk is not very far.What in the hands of a less carefuland consummate artist might end up asso minuscule an arena for human conductthat characters appear doll-like andthe reader grow restless for oxygen,emerges here as powerful female sensibilityin total control, spinning eloquentimages from the stuff of the commonplace,which live on in the memory asstark ikons of reality. If the tears andlaughter of Summers' universe are muted,they are neither less bitter nor joyous forall that.I have stressed the ubiquity of feminineviewpoint in these stories but the veryfirst tale, "Ronnie So Long At The Fair,"is told by a seventeen-year-old boy, inrelation to his parents and preparing forhis first date. It is a gentle, not highlyoriginal story, but somehow it exercises aspecial power in that although we areprivy to Ron's closest feelings, there isalways that sense of a mother's knowingnessin the perception of the author asnarrator.Because so often Merna Summers treatsof gentle women who repudiate the histrionicand loudly declamatory, the subthemeof her fictions is frequently alongthe line of the worm finally turns: "CallingHome" and "City Wedding" beingcases in point. But this is in no sense ahandicap. Calling Home may be a bookof largely domestic whispers and quietlongings, but the urgency is as authenticand the art as palpable, for all that.With Keath Fraser's Taking Cover weenter a wholly other world of range, sensibility,and goal, which makes comparisonwith his fellow Oberon authors not somuch odious as silly. We do not pursuethe bovine in estimating horses, nor theequine in judging cattle. Quite simply,Taking Cover marks the debut of animportant new west coast writer who,already in this first volume, suggests alegitimate contender for major internationalrecognition.The stories are sharply diverse in subjectmatter and such is the energetic interestin the faculty of language persistentthroughout the book, that the very texturesof all eight stories are refreshinglydivergent, too.As a sort of foretaste or signpost toFraser's fixation with the loom of languagewe have his first story, "Roget'sThesaurus," a brief reconstruction of theold English lexicographer's rumination inhis ninety-first year. The very secondparagraph embarks with a sentence whichremains a presence throughout the 138pages of this collection: "I fiddled withsounds and significations."All too easily, for one of this author'serudition and academic background —the Vancouver-born writer did a Ph.D. in97

BOOKS IN REVIEWEnglish at London University before returningto Canada to teach for five yearsat the University of Calgary — the socalledfiddling could have resulted in alacklustre didacticism, or even the pomposityof a Robertson Davies. But mercifullynot so. There are the occasional jarringnotes of a strained simile or misuse ofmetaphor in Taking Couder, but these aremerely the passing affectations of literaryyouth and thus not to be lingered over.The fact is that Fraser emerges here asa natural writer, deeply caring for hispersonal prose, and not as an Englishscholar who has taken to fiction ratherthan crossword puzzles. The substantial"Le Mal de l'Air" is a bitter-sweet distillationof marital relationship — couchedin an impressively assured style. Thenthere is so very little of the neophyteabout this author who comes to us fullyfledged and almost in total control of bothmethod and goal. Incidentally, Fraserhere, as with both Barry Dempster andDon Dickinson in his "The Part He SeesHis Country," reminds us afresh that"The Great Canadian Traveller" as aliterary idiom has not been exhaustedwith the likes of Audrey Thomas, DaveGodfrey, and Margaret Laurence.The laconic economy and quick nudgingof specifically Canadian events andreferences will most certainly assure hisstory, "Healing," of a perpetual anthologylife. And apart from those obvious elementsof Canadiana, it is also worthy ofwide dissemination for its acrid fidelityto late twentieth-century circumstanceand the vivid evocations of Western Canadianliving, if for nothing else.There are stories in this collection —the title story is one of them — whichproject a viewpoint of arguable dimensions.But even here the writer rather thanthe polemicist wins through, and thereader is seduced into an appreciativeacceptance. And that is artistic powerШe e* DAVID WATMOUGHWINGING ITALICE MUNRO, The Moons of Jupiter. Macmillan,n.p.A FEW YEARS AGO I came across Munro's"Dulse" somewhat by chance in a copyof The New Yorker. As I recall, it was apuzzling experience, and I began to wonderwhat new shape her work might betaking. I was somewhat apprehensive.There was no question that the story borethe imprint of Munro's style, particularlythe unprepared shifts of point of view,the interweaving of several lives, the generalsense of abandonment, all skilfullycaptured by choosing a setting in a guesthouse on an island in the Bay of Fundy.It had, of course, its little odd sides, in thisinstance an old man in pursuit of WillaCather's past. But where, I asked myself,was the word that would edge the story,willy nilly, toward the kind of quirkyepiphany so clearly manifest in her earlierfiction, the word that would suggest, asthe narrator remarks in "Marrakesh" how"there was in everything something to bediscovered"? Perhaps there was none;and I was apprehensive as one would befor any writer who has unquestionablyreached the mastery of her craft. Wouldthe next step run such risks that one couldnot predict the outcome? The question isapposite, for there was no doubt in mymind that Munro was capable either ofremaining a mere success or of findingsome way deeper into the mystery she haschosen to explore. She has chosen neitherto abandon what she does so well nor tocontinue in quite the same vein; and hernew collection, The Moons of Jupiter,is an achievement that surpasses her previouswork, and for one reason: for theformer clarity, didactic in its purity, shehas substituted a will to surrender towhatever the story might suggest in itsown demands to discover itself. Such achange implies a change with regard toMunro's understanding of her art; and

BOOKS IN REVIEWwhile new narrators no longer radiatewith the samo wit, it now appears as if thewit belongs wholly to the design of thestories, a design to which both author andreader must yield.Because Munro has chosen to explore amystery, she faces more than the usualproblems of craft that writers of shortstories face : the figure through which theseveral levels of her fictions connect isat once the vehicle and the obstacle. Itwas the vehicle so long as the narratorwas permitted to appear in control of thenarration and to be the object towardwhich discovery aims. When, as in herrecent collection, the story itself is thediscovery, then the vehicle becomes obtrusivein a competitive way. What happensis that the figure, particularly somerevelatory metaphor, is dropped. To dropwhat is often perceived as the mark ofthe short story requires incredible assurance,for it means that one must surrenderto something beyond skill. ThatMunro has been aware of the risk — thatsomething must follow upon skill — hasbeen apparent at least since the concludingstory of Something I've Been Meaningto Tell You, in which the narrator, arelatively clear autobiographical persona,observes of her mother that "she hasstuck to me as close as ever and refusedto fall away, and I could go on, and on,applying what skills I have, using whattricks I know, and it would always be thesame." It is that act of surrender thatgives her new stories their power: theyadhere not so much because of the narrator'stelling, but because of the author'spersistent yielding to what the story istelling her. So far as I am aware, Munro'smethod is not one that "works a storyup," but rather one that pares away towhat can minimally remain and still survivethe pressures of its implications. Thismeans that the burden of the stories isborne by the material gaps on the pageas well as by the concession to multiplefocus, while staying within the limits ofthe traditional bounds of the form.Thus, if one must speak of a specialkind of loss, the loss of a somewhat obtrusivenarrator impelled to identify, todisplay, often with dazzling grace, herawareness how all action conduces tometaphor, what can one say of what remains?Now that the narrator finds herselfon a par with other characters inthe story, suddenly characters that formerlyappeared peripheral, those marvellousgestures that could be tossed offbecause they were needed for discovery,what were once hardly more than rhetoricalfigures are now indispensable in themselves.Such are David and Kimberly in"Labor Day Dinner," Albert's wife andsister-in-law in "The Visitors," the wonderfulinfiltration that Kay makes in"Bardon Bus." A whole story, "Pure," isdedicated to such a figure. Readers ofMunro will not be surprised by figureslike these; but what is new is their gainin definition that follows upon the narrator'sself-effacement. Where they wereonce drawn with whim, sympathy, andeven a slight condescension, subsumed asthey were by the narrator's more privilegedposition, they now appear with anoverwhelming gust of compassion. Considerthe wonderful, epiphanic conclusionof Lives of Girls and Women, whenBobby Sheriff did "the only special thinghe ever did for me" and danced "like aplump ballerina." The narrator's commenton the dance, no matter how adolescentand how appropriate to the narrative,implies the sense of the old style inhigh relief: "People's wishes, and theirother offerings, were what I took thennaturally, a bit distractedly, as if theywere never anything more than my due."That this is a tendency, focusing eitherthe narrator in first person or some centralprotagonist, would be difficult todeny; and it inheres in Munro's understandingthat figures of fiction are not99

BOOKS IN REVIEWsymbols but metaphors of identity whoseenactment is in the telling, in how thestory sets forth to find Del or Rose orwhatever other masks "I" would choose.I have said that this new collection ischaracterized by Munro's willingness toyield to the demands of the story, and Iam aware how close this borders uponcant. I want, however, to emphasize theapparent lack of focus in The Moons ofJupiter, for it is this lack, the frequentabsence of protagonist or guiding narrator,that allows her text to emergepolyphonically; and the absence of thatparticular pressure allows one to slipfrom the object of discovery to the processof discovery itself. This shift of perceptionis one that enhances the author atthe narrator's expense, and we are almostallowed to see how the author goes aboutthe assembling of sequences, almost permittedto know when a character willenter and for what reason. I say "almost,"for part of the delicacy of Munro's artis the pressure it puts upon the traditionalshort story without becoming overwhelmedby post-structural play. Munronever seems to refine her art without firstearning title to the refinement: to bemerely new would not seem sufficient.But the effect of her gradual move awayfrom emphasizing ends and endings issuch as to make of her fiction a meditationboth upon her craft and the lifewithin which it dwells, a life whose languageis honed and loved well. One thinksof the late essays of Montaigne whenwhoever "I" signifies is drawn inevitablyinto its text, its shape bent to fit whatevershape its fiction assumes. I want to mention"Dulse" again as a story of suchcapability, and "Bardon Bus" and theexquisitely wrought "Labor Day Dinner,"its voices continually drifting into mindsand through the air of windows. And howdo the ephemeral sequences of "Hard-Luck Stories" cohere? Simply because ofapparently shared themes, or because oftheir quality of being so accurate — I almostsaid "classic" — that their ending isonly arbitrary? And they do not end, fortheir telling is only an occasion for furthermeditation, further unknowing. As thenarrator observes of one of the listeners,"Something unresolved could becomepermanent. I could be always bent onknowing, and always in the dark, aboutwhat was important to him, and whatwas not."It has become a commonplace in thecriticism of Alice Munro to speak of heras always suspended between the conventionsof fiction and confession. Thechange that these stories witness, I wouldsuggest, no longer permits such a distinctionand for what may appear a paradoxicalreason. The mark of a documentary(or confession) is its reliance uponartifice to suggest the real. Fiction, bycontrast, requires but art to produce thereal. Munro, by abandoning her will toorder through identity, her desire to urgepattern into metaphor, by shifting theweight of perception from narrator orprotagonist to the endless surprise of plot,has chosen to make us believe that thereal yields only to art and not to someunresolved collusion between fiction andquasi-autobiography. What, then, are weto make of the word "connection" that,one way or another, is used in several ofthese stories, and as a sub-title to the firsthalf of the initial story? The narratorherself of the title-story furnishes an answer,and it is an answer that could beused as a commentary on the techniqueof the whole collection : "I ask my minda question. The answer's there, but Ican't see all the connections my mind'smaking to get it." That willingness, however,to distinguish "I" so from "mind,"to let "I" articulate while "mind" invisiblyand independently connects, is atonce magnanimous and decisive, for ithas released Munro from the tyranny of"meaning." To choose to explore mysterioo

BOOKS IN REVIEWies one must be prepared for certain sacrificialacts, and also incalculable discoveries,where one must be prepared, asMunro remarks in "the Turkey Season,"to "Never mind facts. Never mind theories,either." It is to enter a country wherecontradictions, lacunae, even the unwantedcome with the territory. It is theart of the meditation: to lay bare as partof the routine exercises of the spirit.BLEAK HOUSEE. D. BLODGETTÑORA KEELING. The Driver. Oberon, $17.95;pa. $8.95.DON BAILEY, Making Up. Oberon, $15.95.GEORGE MCWHIRTERJ God's Eye. Oberon,$i5-95; Pa. $7-95-THE SOPHISTICATED STORY, these days,has little regard for narrative, very littleuse for plot. Sometimes one misses thisold-fashioned element. Implication, innuendo,and the endless ironies of humanrelations can pall. If these collectionsfail to fully satisfy, it may be for thisreason.Nora Reeling's work is strong andacrid. She writes with a Swiftian distastefor life-in-the-flesh. Whether the charactersare engaged in eating, washing, elimination,or sex, our attention is relentlesslydirected to the grossness of thebodily functions. Have you forgottenwhat flesh entails, Keeling coldly enquires?Let me remind you. And she isaccurate: painfully, unerringly accurate.The title story is told by a pregnantwoman who miscarries at seven months.The baby is born dead. The narrator'sdistaste for her husband and his family,with whom they are living, is palpable.Returning from hospital, she must sufferthrough family meals, and washing rituals.Her husband is circumspect: "onewould hear only discreet swishes of waterand a single apologetic rush of it. ... Hubertwas much different, urinating anddefecating loudly, splashing wildly in histub, slamming the toilet seat and singinghappily off-key all the while."Her husband's kiss forces her to focuson his nose, "beaky, with flared nostrilsout of which curled several black hairs,like parasitical insects...." The storycloses with the narrator's secretive departurefrom the house and people whomshe finds so distasteful.In "The Bird-Winged Truck Driver,"a thirteen-year-old marriage crumplesslowly, "deflated, sunk in like a jack-inthe-box."The driver/mechanic who, overthese years, has repaired so many householdproblems is now called upon toservice the lonely woman: "It was good,so good, she has yet to come down, hisblunt fingers, always knowing where toput themselves, in what manner, whichone, how, the red throb, the tip, the cat'sbreast sound, the honey scent, wild, thesquare bed . . . and then she, the drivernow herself . . . the girl could walk on hisdamp grass, each blade erect and of ahue.""Armand's Rabbit" is a bitter little taleof broken marriages, lust, and boredom.Again, the time spans more than a decade.On a holiday in Paris with her husband,Catharine discovers her lover fromher student days. At the end, it remainsunclear whether or not the husband willtolerate the affair: "She supposed thatshe would go back with them all wheneverthey were ready to go." Catharine isstrangely passive with regard to husbandand children; lust seems the only reality.Keeling writes well, but the aftertastefrom these stories is unpleasant.Making Up, Don Bailey's second bookin two years, is a series of semi-connectedstories in which some of the basic charactersrecur. The first narrator, a singleparent with a three-year-old son, callshimself a very ordinary man. The prose,101

BOOKS IN REVIEWdeceptively simple, is clear and finelybalanced : "Apparently even as a lover Iwas aimless. I didn't seem to care aboutmaking a career. She said I was a nickeland-dimer.I preferred to think of myselfas a dreamer. Apparently it boiled downto the same thing."Bailey's characters are loners, suspiciousof love, wary of commitments after harshexperiences. But they are also scrappers,ready to fight for another chance, "beginningto make up a new dream." Thetitle image catches the muted optimismof Bailey's typical protagonist and of thecollection as a whole. The pun is a niceone. "Making out" is adolescent; "makingup" suggests the activity of the artist,the lover, the dreamer.George McWhirter has made a nameas a poet with collections such as CatalanPoems, Queen of the Sea, and The IslandMan. God's Eye is a poet's prose, evocativeand sensuous. Set in Mexico, thesestories expertly conjure up that countryof sun :God had transferred his face to Mexico. Helet it shine in Morelos in the hallowedmonths of December to February. The tallgrass turned to burnished straw, as if forgeddirectly from the sunlight and dropped downfrom heaven as beautifully and unmistakablyas rain. . . . He had watched the cattle andbirds being drawn to lagoons to drink; thebirds spinning in the webbed sky, danglingdiamond black and angel white in thesticky threads. Released, they retreated,lifted elastically into the sky again.McWhirter's people find themselves intenuous relationships and ironic situations."Nobody's Notebook" blends a lover'striangle of three males with a spyintrigue. An italicized refrain pulsesthrough the notebook jottings : "He lovesme, he loves me not; we never love atall." Secure in the knowledge that such amurder is of little interest to either policeor press, the Mexican observer murdershis American rival: "The readers couldfill in the details. They would like that."In "The Cicada and the Cockroach,"the friendship of a young American girland a Mexican goatherd makes an amusingif sardonic tale. But "Something toGrin At" is black, black humour, illustratinga maxim from an earlier tale:"Mexicans ... treat people like shit andanimals like animals."I come back to the sense of disappointmentwith which I began. Is optimismout of fashion, as well as narrative?Bailey is the only writer, of three, to givea nod in these directions. Does fine writinghave to be bleak? Obviously not. Wehave writers such as Laurence, Wiseman,Callaghan, Hood, and Wiebe to reassureus on this score.AIMERET SE CONNAÎTREPATRICIA MORLEYJEAN-FRANCOIS SOMCYNSKY, Peut-être àTokyo. Naaman, n.p.NADIA GHALEM, L'Oiseau de fer. Naaman, n.p.JEAN-ERIC PARISIEN, Nadeige. Naaman, n.p.TRIPTYQUE DU DESESPOIR, ces trois ouvragesse donnent pour but la quête del'amour et de la compréhension humains.C'est une quête menée soit à travers levoyage soit à travers l'érotisme ou le rêvehallucinatoire et dont l'aboutissement estla déception et la désillusion.Les divers décours dont se sert J.-F.Somcynsky dans son recueil de vingt-sixcontes lui permettent d'explorer l'amourdans une optique erotique. Ses récitsrespirent la sensualité et la volupté. Tousles sens sont assaillis : on sent la fragrancemusquée des femmes, on voit leurs corpssensuels, on entend leurs voix langoureuses.La musique "mystérieuse et charnelle"se lie aussi à cette volupté des sens.Cependant, cet érotisme nous présenteune image négative et parfois violente de102

BOOKS IN REVIEWl'amour; liaisons furtives, hommes rapaces,viols réguliers; bref, toute lagamme, jusqu'à la décapitation en pleinacte sexuel. La tendresse que l'on associehabituellement à l'amour est absente dansla plupart de ces récits. Quoi de plusrévélateur que cette phrase du conte allégorique"La Marche des baobabs":"Quand les baobabs s'approchaient, latendresse cachée au creux de leurs ventresmassifs, les autres arbres s'éloignaient."On cherche la richesse que l'amour peutoffrir mais on ne trouve que la méfiance,le refus et même la mort: "Je comprenaisqu'à travers cette femme splendide, l'ailede la mort m'avait frôlé."L'amour n'est que déception et illusion,ce qui explique l'importance accordée parl'auteur au rêve. Mais le salut ne s'y trouveraitpoint. Le "grand rêve erotique" deSuzanne dans "Une Semaine de printemps"ne se réalise pas. L'amour, rêveéphémère, est toujours hors de portée.Aimer, comme voyager, donne un sentimentillusoire de liberté: on ne se libèrepas de soi-même.Cependant, le tableau n'est pas totalementnégatif. L'auteur semble vouloirdire que l'essentiel entre les êtres humains,c'est le dialogue — il nous faut la communicationspirituelle ainsi que corporelle.Les hommes et les femmes se doiventune égale franchise.En dépit d'un style parfois trop lyrique,Somcynsky nous livre une oeuvre quibrille par sa clarté et par la force de sonexpression. Des récits réalistes se côtoientà des récits allégoriques, fantastiques etparfois cocasses afin de nous convaincrequ'un nouvel ordre est possible.Gomme Somcynsky, Nadia Ghalem sesert du rêve, de l'aspect hallucinatoired'une existence dont les contours sontflous. Elle veut soulinger l'état éphémèrede l'homme; dans ses cinq contes,l'homme est aliéné à la société dans laquelleil se trouve. On cherche le rapprochement,la certitude dans la vie, maison ne trouve que le doute, l'impuissanced'agir et la non-appartenance. Dans lepremier conte, par exemple, Pascal,l'homme marginal, "se sentait étrangercomme tous les métis qui sont chez euxpartout et nulle part." D'où la natureschizophrène de l'homme; on a envie"d'être au coeur du monde et de le fuiren même temps." On fuit ses émotionsdans le rêve mais ce n'est qu'une échappatoireillusoire — "la chute brutale del'illusion perdue."L'homme inadapté à son environnementse voit très bien dans "Le Recommencement,"où Mourad, immigrant algérien,se sent aliéné à son pays adoptif,et dans "L'Oiseau de fer," où Jean, jeunegarçon indien, se sent déchiré entre deuxcultures et sait qu'un jour il devra choisirentre les deux. Ghalem propose une solutionpour l'Indien qui ne veut pas perdreses anciennes coutumes mais qui sait qu'ilne pourra jamais y retourner. Jean sauraconcilier le métier de pilote avec sonhéritage d'Indien. Cependant, cette conciliationne se fait pas. La fin nous apprendque Jean est devenu ouvrier. Sonrêve ne s'est pas réalisé. La conclusionpessimiste surprend un peu, vu que lesquatre premiers contes nous ont donnéune impression plutôt positive. Trois surquatre se terminent par des points desuspension, laissant ainsi la possibilité dequérison, d'un meilleur monde.Le style de Ghalem, embelli de nombreusesmétaphores, est net, concis etsouvent elliptique. Son entrée en matièrese fait de façon immédiate et elle nes'attarde pas sur des détails inutiles. Encontrepartie, il y a parfois un certaindécousu qui alourdit le rythme de saprose. Mais cette reproche est mineure etne mitige nullement l'importance de cerecueil divertissant et instructif.A la différence des deux premiers recueils,l'oeuvre de J.-E. Parisien est, selonlui, un récit, mais c'est un récit qui résisteà toute définition. D'une part, c'est une103

BOOKS IN REVIEWhistoire qui décrit les malheurs d'unejeune fille paysanne qui surmonte son sortinjuste. Nadeige représente la martyretypique de la classe paysanne qui souffrebeaucoup en peinant pour des maîtresbourgeois. Ayant eu un enfant du filsdudit bourgeois, elle se voit obliger d'envoyerle petit chez des parents et, poursubvenir à ses besoins, elle devient prostituée.Trois années passent avant qu'ellene voie son fils; période pendant laquelleelle fait d'énormes sacrifices pour lui. A lafin, comme par miracle, elle gagne unefortune à la loterie.Histoire banale? J'en conviens, maisintercalés dans ce récit peu original sontquelques épisodes qui esquissent en parallèlela soi-disant philosophie d'Yves Lamoureux,père de l'enfant de Nadeige.Ces épisodes ne sont rien d'autre qu'unpamphlet sociopolitique de la part del'auteur. Il utilise une vielle technique —le débat littéraire — afin de véhiculer sessentiments et opinions personnels. Maisle problème, c'est que cette dialectiqueest hors-propos; elle interrompt le fil del'histoire et, à vrai dire, nous fatigue parla manière verbeuse, vague et pédantedont elle est présentée.En effet, le défaut le plus sérieux chezParisien est que son écriture est péniblementlourde. Que dire des phrases ampouléescomme "le crépuscule pubère,""autant de spectacles auxquels se refusentmes orbites exaspérées" et des clichéscomme "condamnés à fouiller le fonddes verres de clairin à la recherche deleur identité perdue."lEn outre, les deux sociétés qu'il décrit— bourgeoise et paysanne — sont tropunidimensionnelles. D'une part, il y a labonne paysanne souffrante mais tenace,remplie d'amour mais répudiée et finalementrécompensée pour son "bon coeur,"et, d'autre part, le réquisitoire véhémentdressé contre la bourgeoisie haïtienne,personifiée par Yves Lamoureux (surnomironique!), homme arrogant, froidet calculateur; homme sans coeur quiabuse des sentiments de Nadeige. Cesdeux portraits sont trop transparents et seréduisent à des stéréotypes flagrants.En somme, une structure plus cohérenteet un style plus clair et plus précisauraient fait de Nadeige un récit passionnantqui nous aurait brossé un tableaufascinant d'une société troublée. Nous nepouvons que regretter ce qui aurait puêtre.FANTASY FOURVIRGIL BURNETT, Skiamachia.Quill, $4.95.FRANCÉS DUNCAN, Dragonhuut.Press, $5.95.M.BENSONPorcupine'sWomen'sJOHN ROBERT COLOMBO, Years of Light: ACelebration of Leslie A. Croutch. Hounslow,$9-95-DAVID HELwiG, The King's Evil. Oberon, n.p.ALL OF THESE WORKS are in some wayassociated with fantasy. But very differentaspects of fantasy. And with very differentresults.One might call Years of Light a hobbyhorsebook. Colombo has produced anumber of volumes on Canadian sciencefiction and this is one more, on Canada'sgreatest sf fan. Colombo's brief history ofCanadian fandom is interesting but extendedquotations from Croutch's writingsuggest that his neglect is not unwarranted.I don't care what obscure writersColombo wishes to read, I just don't thinkhe should inflict them on the rest of us.This is especially the case when some ofthe excerpts are sub-Reader's Digest jokesand sexist and anti-welfare comments ofthe sort heard in every neighbourhoodbar.The one aspect of more general interest,which Colombo mentions only briefly,is the comparison which can be madebetween the "fanzines" (fan magazines)104

BOOKS IN REVIEWand the literary little magazines. Both areproduced cheaply, have very small circulationsand are often decidedly idiosyncratic.Yet most of us would have quite abit of respect for Louis Dudek's Deltaand not much for Croutch's Light. Thequestionable political diatribes of the formerare eccentric, those of the latter arenutty. Is this, as fans would claim, justanother example of the bias of the mundane?(a word which sf fandom uses withvenom).Burnett's book is yet another reworkingof classical myths. The prose is banal andsuperficial and completely lacking in thedark undercurrents of the illustrationswhich accompany it. To me the drawingsare a bit too redolent of the Black Sabbathstyle poster art we all sufferedthrough some years ago but Burnett isobviously a fine draughtsman. A certaintaste will find his pictures attractive buthe should keep his pens away from words.A too unrestrained imagination is theproblem with Duncan. I can understandher interest in updating the story of St.George and localizing it in British Columbia.As one might expect given the publisher,Duncan links it to a feminist searchfor identity. After all, hasn't everyonebeen telling us that all myth is just sucha reflection of the search for self?Duncan employs a variety of contemporaryfeminist issues and images in shapingher story. The central character, BerniceCarswell, a reclusive eccentric, has aseries of dreams, many associated withTV. Among the subjects which arise inthe dreams are ravished maidens, assaulton women, rape, pregnancy, the anti-warmovement, ecology, weddings, an oldfolk's home and girl guides. In the mainaction of the book, Bernice's journey withthe septuacentenarian St. George, thereare a number of similar elements. Forexample, Bernice digs up clams, that oldsymbol of female sexuality, but instead ofeating them she gives them a "gift," aA.M. Klein:Short StoriesEdited by M. W SteinbergA vibrant collection of littleknownshort fiction by the authorof the remarkable poetic novelThe Second Scroll. Here arestories of Jewish life focusing onlegends, festivals and ceremonies,well-known character types, andfamiliar aspects of life in thehome, in the synagogue, and onthe streets. Also included aresocial and political satire andparodies of literary debates andthe detective story. Together theyform an invaluable addition tothe canon of Klein's works.(Collected Works of A.M. Klein)$35.00 cloth, $14.50 paperUniversity ofToronto Press105

BOOKS IN REVIEWplastic pearl, and then replaces them.Thus a woman places a seed but withoutdestruction. At the end of the novel, whenthey do become a meal there is littlesubtlety in the reference to clam as "holywater."Perhaps all these ideas could have beenyoked together into something coherentand meaningful but Duncan hasn't doneit. It makes me think of that old saw,"Write about what you know." I think acorollary of this for writers of fantasy isthat they must make it seem as thoughtheir subject is as familiar to them asAlice Munro's small-town Ontario is toher. They cannot, as Duncan seems tohave done, assume that just creatingweirdness is enough. At the end of thenovel, she says of Bernice, "Yet she cannotdestroy George for to destroy a mythdestroys the mind, while to renew a myth,to harbour it, to imbue it with a personalsignificance, benefits the mind — indeed,benefits all minds which the myth willever touch." One is left with no questionas to what Duncan meant to do. That shehas not done it should not deny her somecredit for grasping at such an unreachableGrail.I am tempted to say much the sameabout David Helwig's The King's Evil,but this is a reach by much a moresophisticated arm. Also, the myth is a bitmore novel and a bit less mythic. Helwig'shero is not a wandering peasant everywomanbut a plain overweight CBC radioproducer, who has the personal problemof the desertion and then death of hislover and the professional problem of anobsession with history at a time when the"New Men," hotshots with their ear to arocking contemporary pulse, have takenover.The hero has taken a leave of absenceto gain some clarity in his life. He issecluded in a colonial farmhouse, builtby United Empire Loyalists. He finds abook which seems to have belonged toCharles I, who claimed the God-givenability to cure, by royal touch, the king'sevil, scrofula. Did Charles escape thescaffold and come to North America?Did an imposter die in his place?The hero considers writing a radiodocumentary which tells the tale. But hehas recently been working on a study ofart forgery. And his graduate thesis wasGods in Exile: A Study of the Iconographyof Monarchy. And the first owner ofthe house, a possible descendant of KingCharles, was the faithless lover of a blackslave. And the present owner of the historicalrecords of the house is a Britisharistocrat who is pretending to be her deceasedbrother, Lord Firebrace, becauseshe was discarded by a later descendantwho has the same name as the first ownerof the house.And more. All in one hundred andthirty pages. I suppose such a jumblecould work in such a brief space but Idon't see how. It certainly hasn't in Helwig'scase. This is especially irritatingbecause individual elements are oftenquite good. The best I think are a veryfrightening scene in which the hero getscaught in the basement of the house and,later, the strange wispy conversations withthe "Lord."But in both cases Helwig takes thetime to develop his material. And bothepisodes are essentially descriptive. Whenthe novel turns to philosophical dilemmaor almost Leonard Cohen-like explorationsof a chaotic mind it is far less satisfying.I suspect that many readers of thisnovel will just discard it as a lot of imaginationwith no place to go. Which is toobad. I personally wish I was seeing it asan editor rather than a reviewer. At doublethe length, with the stream-of-consciousnesselements and a few other bitsdeleted, it could be a gem. The resonanceof Helwig's ideas on radio, art, theU.E.L., history, etc., should have created106

BOOKS IN REVIEWa novel on the level of The Wars or FifthBusiness. As it is, it scrapes in just a fewsteps higher than Dragonhunt.NO PLACE LIKETERRY GOLDIEBETTY CLARKSON, Tom, David, and the Pirates.Borealis, $8.95.JANICE COWAN, The Secret of Ivy Lea. Borealis,$15.95; P a· $7-95-NELL HANNA, Where the Heart Is. Borealis,$7·95·FINDING A NEW HOME, retaining or returningto an old one, is the focus of thesethree fine children's books, set (respectively)in seventeenth-century Newfoundland,contemporary southeastern Ontario,and turn-of-the-century Russia and Al-berta-Betty Clarkson's Tom, David, and thePirates, written for the eight- to twelveyear-oldreader, is an entertaining adventurestory about two boys who leavePlymouth with their fathers in 1672 on avoyage to St. John's. There they pass thefishing season and winter, finally sailinghome the next year. The voyage out andfishing season provide a larger structurefor an episodic plot which includes astorm at sea, escape from pirates by coverof fog, a near capture by Indians in Newfoundland,and the boys' final triumph:during their stint as sentries, they spot andhelp to disperse by cannon a pirate attackon the colony. This book admirably combinesthese adventures with a great dealof "educational" material — on the IndianSkull Dance, whaling, drying cod,egg-gathering from the now extinct GreatAuks — without any irritating shift ofgears from narrative to historical detail.The young reader will feel, along withTom and David, the tug of homesicknessfor their return trip to England, balancedby the fascination of their life in St.John's — epitomized in the bustle of fishingboats, the fishermen's shouts in differentlanguages, the smell of rotten fish,and the scream of the gulls.Janice Cowan's The Secret of Ivy Lea,also written for children ages eight totwelve, similarly plays on the theme of"home" with an intriguing plot set in theKingston and Thousand Islands area.The home in question is the Grahams'family cottage, to be either kept or soldafter their grandmother's death. As if therumour, and some evidence, of the cottage'sbeing haunted [who cut the grassbefore their arrival?) were not mysteriousenough, the adventuresome children happenupon a few smugglers using the cottage'stwin islands as a base. They alsodiscover Martin, an escaped Germanprisoner-of-war who has been in hidingon the second island, with their grandmother'sblessing, since World War II.Although captured by the smugglers, thechildren and Martin contrive their ownrescue and the cottage of Ivy Lea remainsin the family, with Martin as no-longerincognitocustodian. The book excels asadventure story, but adds to the dangerand unexpected turns of its plot the portrayalof a very close and funloving familywhose affection for one another and familyties to Ivy Lea provide emotionaldepth to fast-paced adventure in woodsand on water.In Where the Heart Is, written for theyounger teen reader, Nell Hanna fictionalizesthe life of her father Nick, born inthe Ukraine in the late nineteenth century.As a boy in 1894, Nick accompanieshis family on their migration to a homesteadin Alberta. There he eventually setsup a place of his own, marries, and has afamily. Scenes of the joy of young marriedlife alternate with tragedy when Nick'soldest son dies of exposure, lost in a hailstorm,and his wife is struck down byinfluenza after World War I. The lastchapters of the book show Nick as grandfather,finally wondering whether or not107

BOOKS IN REVIEWhis second son will survive the SecondWorld War as a flyer. While the print isregrettably small in this book, the author'sprose is rich in concretely descriptive vignettesof rural life ; the deep sentiment ofthe book's many episodes, moreover, isnever maudlin. Indeed, the counterpointof joy and sorrow in Nick's fortunes, andthose of his siblings which frame the narrative,plays above the deeper ground-bassof the family's emotional transition fromtheir Russian to their Canadian home.This theme and its emotional resonancebind the episodes together as Nick andhis loved ones discover that their newhome is "where the heart is." For evenas Nick, numb with lonely grief, mournshis wife at her fresh grave, his thoughtsturn to his adopted country:This special land of life. It had given himso much and taken so much from him. Whyneed it always be the thing he needed andtreasured above all others that he had tolose? The frozen clods of clay fell loud uponthe casket and he turned to go away. Theglare of the snow beneath the afternoonsun almost blinded him. He lifted his faceto the blue of the eastern sky, soothingblue. From it and from somewhere out ofthe distant past he heard someone say withfirm conviction,"Thou land of hope .. ."TENUOUS PAST,OPEN FUTUREMURRAY J. EVANSThe New Oxford Book of Canadian Verse inEnglish, chosen and with an Introductionby Margaret Atwood. Oxford, $19.95.WHEN A. J. M. SMITH compiled the firstimportant (one can equally justly use theword "great") anthologies of the work ofpoets in our country, the Book of CanadianPoetry and the Oxford Book ofCanadian Verse, he was doing muchmore than picking a collection of good oreven significant poems. He was discoveringand charting the lines of a tradition,establishing a canon, and in the processlaying the foundations for a mature criticalapproach to Canadian poetry, especiallyCanadian poetry in English. Smith'sclassic collection had been out of print foryears when Oxford University Press invitedMargaret Atwood to repeat Smith'stask a generation afterwards by preparinga New Oxford Book of Canadian Versefor the 1980's. A fine poet, an acute critic,a scholar respectful of the past as well assensitive to contemporary trends, Atwoodseemed from the beginning an excellentchoice for the task, and, grudging thoughone may here and there be about choicesthat conflict with one's own preferences,she has put together a collection thatstands well beside its predecessors, bothbecause of its good organization and becauseof the richer resources from whichshe has been able to select.Atwood's "Introduction" is a modestand sensible discussion of the problemsinvolved in selecting an anthology out ofa young tradition, most of whose notablepractitioners are still alive and even —many of them — in the full flow of theircreativity. It is true, as she says, that "Allcultures are, to some extent, retrospective: we see where we are and wherewe're going partly because of where we'vebeen." But it is also true that in the caseof a culture like ours, an anthology to bemeaningful and helpful must be "not onlygathered from the past but aimed towardsthe future." We do not have the vastbody of ancient accomplishment out ofwhich an English anthologist like HelenGardner could construct her New OxfordBook of English Verse and virtually ignorewhat had been going on in poetryfor the twenty years before the book'spublication. Canadian poetry is a traditionthat still, even in the 1980's, is in theprocess of becoming, and so every significantanthology of it must be greatly differentfrom its predecessor.108

BOOKS IN REVIEWAtwood's New Oxford Book is somewhatlonger than Smith's, and the differenceis actually greater than it initiallyseems since, unlike her predecessor, sheincludes no verse in French, disarminglypleading her ignorance as well as considerationsof space. The New Oxford includes121 poets against the 71 Englishpoets whom Smith presented in i960.Even here, the difference is magnified bythe fact that no fewer than 20 poets whomSmith included are left out of the NewOxford, and since these include nameslike Leo Kennedy, L. A. Mackay, A. G.Bailey, and Roy Daniells, which still carrieda great deal of weight in the early1960's, we are clearly observing a refiningof critical perception that is due more toa general shift in taste, a beginning of theprocess of winnowing by posterity, thanto Atwood's personal preferences, thoughthese have played a great part in manyof the selections.Of course, any anthology embracinga succession that, however tenuously,stretches nearly four centuries from RobertHayman in Newfoundland down tothe present, is bound to build itself arounda nucleus of poems that have stood thewearing of time ("old chestnuts" as Atwoodcalls them), and there are plenty ofthese in the early pages of the New Oxford— bits from The Emigrant and TheRising Village, "Tantramar Revisited"and "Low Tide at Grand Pré," "TheCanadian Authors Meet" and "TheLonely Land" and "David." But usually,when Atwood necessarily represents awell-known poet by one or two familiarpieces, she will also pick something thatevokes an unfamiliar aspect of his work.This process is intensified as time goeson and Atwood deals with living andyounger poets. Two of the poets representedin the anthology remarked to methat they had been surprised and even atfirst disconcerted by the pieces she puttogether to represent them, but afterwardsrecognized that while avoiding their showierpieces she had in fact picked otherless obvious examples that, read together,gave a new, yet faithful, view of theirpoetic personae.More than half the poets in the NewOxford — 70 to be exact — were notpresent in Smith's i960 volume, andthough these include Pauline Johnson andRobert W. Service (whom Atwood hassomewhat quirkily rescued from deservedoblivion), almost all are poets whose firstsignificant work was done after i960, thegeneration that begins with Purdy andNowlan, Acorn and Lane, and includes,of course, Atwood herself. And perhapsthe most significant aspect of the collection,which makes it so faithful a reflectionof the state of becoming in whichCanadian poetry still functions, is that itreaches out to the younger poets whosepromise may justify such an act of faith,such as Roo Boorson and Sharon Thesenand Mary di Michèle, new names to mostof us, their poems dated from the 1980'sand touched with freshness. Their futureis open, unpredictable, but so, this booktruthfully exemplifies, is that of Canadianpoetry itself.ANTHONY APPENZELLAT HOME AT HOMEDAVID soLWAY, Selected Poems. Signal Editions,$6.95.DAVID SOLWAY, The Mulberry Men. SignalEditions, $4.95.IN ONE OF THE TWO formal apologias("Apologia," "Apologia Pro Vita Sua")in his Selected Poems, David Solway, anunnecessarily apologetic poet, writes,I study that austeritythe profligate assault,And I must fast with Emilybefore I feast with Walt.This laudable if too self-deprecatory programis largely fulfilled by the modest,109

BOOKS IN REVIEWironic, generally well-behaved, indeed accomplishedpoems in these two books. Itis refreshing amid so many windy wouldbeWhitmans to come upon work sobeautifully and unpretentiously circumscribed,and so agreeably readable. Ofcourse Solway's talent, temper, and techniqueare very different from Dickinson's,whom he would presumably not includeamong his "New England Poets":They are a peculiar species, never growextinct,regulate their number, control admission tothe race.Though their minds travel freely likeairplane executivesthey are most at home at home.(But should not that be "free"? Occasionalsuch grammatical slips, like theconfusion about the past of "lay" in "TheReason" — admittedly a vernacularlyvexed and vexatious verb — are surprisingin so suave and polished a poet.) Ifshe was an ecstatic and expert, if slapdashmistress of common metre, he is a wryand competent versifier, worldly whereshe is unworldly, the conjunction "before"in the first quatrain quoted above betrayinga manly refusal to relinquish altogetherambitions to greater sweep andwider reference, as in some of his lesssuccessful poems, such as the "Requiem"for another Whitman. Apart from arather Durrellesque preoccupation withGreece, resulting in some of his best("Pastoral," "The Trees") as well assome of his weakest efforts ("Island Report,""Patmos"), Solway is, unlike thementally adventuresome homebody ofAmherst, himself "most at home athome" :some chess, a walk, and the half-read bookthe joyous indefinable of speech,the habit of loving, the accustomed look,and days lived gladly for the sake of each.("I Gall the Heart")No poet should be judged by his subjectmatter, though that forms the basis fortoo much critical judgment as well asperhaps inescapable approval or aversion.Solway's subjects are various, and sometimesingenious, yet thematically unifiedenough to give a convincing impressionof an attractive personality. Rarely doeshe slide into a silly machismo ("Fragment,""For Robert Graves") that seems,in so decent and intelligent a poet, moreembarrassing than offensive.Pleasantly varied as they are, the poemsare difficult to describe, perhaps becausethey are so easy to read. Knowing that"Language is the longest wall in theworld, and the strongest" ("On LearningGreek"), the poet has constructed a seriesof linguistic windows for our amusementand occasional instruction. The metricalconventions here seem casual and, as fullymastered forms should, effortless, evennatural. Solway's language, quiet and colloquial,is a medium and not, like thatof so many modern masters and disasters,a topic or an end in itself. Apt and decorous,the exact — and I do mean exact— phrasing of these sometimes movingpoems is indispensable to our pleasure;even at their most anecdotal or opinionated,they could not be paraphrased withoutgreat loss. If David Solway's craftdoes not provoke the sort of physiologicalresponse that Emily Dickinson, amongothers, said poetry should — and whichto my knowledge no Canadian poem todate has done — it affords a comfortableenjoyment far from easy to obtain or toproduce these days, its effect less likeDickinson than, say, Walter Savage Landor:Heat and light may go their separate ways.Here, where I live, by the coast, the seawindCools the mind and cleans the innocent air.Light skips like stones off water, richochetsfrom tree to tree, so light and unconfinedyou'd swear that you see angels everywhere.This is writing of a very high order, allthe more impressive for being so far fromflashy. Those who would imitate it, andι io

BOOKS IN REVIEWthat would not be easy, should consultthe precepts so amusingly set forth in"Lampman Among the Moderns."Nothing, as anyone who has tried towrite it or teach others to, will know, ismore difficult than comic or light verse.In The Mulberry Man David Sol waylargely succeeds in this demanding, anddelicate, genre, not so remote after allfrom some of the less solemn or bittermoments in his Selected Poems. He hasavoided the tweeness that seems to afflictmost poems written for children, througha real sympathy with childish concerns(e.g., "Speculations of a Five Year OldBoy on his Daily Walk Down to theBeach," "Poem to My Sons," "Poltergeists,""Report to the Teacher: WhatMy Sons Do in Greece"). And if occasionalimperfect rhymes (so much morediscordant in "light" than in "heavy"verse, of the sort so common in popularmusic) offend my ear, perhaps theywould not bother a modern child.NEXUS & BIRNEYNexus, WRG 1-2258, 59, n.p.DARYL HINEEARLE BIRNEY HAS ALWAYS been an innovator,experimenting with the forms ofpoetry, extending language beyond thelimits of typescript into the shapes ofconcrete poetry and beyond the limits ofthe printed page into performance. Hisrecordings with the musical group Nexuscontinue that experimentation.For all but one poem on volume one,the musical accompaniment has been improvised,implying that a possible multiplicityof interpretations may be arousedby any single arrangement of words, yetin practice Nexus creates the same eerieatmosphere for each of Birney's naturepoems. Initially exciting, these improvisationsgrow tedious as they become predictable.One becomes grateful for thestraight readings, such as "VancouverLights," that are unaccompanied. In contrastto the serious awe that nature seemsto inspire, poetry itself is accorded muchless reverence. The opening poem "Poettree"establishes the spirit of playful funthat characterizes this album and Birney'swork as a whole. This sense of playemerges most successfully in the cleverparody "Twenty-third Psalm," where theswelling church music adds greatly to thepoem's satiric point. Here is one of thefew instances where the sound effectsunambiguously complement the poetry.They also work well in reinforcing thehomespun humour and references to popularsongs in "McSimpton's annual boatexcursion t^> Nanaimo." The scripted"Never Blush to Dream," however, makesBirney sound like an aged Leonard Cohen,trying to sing a ballad in an off-keyvoice, subordinating meaning to an inappropriatetune. These poems work bestwhen the words remain dominant.This album should work well as ateaching tool. Its range and variety aresatisfying. The tone fluctuates from themagical evocation of "Alaska Passage"through the elevated seriousness of "VancouverLights" to the insobriety of "Mc-Simpton's annual boat excursion" (allfrom the first side, "Pacific Door") toexplore the numerous shades of wonderexpressed by the lover on the second side,"Love and All."And as usual with Birney,there are a multiplicity of voices: Mc-Simpton, the Pacific ocean, the bourgeoistraveller, the cynical American, the lover,the aging poet, the devil himself. My firstyear students dismissed one of the mostaccomplished of these collaborations —"Alaska Passage" — as mere sixties nostalgia,yet fourth-year students found itstimulating. It succeeded in sparking theirown creativitity and helped them to seehow poetry might interact with otherdimensions of their lives.111

BOOKS IN REVIEWAfter listening to this album, I havemixed feelings about the value of suchcollaboration. The fixed readings themusical accompaniment assigns eachpoem restrict the openness of individualinterpretation that the poetry retains onthe page. Yet if they help students beginto hear poetry as living art, their purposewill have been served. Taken in the spiritof play in which this album is offered, itremains a delightful testimonial to theadaptability of poetry.DIANA BRYDONTOWARDS POETRYSHAUNT BASMAJIAN, Surplus Waste and OtherPoems. Unfinished Monument Press, n.p.ROBERT CLAYTON GASTO, The Arrivals. StudioPress, n.p.DON COLES, The Prinzhorn Collection. Macmillan,$7.95.GARRY RADDYSH, White Noise. Thistledown,$16.00; pa. $7.95.WHILE POVERTY OF IMAGINATION and language,or private self-indulgence, characterizessome of this work, we can rejoicein the appearance of more than onewriter with accomplished and accessiblepoetic powers.Surplus Waste and Other Poems byShaunt Basmajian is, unfortunately, alltoo aptly titled. Basmajian, a Torontopoet, writes of urban despair, the derelictand disillusioned, and of his own memoriesof unrequited love. His poems havethe ring of sincerity, apparently rooted inhis autobiographical experiences as anunemployed part-time poet/sometime cabdriver. Too often, however, the realismbecomes simply commonplace, the themestrite and the techniques uninspiring. Hisdiction is rather impoverished and unpoeticat times, and his errors in syntaxand metaphor seem less like poetic licencethan problems with the language. He alsohas a habit of ending many poems witha repetition of their first lines — refrainsthat are not resolutions but evasions. Hisbest poems have a strong, simple directness:when the seasons changeand the years wither awayone by one and old agefinds him like a forgottenpair of slippers left insidea closetBut too many seem to echo this complaint:the part time poetseems to always havesomething to write aboutbut just can't put it on paperThe distinctive feature about GarryRaddysh's second collection of poetry,White Noise, is the amount of whitepaper interspersed among the short lyrics.Raddysh, a Saskatchewan native and"prairie poet," does not on the whole portraya particularized prairie landscape,for his most common themes replay a familiarlitany of male-female relationships :betrayal and boredom, lies and misunderstandings,self-seeking and mutual destruction.He has invented some novelimages and poignant descriptions to capturethe characters and their relationships:"the killing of souls / and briefresuscitations / many rumours / of love."But my final impression of the book isone of frustration. There are too manysilences and ellipses, too many abstractreferences and private meanings — toomuch white space and white noise forcommunication :the red dawnis a warningnothingI have saidtouchesthe root of manThe Arrivals is the second book ofpoetry from Robert Clayton Casto, anAmerican-born writer now living in To-112

BOOKS IN REVIEWronto. In this collection he reflects oncontemporary experience, often in specificallyAmerican settings, with greatversatility and richness. Through a rangeof characterizations, evoked with wit andauthenticity, he comments on social injusticeand particularly on the middleclassmaterialism that is insensitive to thedrama and poetry of life. Casto createsthe tin flute-player, the Chinese concubines,the old man in the Old FolksHome, the political candidate, Zamira thenautchgirl, frustrated Miss Tillie, theblack man at Sauer Beach, and the Jewessof Pinsk — all with precise descriptionand powerful imagery, in moods frompathos to irony to eroticism. He displaysversatility in form, too. Several of hislyrics are unusually long; almost all havea narrative element. His use of rhymeand metre is effective, although the wayhe splits words into syllables can be adistracting mannerism. Although somepoems seem deliberately obscure or toocleverly cute, the majority in this collectionilluminate the real world with imaginativemeaning:I think that death is a clotting a slowcoagulationand the underground fires they burgeon theyscatter they swallowus up! They have set aside death.With the acclaim that has followed thepublication of Don Coles' third book, ThePrinzhorn Collection, his editors can nolonger describe him as "the best unknownpoet in the country." Coles, who teachesat York University, spent twelve years ofhis youth travelling in Europe; many ofthe poems in this collection draw affectionatelyon those memories. He deliberatelywrites poetry which is accessible andcontemplative, rather than esoteric orself-indulgent. Most of his themes dealwith the intersection of the personal andhistoric pasts, the passage of time and themutability of life.The title poem refers to "a collectionof letters, journals and drawings made bythe inmates of a mental institution nearMunich during the late nineteenth centuryand preserved by Dr. Hans Prinzhorn."The poem, written in the form ofa letter, has a chummy, personal voicewhich contrasts ironically with the revelationsof horror and pathos. Direct quotations,"the uncontested rhythms oftruth," are framed by metaphysical commentson human evil and despair:One would not wish him that,God knows. Indeed, on humanitarianGrounds one would not wish GodThat. Though presumably HeAlready has it, never mind what oneMay wish.The most common mood in this collectionis nostalgia for the past. The humane,intelligent voice of the poet recaptureslost places and people with exactnessof imagery and description; prosaicevents assume epiphanic importance.These "strange little intensities" arelinked in memoirs of his childhood andyouth, as well as biographical poems onPushkin, Tolstoy, and Ibsen. Drawing onthese memories and writers, and others,he attempts to redeem the past throughart ("I Long For People Through Whomthe Past... in its large lines, continues tobe connected with us, related to us"). Themost moving poem in the collection is thefinal cycle, "Landslides," the poet's tributeto his dying mother. These eloquentimages of mortality guarantee their ownpoetic immortality:Images it was sufficient to reflect onOnly a little,The briefest glanceTowards which may, however,Deliver us.BARBARA PELL

BOOKS IN REVIEWOF WOMEN,MEN, & MUSESGUY GERVAIS, Gravité: Poèmes 1967-1973.L'Hexagone, $9.95.MARIE LABERGE, Aux Mouvances du temps:Poésie 1961-1971. Leméac, $15.00.JULIE STANTON, La Nomade. L'Hexagone,$6.50.A MAN, MOTHER EARTH, and his Muse, awoman revealed as no longer girl and notyet quite human, the Muse as avenger ofwomen and judicator of men: these arethe triangular constellations of love, lifeand meaning which structure Gravité,Mouvances, and La Nomade. And thecollections themselves form a scalene trianglefor the reviewer, in which JulieStanton's contemporary verse narrative,closer to Marie Laberge than to Guy Gervais,towers over her fellow poets' widelydiffering voices of the past.By 1969, date of his fifth book of verse{Poésie I), Guy Gervais had settled inthat primaeval land of stone and snowand sand which is his habitual domain.There he spent many years, listening toa voice which was dictating to him thefirst half of the present collection. Hethen rebelled against the "incarnationmythologique des facultés d'inspiration"("Avant-propos") he felt he had become,and finally broke through to the true lightof "la raison brûlante ... et ... tranchante."Nowhere, alas, not even in "La fleurdéchiffrée" or in "Le verbe silence," doesreason burn through the mystical mistenveloping the mother-matrix of a frozenWelterfahrung. In order to understandtime ("j'ouvre mes fleuves devant toi pourconnaître le courant de mes années desang"), space ("quel est ce monde quetraduit sous nos yeux le vol d'une colombe"), life ("alors que reste-t-il de nousque reste-t-il quand tu es passée présenteavec ton avenir," in "Origine mère"),and poetry ("Le pouvoir magique dessyllables trahira-t-il un jour son mystère"),perhaps mind, body and soul requiremore than the relentlessly repetitiveevocation (in descending order of frequency)of wings, birds, sails/veils, roses,flowers, sea, sand, dawn, rocks, and trees.Despiteles glaces les magnifiques instances de l'azurespoir figé d'un transparent envol au-dessusmême du gouffrecette douce tension des plumes sur les yeuxde cristal,the gravitational pull of Guy Gervais'anthropomorphism is too strong for "l'oiseaudu sombre automne" to resembleMallarmé's cygne /signe.Critics have been kinder to Marie Labergethe painter (shows throughoutQuebec) than to the poet (her 1965 duMaurier poetry prize notwithstanding).Could time have so altered our readingas to justify this re-edition of her first sixcollections of poetry? Marie Laberge hadremained silent during the decade of ediblewomen, female eunuchs, feministflights and the fear thereof, resurfacingonly in 1979 with the peaceful and reconcilingChants de l'épervière. Her earlywork, perhaps misunderstood in thecloud-gathering sixties, appears today asthe ingenuous, yet often stirring echo of adoomed epoch.Mouvances is the intimate diary ofregretfully remembered childhood andyouth, of tender and painful love, of wifehoodand childbearing and being awoman :Etre née femme être né noir en Amériqueêtre femme ou rien rien qu'un ventre.("L'Hiver à brûler," 1968)It is the sometimes naïve, sometimes desperatequest for self-understanding andfulfillment :Ah laissez-moi mourir du tempsDe ces bagnes que l'homme inventeLaissez-moi mourir de vivre114

BOOKS IN REVIEWEt cracher ma révolteEt laissez-moi naître de moi.("D'un cri à l'autre," 1966)In herself, not in the societal games (seeher explanations in Archives des LettresCanadiennes, ΐν, ρ. 574) °f sexual politiciansor total women, the poet finds hervery own truth : the suffering which is thehuman condition.Through thousands of millenia and athousand new beginnings, through centuriesof ice and fire La Nomade followson an apocalyptic trek the march of MANmadecivilizations from Babylon to Egyptto Brasilia and New York. Over volcanoesand blackened fields are strewn "sesaïeules / leur robe nuptiale et leur credosaignés à blanc," the earth is drenchedwith "le sang de ces vierges soudain noixen éclats / sous l'enclume des sexes assassins,"and everywhere can be heard"les clameurs des femmes / couchées dansle chaos / asservies au profit des dynastiesde pacotille" and "leur cri étouffé dansle lit du vainqueur." In the face of somany abortive promises, cowardly betrayals,and false hopes, La Nomade, nauseatedby her own beauty, mutilates herbody and fills eight days and seven nightswith cries of eons of abeyance. "Sans nezet sans yeux / sans chevelure / sans sexeni namelles," she is led by La Bete, herdouble, echo and future (comparisonswith Marian Engel would be most inappropriate), and together they set out toraze pyramids, sphinxes and cities, desecratePharaonic tombs, topple the pedestalsof seducers, silence entire peoples ofexecutioners, and abolish tyranny, oppressionand captivity. "Vers quelle délivrancemarche-t-ELLE / . . . / vers quelshorizons sans compromis / quels éveils /marche-t-ELLE"? In a mythical act of sexualtransubstantiation La Nomade becomesLa Bête and, "demain est une Betequi porte l'éclatement / des gorges defemmes." As Goethe's "Ewig-Weibliche"or Aragon's "avenir de l'homme," WOMANwill breathe the initiatory breath and continueto march "sur un monde à finir puisà refaire de nos noms / au noeud descertitudes et de la mémoire."This, Julie Stan ton, poet, novelist, journalistand prophet, beholds and, in italics,comments on. Everyone may not be disposedto accept her book of revelationand her exegesis, but few can escape beingstruck by the power of her word, the drivingrhythms of her chant and the cruelclarity of her narrative design.HANS R. RUNTEA DANGEROUS BOOKROBERTSON DAViES, The Rebel Angels. Macmillan,$16.95.THE REBEL ANGELS represents the bestand worst of Robertson Davies. All thecharacteristic quirks of his personal styleare here: the satirical sharpness of theSalterton trilogy, the potent mixture ofphilosophy and melodrama that distinguishedthe Deptford trilogy, the fascinationwith strange lore, and the didacticismin imparting it. These have become Davies'strademarks and are by now almost aformula for his success on the criticalmarketplace. Less innocent aspects of theDavies style also emerge here, with aforce that makes one reconsider the entirebody of his work.Despite his ridicule of self-help booksin A Voice in the Attic, he applies someof their principles in his own writing. Hisnovels cater to that universal desire tofeel that one is gathering useful informationas one reads, thus flattering theirreaders into thinking that they are copingwith a world slightly above their usuallevel. While flattery may have its place,here it is disguised insult. Davies's tonehas always been magisterial; The RebelAngels patronizes its readers in moresubtle ways. It is not a demanding novel.

BOOKS IN REVIEWBut it is an insidiously dangerous one,because it encourages complacency andsnobbery, disguising them as wisdom, ata time when the search for wisdom isgenuinely endangered.At first The Rebel Angels appears designedto expose the sterility of inheritedtraditions and elitist institutions throughits presentation of a fictional university(a very thinly disguised University ofToronto). It quickly becomes apparent,however, that although Davies attacks thecontemporary university for choosingknowledge above wisdom, the "wisdom"he advocates would return us to the valuesof the middle ages. For Davies, theuniversity's strength lies in its mediaevalroots and its faithfulness to them, andnot at all in its questioning of inheritedassumptions or its search for a better wayof being. In exposing his rebel angels ofthe university as fakes (after setting themup as straw men to knock down), he concludes,illogically, that rebellion itself istherefore suspect. His heroine's fate neatlyillustrates his argument. Supposedly ahighly intelligent, independent woman,she learns in the course of Davies's narrativethat her true strength lies less inher educated intelligence and the expressionof her own will than in her primitivegypsy roots and the subjection of her willto that of the man she marries. His excellence,in turn, is indicated by his wealthand good taste. The reader has alreadybeen told that the "Political Maenads"or "Women's Lib sisterhood," like the"Political Gays," "make a public causeof something too deep, too important, forpolitical, group action." Davies's messageis clear, although it appears to be theresult of some muddled thinking. Trueliberation lies within the individual alone :it is neither a political nor an economicmatter. Economic success, however, as inthe case of Arthur Cornish, does indicateindividual worth. Women best achievetheir individuality through submission toa man in marriage. Maria uses the analogyof a subject swearing allegiance to amonarch — a comparison with interestingpolitical implications that does suggesthow, try as he might, Davies cannot completelydepoliticize what he would like hisreaders to see as merely natural.While it may not be customary criticalpractice to object to a work of fiction forits underlying philosophy before consideringits technical accomplishment, withThe Rebel Angels it is impossible to separatethe two. It offers itself as a novel ofideas, and only works on that level. Furthermore,the aesthetic problems in thisnovel spring directly from its assumptionsabout human nature and authority. Criticshave commented before on the conservativetendencies of Davies's "ToryMode" and its roots in Ontario tradition.The Rebel Angels takes this part of ourheritage directly as its subject, while continuingto embody the unexamined assumptionsof that world view in its formand language.Whatever one may think of the novel'scelebration of the status quo, one cannotfail to notice serious deficiencies in thehandling of voice. The antiphonal narrativestructure — the telling of the storyalternately by Maria Magdalena Theotokyand the Reverend Simon Darcourt— seems an excellent idea in theory; itfails in practice because the two voicesare not clearly enough distinguished. Bothcharacters sound too much like DunstanRamsay, or David Staunton, or SamuelMarchbanks — in short, like RobertsonDavies. One suspects that is because Daviesis less interested in projecting himselfinto another being's consciousness than heis in getting his own point of view across.This preference most seriously damagesthe credibility of Maria, about whomboth the story and its argument pivot.How could anyone believe in a contemporaryyoung woman who speaks of being"had" and "tumbled" by the man she116

BOOKS IN REVIEWthinks she loves? The language suggests anineteenth-century masculine perspective,establishing a false note in the novel'sopening pages. Maria, like Darcourt, existssolely to provide Davies with a fictionalmouthpiece. Indeed, The RebelAngels seems uncomfortably like thefailed novel of another character, Parlabane: each puts the arguing of a caseabove the need to develop a credible narrative,and each hints that its caricaturesrefer to real people, and its scandals toreal events, in a somewhat offensive manner.There is a disturbing hint of pruriencein The Rebel Angels: Davies needsto condemn Parlabane, but he delights inhis wickedness.Unlike Parlabane, Davies can tell agood story when he cares to, so that thereare many entertaining moments in thisbook. Parlabane himself is a convincingembodiment of evil; and there is justenough self-parody to suggest that noneof this should be taken too seriously (asin Maria's reference at McVarish's cocktailparty to one of Davies's favouritequotations: about chastity having thebody in the soul's keeping). And there isjust enough serious amplification of earlierthemes and references to Davies'fictional Toronto (Hollier and Parlabanewent to school with David Staunton) tokeep a Davies fan hooked. Despite theproblem with voice, then, the message isnot unattractively packaged. Perhaps oneneeds to live outside Toronto to see howdangerous such nostalgia for a mediaevalpast can be, and how false to our own experience.Davies has always been strongestin satirizing human pretensions. Whenhe starts embodying them, and choosingheroes like Francis Cornish to take all hisprizes, his writing becomes suspect.The novel pretends to engage problemsof deep human significance. How may welearn from the past? What is the role ofthe university and its scholars in our society?What can repressed areas of experi-117

BOOKS IN REVIEWence teach us? How can we distinguishwisdom from knowledge? How should welive? Raising these questions might havebeen a service in itself if Davies were notso quick and pat with the answers. Becausehe is, some readers may leave TheRebel Angels satisfied. Not me.MOUNTAIN POETSDIANA BRYDONROBIN SKELTON, ed., Six Poets of British Columbia.Sono Nis, $7.95.JOHN HARRIS, ed., Roothog: ContemporaryB.C. Writing. Repository, n.p.ALLAN BROWN, By Green Mountain. Penumbra,$5-95-BRIAN BRETT, White Monster. White Rhino.$7.00.ROÑA MURRAY, Journey. Sono Nis, $5.95.LINDA ROGERS, Queens of the Next Hot Star.Oolichan Books, n.p.ROBIN SKELTON, Limits. Porcupine's Quill,$6.95.sro MARTY, Nobody Danced with Miss Rodeo.McClelland & Stewart, $8.95.DALE ziEROTH, Mid-River. Anansi, $6.95.ALTHOUGH THESE BOOKS were presumablystacked in the same pile because theyshare connections — from intimate tovery tenuous — with green oceans andoceans of green, the two anthologiesamong them illustrate the unlikelihood offinding a reviewer's generalization. Mostof the many anthologies of writing inBritish Columbia, with the exception ofGary Geddes's Skookum Wawa and R. E.Watters's centennial anthology, suggestthat the writing is best comprehended asa scattering of islands, defined by region,by poetic, or by friendship.The title, Six Poets of British Columbia,for example, might well be thoughtto imply six major, defining poets in BritishColumbia. But Robin Skelton seemsto have no such aspiration: in fact, theanthology gives no indication why theseparticular six poets should be broughttogether. Presumably a one-time associationwith Sono Nis, or with the Universityof Victoria's Creative Writing Departmentis sufficient justification for thegrouping. Skelton himself seems evasiveabout his intention, and the banal travelogueand compendium of themes whichserve as an "Introduction" is surely themost disappointing thing in the book.Other than its lack of coherence theselection is pleasant enough, beginningwith Rona Murray's family anecdotes andmeditations on ghosts, and some ofCharles Lillard's more straightforwardwilderness narratives. The selection fromLeona Gom includes too many poemswhere personal reminiscence is an end initself, and too few of the poems, such as"Stone," in which she reveals characterthrough trying the voices of her subjects.Ken Cathers's poems are more regionallydocumentary than the others, but theyseem to me quite uninterested in any implicationsbeyond the observed details.Theresa Kishkan, the most oracular poetof the six, is far less likely than the othersto lapse into careless or trite endings. She,and Harold Rhenisch, the poet here mostdevoted to describing natural landscapes(through some skilfully and revealinglyextended metaphors), are the best representedpoets in the collection.Roothog is another anthology very offhandabout its raison d'être. Again, aloose past association with the press — inthis case, Repository — seems to be thecriterion for selection. John Harris's"Inter-duction" midway through the volumepretty much sends up the whole ideaof anthology. "A bit of description. Somememorable phraseology. Personal revelation.Tricks and not that cheap." Thispiece of tedium correctly implies that thebook contains a good deal of the undescriptive,and the unmemorable. In themidst of much self-indulgence, however,there is some good work. Bill Sherm-118

BOOKS IN REVIEWbrucker's story, "Aga Dawn," is delicatein its perceptions, yet straightforward,without the obvious yearning to be artistethat clutters much of Roothog. MarkSlade's story, "The Drop," drawn fromthe grotesque horror of Vietnam, has amemorable surprise ending. Paul de Barros,although his narrative is exceedingly,even intentionally, banal, includes someintriguing discriminations between BritishColumbia and the U.S. Northwest.Among the poets, I found David Phillipsparticularly readable; in Don MacKay'swork the touch of crazy imagination alsostands out. Ken Cathers, who seems sobland in Skelton's anthology, is muchbetter represented here by poems whichalways extend the descriptions of VancouverIsland scenes and events throughsome touch of linguistic inventiveness.This desirable combination is, in fact,missing in too much of the poetry in thesenine books. If the poet concentrates onanecdote or landscape, rather than onpure linguistic play, he is obliged, surely,to go beyond the one dimension of hislanguage which strict description mightdemand. Alternatively, such a poet hasat least to give some exactness to thetime and place and feeling of an experienceif recording the experience is allthere is in the poem. Alan Brown's ByGreen Mountain illustrates the difficultyexactly. Brown bounces between the haikuand the breezy anecdote. Thus, his poemshave some nice phrases depicting somefresh images, but the effect is diffusedwith vague formulas and incongruouscolloquialism. As in his "Lake Shuswap,"most of Green's poems define "a kind /of not-place" by their lack of particularizedsensation, or emotion, or incident.Brown, it seems, can't decide whether hewants to be Al Purdy (whose introductionto the book hints at how unlike Purdy'spoetry Brown's is) or Emily Dickinson.Brian Brett's Monster, with its deckleedges and marbled cover, the most hand-We record with regretthe death earlier this yearofCHARLESMORRISSwhose commitment to the fine artof printing gave readers overseveral decades an appreciationof the aesthetic pleasuresof design.some of these books, is subtitled "AnAutobiography." Using the idea of theself as monster, Brett's pure poems appearto mythologize his life, fusing it with thelife of the race : the monster he discoversis both man and god and animal andthing. But there's a familiar problem:Brett doesn't provide enough localizingdetail to identify the peculiar individualhuman experience which here touches,and is touched by the universal patternsof birth, love, learning, and acquisitiveness.As a result, the book is sometimesstirring, especially in its blend of the absurdand the ugly, but it usually moves ona fantastic, almost ethereal plane, whereit's impossible to empathize with the protagonist.If the reader can agree that the"mind breaks down when somethingcomes singing out of the chaos," it's toomuch to expect him to be satisfied withthe vague shape of a biography beneaththe chaos, when the confessional tone asksfor a much more intimate involvement.

BOOKS IN REVIEWRona Murray's Journey, with its intermittentnautical metaphors, also has animplicit biographical structure. And Murray'sstory is far more accessible thanBrett's. At her best, in a poem like"When," Murray integrates an accuratelyrecorded domestic incident — removingfinished pots from the kiln (her husbandis a potter) — with images which carryideas of birth, journey, language, and theformation of the earth itself: the result isa moving love poem. "The Death of theBear" shows Murray's talent with aslightly less immediately personal subject.Here the anecdote of a bear trapped, thenshot and hauled into the community, isincorporated into the Haida myth of awoman copulating with a bear and givingbirth to cubs which are half-man, halfgod.Because Murray handles these poemsso well, it is sad that their effect is diminishedby so many poems that fail toconvey the exact shape of her crucialpersonal experiences. In poems such as"Departure," "Elegy," or "Exorcism,"where a precise location in space or timeis lacking, the result seems mere exercise.On other occasions, as in "Before Spring,"with its confused metaphors of maze,worms, crocodiles, drowning, and words,Murray strains tortuously, too anxious tobe poetic. The best poems — there are ahalf dozen memorable poems in the collection— combine, as in "My Father," asimply told anecdote with a subtle metaphoricalextension of its possible meanings.By combining eloquent prose narratingher experience, and compact lyrics testingthe limits of its meaning, Linda Rogerssustains this accomplishment throughouta whole book. Of the books in this pile,Queens of the Next Hot Star is both themost immediately exciting, and the oneasking to be reread and contemplated."There are some times in real life," shewrites, "when I think I am in a dreamand I can't walk or fly or speak thetruth." The observation might describethe method of the book, which movesbetween a pure recounting of the poet'sfriendship with an old Indian woman,Maggie Jack, and the poet's dreamingthe voice/the dreams of Maggie, her people,and her spirit. Rogers writes a powerful,lyric prose, restrained yet passionatein its feeling for Maggie's pain and love.By contrast, the poems might at first seemannoyingly obscure. And then one recognizesthat these are poems with "twotongues," that Rogers is sometimes speakingin her own voice, sometimes in Maggie's,sometimes in a communal voice,sometimes as totemic spirit. Other poemscreate a dialogue between Maggie andLinda. The result is a rich blend of folkstory and native myth, of D'Sonoqua andAlice in Wonderland, of the English andindigenous tongues, of daughter andspirit mother, of feminism and humanism.Queens of the Next Hot Star is an extensionof reverberating shamanism — fromEvans and Carr to Marlatt and Musgiave— which animates so much writing connectedwith the West Coast. It deservesa far lengthier discussion.If Rogers is the most exciting poet inthis group, Robin Skelton is the most polished(ignoring, now, his Introduction toSix Poets). Skelton's experience shows inmany poems which discover a delicateperception in apparently unremarkableincidents, and add a twist of metaphor tomake it memorable. These are, on thewhole, the sparest poems Skelton haswritten, with short lines, in 2- or 3-linestanzas, with simple diction, and limitedallusiveness. Skelton is also able, with afew exceptions, to discard the poemswhich dwindle into vague imprecision.The sense of various levels of languageintersecting we might expect from a poetwho will so often write poems for the loveof language per se, and whose subject isso often words themselves : nonetheless, itis in effortlessly connecting the pithy,120

BOOKS IN REVIEWwitty discoveries thus made with the engagingof the five senses in place and timethat he has his most characteristic success:"as if breath alone // were the essential/ message, words and words //nomore than gravel / thrown against thepane" ("Something").The remotest island of B.C. poetry isfound where mountains meet plains onthe eastern edge. Dale Zieroth, althoughhe now lives in North Vancouver andalthough Mid-River is largely set in theColumbia Valley near Invermere, stillwrites in a manner more associated withhis native prairie. Sid Marty, even moremarkedly, has his obvious ties in Alberta,and makes the broadly colloquial narrativethe essence of his poetry. Both theseare second books of poetry, impatientlyawaited after impressive first books appearedin 1973· Marty's Nobody Dancedwith Miss Rodeo is, after Headwaters, adisappointment. Like so many Canadianpoets Marty takes Al Purdy as his primarymodel and inspiration: "'the stories areeither true,' croaked the muse [a magpie],'or they are lies told by the characters.'"This muse inspires some divertingand ironic incidents, but Marty seemssatisfied with superficial mimicry, andfinds little of the Purdy magic. The poemsare often factual and boring. The book isopenly opinionated, even angry, aboutman's destruction of nature, but the result,as in "Big Game," is bad poetry:When the game comes down to waterto drink from the clear, blue Bowin ranges cut by highwaysThey will die, one after anotherbeneath the wheelsIn the paradise of the middle class.The sincerity of Marty's concern is evident.But in such a poem, or in "Greyhound,"on the futility of Indians observedin the Calgary bus depot, theimpact disappears in cliché, or overdoneimagery, and pathetic endings. Martycan't sustain a tone or a metaphor in thelarger works. Thus, despite the emphasison story and character portrait, the mostmemorable poems are the shorter, morecontrolled lyrics, such as "For My Sons,"a nicely turned observation on poetry andfamily life. Three-quarters of the poemsin this book could be compressed to halftheir length. Marty, it seems, confuses asense of colloquial sprawl, the ramblingof barroom gabble, with empty dictionand unthinking formula. The poet's obligation,and here Purdy so often excels, isto show us the poetry inherent in therepetitions and rhythms of Canadianspeech. Marty only fulfils the obligationin "The Fording," the last and best poemin the bunch for emotion, image, development,meaning and even narrative.Marty, here, as he showed in Headwaters,can combine straightforward narrative— "With a whoop, with a shout /they are riding toward me now" —withenergetic verbs, metaphoric surprises —Out-of-PrintCANADIANA BOOKSandPAMPHLETSHURONIA-CANADIANABOOKSBOX 685ALLISTON, ONTARIO LOM 1A0Catalogues free on request121

BOOKS IN REVIEW"Smashing the dewy alder shrubs to rainbows/ over a plain of trembling orangeflowers" — in order to enrich the one andmake familiar the other. Unfortunately,there are too few of these successes tomake a book.Dale Zieroth's Mid-River, on the otherhand, fulfils the expectations created byhis first volume Clearing. The influenceof Al Purdy's colloquialism and love ofstory is, in Zieroth, seldom an excuse formere slackness. There is more attentionto multiplying metaphors here than in thefirst collection. Also there's a very markednew attention to assonance and alliteration:"let us also / see clearly how lovecan finally / carve and quip inside theduel and dance at last /out through thetwo of us." Zieroth's descriptions of theColumbia Valley are vivified by a nicechoice of metaphor, especially those implicitin his verbs. Although Zieroth'smetaphors are seldom carefully interlinked,and the variations on a singlemetaphor are seldom used to sustain hislonger poems, a taut narrative line alwaysholds things together. His ability is newlyevident in some domestic poems provokedby the birth and growing of his youngdaughter — "Birth," "The Eyes of theBody and Not the Eyes of the Mind,""Fear of Failure" — which move in newdirections and are among the best poemsZieroth has written.THREE NOVELSL. R. RICOUPERCY JANES, Eastmall. Potlatch, $8.95.GILBERT CHOQUETTE, Wednesday's Child, trans.David Lobdell. Oberon, $17.95; pa. $8.95.JAKE MAC DONALD, Indian River. QueenstonHouse, $16.95; pa. $8.95.Eastmall is the story of two brothers andtheir tragic clash of wills and ideologies.Craig Andrew Wareham is a young manon the make, the stereotypical modernentrepreneur who has total disregard forthe environment and "the quality of humanlife." Morley, an idealist, opposesCraig's attempt at building Eastmall, abusiness complex in Old St. John's. Inaddition to dramatizing what happenswhen men put personal principles beforeconcern for others, the novel points upthe timeless theme that "materialism isdeath to the spirit."The major weaknesses of Eastmall involvecharacterization. The brothers areessentially stock figures: villain and hero(although Morley's "martyr complex"leaves him not quite a hero). Janes'smethod of devoting alternate chapters toeach brother adds to the wearying effectupon the reader; and one can never quitedispel the feeling that one is being told.Moreover, there is never any profoundquestioning of self. Hence the imaginativeand emotional tension which might haveresulted from using two centres of consciousnessdoes not materialize here.The strengths of Eastmall are worthrecording. Janes's strongly lyrical passagesconvey an acute sense of place and a deeplove of downtown St. John's with its seasonaland even diurnal changes of appearanceand mood. Emily Birkshire, LenniContois, Donna and "Rabbit" Ryan —all secondary characters — are convincinglypresented. The most exciting andconvincing episodes involve these characters:Emily's break with Craig; Lenni'srebuke of Craig; and, best of all, Craigand the "Rabbit" in business negotiations.And, of course, there is the significantTheme: Janes adds Morley's "NOTES"found after his death as a kind of Afterword.These notes reveal a Prattean conceptof the evolution of human history,and concern for keeping down the beastwithin. The "tigers" stalking in our "forest"are greed for money and power, and"worship of Party and State." The solutionis in "Gandhi's, not Lenin's way... ."Yet too much is finally sacrificed for122

BOOKS IN REVIEWTheme. The names, business methods,and personal idiosyncrasies of Craig andhis associates make Eastmall a thinly disguisedfictional rendering of prominentpersonalities and controversial events inSt. John's over the last two or three years.Apparently wanting to add his shot to thebattle, Janes seems to have included toomuch and written too rapidly.Quentin Géricault, the protagonist ofWednesday's Child, is called home froma Christmas vacation in Spain to findhimself burdened by his father's last requests: first, that he never sully the familyname; and, second, that he marry hiscousin Bernadette. Quentin, it seems, isdestined not to fulfil either wish.A believer in "the Spirit" -— disembodiedbeauty — he hopes some day to "beable to love." He secretly "worships" thephotograph of a nude British actress, andthis at least keeps him out of trouble. Thatis, until he goes to teach literature at theCégep de Saint-Croix in order to escapefrom "the stultifying domain of Linguistics"at the University. At the Cégep hebecomes infatuated with Véronique Mercier,"a mediocre little student" whom helater admits he "had transformed in hisimagination into an idol."Quentin finds it impossible to functionas either teacher or suitor. Neither hispsychiatrist nor his priest can help him.Events at the college seem to conspireagainst him until the Board feels obligedto relieve him of his duties. He thenattempts suicide, and is placed in theintensive-care unit in a psychiatric clinic.Later while convalescing, he is murderedby Richard Croquefer, who claimsto be of the Spirit, too — the Spirit ofEvil. However, Quentin had already been"reborn," reconciled with human nature :"the co-existence of such antitheticalstates as absolute perfection and humandeficiency was, in fact, inevitable, the twoconditions being inseparably linked, theindissoluble components of a single, existential,transcendental whole." Throughhis infatuation with Véronique he hadbecome acquainted "with the loving,painful, human side of his nature."Through his image of her he had fallen"in love with the entire world."Admirable sentiments, but alas, QuentinGéricault is no Prince Hamlet! Quentinis simply too weak a character to holdone's interest (despite the author's parodyand irony) through so many pages. Thetitle is, ultimately, the greatest irony : notFate, but self, is the villain here.Indian River, Jake MacDonald's firstnovel, is not so ambitious as Janes's norso abstruse as Choquette's, but it is moresuccessful than either of those. Hisprotagonist, twenty-five-year-old DominicChambrun, son of a wealthy chemicalwholesaler, is trying to escape from thedangerous company he has been keepingin Winnipeg. He ends up as a fishingguide at Indian River Lodge, owned byunscrupulous Rusty Arnold.Dom soon becomes infatuated withElena Thunder, a beautiful young Indianwidow who reminds him "of some heroinefrom a Thomas Hardy novel." (Hercompanion and co-worker at the lodgewarns Dom that he has made Elena "areal fantasy target.") Dom wants tomarry Elena and settle down in theNorth, but "She's had it with the north,and all its politics, and its poverty andfeeling of doom."Exploited and ravaged by Americanentrepreneurs and tourists, the North isnow threatened by Acid Red, an industrialpollutant. The death, earlier, of "Mr.Pike" (Rusty's father), the deterioratinghealth of Cracked Joe Thunder, and thedeformed and cancerous bears (the Thunders'sfamily totem) are all attributableto their eating fish from the pollutedriver. Far from being a wilderness Utopia,the area is a veritable "combat zone." Infact, Dom is murdered by Cracked Joe,the man he is trying to help. The final123

BOOKS IN REVIEWimage in the Epilogue symbolizes the decaybrought about by white man's greed.In contrast with the entrepreneurs andtourists, the workers at the Lodge are aninteresting lot: "All of them longed forsomething." Their names are indicativeof their personalities — Cracked Joe, Narcisse,Boner, W. D. Loon, and CowboyCopeland. The last one is boisterous,lonely, compassionate and informed. Hislife provides a rough parallel with Dom'sin that he too had come North to beginagain; and his life too was a symbol, agesture of no more apparent significancethan ' ! the old tree toppling in the forestwhere there's no human ears to hear itfall." Yet the Cowboy's life, like Dom'slife and death, does affirm the strength ofhuman love and does at least sound awarning. That affirmation and implicitwarning are articulated by Kenny Blossom,the one worthwhile American in thenovel: "If things become contaminatedit's because the man has a contaminatedheart, not because there's somethingwrong with his [technology]."Indian River has an interesting plot:dramatic but not melodramatic. Theemotional stance is compassionate butnever mawkish. The characters are interesting,and the theme significant. Humourand irony accentuate the seriousness;and the literal is nicely balanced bythe figurative. Jake MacDonald has writtena fine first novel.PASTORAL LINESDONALD R. BARTLETTLUANNE ARMSTRONG, Castle Mountain. PolestarPress, $6.95.JANE MUNRO, Daughters. Fiddlehead, n.p.suNiTi NAMjosHi, The Authentic hie. Fiddlehead,n.p.AMONG HIS GENERAL, introductory propositionsabout pastoral, Renato Poggiolisuggests that it is "a private, masculineworld, where woman is not a person but asexual archetype" and that "pastoral remainsa masculine dreamworld." In spiteof this I kept seeing (I hope not hallucinating)lineaments of pastoral in allthree of Castle Mountain, Daughters, andThe Authentic Lie — all three of themwritten by women. They give us no shepherds,though some may not be too far offin the Aegean locale of several of JaneMunro's poems. But for one thing, thatprimary denizen of modern pastoral, thechild, is vital to all three collections; notonly the daughter-child but also the writers'sense of women-as-daughters comesacross very strongly. For another thing,each collection in its own way records akind of retreat, a backward/inward movefor purposes of refreshment, beginningagain, or therapeutic working through;the move in turns out to be necessarily amove back and this move back enables areturn with the words that are both themeans and the account of self-renewal orself-definition.In The Oaten Flute (posthumous,1975) Poggioli goes on to propose his versionsof pastoral, or subspecies of thebucolic imagination. To his pastorals ofinnocence, of happiness, of self, of childhood,we may perhaps add — in admirationnot condescension — the domesticpastoral to help describe Armstrong'sCastle Mountain and Munro's Daughters.In both, a presiding feminine consciousnessmoves in the charged interstices betweenpeople, spaces, contents, and eventsof a home; she reflects on her self amongvarious roles, moods, and stances in hercomplex domicile. In "Froth,"She stares into the morning fog.It seeps.Where are the stiff weathers?For once, she'd likesome tool of atmosphere —a dry fog,fathom of coral —on which she might hang up124

BOOKS IN REVIEWher weight of skins,foam and expand, easily.And wordmaking, trying to find voice andwords is (very explicitly in Castle Mountain)essential to homesteading. ThusLuanne Armstrong in "Draught," wheredraught turns out to be "Nine generationsof sour Scots farmers behind me / nevera poet / a heritage of dust" :Before I could remember, this placeheld voices,my grandfather's, my father's,now mine. . . .I wait.I want new voices to comefrom the broken hilllike water from stonewitching for powerto well up from dust;the voices of buried gods, barbedunder fences, and plowed earth.Or Jane Munro in "At the Mouth ofDesolation Sound":When does letting go bare the soul, andwhen eat it?The spiral of voices twists to a fragile edge ;she puts herself to her ear and listensto the gulf amplified. Without thisopen-endedshell of narrative she would feel homeless.In Suniti Namjoshi's The AuthenticLie most domestic roles and rooms arelacking; furnishings are carefully selectedliterary period pieces, biblical to modern-—• the degree of self-conscious intertextualityis pronounced. What dwellers werun into and what voices we hear arealmost exclusively inside the persona'shead. So this collection is not at all a"domestic pastoral" in the sense I've beentrying to describe; but it is dominated bya daughter-child mourning for a lostfather-giant ("Discourse with the Dead")and the note of pastoral elegy is unavoidablystrong especially since its prevailingkey, or mode, is dream. There is even akind of apotheosis, at the end of "Discoursewith the Dead," that's a very niceblend of affirmation, distancing, andresignation.Perhaps this attempt to catch all threewriters in one sort of pastoral net or anotheris just a reviewer's casting for somethingelastic but tidy to say about threedistinct and otherwise quite differentworks. They are different, of course. Forexample, the male husband/lover figure:in Castle Mountain he is a present necessityto the word, self, and homemakingproject and he's celebrated in several lovepoems; he is neither so present nor sonecessary in Daughters, where he's celebratedfewer times and, through the personaof Poppi, the Cretan bride, occasionallyand neatly chided for variouschauvinisms: "He corrected my English.I was not prepared to correct his Greek."And in The Authentic Lie, where he isperhaps swirled in the turbulences of havingto let the father go, he appears rarelyand only as a disaster to whom womenare wishfulfilling dream-objects: "Thelandscape of hell is the body of a man,not wide-awake / and not quite dead."For example, the speaker's stance andtone: from the engaged, almost entirelyundistanced, firmly situated voice of CastleMountain, through the more detached,multiple voices of Daughters uttering agreater variety of situations and locales— often in virtue of the Poppi persona —to the polished, succinct urbanities ofvoice and stance in The Authentic Lie,from which I get the impression of wordslike lotus petals floating on a formal poolthat multiplies perspectives and glintswith many ironies.To conclude, still in the comparativemode: of the three volumes Castle Mountainis the least pretentious in a literarysense and the most straightforward aboutthe need to write and about the place, thestation of writing within a cycle or spiralof growth; the "Invocation" goesNowto sing joyin small voices . . .

BOOKS IN REVIEWteach us nowthis small weavingfrom dustwhile the "Incantation" (which to mymind should be the last, not second lastpiece) goesOut of this silence, storiesout of this distance, movementand slow change;out of going forward, powerout of standing still, peace;out of rage, silenceand so, presumably, back again to stories.Daughters is the most ambitious in theway of seeking fresh images, locutions,and rhythms even though, in mode, it isoften more conventionally narrative thanthe other two. My use of "conventionally"is not perjorative. Once or twice, as inthe case, say, of "Matrix," a poem isincoherent. There is so to speak a syntaxof rhythm as well as of grammar and theformer will often carry the production ofmeaning in an absence of the latter. Ithink that, on occasion in Daughters, bothspecies of syntax give way simultaneously ;I'm well aware, though, that the demandfor certain kinds of coherence may wellbe a masculine vice. Then The AuthenticLie is by a long way the most formal andself-consciously literary of these three volumes.I have already mentioned its pronouncedintertexuality : there is an elaboratesubstructure of literary allusions;there are retellings of myths, nurseryrhymes, and fairy stories as well as aneffective continuation of an Alice in Wonderlandconversation that's nearly aszany-but-shrewd as its original. The wholeopening section, "Discourse with theDead" is a carefully orchestrated, fourpartmovement with scrupulous attentiongiven to the visual/spatial effects of variationin type and placement on the page.Ideally I suppose a work of art should,either simultaneously or seriatim, moveus, instruct us, and engage our interest inhow it's done — in its execution, as HenryJames would say. On the whole I ammoved the most by Castle Mountain,instructed the most by Daughters, andthe most engaged — as a matter of interestin its execution — by The AuthenticLie.IAN SOWTONUNE CONSCIENCEALAIN CHEVRETTE, Le Premier Homme. Naaman,n.p.PIERRE PAÚL KARCH, Nuits blanches. Prise deParole, $8.95.JACQUES LAFLEUR, Décors à l'envers. Naaman,n.p.PASCAL SABOURiN, Quand il pleut sur ma ville.Naaman, n.p.ENTRE PASCAL SABOURIN, Pierre PaulKarch, Alain Chevrette et Jacques Lafleuron pourrait établir un grand nombrede points communs. Il suffira ici de rappelerque ces quatre écrivains sont desuniversitaires, qu'ils se rattachent auxgenres de l'imaginaire (selon divers degrés,il est vrai), que la narration chezeux ne suit pas les règles imposées par lesvieilles traditions et qu'enfin, ils sont tousles quatres des exemples de renaissancerégionaliste dans le domaine littéraire —cette dernière appartenance n'étant pastoujours explicite au niveau des formesdu contenu.Commençons par les deux textes francoontarienset signalons au passage que cesderniers font partie d'une littérature quia été trop longtemps négligée.Quand il pleut sur ma ville de PascalSabourin est un récit que l'on pourraitqualifier d'existentialiste. Mais le narrateurde ce roman philosophique n'estjamais poussé vers les extrêmes; sauf,naturellement, lorsqu'il s'agit de l'idéalismeabstrait. La femme qui l'aime,Cecilia, n'est ni aussi docile que la Mariede L'Etranger, ni aussi sauvage que laMadeleine de Poussière sur la ville. D'autrepart, la pluie semble garantir cette126

BOOKS IN REVIEWopacité du monde dont tout esprit philosophiquea l'air d'avoir besoin pours'ériger en conscience douloureuse. Onpourrait ainsi relever toutes les constantesdu roman existentialiste dans Quand ilpleut sur ma ville et l'exercise ne manqueraitpas d'intérêt pour un étudiant enlittérature comparée qui serait tout heureuxde retrouver ici le couteau étincelantdu malheur, jadis perdu par Meursault.Mais il faut être juste et reconnaître quele récit de Pascal Sabourin est bien denotre temps et qu'au-delà de l'existentialismeil rejoint la tradition des générationsperdues. Ce texte est, en effet,étrangement près de Conversazione inSicilia de Elio Vittorini et de The SunAlso Rises d'Ernest Hemingway. Or, ily a un pessimisme brumeux qui a planésur nos littératures depuis le début de cesiècle. Après l'éclaircie des années soixantenous y revenons. Il est beau aussi de revoirdes mots comme "la Vie" et "laVérité" revenir sous la plume de Sabourin.C'est du moins là un premier pasvers un certain vitalisme philosophiquequi, lui aussi, s'était éteint depuis GabrieleD'Annunzio et Gaston Bachelard.Mais cette confluence idéologique est trèsréservée: "Oui, il y a demain.... Mais ily a la pluie, demain."Nuits blanches de Pierre Paul Karchest un recueil de douze contes fantastiques.L'auteur reprend ici une traditionoù les influences de Hoffmann, d'EdgarAllan Poe et d'autres ne manquent pasde se faire sentir. Malgré quelques imprécisionsstylistiques — qui n'auraientpas dû passer le bureau du rédacteur —il faut reconnaître que ces contes sont trèsbien travaillés et offrent la cohérencethématique qui caractérise les textes fantastiquesde qualité."Fleur de Pavot," le dernier conte durecueil, constitue un bon exemple decette unité thématique qui engendre lerécit. C'est l'histoire de la maison d'unbotaniste qui, en nourraissant ses plantesdes "pertes séminales" de son jardinier etdes "menstrues" d'Anna-Maria sa servante,finit par créer des monstres végétauxqui dévorent leurs "parents." Maisplus que le récit, ce qui fascine le lecteurc'est la progression des structures thématiques.C'est ainsi qu'au début on a l'impressionque l'animisme des plantes n'estqu'une obsession du jardinier. Par exemple,celui-là a d'abord l'impression que"les feuilles mourantes" se roulent verslui "comme pour lui mordre le talon,"puis il trouve que Γ "inhospitalité" desplantes l'irrite "comme une feuille d'ortie."D'autre part, la servante est victimede la même paranoïa. Pourtant, quandelle tente d'aborder le sujet avec le jardinier,ce dernier se moque d'elle. Lesimages convergent ainsi vers la fin durécit et c'est donc le discours symboliquequi prépare l'action finale de la plantehumaine. Cette progression bien doséecontribue grandement à ce que depuisRoland Barthe on appelle "Le Plaisir duTexte."Voilà donc deux textes franco-ontariensdont la portée reste universelle et le régionalismeimplicite. Il y a là une subtilitéqui survivra la cause idéologiqueplus que l'on ne pourrait le penser.Les deux autres textes peuvent aussiêtre géographiquement identifiés: Ilsnous viennent de L'Estrie.Le Premier Homme d'Alain Chevretteest un roman qui, comme Quand il pleutsur ma ville, évoque les difficultés et lasolitude de l'esprit philosophique. L'imaginairejoue cependant un plus grandrôle chez Chevrette et la pluie — quin'était qu'un sombre symbole chez Sabourin— est tout autre chose ici :II s'était mis à sourire, il sentait que lapluie tombait pour lui; elle était pure etblanche, comme un sapin de printemps. . . .Il avait l'impression que la pluie étaitformée de milliers de petites roches sedésagrégeant à la descente. . . .Le Premier Homme constitue ainsiune belle méditation et l'on s'attache fa-127

BOOKS IN REVIEWcilement à ce Thomas rêveur dont lesmots nous guident vers la grandeur dusilence. Le nom de ce personnage estd'ailleurs peut-être une clef car il évoque,ici et là, Thomas l'imposteur de JeanCocteau et Thomas l'obscur de MauriceBlanchot. On admirera sans doute labeauté singulière de ce roman où le protagonistedevient au fond la victime despersonnages qu'il a inventés. Un grandbravo donc à Chevrette qui a au moinsdécouvert que la littérature est unegrande illusion — le pain de l'esprit.Décors à l'envers, un recueil de cinqnouvelles, de Jacques Lafleur s'inscritégalement sous le signe de la conscience.Dans "Mourir ..." nous pénétrons l'espritd'Antoine, un vieillard qui en est à l'agonie.La conscience du personnage est là,toujours là, pour assister à la disparitiondes perceptions sensorielles, puis à la désintégrationde la mémoire. Au fond,même la mort semble impuissante face àce tremblement de l'être au sein dunéant :Antoine venait de réaliser qu'il était mort,probablement depuis fort longtemps déjà,mais cela n'avait aucune espèce d'importance,aucune signification. . . .Dans les autres contes c'est toujours laconscience qui soutient la narration, cettedernière étant tendue elle-même vers lamort, l'amour et l'interrogation permanentede la vie. C'est en ce sens que lespersonnages de Lafleur sont clairementdéfinis; tel ce François à qui sembleéchapper l'amour absolu de Nathalie("Nathalie et François") :II aimait profondément la vie mais, mêmes'il parvenait toujours à se maîtriser, il demeuraitmarqué depuis son enfance parl'absurdité de l'existence et le spectre de lamort.Ces livres d'aujourd'hui constituent desensembles de signes qui nous renvoientaux referents culturels qui nous obsèdent.Nous les avons aperçus: quatre textes,deux régionalismes, une conscience qui nepeut être évitée. ...WINDOWS ONINVENTIONALEXANDRE L. AMPRIMOZTHÉRÈSE BONvouLOiR-BAYOL, Les Soeurs d'Io.L'Arbre HMH, n.p.JEAN-MARIE poupART, Angoisse Play. Leméac,$5-95-NADINE MAC KENziE, Le Prix du Silence. Fides,n.p.BERTRAND B. LEBLANC, НоГпСв du l'art de рОГterla redingote. Leméac, $9.95.JEAN-YVES soucY, Les Chevaliers de la nuit.Les éditions La Presse, n.p.NONE OF THESE FIVE NOVELS possessesthe ebullient, panoramic imagination ofMichel Tremblay's Plateau Mont-Royalor Victor-Levy Beaulieu's endless Beaucheminfamily series; however, three, atleast, are windows opening onto the inventiveworld of recent Quebec fiction.Thérèse Bonvouloir-BayoFs Les Soeursd'Io is yet another story of a deserted wifewho, after the inevitable descent into solitudeand depression, slowly begins topiece together the shards of her brokenlife. Written in the guise of a journal, andin the lyrical, melancholy and slightlydazed tone, all too common to these kindof novels, the book spans a short yearduring which the narrator returns toMontreal and begins a feeble rediscoveryof the city, her Quebec heritage, thestrong pull of family and church (needlessto say, during a long, hard winter). Anobligatory voyage to the Gaspé — whichhas lately become symbolic of the new,regenerative frontier — is included, as area few desultory love affairs. The journalis interspersed with flashbacks of the narrator'slife with the egocentric Frederic,but these diminish as her state of mindimproves. Also dispersed throughout the128

BOOKS IN REVIEWtext are maudlin philosophical sentiments,such as the following resolution arrived atafter hours of insomnia.A cette intersection de ma vie, il est moinsimportant pour moi de creuser une empreintedans l'histoire — fût-elle aussi humblequ'un relève généalogique — que deme réaliser en tant que Personne.The occasional, pretty lyrical passages describingQuebec's winter and scenery areovershadowed by the banality of the tale,the weak characterization of the narratorand her irritating inability to move beyonda life determined by men towardsthat dignity she claims to be seeking.Somehow the trials of the narrator do notmeasure up to those of Io, seduced byZeus and condemned by the jealous Herato flee in torment, pursued by gadflies,until kind Prometheus directed her to theNile, where she was, at last, restored toher original condition by Zeus.Angoisse Play, by the experimental andplayful Jean-Marie Poupart, is interestinglyenough a revised edition of his 1968novel. As the changes are minor but diachronic,it is worthwhile to rememberthat the context of the novel is the turbulent1960's of the Quiet Revolution. Theauthor himself suggests that the novel beread with the same attitude one visits theanthropopithecal section of a NaturalHistory Museum, that is quizzically. Inthe revised version, although very fewwords are changed or added, Poupartinserts commas, periods, and capitalletters, thus diminishing the stream-ofconsciousnessand subduing the uninhibited,automatic writing more characteristicof the 1960's. The result is a morecryptic, distant, deliberate, cold, and enigmatictext.This novel is also narrated in the firstperson in the form of a journal, butthrough a hot Montreal summer, andwith numbered rather than indentedparagraphs. The "angoisse" is played outby an unpleasant, overweight young man,a writer who is completely unreliable. Hemay or may not have a roommate calledAnna; he is a misogynist, obsessed by sex,a destructive iconclast and arsonist, givento cynical and amusing statements such as"Rien ne me donne plus de plaisir quede faire dire à quelqu'un qu'il est unimbecile" or "Dieu a toujours été correctavec moi" or "celui qui n'est pas capabled'être superficiel ne sera jamais un auteurde génie." Both Poupart and thenarrator, Blaise Augustin, mock the conventionsof narrative and the acceptedcodes of human behaviour. And so Blaisemakes the wonderful observation that itwas a pity that Camus had killed offMeursault at the end of The Strangerbecause he could have carried on in thestyle of Colette with "The Stranger atSchool," "The Stranger in Paris." As aplay on the narrator un-writing his narrativeand hovering, teasingly, betweenfiction and autobiography, Angoisse Playis clever, but not as profound as Quin'sProchain Episode, which also experimentsin narration.Nadine MacKenzie's Le Prix du Silenceis a conventional thriller where thehero, a newspaperman to an EasternEuropean country, tries to escape to Canadaafter he has been exiled an an "IntellectualClub" for stating his opinionsopenly. The description of this isolatedprison for dissidents, a futuristic andillusory idyllic retreat for intellectuals isthe only section of real interest andhorror.Since the only form of higher educationin Quebec until i960 was the collègeclassique, it is surprising that so few novelshave emerged, describing this unique,anachronistic, priest-run institution thathas so influenced the intellectual life ofQuebec. Bertrand Leblanc's Horace oul'art de porter la redingote (the redingoteis the uniform worn by the boys in the1950's) genially fills this gap. However,except for its Quebec setting, it is a129

BOOKS IN REVIEWfamiliar boarding-school tale, with itsparade of eccentric teachers, inspiringteachers, harsh daily routine, desperate,covert sexuality, and predictable misadventures.The Horace of the title is anirascible and charming nonconformistwho manages to learn very little exceptthe cunning circumvention of rules. Inevitablythe novel is replete with thecontinuing battle against the Catholicismthat orders the boys' days and directs(and stifles) their intellectual and moraldevelopment. Although humorous andevocative of the 1950's and of the collegesclassiques, Horace is a series of descriptionsand anecdotes rather than athoughtful study of a sentimental education,despite Leblanc's apparent desire toportray the context behind current intellectuallife.The most absorbing of these novels isLes Chevaliers de la nuit which joins theranks of the many Quebec novels withadolescent heroes. Soucy creates the worldof a rang (country road) in Abitibi in1959, where the Savard family fromMontreal joins other dreamers, recluses,and misfits in abandoned homesteads, toattempt once again the dream of Colonization.At that time, Abitibi received thelast feeble trickle of the wave of Colonizationbegun in the nineteenth century inorder to settle remote regions of Quebecand reinstate the agrarian ideology, preciousto both church and state. Soucy,however, focuses his attention on the twoadolescent Savard boys — Robert, and inparticular, the sensitive and imaginativeRémi — who as the chevaliers de la nuitexplore the mysterious night kingdomamong the pines and creeks of the surroundingforests.Aïe, chercher, découvrir, posséder; connaîtreles choses invisibles. Etre des chasseursde mystère. . . . Faut inventer.Their night is not the underground nightworldof Djuna Barnes or Marie-ClaireBiais, nor of the creatures that inhabitthe wilderness. Instead, the boys, by performingtheir own secret rituals for the"Black Goddess," Satan, or their courtlyladies, entering a "haunted house," slippingthrough the night to spy on theirneighbours' drinking parties, give freerein to their fantasies and begin that longdescent into the self, apparently necessaryto adolescent creative geniuses. Yet Soucyis more successful in describing the burlesquesoirées of the frustrated and comicinhabitants of the rang and the boys' preoccupationwith sex than in portrayingthe artist as a young boy. As he resortsneither to irony and therefore distancenor to a complex lyrical probing, Soucydoes not always succeed in creating aplausible adolescent mind.Although the blurb on the back coversuggests that the novel might be a politicalallegory I think that is an exaggerationof Soucy's theme of the perniciousnessand necessity of "la rêve." As Rémireflects :Tout le monde rêve . . . Pourquoi les adultesabandonnent-ils leurs rêves à la premièredifficulté, pourquoi n'ont-ils pas le couragede les défendre, la volonté de les réalisercoûte que coûte?The Savard père, an ineffectual dreamer(practically a stereotype father in Quebecnovels) who fails to draw sustenance fromhis land; the priest, a dreamer of grandschemes and possible pederast; Sonia, reluctantlytied to family and endless winternights (a modern Maria Chapdelaine),who dreams of poetry and adventure;and Rémi, himself, a saner, if less precociousand talented and Machiavellianversion of the adolescent heroes and heroinesof Marie-Claire Biais, Anne Hébert,Réjean Ducharme, Jacques Poulin, arecharacters frequently encountered inQuebec fiction. Therefore, Les Chevaliersis not a political allegory, but a "conditionof Quebec" novel with the adolescenthero representing the struggle to shrug130

BOOKS IN REVIEWoff an ignoble past, to overcome the betrayalof dream by adults (the previousgenerations), and to accede to a dream ofself.Using a conventional narrative form,Soucy adopts what has become a practicableuse of joual — for dialogue only(I have no idea whether he successfullyrecreates the dialect of Abitibi). PureFrench is reserved for descriptions andfor Rémi's interior reflections. Occasionallyself-consciously written, sentimental,with a predictable narrative outcome,Soucy's novel is soothingly satisfying andmore importantly, begins that difficulttask of drawing the reader into the worldof his characters' lives, a world one leaveswith reluctance, upon closing the book.LE REGNEDU SCORPIONKATHY MEZEIROGER FOURNiER, Le Cercle des arènes. AlbinMichel, n.p.MONIQUE JEANNOTTE, Le Vent n'a pas d'écho.Editions du Blé, $8.50.ANDRE VANAS SE, La Saga des Lagacé. LibreExpression, n.p.THE GRAVEST CRIME a contemporaryQuébec author can commit in the eyesof his critics is, it seems, not to be a stylist— i.e., to relinquish the challenge of experimentallanguage and genre and revert(or should one say regress?) to traditionalrealism. Roger Fournier, author of numerousnovels — the best known perhapsbeing Moi mon corps mon âme Montréaletc. (1974) — has been consistently chastizedby Québec reviewers for his repetitivecombination of sensationalist eroticismand conservative narrative. Classifiedby Victor-Levy Beaulieu as a "p'tit[Henry] Miller" {Le Devoir, 16 décembre1972), Fournier suffers in a comparisonwith Hubert Aquin, for instance, inwhose work eroticism is so strongly integratedinto a self-reflexive text as tofunction as a figure of writing and readingitself. It should come as no surprisethen that Québec critics react with irritationto the vogue Fournier has enjoyedin France since the publication of LesComes sacrées with Albin Michel, avogue confirmed by the Prix France-Canada awarded to his most recent novel,Le Cercle des arènes. As in the case ofMarie-Claire Blais's Une Saison dans lavie d'Emmanuel (recipient of both thePrix France-Québec and the Prix Médicis),reviewers like Reginald Martel inLa Presse and Jean Basile in Le Devoirfeel that France identifies today's literaryscene in Québec with the wrong books;that is, with books tending to perpetuateFrench myths about the presumable intellectualstate of its former colony.Whereas Blais's novel was accused ofsolidfying folkloric — if somewhat perverted— notions of the French-Canadianfamily, Fournier's Le Cercle des arènescomes under attack for suggesting toFrench readers that it represents a sensualrevolution à la D. H. Lawrence without,however, committing itself to an epistemologicalrevolt at the same time.It is easy to see why Le Cercle desarènes should have stirred such annoyanceamong its Québec reviewers. It is aconservatively presented story of a youngman by the name of Sébastien who,while in Paris, runs out of money, cablesto his father in Canada to lend him some,and instead of simply receiving a cheque,finds "Papa" himself standing on hisdoorstep. Father and son then embarkupon an effort of "rapprochement," notan easy task because Sébastien — an illegitimatechild — has grown up with hismother. The plot thickens when a youngwoman joins the couple for a car-drivethrough southern France; there is erotictension aplenty with Sébastien sufferingthrough every imaginable Freudian com-

BOOKS IN REVIEWplex in his attempt to monopolize hisfather. The story ends in the "cercle desarènes" in Orange; watching a bull-fight,the threesome presumably resolve theirpsychological problems.Le Cercle des arènes addresses itself tothree themes: the decadence of France{vs. the innocence of Québec), the decadenceof a womanizing father {vs. theinnocence of a son), and female sensualityas both a catalyst for and reconciliationof all psychological (and national)conflict. It would take considerable virtuosityon the author's part to salvagethese more than outworn themes frombanality, and Fournier does not succeedin convincing the reader that they deservefurther attention. His treatment of thefather-son relationship elicited an ironical"Mon Dieu, est-ce possible, on ne crieplus maman. La littérature québécoisesemble avoir fait un pas" from MadeleineOuellette-Michalska {Le Devoir, 17 avril1982), while Sébastien's father's drunkenspeech on female power has not theslightest bearing on his behaviour toward"les femelles," as he likes to call them.If Le Cercle des arènes because of itsnaïveté makes somewhat embarrassingreading, Monique Jeannotte's Le Ventn'a pas d'écho leaves one speechless; arewe back in the days of the historical noveland the roman du terroir'? Set, for themost part, in a Québec village during the1860's and after, Jeannotte's novel tellsthe story of Marie-Claire whose fatherforbids her to marry her love Adhémarat the age of fifteen. She moves west withher motherless family, writes letters to herlover (they are lost), he writes letters toher (they too are lost), she returns thirteenyears later to find — surprise ! — Adhémarmarried, although (as he deserves)miserably so. The narrative contains numerousregionalist terms and syntacticpeculiarities painstakingly glossed in footnotes,in the best tradition of the kind offolkloric writing the writers of the QuietRevolution objected so strongly to. Thebook is out of time and out of place,without being able to claim the savinggrace of parody.No greater contrast could be imaginedto the two novels reviewed above thanAndré Vanasse's La Saga des Lagacé. Afirst novel, La Saga is an intelligent,amusing fantasy, very much a literary —that is, allusive — narrative that remindsone of Vanasse's usual occupation as acritic. The Lagacé clan, consisting offather Samuel, mother Rose-Aimée, andtheir children Alexis, Bertrand, Cybèle,and Emile, live in a house as eccentric inlooks as its inhabitants are in behaviour.Gaston Bachelard's spirit seems to hoverover scenes describing Samuel all but destroyinghis family's domestic life bythrowing everything — furniture, houseware,and the baby — out of the window,the same Samuel building a mushroomshapedtower for his writer-son Emile (alatter-day Nelligan), and green-eyed Cybèleascending her very own staircase toher room.As the house provides a precariouslystable frame for the Lagacé family to livein, the clan itself maintains a modicumof bourgeois respectability in their retiringmother, a nun manquee, and in Alexis,a wealthy dealer in men's ties. Both, however,are helpless against the more eccentricmembers of the family, like Bertrandwho melts down his mother's jewellery,almost blows up the house, and gets hisrich brother to finance his schemes. Bertrandis fascinated with water (anotherBachelardian phenomenon), perhaps themost appropriate medium for the Lagacés'samorphous world; among hismore spectacular (if imagined) feats isthe conversion of all water supplied byHydro-Québec into oxygen. All of Bertrand'sprojects come to nothing, however;despairing, he drowns himself byjumping off a bridge. Cybèle, his sister,seems more successful. Her liquid eyes132

BOOKS IN REVIEWopen into an entrance to a phantasmagoricnot a scientific world ; her iris drawsthose who look at her into their personaland collective past and sends them onjourneys through their body molecules.Emile, the writer, maintains a tellinglytentative connection with "reality," bypeeping through the cracks in his floorand fantasizing wildly about Cybèle'sbody. From Emile's perspective, La Sagades Lagacê may be read as an allegory ofa writer's situation in Québec, perchedprecariously atop his country's changingtraditions and waiting for the birth of itsidentity in the shape of Cybèle's sexlesschild.Although Vanasse's themes are notmuch more original than Fournier's (notto mention Jeannotte's), his presentationof them is sufficiently so. Literary echoesare treated with sophistication and criticaldistance; oscillating between metaphorand metonymy, they are releasedfrom their status as cliché. If the novelsreviewed above can be considered at allindicative of fiction-writing in Québec atthe moment, one may well ask oneselfwhether the realist novel has become animpossibility there, objectionable becauseit confirms a split between form and contentno longer legitimate since the moment(in the words with which Vanasseconcludes his novel) "où le Québec faisaitson entrée dans le règne du Scorpion."DE LA CHALEURA L'ENFEREVA-MARIE KROLLERLOUIS CARÓN, Le Canard de bois. Boréal Express,$12.95.JACQUES BENOÎT, Gisèle et le serpent. LibreExpression, $12.50.Le Canard de bois est le premier volumed'un triptyque qui a pour titre "Les Filsde la Liberté," série romanesque dontl'action se situe à l'époque des Patriotes.Déjà dans L'emmitouflé, Louis Caronfaisait un parallèle entre deux personnageset deux époques. Toutefois, dansL'emmitouflé, le narrateur se contentaitde s'identifier à son oncle, sans entrerdans des détails sur ses expériences personnelles.Dans Le Canard de bois, lerécit des aventures de Hyacinthe Bellerose,en 1837, et celui de l'initiation à lavie de Bruno Bellerose, son arrière-petitfils,en 1935, s'entrecoupent d'un bout àl'autre de l'ouvrage. A mesure que Hyacinthese libère du passé pour s'engagerdans le présent, Bruno vainc une à uneses multiples peurs — peur de la nuit,peur du patron, peur de compagnonsbrutaux, peur de la femme, peur de lamort —• et devient un homme. Malheureusement,l'adolescent ne réussit pas ànous émouvoir autant que Hyacinthe etles personnages si vivants qui gravitentautour de lui. Le monde de Bruno et ceuxqui le peuplent sont moins intéressants,moins convaincants. Caron l'a sans doutesenti puisqu'il accorde moins de place auxaventures de Bruno qu'à celles de Hyacinthe.Et si la structure du roman en estquelque peu déséquilibrée, il ne faut pastrop s'en plaindre, car c'est toujours àregret que l'on quitte Hyacinthe, ses alliéset même ses ennemis pour revenir àBruno et à ses frayeurs d'adolescent.Malgré ses inégalités, Le Canard debois est un beau, un très beau roman,sans doute le plus émouvant que l'on aitjamais écrit sur les événements de 1837.Bien qu'il déclare avoir dépouillé des"piles d'ouvrages" sur l'époque, l'auteurdit aussi qu'il ne vise pas à faire oeuvred'historien ni à servir de cause politique.L'être qui l'intéresse c'estle citoyen obscur qui tient la fourche, lafaux ou le bâton, qui a faim, qui a froid, quin'a pas dormi depuis des jours et qui n'aqu'une bien vague notion de l'aventure parfaitementillégale dans laquelle il s'est laisséentraîner au nom de la justice même.133

BOOKS IN REVIEWTel est Hyacinthe Bellerose. Parti, pleind'ardeur pour les Bois Francs avec sajeune femme, Flavie, il revient dans sonvillage, le coeur brisé. Sur une traîne, ilramène le cadavre de Flavie, tuée par lecholéra. La terre, sur laquelle il a trimépendant cinq ans, à été cédée à la BritishAmerican Land parce qu'il n'a pu payerles redevances exigées. Tout ce qui luireste est un petit Irlandais que sa femmeet lui ont adopté pour remplacer leurenfant mort-né. Hyacinthe est mal reçuau village où l'amour de Flavie lui a faitdes ennemis. Ils se sont d'ailleurs mariéssans le consentement de leurs parents oudu curé en se déclarant mari et femme aucours d'une messe. D'autre part, abrutipar trop de souffrances, Hyacinthe neseconde guère son père et ses frères quipeinent du matin au soir sans parvenir àpayer le cens au seigneur anglais. Ils sontexploités par Smith, le marchand anglais,qui leur paye un prix dérisoire le boisdont ils ont eux-mêmes besoins et la glacequ'ils découpent péniblement à même lefleuve. De crainte de perdre leur terre etd'être chassés de leur maison, les paysansse soumettent. Mais Hyacinthe est d'uneautre trempe. Il refuse de courber l'échinédevant les maîtres anglais et leurs acolytes,dont le notaire et le curé sont les plusdévoués. Il trouve d'ailleurs une alliée enMarie Moitié. La belle Métisse, courageuseet généreuse, finira par prendre laplace de Flavie dans le coeur de Hyacinthe.Lorsqu'il a fini de sculpter lecanard de bois — celui dont Bruno mériterad'hériter, lorsqu'il aura surmonté sapeur — il est libéré de l'emprise de lamorte de devient l'amant de Marie, à quiil offre le canard. En même temps, ilprend la défense des victimes de l'injusticeet de l'arrogance anglaises. Ainsi, cethomme qui ne se mêle pas de politique,qui n'y comprend d'ailleurs goutte, prendra,malgré lui, une part active auxévénements de 1837, lorsqu'il verra lessiens dépossédés de leur terre et chassésde leur demeure. Hyacinthe Bellerose nese révolte pas contre un régime; il serebelle contre toute forme d'injustice,fût-elle divine.Plusieurs facteurs contribuent à la réussitede ce roman grouillant de vie. LouisCaron possède à fond l'art de conter:aucune fausse note dans ce style simple etdirect qui va droit au but. Partout, le tonest juste, qu'il s'agisse de description oude dialogues. Mais c'est surtout dans lapeinture des personnages que l'auteurexcelle. Hyacinthe et Marie sont criantsde vérité; ceux qui les entourent, mêmes'ils ne jouent qu'un rôle effacé, sont aussiprofondément humains. D'ailleurs, il n'ya guère de méchants dans Le Canard debois. Même le seigneur Cantlie et sonhomme d'affaires, le notaire Plessis, nesont pas dépourvus de sensibilité. Sansdoute l'abbé Mailloux fait-il beaucoup demal, mais c'est qu'il est ignorant et qu'ila peur. Car si les méchants sont raresdans le roman, en revanche, les faibles ysont légion: c'est la peur qui fait que depauvres êtres se soumettent, sans se rebeller,aux pires injustices et souvent,c'est aussi la peur qui pousse les maîtres àcommettre ces mêmes injustices.Louis Caron a voulu offrir à son lecteur"un bouquet d'humanité" et il y a certesréussi. La sympathie qu'il ressent pour sespersonnages est communicative: il sedégage du Canard de bois une profondechaleur humaine.Dans Gisèle et le serpent, en revanche,il s'agit plutôt de chaleur démoniaque.Jacque Benoit a toujours eu le goût despersonnages bizarres et des situations insolites.Dès Jos Carbone, il peignait desêtres mystérieux, apparemment sanspassé, vivant au fond des bois et esclavesd'instincts brutaux. Mais il réussissait àrendre ces personnages étranges à la foisconvaincants et émouvants. Dans Gisèleet le serpent, il outrepasse les bornes. Sansdoute ne cherche-t-il pas à raconter unehistoire vraisemblable; en fait, une atmos-

BOOKS IN REVIEWphère de rêve, ou plutôt de cauchemar,règne à travers tout le roman. Sur lacouverture du livre, nous lisons d'ailleursque Gisèle est née d'un rêve qu'a faitBenoit :L'héroïne en était une femme et il lui arrivaitune de ces aventures comme il ne s'envoit que dans les rêves. Je décidai de luifaire quitter le monde d'où elle était issuepour le faire entrer dans la réalité. Je labaptisai Gisèle, et aussitôt elle se mit àvivre à mes côtés. . . . Dangereuse et fascinantecomme toutes les femmes, imprévisible,capable de tout. Un vrai serpent.Et il est vrai qu'au début du roman, lamystérieuse Gisèle est captivante. Oncomprend que le docteur Rabouin soittombé amoureux d'elle. Mais elle a de sidéplorables fréquentations qu'on cessebientôt d'être fasciné. Car Gisèle est éprised'un serpent nommé Tournoukriel —Toutou pour les intimes. Freud n'étantjamais bien loin lorsqu'il est question deserpents, Toutou remplace avantageusementun mari peu ardent. Après tout, siun ours peut procurer l'extase (cf. MarianEngel), pourquoi pas un serpent? Maiscontrairement à ses confrères reptiliens,Tournoukriel n'est pas un simple suppôtde Satan; il est le diable en personne.Grâce à lui, Gisèle acquiert le don d'ubiquitéet la faculté de se transformer en"rampante bête." Ainsi, elle voit tout, elleentend tout et se hâte d'envenimer — c'estle cas de le dire — tout ce qu'elle a apprisafin de pourvoir mieux nuire à son entourage.Engagée par Radio Canada, elleobtient toutes les promotions rêvées pourelle et pour ses amants, car Tournoukrielne suffit pas à la brûlante Gisèle. Elleconfie ses expériences à un cahier noirmystérieusement tombé entre les mains deRabouin. Après une série d'aventures"diaboliques," le malheureux médecin sevoit forcé de devenir l'assistant du docteurBarbin, alias Tournoukriel, le démonn'en étant pas à une transformation près.Ce ne sont pas non plus les idées sinistresqui lui font défaut; les malheureux patientsqui ont l'imprudence de le consultersubissent d'atroces opérations dont ils seréveillent l'oreille à la place du nez, lesjambes à la place des bras, ou victimesd'autres changements de cette espèce.Après les expériences les plus abracadabrantesle héros parvient à s'extriquer del'emprise des démons et le roman se terminede façon heureuse — il s'agit aprèstout, d'un ouvrage humoristique — et inattendue.On ne peut certes reprocher à JacquesBenoit de manquer d'imagination; peutêtre,justement, en a-t-il un peu trop. Ilest vrai que la démonologie est dans levent; mais même les fantaisies démoniaquesdevraient avoir des limites. Sansdoute le roman montre-t-il que, si lesentreprises du diable réussissent bien icibas,c'est qu'il trouve parmi les hommesun terrain propice. Celui de Radio Canada,selon l'auteur, convient tout spécialementaux exploits de Tournoukriel, quisemble aussi se sentir à l'aise parmi lesmédecins. Mais l'auteur n'aurait certainementpas inventé une histoire aussi absurdedans le seul but de décocher quelquesflèches. Il est probable qu'il cherchetout simplement à s'amuser et à amuser lelecteur. Et le roman contient, à l'occassion,des passages désopilants. Mais, engénéral, on n'a nulle envie de rire detoutes ces aventures morbides racontéesavec un détachement voisin du cynisme.Que Gisèle, déguisée en serpent, viennesemer la panique parmi des gens compassés,voilà qui peut prêter à rire, maisla souffrance physique, la maladie, lesuicide et la mort n'amusent guère que lessadiques. Benoit cherche à être drôle àtout prix, et c'est là un excellent moyende cesser de l'être. La vulgarité et le mauvaisgoût ne sont jamais excusables, et ily a dans Gisèle et le serpent beaucoup devulgarité et beaucoup de mauvais goût.Peut-être est-il des rêves qu'il voudraitmieux garder pour soi.p. COLLET

BOOKS IN REVIEWWRITING ABOUTWRITINGDAVID STAINESJ ed., The Callaghan Symposium.Univ. of Ottawa Press, $6.00.KEN MITCHELL, Sinclair Ross: A Reader'sGuide. Coteau Books, $7.00.DOUGLAS DAYMOND and LESLIE MONKMAN, eds.,Canadian Novelists and the Novel. Borealis,$23.95; pa. $15.95.The Callaghan Symposium is part of the"Re-Appraisals : Canadian Writers" seriesheld at the University of Ottawa eachyear, and is the outcome of the university'sseventh annual symposium on April24-25, 1980. The yearly fest has alreadygiven us valuable volumes on Grove,Klein, Lampman, Pratt, Crawford, andD. C. Scott; the Morley Callaghan collectionmight even be better.Unfortunately, it starts off badly. Althougheditor David Staines's introductionis competent, despite its overestimationof Callaghan's influence on youngerwriters, the first essay by Leon Edel,"Literature and Journalism: The VisibleBoundaries," is a chatty ramble. Edel doesmake some pointed remarks about theanti-intellectualism of the press, but doesnot give the young Callaghan enoughcredit for consciously choosing (as opposedto being brainwashed by Hemingwayor indoctrinated by the Star) hisfine, skeletal style.David Aaron's "Morley Callaghan andthe Great Depression," Patricia Morley's"Magician and Illusionist," and BarryCameron's "Rhetorical Tradition and theAmbiguity of Callaghan's Narrative Rhetoric,"are by contrast well-researched andfor the most part solid papers. Aaronnotes Callaghan's concern for the individual— not "social types" — and providesan interesting discussion of Such IsMy Beloved, Miss Lonelyhearts, andHeaven's My Destination in arguing Callaghan'saversion to easy Marxist answers.Morley looks at Callaghan's novels of theseventies — an area where more workneeds to be done — and offers someshrewd insights into the much underratedA Fine and Private Place. In a very scholarlyfashion, Cameron argues that Callaghan'sfictions are in fact parables,though perhaps doing an injustice to thecomplexity of Callaghan's characters; forCameron they are simply "principles ofbehavior."The real gems in the collection belongto Ray Ellenwood, Barbara Godard, andespecially Larry McDonald. Ellenwood'sunlikely "Morley Callaghan, JacquesFerron, and the Dialectic of Good andEvil" is one of those papers which is actuallyinteresting to read from beginningto end. Taking note of their obvious differences,Ellenwood proceeds to point outreally striking similarities between Callaghanand Ferron in both Catholic visionand symbolism, concluding that Dantemight be a more productive approach toCallaghan than Hemingway. Godard's"Across Frontiers : Callaghan in French"(added after the symposium) is a painstakingexposé of Callaghan's frequentmisrepresentation — in style, emphasis,even tense — by translators seeking to addto or interpret the text. McDonald's "TheCivilized Ego and its Discontents : A NewApproach to Callaghan," destroys manyof the hackneyed myths about Callaghan'swork and solidly locates him as a modernwriter who is alive to the discoveries ofFreud and Darwin, sensitive to social injustice,and perhaps more influenced byMencken than by Jacques Maritain.The panel discussion with GlennClever, Brandon Conron (whose observationsare always insightful), Donald Stephens,and David Helwig is enlivened bya number of Helwig's candid remarksabout how bad he thinks Callaghan is asa writer. The Callaghan Symposium isconcluded with David Staines's helpfulbibliography of Callaghan's publications,although Staines might have been more136

BOOKS IN REVIEWemphatic in recommending David Latham'sexcellent "A Callaghan Log," publishedin the Spring 1980 Journal ofCanadian Studies.Ken Mitchell's Sinclair Ross: A Reader'sGuide is a difficult book to make out.Certainly the lucidity of its prose is refreshing,which results in the plot summariesbeing very good reads. The lackof a more disciplined approach, however,is also the book's most glaring weakness.It is not enough that Mitchell is quicklygiven to hyperbole ("giant," "astonishing,""No one has yet come so close todivining the truth at the centre of prairielife"), but his plot summaries are rarelymore than that : rehashing in abbreviatedform what Ross has done better in theoriginal. Particularly disturbing is Mitchell'sannouncement on the second pageof the introduction that we should lookup Lorraine McMullen's text on Ross ifwe want an "excellent" scholarly analysis.Mitchell explains, "This book is for amore general audience, one which maybe only vaguely aware that the Canadianplains have produced in James SinclairRoss a literary artist of international stature."But two questions immediatelyarise : ( 1 ) who in a "general audience"would possibly buy a book on SinclairRoss? — it's not exactly vacation reading;and (2) is Ross's work so voluminousand/or complex that a Reader's Guideis necessary?If we leave these questions aside andlook at the book on Mitchell's terms, wefind he is not always faithful to his ownpurpose. With As For Me and My HouseMitchell leaves his safe insights behind toindulge in a little scholarly speculation.He argues that Mrs. Bentley is a gooddeal bitchier than even the conventionalview would have her, and that Philip isnot so much the ineffectual dotard he soclearly seems to be, but a tragically henpecked,frustrated artist who deserves thebulk of our sympathy. Mitchell is quiteright to draw our attention to the occasionalunreliability of the narration, butit shouldn't take a feminist to point outthe obvious: Mrs. Bentley has sacrificedher own art in order to worry over andpamper a husband incessantly given tosulking; she has been made to feel guiltybecause Philip is too immature to acceptresponsibility for his own decisions andactions; and, lastly, she loves the manenough to adopt his own out-of-wedlockson with the incredibly naive hope thatthis plus a change in scene will improvetheir marriage. If anything, she might bebetter advised to get out of the relationshipwhile she can. Fortunately, SinclairRoss: A Reader's Guide concludes withtwo of Ross's own stories, "No OtherWay" and "Spike."Douglas Daymond and Leslie Monkmanhave put together a very intriguingcollection in Canadian Novelists and theNovel. Bringing to the task a wide readingin Canadian Literature, already reflectedin their two-volume anthology, Literaturein Canada (1978), Daymond and Monkmanhave assembled "a selection of viewsby major English-Canadian novelists ofthe last one hundred and fifty years concerningthe theory and practice of theirart." The result is very good. The book isdivided into five sections: The Pre-Confederation Novel, The Novel in theNew Dominion, The Rise of Realism,Regionalism and Nationalism, and TheContemporary Novel. The last sectionmight have been more interestingly dividedinto the contemporary and postmodernistnovel, but there is a bonus ofsorts in that each section is spiced withan essay by the leading critic (accordingto the editors) of the period.The result is a collection full of surprises—how early the call for a nativeliterature began, how good William ArthurDeacon and Desmond Pacey reallycould be — as well as things we havecome to expect from our best writers:137

BOOKS IN REVIEWinsight, ironic humour, and complaintsabout lack of recognition and royalties.Of course, everyone will quibble overwho's in and who's been left out — by myown count at least eight could be droppedand a Melville or Twain wouldn't havehurt the nineteenth century — but thebook as a whole is large in its breadth,entertaining in its reading, and helpfulfor anyone interested in an insider's viewof the development of Canadian Literature.It is regrettable that the text hasnot been better produced — the cover isunimaginative, one page is missing, andthe paper could be upgraded — becausethe content is well worthy of it.SANEST INSANITYDAVID O'ROURKEHEATHER CADSBY, Traditions. Fiddlehead, n.p.A. F. MORITZ, Black Orchid. Dreadnaught,$5-95-CHRISTOPHER WISEMAN, The Upper Hand.Enitharmon/NeWest, $10.95; pa. $5.95.ERIN MOURE, The Whisky Vigil. Harbour,$3-95-том WAYMAN, The Nobel Prize AcceptanceSpeech. Thistledown, $14.00; pa. $6.95.HEATHER CADSBY'S FIRST BOOK, Traditions,is one of technique applied to truth.She is a poet who holds with no school orfashion. Her perceptions are individual,often unexpected, both uncomfortableand heartening. In particular poems,Gadsby has an acute ear for the conversationalphrase that rings through like arefrain. There is, as well, a narrative interestin Traditions. You read the booksomewhat like biography, because yousniff immediately that real life exists betweenthe covers, transformed yes, butstill recognizable. Blood beats and nervesflutter. As reader, you are invited to interactand identify.Cadsby lets personal pain through;though she can be full of self-irony, shedoesn't let it obliterate intimate disappointment."At a Party" has the womandressed like "boiling understatement,"playing "a question machine" because"It's my main means," and finally heading"for the safety of bores." This poettraps the stinging inadequacies of socialintercourse and pins them like Prufrockwriggling on a wall : "I'm prepared to killsomeone / but I might make a friend."Since Gadsby's needlepoint screen is ofthe ordinary (if not plainly) domestic lifeand since her technique is not a pyrotechnicalone, it can fall flat. The risk isendemic. However, most poems pulsatequietly, revealingly. "Stones" is a gift of apoem, about a daughter who saves pebbles,treasures "as closed as she is," arrangingthem around her "like a fortressto keep out fate." The sympathy betweenmother and child is full of knowledge andunderstanding — a twinge of regret, asigh of acceptance.Nevertheless, Gadsby is not simply apoet of gentle gestures. Her poems oftenharden at the edge with anger and frustration.The signature piece might wellbe "Hungers": "Dull things hidden inunderbrush / mysteries that nudge andfidget"; or "The Savage Tradition" inwhich the freezer's contents become "Awhole week cold as ice."On quite a different poetic dimension,although with the same potential for concern,is A. F. Moritz's Black Orchid. ForMoritz, poetry is pure: "The word mostnearly approaches its own reality." Thenature of poetry is not so much informationas sacramental," maintains the poet.If Cadsby's poems breathe biography,Moritz's glow prophetically. His work isboth personal and visionary. The book'sIntroduction and Afterword provide acontext both necessary and deserved forMoritz's "pure image" explorations. He isafter "the perfect metaphor that cantemporarily substitute for heaven"; hesucceeds in taking "the insufficient ma-138

BOOKS IN REVIEWterials of the physical world" to "literallyremake them into something numinous."According to Moritz, the poet must retrievethe phenomenal and the personalworld from an insidiously seductive technologicalenvironment that is moving rapidlyfrom the peripheries to the centre ofour culture. Because poetry proceedsthrough "experiencing and testing experience,"it can accept no second-handformulation." Moritz's poetry, difficultand beautiful as it is, justifies this seriousmoral and philosophical questing throughthe deadly attractions of modern life.In his uncompromising work, there isthe huge tremor of Blake. The best onecan do is to quote a few of his positions.From "Fields in the Grass" :the light comes herenot as a way but as a hand that gentlypresses the body back in the grass,slips as heat through the skin. . . .Often, there is the uncanny shock of recognition,as in "Modern Love," a phenomenon"so refining / its heat drifts farfrom the fire." Moritz can be a torturedRomantic in the manner of DylanThomas. Again from "Fields in the Air"and its cloud eulogies, we read : "And theyoung gods / would return from the boilingloam as crystal flowers / the firstwarm day, when the fountains are turnedon." Yet his sensuality can be precise onan icy grasp. From "Ulysses en Route,"we are made to feel the sun "falling likea drop of lead into the brain." In onemood poem, Moritz immortalizes thecharacter of annual dejection : "Februarywas my mentor in misery, / that hollowpamphlet from yellow skies, / basin ofdead sparrows."Christopher Wiseman's The UpperHand is a reticent book which emerges,one feels, from a reticent sensibility. Mostof the poems seem born of return — to aplace of former life, in this case, England.No longer green and scepter'd, the isle, apoint of generation, has also become thefocus of tense, restrained resolution. In"Flamborough Head," the mind, though"starved and landlocked," survives. Cemeteriesand memories of war are visitedand revisited with numbing emotion. It'sas though, like a tied cottage, the poetcannot detach his own life from the greatpresences of earth and stone so pregnantwith personal and global history. Thoseof us who are British-born will recognizethe dilemma. We find ourselves full offeeling, but silenced because there is toomuch to say, and we know it has all beensaid.High on Devon cliffs with his mother,the poet is strong, "first born," whereasall too frequently, the quality (thoughoften subtly exquisite, as in "Rivaulx Abbey")is infected by a quiet melancholy,the premature disappointment surroundingthe stillborn. You expect more, sincefine craft and genuine perceptionsabound, but the poems are too predictable,still half buried and yearning forrelease. In a sense, lack of opportunity isWiseman's theme. Where is the illumination,the transformation that should bewaiting like some prize at the end of acontest? When Wiseman does find theright switch, he can both soar and dive.In "The Field," man tells boy how hewitnessed the Lysander's crash that killedtwo men. When son asks where the holeis, the poem answers :I drive on,hunched tightly aroundthat scarred place inside me,cratered, still smoking,that I can never show him.Wiseman's vague poetic personalitysprings to life on the sharp rocks of realsubjects; poems like "The Assassin,""Three Journeys From Munich" have anurgency. The poet's character sketches, in"The Major," for instance, are also vivid.Overall, nevertheless, this poet's Englandis a place of unrelieved, nostalgic yearning.139

BOOKS IN REVIEWErin Mouré's The Whisky Vigil, whilenot quite written in an alcoholic stupor,is as her publisher puts it "organizedaround that theme." A character movesthrough geography; reads a letter "overand over in different parts of the room,as if / that could make you speaklouder"; becomes alternately Jekyll andHyde. Although there is an astute sensitivityat work to make these poems, theexperience from which they derive maybe too limited, too pathetic for anythingbut its own stubborn, untranslatable reality.There are moments of unrelentinganguish: "she has no more sentences, /she puts her fingers, blunt hammers, intothe twisted lonely / holes of trees." Yetsuch lines as "The traffic spins thru her"or "Her whiskey rattles in her arms" cantake you only so far. The process seemssad and futile, if not lugubrious — wrappinga coffin in Christmas paper. One ortwo poems become valiant, even visionary."Whisky" puts much into perspective:"Your head a stone dull and uncut... The old rope of / fatigue tied thruyou." So does "Tricks," with its awfulemptiness : "I feel I am in the world andthere is no god in it with me." Over awhole book, however, the subject provestoo maudlin for the art to redeem.Tom Wayman's Nobel Prize AcceptanceSpeech is a selection of the poet'sbest wry observations on the doings of oneirresistible Wayman, "the lovable everyman...who is caught up in the complexitiesand absurdities of an ordinaryworld." His poems shower charm as generouslyand gently as April, while reapingthe full advantage of the picaresque inbemusement and curiosity, coaxed slylyforward. With coy graphics and straightcaptions, we follow Wayman through thevicissitudes of love and work and travel torealize that a little bit of him lurks teasinglyin most of us, rendering a literarylife the sanest insanity of them all.140PATRICIA KEENEY SMITHIN MINOR KEYPAMELA BANTING, Running Into the Open.Turnstone, n.p.BRIAN BARTLETT, Cattail Week. Villeneuve,n.p.ENDRE FARRAS, From Here To Here. TheMuses' Company, $4.00.ORÍN MANiTT, Adam 2000. Broken Images, n.p.MARY MELFi, A Queen is Holding a MummifiedCat. Guernica Editions, n.p.A. F. MORITZ, Signs and Certainties. Villeneuve,n.p.GEORGE MORRissETTE, Finding Mom at Eaton's.Turnstone, $4.00.ROBYN SARAH, The Space Between Sleep andWaking. Villeneuve, n.p.KENNETH SHERMAN, The Cost of Living.Mosaic Press/Valley Editions, $5.95.ANDREW WREGGITT, Riding to NicolaCountry.Harbour, $3.95.IN HIS INTRODUCTORY NOTE to CanadianPoets 1960-1973, a listing of poetry publishedover a period of slightly more thana decade, George Woodcock notes the absenceof "the high craftsmanly standardsof earlier small presses" and then acknowledgesthe "surprisingly large proportion"of very good verse. The presentgathering of ten volumes, several by poetswho have published previous collections,suggests a significant improvement in thequality of production and design by smallpresses and offers a broad range of poetrywhich is, for the most part, neither abysmallybad nor startlingly good.Kenneth Sherman's The Cost of Livingis among the most interesting and promisingof these collections. Although his controlover his material is uneven in places,and although several poems seem to lacksharp focus and imaginative intensity,Sherman's best work reveals an effectivebalance of sense and sensibility as well asa disciplined and unpretentious use oflanguage. Some of the most compellingand precise poems in this collection offerfresh perspectives on figures and motifsfrom the Old Testament — "How the

BOOKS IN REVIEWSnake Got Shafted," "Cain," "Joseph" —or focus attention on the Holocaust as in"Gutenberg" :In the beginning was Gutenbergyet the words have brought us hereto this godless gatewhere the chimneys' tongueslap sense from the sky.These lines from "Lot's Wife" revealsomething of the vivid and direct qualityof Sherman's style :Do not look backwoman without a name.Do not look backto where the souls curl quicklike scorched leaveslike witch's shoesupon the jealous tongues of flames.Andrew Wreggitt's Riding to NicolaCountry concentrates on the social landscapeof British Columbia's southern Interior— "an Indian woman / with anunborn child," mineworkers "Bandagedlike mummies in greasy work clothes,""Cowboys easing down to small townbars," "Jeanne, the retarded girl / aloneagainst the wall of a country bar," theworkers "Slashing trees for the power line/ a knife-cut through bush," and WhiskeyBill, "a clever drunk / immune to disease/ the fists of policemen." Despair, violence,and physical or mental suffering arefrequent themes here, and there is perhapstoo little variation in tone. Thebest poems develop effortlessly through acareful accumulation of details towardconclusions frequently open-ended andresonant. Among the most precise andengaging of these poems are a series oflyrics based on the violent exploits of thenotorious McLean Brothers. The sequenceends with these lines:Hands behind backsfingers tightening to triggersa memory of soothing metalgathering thick in fistsHanging from a webof January skygaunt bellies tightknotted with dreams of revenge.The poems and prose pieces of MaryMelfi's A Queen Is Holding a MummifiedCat are imaginative and surrealistic,employing arresting images and strikingjuxtapositions. Melfi displays an intenselyprivate imagination and frequently createsa off-from-reality sensation. Herweakest poems strain toward the unusualand falter amidst broken rhythms andprosaic phrasing. Her best poems developeasily, offer satisfying surprises, and reveala deeply felt sense of alienation andisolation. "On My Raft" suggests the illusive,dreamlike and unpredictable qualitiesof her work:On my raftI used the arms of a mannikinto push myself onwards.But then my distinctiontook on the shape of a catIt sits in the bathtub andoccasionally bleeds for Miss So and so.The Space Between Sleep and Wakingby Robyn Sarah is a slim volume of generallyquiet and reflective lyrics that rangesomewhat unevenly from a gentle yet persuasiveevocation of a housewife's senseof loneliness and lost opportunity in"Maintenance" —And it's theother one, the one called maintenance,I mostly am shouting about.I mean the day-to-day,that bogs the mind, voice, handswith things you couldn't call poems.I mean the thread that breaks.The dust betweentypewriter keys— to the jarring, banal, and too personallines of "Two Sisters" : "Her sister. Comeall this way and / will go again. Soon.The expense, for / so short a visit." Shallowand trite lines mar a number of thesepoems, but, at her best, Sarah offersflashes of insight with concrete and uncontrivedimages and simple detail as inthe six lyrics of "The Cyclist RecoversHis Cadence" :141

BOOKS IN REVIEWSomewhere a bicycle wheelspins on, up-ended,and though you know the trickthat's kept it going, its oil-smoothtickticktick still calibratesthe space between sleep and waking.Many poems in A. F. Moritz's Signsand Certainties reveal an unsettling uniformityof tone, but this is largely offsetby the variety of subject-matter, Moritz'sgenerally clear grasp of rhythm, and theapparent effortlessness with which hemanages familiar images in poems suchas "Views":This huge tree: sleepingagainst its truck, we thoughtthe stars were its distant berries,the sky its foliage, the sun and moona pair of mating birdswho wove a monotonous chaseof courtship through its limbs.On occasion a diffuseness intrudes onthese poems, and "Signs and Certainties"reveals the tendency to dissolve into adisappointing flatness :But if poor in fruitshe spreads herself with leavesand covers the ground with shadows deeperthan black water, then the straw —nothing but chaff — will be poundedon the floor with no result.Despite such lapses, there are interestingand intricate poems in this collection, andMoritz reveals a distinct voice whichshows promise of further accomplishment.Brian Bartlett's Cattail Week and PamelaBanting's Running Into the Openshare a sensitive awareness of nature aswell as a capacity for spare and controlledlines and a concern for visual clarity. Bothcollections, however, are uneven, andmany poems lack a consistent imaginativeintensity and rhythmic tension. In"Among the Rows at Seven P.M." Bartlett'sstyle is lean and direct —kneeling in half-light I touchtangled roots and weeds,worms multiplied by a spade,bones of forgotten horses— and "In Memory of George FrederickClarke" demonstrates restraint and carein the development of tone and image :Birchbark canoes in his attic were whitedreams.Spearheads, hatchets and stone bowlsglimmered under dusted glass.Unfortunately, these features are not alwayssustained throughout a poem, andtoo often, as in "Ribbons of Bark"("Crimson woodpeckers, none leaders,none led, / knock from your final forestnervously") or "Swamp to Swamp"("Now in clanging banging darkness /sudden frog voices ring"), his poems lapseinto overstatement and prosaic flatness orsuddenly jar with dull images and clumsylines.Pamela Banting's poetry offers a pleasingvariety of subjects and reveals considerablepromise, but her writing is at timesquite rudimentary and needs more consistentand careful tuning. The poems inRunning Into the Open range from themoderately pleasing to the plainly mediocre.These lines from "Old Man in theGarden" suggest the flat and awkwardsyntax that is one of her major weaknesses:Every three days he pumpswater from the river nextmorning he and the hoeare at it againA number of Banting's poems emphasizeher engagement with and response to theprairie environment, and in her most successfulworks such as "The Awakening"and a sequence entitled "The Erotics ofSpace" natural imagery and stripped syntaxare effectively combined to expressdeeply felt emotion :beautiful man — who —strides — across — earth — sky —and — mountain, dancegreen on the earth with me.A similar tautness and simplicity appearsin "Clouds," a poem which perhaps hints142

BOOKS IN REVIEWat this poet's only partly successful strugglewith her craft:Clouds like bits of albumenthread the skysuspend sky in placefor awhileand Iclumsy astronomer using spread —eagled words like caliperscan get a fix on it.Endre Farkas' From Here to Hereis the most obviously avant-garde and experimentalof these collections. This selectionranges from conventional lyrics tostanzas of prose and works reflecting theinfluence of sound and concrete poetry.Energy and wit are prominent features ofFarkas's style although his effects at timesseem forced or too consciously unconventionaland contrived. Some poems lackadequate discipline and rely too heavilyon repetition and simplistic contrasts, butthe strengths frequently outweigh theweaknesses, and this poetry taken as awhole reveals a refreshing range of skillsand a kind of vitality apparent in theselines from "That Midnight Jazz":О listen!hear the kicking into that midnight jazzingthe drive/the drive/like thighsthe drivethe life in roominghouse riddles glistenimprovisingbeboppingOrin Manitt's Adam 2000 and GeorgeMorrissette's Finding Mom at Eaton's arethe least satisfying of these collectionsdespite the obvious sincerity of their emotionalcontent. Manitt's twenty lyrics areaccompanied by a tedious and pretentiousintroduction (not, incidentally by Manitt),which lavishes praise on the poet andreminds the reader that "the apparentsimplicity of Manitt's poetry obscures thesubtle craftsmanship and superior subtleintelligence displayed at every stage." Infact, there is nothing superior about thesepoems although they do reveal a concernfor tone and an awareness of the importanceof precision and economy in the useof language. Regardless of these and otherpositive features including a mature senseof important themes, there is little that isstriking or memorable in these poems.Much the same can be said of FindingMom at Eaton's, a series of poems recountinga man's search for his naturalparents and, by implication, his past anda portion of his identity. These are extremelypersonal statements, and one feelsa certain intensity and immediacy despitethe flatness of the style; however, thedistancing and transformation necessaryto elevate art beyond life and the merelypersonal have not occurred. Morrissetteemploys a range of forms and rhythms,and the narrative structure is clear, butthese poems do not reveal an adequatecontrol of emotion or language and seldomcreate a sense of depth or resonance.Many distinct voices can be heard inthese volumes, yet none suggests the presenceof a major new talent. Most of thesepoets are capable of satisfying lines orstanzas, and, less frequently, individualpoems that are without significant flaws;however, although several show considerablepromise and a potential for furtherdevelopment of their craft, few provideevidence of a capacity for major poeticachievement. This present assortmentnevertheless emphasizes both the continuingenergy of the little presses as well asthe variety, range, and potential of manyof the poets they are committed to publishing.Tu—ODOUGLAS DAYMOND143

BOOKS IN REVIEWPARNASSUSCLEARANCEKEN NORRIS, To Sleep, To Love. GuernicaEditions, n.p.PETER STEVENS, Coming Back. Sesame, n.p.GLEN DEER, Excuses for Archery. Longspoon,$7.00.EUGENE MAC ÑAMARA, Forcing the Field. Sesame,n.p.DON KERR, A New Improved Sky. CoteauBooks, $5.00.DON DOMANSKi, War in an Empty House.Anansi, $6.95.j. D. CARPENTER, Swimming at Twelve Mile.Penumbra, n.p.ALL SIGNS INDICATE that this country nowhas the heaviest concentration of poetsthe world has yet seen. The greatest blessingto some of them has been findingagencies like the Canada Council whichget them on their feet, so to speak — outand about and into print. Gone are thedays, apparently, when poets could beborn to blush unseen. Meanwhile, backat the little magazines, slim volumes forreview have been really piling up. Andthe worst thing that can befall them, possibly— short of being totally ignored —is to wind up in a kind of spring clearanceon Parnassus at the tender or not-sotendermercies of some unknown reviewer.This has been the fate of theseven gathered here.Considered as narrative, the pieceswhich form To Sleep, To Love may besaid to tell the story of someone in lovewho suspects at times that he ought notto love, that the facts of his life are notcongenial to it, that his interest in versegets in the way, that his verse will beabout love, unsuccessful love, about theviolent thoughts it stimulates, about thevoid it leaves when the object of it is notthere and so on, around and around alabyrinth of agonizing convolutions andout suddenly with such a chirrapy conclusion("The Birds") that we confirmwhat has been suspected all along: it ishe, not the gods, who has more than aslight addiction to soap opera. Also, thevolume arrives trailing clouds of sweetpuffery from several quarters — Quarryand The Gazette, for instance. Such confectionsnotwithstanding, it would beslack not to explain that its many bromides— "Life is but the way we look atit" ("Mountain Outlook") —are oftenadministered with an imagery — "yourvoice shaped and shaded by the densityof telephone wires" ("You Sound SadTonight"), the leaves swaying "in thebreeze like soft pendulums" ("TheBirds") — which ought to serve as a verystrong reminder that a yearly check-upwith an oculist is not a bad idea.Along with volumes of completely badverse there is also another category — acottage industry practically — with trainingfunctions. Through it a tenderfootpoet is given encouragement and a meansto practise for future developments. Sometimesone wonders whether it is right tofell the forests for this sort of thing. ComingBack, for example, tackles one or twopromising ideas, as in "This Hotel Room"and "Metamorphosis at the ConstructionSite." But the remaining pieces — extremelytedious stuff — almost two dozenof them, draw repeatedly on the same oldbag of effects : moaning, shuddering, pattering,fluttering, scuttling, and thingsthat go clink in the night, scenes sofraught with TV horrors, a worry-wartnarrator so spooked that even a "hangnail'sa cataclysm." Imagery likewise isoverripe, the word choice and observationon which it depends, careless and likely todetach the retina of the mind's eye. Butwhy go on? Simply try bringing theseinto focus : "the buoys / bobbling on theiranchors" ("Driving Through It"), "ankledeep in shards of accusation" ("Thispretty pace"), "its surface / scruffed bypaws prancing" ("Territory"), "smears /of shit like lonely mushrooms" ("No144

BOOKS IN REVIEWPhoenix"), "he [a heron] has waddledawkwardly / through the tall weeds"("Heron Found and Lost").Excuses for Archery is another bookwhich draws substance and manner frompopular TV violence — country and citystyle — although it is at a more advancedembryonic stage than Coming Back. Considerthe words archery and poetry asinterchangeable for a moment and thebook demonstrates that certain mattersare as neatly impaled, occasionally, as onemight expect ("Things Given," "Excusesfor Archery with Grady," and "The sunplays Painter"). In other places, a skeweringtakes place, forced and messy ("Hotyour blood witch-kid, it's snowing," or"A Few pages from Black Mask"). Acomic knack ("In the Plant") and, overall,an aptitude for colloquial lingo — ofthe tough-guy strain — raise expectationsbut in the end illuminate little of significance.Quotations, epigraphs, and other scenesettingparaphernalia serve decorativelymaybe, and as security aids no doubt, butas intensifiers in poetry they ought to beused — if at all — sparingly. Forcing theField is cluttered with them, and this isa shame. Some of the pieces stand up wellwithout them. Others, because of all thecryptic signposts (visual aids — well executed— nuggets from Emerson andKafka and so forth) make for a dishearteninggame, like a paper chase on a windyday.A New Improved Sky is inspired by twothings — a hearty nostalgia for the past,in Saskatoon mainly, and uneasiness aboutnow and what is to come. In both casesthe quality of inspiration is slender,strained and trite, the writer having beenblinded by items like the demolition oflocal landmarks, the minutes of committeemeetings and the compulsion to recastthem in wearisome detail. Several pieces,in fact, would benefit greatly from condensation.But this is not to imply thatthe book is a failure as a cultural record,or a failure of love and sincerity (theseare all too perfectly obvious), but — anage-old problem — a failure to resolve thedifficulty of remaining true to parochialinterests and immediate to the world atlarge. Redeeming lines pop up occasionally("the building has a flat latexstare" — "Edward Hopper's 'Early SundayMorning'") ; surface accuracy andgusto lend fondness and vitality to somepieces ("Fishing lake ball tournament,""Whatever is . . .") — but the content ofthis book, overall, is undernourishing.Together with all the welcome growthof interest in poetry nowadays, therethrives also — particularly among hardshellartsy types — that deadliest of allcancers, the religion of acceptance: thedogma that anything which fails to addup must be poetry. Thus War in anEmpty House descends among us already— in its blurbs — a critical success. Itwould be nice to share the enthusiasm forit, to join those who we learn effervescedover the writer's previous books. It would,indeed, make life easier. But one findssmall consonance between all their fizzand pop and the actual contents of thisparticular commodity. Many of its piecesseem, in fact, merely depictions of eithersome kind of subconscious activity orsome surreal territory where a variety ofverbal wallpaper is unwound, resemblinghere and there Poe-janj--horror, Dr.Suess-iûn^-joy, and Salvador Oa\i-sanshumour.Readers who simply find life alltoo short, and those who prefer theirpoetry to articulate and make comprehensiblewhat emerges from the subconscious,might like to skip this one.What ranks Swimming at Twelve Mileabove the other books examined here isits notably even quality and the poet's —J. D. Carpenter's — eye for striking compositions.There is also resourcefulnesswith techniques and words — but no excess.Big themes like death and life's iron-145

BOOKS IN REVIEWies are examined alongside the small delightsthat abound everywhere. A new lifeof surfaces gives vitality to the book.Readers looking for a bargain should grabthis one.EXTREMESPETER MITCHAMROBERT WEAVER, ed., Small Wonders. GBG,$9-95-MARTIN AVERY, Cottage Gothic. Oberon,$15-95; P a· $7-95-SMALL WONDERS is a collection of twelveshort stories commissioned by the CBG forbroadcast and subsequent publication.Perhaps this fact accounts for their technicalstraightforwardness. These are notexperimental or innovative exercises —although their authors are established andfrequently innovative writers, who musthave been most conscious of the intendedoriginal medium and audience for thestories. While relying on strong narrativelines and dramatic incident for the mostpart, the stories also achieve the economicrealization of character and mood whichis the essence of fine short story writing.Robert Weaver's decision to arrangethe stories in alphabetical order by theauthor's names may exacerbate the patchworkquilt effect of the volume. For example,readers are called upon to makea rather abrupt change of gears if theymove directly into "The Year of the Revolution"by Alden Nowlan after readingJoyce Marshall's "The Case of CassandraDop." Both stories have academic settings,but there similarity ends. The formeris an ironical look at the fate of thoserevolutionaries who occupied administrativeoffices in the cause of social justice inthe late 1960's. Nowlan's satire is, in fact,rather heavy-handed despite some neatthrusts. Professor Rosscoe is the rightwingantagonist of Professor Sandoval(who had the misfortune to marry "justbefore legal marriage became unfashionable"):Professor Sandoval . . . predicted that oneday soon Professor Rosscoe would be hungfrom a lamppost.Professor Rosscoe's disgust at ProfessorSandoval's having said "hung" when heought to have said "hanged" was militatedby his pleasure in the prediction. "He saysthey're going to hang me," he reportedhappily to his wife."Dear me," she said, and went on preparingtheir dinner."Is that all you have to> say?" ProfessorRosscoe said. "The man says he is going tohang me.""Oh, I'm sure the President would neverallow that," she said. "After all, ProfessorSandoval doesn't even have tenure."The contrast between this and "The Caseof Cassandra Dop" is extreme : Marshall'sstory centres on the reaction of a colleagueto the gradual unfolding of thesordid details of Cassandra Dop's murderby her sadistic boy friend. As a policemanquestions her, he reveals a self-loathing inCassandra her colleague dismissed tooeasily. The colleague's reactions progressfrom impatience through shock explanationsfor sudden death (a hit-run driver,an intruder) through horror to exhaustedoutrage at being called upon to deal withidentification of the body and with theknowledge that she failed to recognizeany signs of Cassandra's dangerous distress.The last story in the collection, HelenWeinzweig's "Causation," concerns anothertwisted relationship, but despite thetitle, her characters' motives do not ringas true. Both the virile young piano tunerseeking the easy life and the aging formeropera singer who takes him into her homeare stock characters, playing out an uglygame, but one which is not really interestingto anyone but themselves. On theother hand, both Jane Rule and KentThompson are successful in developingempathy with the central characters oftheir stories which reveal the low-key146

BOOKS IN REVIEWpleasures that relieve life's numbing oppression.Margaret Atwood's "The Sin-Eater" is the richest of these stories in itsoriginality and in its challenge. One wonderswhether listeners were able to comprehendfully the narrator's shifts backwardsand forwards in time and fromreality to dream, but for a reader it is astory to be savoured, read slowly and reread.W. P. Kinsella's "The Night MannyMota Tied the Record" is in the vein ofDeath Takes a Holiday or Heaven CanWait, but set in a baseball stadium wherea fan is offered the chance to take a baseballhero's place in death. Or is he? It issimply good fun to read.As a volume, Small Wonders is not acoherent collection: it is too varied intheme, tone, mood to achieve any sort ofunity. While it may be rather indigestibleif indulged in at one sitting, it is, nevertheless,enjoyable light reading for oddmoments.In contrast, Martin Avery's CottageGothic is an intricately interwoven collectionof seven short stories. In the last threestories, he comments on his perceptions ofhimself as a writer and on the state ofCanadian literature. As he does so, heanswers some of the questions readersmay have asked about the earlier storiesbut raises many more. The result is thatthe reader returns to the beginning of thevolume looking for more clues. An example:In the second story, "Hockey Nightin Canada, Jr.," the narrator describes anencounter with former hockey teammatewhom he calls Hockey Night in Canada,Jr. The hockey hero's fate, mysteriousdeath at 2i 3 after achieving fame as aplayer and corruption by that fame, isrevealed in the last section of a ratherenigmatic story. In "NBSS: The UglyBrothers," the fourth story, the narratoridentifies himself as Hockey Night in Canada,Jr. At this point the reader mutterssomething like, "Why not? They're hisstories. The narrator can be anyone hesays." But in the sixth story, "Winter Carnival,"the narrator contemplates his ownstory published in a journal :It was a first-person story about HockeyNight in Canada, Jr.There is something comforting about astory written in the first person: you knowthe main character, or the narrator, is notgoing to die. There is a lot of death inshort stories. But the teller of the storynever dies. He can't. Who would tell thestory?But the question remains: am I or am Inot, Hockey Night in Canada, Jr?The story in the magazine by MartinAvery is called "Gravenbridge." There isno such place. I cannot remember writingthe story. And yet, here it is with my nameon it. The story is written in the first person.At the end of the story, the narrator dies.It gets very complicated, doesn't it? It'stoo complicated for me. Fiction is a difficultform.In the title story, the narrator sets upa number of "possibilities for violence andcliché" but abruptly ends the story withthe disclaimer,No, cottage gothic is just a regional styleof architecture.This is not a story by Atwood, Valgardsonor Joyce Carol Oates. There is no room forgothic romance and mystery in the backwoodsof cottage country.But the penultimate section of the laststory is a series of nightmare vignettesfrom the tourist village the narrator iscreating near his old home town. Abruptlya new section begins :Perhaps all this gore surprises you. Orperhaps you recognize these scenes fromCanadian literature. This kind of violenceis new to me. No-one ever dies in any ofmy stories.All my stories are the same : set in cottagecountry, they describe an individual who isfeeling disturbed to some degree. He decidesto do something about it: take a trip,have a holiday, go for a walk, get back intouch with the real world somehow. In theend, his contact with the world makes himcrazier than ever.147

BOOKS IN REVIEWAs these extracts suggest, these areboth self-conscious stories and the workof a clever and witty young writer whomoves from past to present to fantasy inapparently free association. As he passesfrom reminiscence of youth in cottagecountry to introspection about his ownsense of personal disintegration, he managesto satirize many institutions of smalltownlife. Without being obvious, hebroadens the satire to encompass perspectivesof Canada as a whole and its placein the world.PEGGY NIGHTINGALESINGING AGAINSTDECLINECollected Poems of Raymond Souster, VolumeTwo 1955-62 and Volume Three 1962-74.Oberon, $25.95; pa. $12.95 each.Collected Poems of Raymond Souster, VolumeFour 1974-77. Oberon, n.p.RAYMOND SOUSTER IS undoubtedly a majorCanadian poet —he is included inany notable anthology, he has won theGovernor-General's Award, his deceptivelysimple style and passionate concernsfor social justice and "being alive" haveinfluenced other writers and won him anot insignificant readership. Thus OberonPress has produced four volumes ofSouster's Collected Poems. The assumptionis that a poet of Souster's statureand longevity deserves no less. Perhapsthe industry of Canadian Literature deservesno less either: Oberon writes, "Webelieve this series will prove as importantto Canadian poetry as the New York editionof the works of Henry James was tothe American novel." However, on thebasis of Volumes Two (1955-62) andThree (1962-74), it can be argued that acarefully edited Selected Poems wouldhave done Souster and his native poetrymore justice. The Oberon production suggeststhat Souster should finally be readin bulk, lugged about in several boundsuitcases, his every piece of creative appareltried on for size, the rags with theriches, the sackcloth with the finery. AsSouster says, " [each volume] contains allthe verse. . . that I wish to remain inprint."But, for all this quantity, Souster offersindeed a mixed bag of goods. He is obviously,in the best sense, an eclectic writer,responding in verse to human experienceof all kinds, and especially that of dailyconsequence. He is awake to what he callsthe "beautiful and terrifying world" inwhich man's plundering of this planetand his fellow inhabitants stands in darkcontrast to extraordinary moments discoveredand lived : moments in lanes behindhouses "where spring air [is] somehowwarmer, more gentle, more lifegivingin its touch," or on country driveswhere a chance turning revealsaround a farmhouse door... a girl who waved to usand tossed her chestnut hairlarger, more beautifulthan the whole afternoon.There are also vital scenes remembered:the now-dead stripper Rose la Rose"writhing, gyrating . . . / caught up in therhythm's spell!"; and boyhood baseballgames so powerful still in the mind's eyethat Souster cannot mourn, even if "allthe smoke [is] gone forever . . . / frommy fast one." The lost territories of youth,especially the river ravines of Toronto,before urban sprawl and pollutionchanged them forever, provided a spacein which the natural and human worldscould complement one another; occasionally,such a space is found today :In these times keep your mind as calmas this pool, go out boldly into life,let it burst all around you; let it blossomright through your heart like this spring thattodaypromises never to end:and be earth'sforerunner.148

BOOKS IN REVIEWSouster is indeed a poet who sings inthe face of his own and all the world'sdecline. Those vanished friends of yearsago are much on his mind, as are thosewho, now older like himself, lie dyingwith "unconquered spirit," though thepoet always knows this is "somehow terribly,certainly, finally you." Not onlymemories, but the genius and pace of jazzsustain, with the constant awareness oflife's flow into art and art's flow into life.Souster frequents the clubs where heshouts "Blow it, man" to those with the"hard lines of time" etched in their faces,but who "force out / all hate, sickness,fear / from [the] dazzling end" of theirinstruments "pointed high at heaven /lowered straight at hell." Or he pondersthe connection between words and theobjects they represent, the latter continuallyattracting, shaping articulations :and a poet reads on about pomegranates,the whole barn of a building glowsfrom those fruited halves, those quarters,blood-red, bleeding on a table. . . .When Souster puts his full attentioninto his short lyrics, completing the representationof reality with words, conveyingto his readers that the poet's vision takesits sustenance from the "fresh greenworld," his directness and conviction aretriumphant, revealing a voice that is "let... go... to wander down / the flowerbeds/ ... to welcome each bird thatlights on the still-barren / mulberry tree."The problem is that in the bulk of theCollected Poems Souster is largely a poetof unfinished business, one whose sustainedattention to subject-matter yieldsbefore fragmentary perception. Time andagain he seems to jot down responses towhat goes on around, but fails to shapesuch response into anything beyond thebanal or personal. The impression is givenof a writer who carries with him a notebookwhich enables him to record on-thespotreactions to experience, simply forthe sake of documentation. So Sousterwaves good-bye to his aging father andmother after a visit, realizing that "oneday they'll not be here / to say goodbye!"— and that comment is all the poemamounts to. There are far too many similarpieces that are well-intentioned butslight, such as "A Letter to Biafra" :I once sent a letter to Biafrabut received no reply.I've often wonderedif it ever got there,and if it did,was there anyone still aliveto answer it.A brief focus of the poet's eye, a snippetof craft.It is to Souster's credit as an artist thathe and his other, uncommon revelationsof the commonplace do emerge fromunder so much ordinary verbiage. In hisbest poems, Souster's love of life andlanguage are delivered not in fastballs,but in dazzling slow curves and changeupsthat constantly nick the inside cornersof our hearts and minds. His contributionto Canadian poetry cannot be measuredin terms of quantity; rather it is quality,those realized lines and visions thatprompt us to listen hard to the poet because,as he insists, "we're really bloodbrothers, / both of us acting out / in thebest way we can / our crazy poems ofliving."The fourth volume in this series contains"the last 84 poems from Change-Up (1974)" and all the poems fromExtra Innings (1977). The verse fromthe earlier book reflects many of thoseestablished Souster concerns about man'srelationship with the natural world, urbaninjustices, and life — fragile but magnificent— in the face of death. The limitationsof the writing are still evident:the fragmentary perceptions and weakendings of poems, the failure of Souster'suse of language to measure up to thechosen subject-matter that so obviously149

BOOKS IN REVIEWaffects him (as in a memorial poem toJohn Berryman), and the sentimental"notebook" response to what goes onaround.But in Change-Up Souster offers somethingnew — two poems under the generalheading "Pictures From A Long-LostWorld." One is about an execution inKowloon, China, in 1896, and the otheris a commentary on Adolf Hitler staringacross the Channel at Dover in 1940. Thishistorical subject-matter, it seems, will notallow the poet to escape with glib remarks;experience beyond the personaldemands investigation and poetry commensuratewith the depths and variationsof human existence. Souster does presentverse of consistently high quality in theeighteen poems in Extra Innings thatprovide more insights into "A Long-LostWorld." Most art about the First andSecond World Wars : some of these revealthe ironies of military action and professionalism;others display the cruelty ofwar and those who wage it, as in the gutwrenchingdescription of the horrors ofthe quarries at Mauthausen near Auschwitz.Two of the finest attempts to conveysomething of the individual caught in thewebs of history are not found in warpoemsbut in "Louis Riel Addresses TheJury, Regina, July 1885 : A Found Poem"and "Antoine de Saint Exupery, 31 July,1944, Poretta, Italy." Riel's speech, inwhich he asks the world to re-assess itsconceptions of sanity, insanity, prophets,and the responsibilities of government, isdelivered with dignity and force. As forthe mystical French aviator, Souster portraysthe man and the symbol in a prosepoem of startling evocation about Saint-Exupéry's final flight "lost in the limitlessreaches of the sky he charted out as noman then or since, ending somewhere betweenwind, sand and stars... ."In these significant poems, some of thebest he has written, Souster's business isnever unfinished. He has discovered alarger type of verse that, with its attentionto detail and sustained awareness of life'scomplexity, horror, and beauty, complementsthe shorter, pure lyrics that arescattered like wildflowers among thetamer growth of these four bulky volumes.J. A. WAIN WRIGHTCULTURAL MARKERSPaper Doors: An Anthology of Japanese-Canadian Poetry, edited by Gerry Shikataniand David Aylward with translations byDavid Aylward. Coach House, n.p.FORTY-ONE YEARS AGO last winter, twentyfivethousand Canadians were taken outof their houses and herded into cattlebarns on Vancouver's exhibition grounds.Their houses, businesses, fishboats, andhousehold goods were confiscated. Thefamilies were split up and sent to primitive"camps" in the interior mountainsfor four years. Once the war was overthey were dispersed across Canada andthe Pacific.I mention the devastating story of theJapanese-Canadians' Evacuation becauseit has become the central fact of theirhistory. All emotion, all self-knowledge,all achievement is unconsciously measuredagainst this moment of humiliateddisillusionment. The details of the life ledin the evacuation camps have becomewhat Gerry Shikatani, editor with DavidAylward of Paper Doors: an anthology ofJapanese-Canadian poetry, calls in his excellentintroduction "cultural markings" :"The poems may not recount ethnic experienceas data or story, but they are infact, repositories for the collective experiencewhich exists as fundamental mythbeneath the surface of language. Andwhat could be termed 'cultural markings'— ... these shape the sensibility."The book he and Aylward co-edit isambitious and provocative. Provocativebecause it challenges our fondly-held150

BOOKS IN REVIEWideas. Ambitious, because it attempts topresent a panorama of Japanese-Canadianpoetry. Such an attempt aims towardtwo books in one, poetry in Japaneseand poetry in English. But the twogroups of poems share more than thejostle of genes: they tell the same fascinatingstory. Minority status (or rather,lack of status) ; the evacuation, the pain,survival, the aftermath, the pride andshame mixed up together: the culturalmarkers are the same. Furthermore, thelinguistic gap here is a marker itself. Itis the age-old immigrant "shokku" : whenthe first generation ("Issei") speaks, thesecond ("Nissei") answers, but in English;and the third ("Sansei"), now thoroughlyanglophone, can't answer at all.When we turn the page from an Englishpoem to a Japanese one, we are experiencingfor a moment the enormous riftsthat are simply facts of life for an immigrantfamily.Ay 1 ward helps the anglophone copewith the Japanese poems by means of hisskilful, tripartite translations. First we seethe visual shape of the original haiku ortanka. Beside it, the phonetic renderingenables us to pronounce and hear thepattern of sounds. And finally an Englishversion adds a translation of the lexicallevel, together with a careful (though attimes overdone) attention to spacing tosuggest the Japanese emphasis. It's a tourde force, possible only with poems fromsuch a tradition of brevity. The quality,in general, is high; several authors, suchas Minoru Furusho and Takeo Nakano,are award-winning tanka and haiku writersand have earned impressive honoursin Japan.The authors are not presented chronologicallyand their poems are not dated.This is disappointing, because the developmentof the poetry (here hidden) isfascinating. Even from the beginning, thepoets write not about Japan, but aboutthe new experiences in Canada: Christmas,February winds, April Fool. ChusaburoI to uses the resignation of the tanka,for example, to capture melting snow ora prairie farm. Only rarely does consciousnessof Japan obliquely suggest itself,as in this snapshot by Sukeo Sameshima:From the airit looks the same —an endless plain of snowMy second home.Takeo Nakano moves on to confront thedrama of the evacuation, and the P.O.W.camp at Angler, Ontario, directly:They make me wearthe rising sunon my back.Should I be proudof this perfect target?or more subtly :Night thoughts on this journeyfar awayfrom my family . . .Cricket comes to mecrying.As we move from the Japanese into theEnglish poetry, from first to second generationsand from leaving Japan to rediscoveringit with Canadian eyes, it is apleasure to find Roy Kiyooka and JoyKogawa's poems again. From Wheels,Kiyoota takes us on a physical and mentalsnapshot-studded "Roots" tour of Japan,filled with humour and sensitivity. Kogawa'spoetry is remarkably varied. Shepresents private abstracts ("Mineralsfrom Stone") and public witnesses("What I Remember of the Evacuation")with equal authority, and canmove from "Zen Graveyard" to the fullyNorth American "Finally That There Is"with impressive grace. The youngest poet,Kevin Irie, is a real find. True, his poetryis "safe" in terms of technique, but attwenty-seven he is to be commended forthe rare practice of walking before he

BOOKS IN REVIEWtries to fly. And indeed his "Crow inFlight," original in the sense of Hopkinsand Stevens, does fling itself into the airdespite its flaws and can be read aloudmagnificently. "Autumn" confirms thenice deftness of Irie's ear, and "TheCamps: Burning the Dead" reminds usthat the evacuation is pure drama in itsemotional violence, its philosophical ironies,and its cultural revelations. I find itvery instructive to note that Irie, likeseveral other of these poets (such as editorGerry Shikatani in his successful"Cultivated Earth") adopts what I callan Asian-objective tone for the poem.This tone — artfully achieved by carefullymanipulated juxtapositions, omissionof modifying words, and reinforced by aresolute, slow rhythm — gives the samesense of bald, irrefutable truth as the leanbrevity of the haiku. They are both handsoffpoetry: the author seems to effacehimself and his opinions, and the resultanteloquence can be shattering.Shikatani implies Irie is a Nissei, orsecond generation. One wonders whythere are no Sansei poets here to add theirthird dimension. Some Sansei are approachingfifty, and even the Yonsei areentering their twenties. Similarly, if theintent is a panorama, why limit the poetsto those still living? A quarter or a thirdof the scene is missing. The editors havebegun ambitiously, but have pulled theirpunches somewhat. . . ."Ambitious and provocative" : I use"provocative" because Paper Doors opensa real can of worms. It makes us facesome facts about Canadian literaturewe've preferred to ignore. In definingCanLit most of us still struggle with thealien-wilderness/youthful identity complex/branchplant-colonial combination.We ignore hyphenated-Canadian literaturebecause we perceive immigrant artas a temporary phenomenon of restrictedinterest, and classify literature in minoritylanguages with the art of the mothercountry. Yet a movement that has lastedthe entire twentieth century is hardlytemporary; and since relatively few Canadiansare not of immigrant stock theoverall phenomenon of immigrant literatureshould in fact have something tosay to and about us all. Furthermore,hyphenated-Canadian writing is radicallydifferent in informing consciousness fromthat of the mother country. It is no accidentthat Japan's anthologies includeonly the more traditional poetry of its expatriates.There is simply little else incommon. If you compare a contemporaryJapanese from Tokyo — aggressive, confident,intolerant — with a poet from thisbook, minority member and survivor ofthe evacuation, you find that in outlook,knowledge, experience, and even language,the two are worlds apart.The fact is that this poetry, even whenwritten in Japanese, is far more Canadianthan it is Japanese. It's a matter of thosecultural markers again. Where else couldone find tanka so rich in images of ice,snow, and duck hunting? What gentlemanin Osaka knows or cares about ChoichiSumi's "gurein erebeta" (grain elevator)? And as what must be an enormousportion of (largely un-anthologized)Canadian writing, hyphenated-Canadian literature deserves to be readand learned from. The stories that underlieit, such as the tale of the Japaneseevacuation, form collectively the story ofCanada. Few editors (except, as Aylwardand Shikatani point out, John RobertColombo and J. Michael Yates) haveunderstood that such an endeavour doesnot fragment and polarize. Instead it revealsand celebrates common bonds ofemotion, experience, and strength.Paper Doors has its flaws, but in openingour eyes to this fact and some highlyrewarding poets it thoroughly deserves itsplace on our shelves.TARA CULLIS

BOOKS IN REVIEWPRECIOUS TONGUEMARGARET MACDONELL, The Emigrant Experience:Songs of Highland Emigrants in NorthAmerica. Univ. of Toronto Press, $27.50;pa. $10.96.PERHAPS ANCESTRY HAS GIVEN ME a feelingfor the themes of exile and lost-andfoundhomelands present in the songsMargaret MacDonell has collected, andfor the haunting and eloquent languagein which they are expressed. From boyhoodI recall a sense of wonder and excitementabout the Mod, the yearly festivalof Gaelic poetry, song, and music,held in Dundee on the eve of the SecondWorld War. Much later, something of anexile myself, I was able to take an eveningclass in Gaelic for one winter. It was heldin a Vancouver high school, and wastaught by a remarkable lady from Lewis,Mrs. Malcomina Thompson, who formany years passed on to pupils of all agesin far-off Western Canada a warm enthusiasmand love for her mother tongue,and something of her knowledge of itsrich treasures of story and song.These treasures are revealed in a fascinatingway by the texts and translationspresented by Dr. MacDonell, who ischairman of the Department of CelticStudies at St. Francis Xavier Universityin Antigonish, Nova Scotia. She is a Canadiannative speaker of Gaelic, wholearned the language from her parents,and deepened her awareness of its resourcesas a result of the stimulation ofher teachers, Sister Mairi MacDonald ather own university and Charles Dunn ofHarvard. Her texts have been principallyselected from printed sources: collectionsof Gaelic verse and periodicals such asThe Casket, published weekly as Antigonishsince 1852, and Мае-Talla {Echo),published at first weekly and then fortnightlyat Sydney, Cape Breton, from1892 to 1904. The work of twenty-sixbards is represented in the anthology,ranging from Donald Matheson ( 1719-82), who grieved over the misery of hispeople in Sutherland and saw emigrationto the Carolinas as a passage of the Israelitesout of Egypt, to anonymous CapeBreton bards of the 1920's who wrote oftheir feelings about migration from theirNew World homeland to Boston andCalifornia. Tantalizingly, Dr. MacDonellwithholds from us the verse of a twentyseventhbard, Alexander MacLean (AlasdairMacEoghian), who lived on theRiver Denys, Cape Breton, at the turn ofthis century, and impressed his fellow-Gaelic speakers in Inverness County withhis powers of impromptu satire — anancient form perfected by Irish bardswhose command of invective was suchthat it was said they could rhyme rats todeath.The book provides a full biographicaland historical commentary to amplify thetexts. As a result of this and the serviceabletranslations of the disciplined intricaciesof the original Gaelic, we penetrateas readers into that "world we have lost,"as Peter Laslett and other social historianshave called it, of a pre-literate society.In this case, the society consists of awarrior aristocracy in the Highlands andWestern Islands of Scotland, violentlytorn apart in the eighteenth century bypolitical reorganization and military defeat,then aggressive land improvementmeasures which brought depopulationwhere policy and war had failed to effectchange. Visiting Scotland in 1773, Dr.Johnson became aware of the "generaldiscontent" of the Highlands, and whenhe inquired about the subject of a songsung by some ladies on the island ofRaasay, he was told "it was a farewellcomposed by one of the Islanders thatwas going, in this epidemical fury of emigration,to seek his fortune in America."This seems to be the first recorded mentionin English literature of the songs ofthe emigrants. Burns, of course, sympa-

BOOKS IN REVIEWthized with the motivation of the emigrants,and in the "Address to Beelzebub"of 1786, he satirized the efforts of thealarmed members of the Highland Society,"which met... at the Shakespeare,Covent garden, to concert ways andmeans to frustrate the designs of FIVEHUNDRED HIGHLANDERS who . . . were SOaudacious as to attempt to escape fromtheire lawful lords and masters ... to thewilds of CANADA, in search of that fantasticthing — LIBERTY."To a degree, the songs of the emigrantsare formulaic, as John Maclnnes describesthem, performing the "celebratoryact of uttering names, energizing a poeticmap or ancestral territory and reinforcinga sense of identity." Thus Anna Gillistook leave of Morar in 1786 before emigratingto Upper Canada by recountingthe place names of the MacDonald territorieson the mainland and among theHebrides, and she encouraged her clanto face the challenge of the future byrecollecting their warrior ideals:The MacDonalds were always wontto stand boldly in the face of hardship,eagerly putting opponents to rout,faithful, intrepid in adversity.Religious feeling is reflected in some ofthe compositions, as in the case of thoseof Donald Matheson of Kildonan, whosaw the hand of Providence in the exodusfrom the Highlands. However, Rob Donn,a contemporary bard from Strathnaver,is reported to have said to Matheson:"There is more piety in your poetry, andmore poetry in mine." While not entirelyfair to Matheson, the epigram points tothe fact that the emigrant poetry in certainmoods stressed the values of thisworld rather than religious hope. CalumBan MacMhannain, for example, a Skyebard who sailed to Prince Edward Islandwith Lord Selkirk's colonists in 1803, presentedthe voyage in the Polly in terms ofa spirited adventure, and described inbitter words die distressing sítate of thehomeland which forced emigration onhim:A new master has comeinto the land,a sad, woeful matter.The people are leaving;their possessions have dwindledThey haven't a cow to put to graze.Some were put to rent,others died;rare were those that survived.What would it profit meto remain in this landwhere I can learn nothing by shoemaking.I'll go to sea;I'll follow othersin search of a place to dwell.We'll get new landwhich can be bought outright,and we'll not be charged a shilling for it[afterwards].Better for us the shelter of the forestthan the heather-covered hillsfacing towards Grobainn.On the bare, forbidding rocks,when the cold weather camethe moorland seemed endless.In contrast to Skye, the new home of thisbard became Eile an an high / "isle ofcontentment," where it could be saidBidh an coirc' ann ά fàs / "Our seed isfruitful here."To be sure, the America or Canada ofthe reality facing the emigrants, whenthey sought to make a living in the NewWorld, did not always square with thehigh hopes of their departure from thehomeland. One result of this was thepoetry of dispraise, for example, the"Song for America" of John the HunterMacDonald (Iain Sealgair) from theBraes of Lochaber, who landed in CapeBreton in 1834. He was unhappy in hisnew home at Mabou Ridge, and complainedof the country and its inhabitants:I am bound, brought low,in the land of snows and sere grasses.It is not what I have been accustomed to,looking at swarthy folk,ugly, drab, dull,

BOOKS IN REVIEWwith wide trousers, the loutish long coat,an unattractive style.You'll see groups of them drinkingat the store if you go there.They are rowdy and boastful,intoxicated by drink;their place untidy, mud under their feet,glass flagons raised to their heads,peeling off and tearing their jacketslike a pack of tinkers.Another Highlander, Kenneth MacDonald,who settled in the Bras d'Or regionin 1842, found his first winter there sonumbing that his "Song for America"says that he was ready to sell his cattleand go home :Cape Breton is so coldthat one's very ears will freezethe frost penetrates the axe so deeplythat only fire can thaw it out.America, the white-coated,I would much prefer to be in Gairloch,where spring comes in Marchwith real warmth in the sun.A similar fluctuating viewpoint aboutemigration to Nova Scotia has recentlybeen depicted with considerable artistryin Donald MacKay's historical novel,Scotland Farewell: The People of theHector (1981), about the aftermath ofCulloden and settlement in PictouCounty.The westward movement of settlers inthe 1870's and 1880's to the prairies alsobrought out powers of invective, as in asong by "Resentful Donald" (DomhnallDiombach) entitled "Donald's Testimonyabout Manitoba":A thousand liars, well-rewarded,went about with booksextolling the North Westand the excellence of Manitoba.There was no information pleasing towomen,from the Butt of Lewis to Barra Head,that was not being propagated about theland,with unhesitating promises.We reached the land of promise,The frost was as hard as rock,more than twelve feet into the ground;not even an ant could survive it.Yet, a persistent theme in the emigrants'poetry is that the New World is the landof freedom: Tir na saorsa, tir na buadh —Land of the free, land of endowments,where the rent is not demanded from thetenants,and where the cruel bailie is not seenforcing the people into exileas the "Reply to Resentful Donald" putsthe matter. Answering the complaints ofIain Sealgair, his cousin Allan the RidgeMacDonald sings:The land you left is a land without kindness,a land without respect for tenants;they are sorrowful leaving it,fearing the stormy seas.Poor people, sons of cotters,without stock or herd —it is not fitting to dispraise the land ofpromisewhere they are now respected men.Now that you have come across the seato this fair land,you will want for nothing the rest of yourlife;everything prospers for us.You'll get honey from the flowers,sugar and tea;better that than the land you leftwith the rabble in charge of its forests.As the emigrants made a success of settlementand took root in their new country,we can trace the poetic act of appropriatingthe landscape, for example, in DuncanBlack Blair's song of the 1880's abouta river in Pictou County, Nova Scotia :Come with me to UpperBarney's River in the forest,where strawberries growand an abundance of ripe nuts.The tall moose very proudlymakes his circuit with elk-like grace;the squirrel whizzesback and forth among its thickets.In time, too, migration westward or tothe south from the early settlements producedsongs of nostalgic affection for

BOOKS IN REVIEWCape Breton : Far an cluinnear fuaim napiob I Agus piobaireachd le farum —"where could be heard the sound of thepipes / and piping of a high order"; orfor maintaining the old custom of visitingfriends on New Year's Day.In his recent Introduction to GaelicPoetry^ the foremost critic of Gaelic literature,Derick Thomson, is politely dismissiveof most New World Gaelic verse,noting the survival in it of panegyrist andinvective styles from the eighteenth century,well represented for him by thework of John Maclean {Iain Mac Allein,Bard Thighearna Cholla), who had beenbard to the Laird of Coll before emigratingin 1819 to Pictou County. Thomsonsays of him and his successors : "the linkswith the Scottish tradition were closelykept; there were occasional new themessuggested by the new environment, butno new voice or style."The measure which Thomson appliesto this New World poetry and to muchthat was composed in the homeland duringthe nineteenth century, finding littlein it to inspire enthusiasm, is possessionof "special individuality, strength andgravitas." He finds these qualities in WilliamLivingstone of Islay ( Uilleam Mac-Dhunléibhe), John Smith of Iarsiadar[Iain Mac a'Ghobhainn), and MaryMacPherson of Skye (Mhàiri Mhór nanOran — Big Mary of the Songs), all ofwhom championed freedom for their peoplein the nineteenth century in one wayor another in the homeland, and tappeda vein of bitter social criticism. Thomsonalso responds favourably to the modernistmovement in Gaelic poetry in this century,to which he has himself contributedwork that is innovative in technique andtheme. Yet, if these intensities and developmentsare absent from the poetry of thetownship bards and isolated practitionersrepresented in Margaret MacDonell's anthology,we do find them keeping theirancient language sinewy, overcoming theheartache of the loss of the old homeland,and singing the song of the freedom ofthe new one.We are not allowed to forget, of course,that we are dealing with song-texts. Inan appendix, nine airs to accompanysongs are reproduced from a variety ofprinted and oral sources. Dr. MacDonellbelieves that the decline of the Gaelicsinging tradition in the third and fourthgeneration of families outside Scotlandmakes it difficult to recover more of themusic of the songs. Since song-texts divorcedfrom their music have less thantheir full vitality, it is surely to be hopedthat the appearance of this book will encourageothers to collect all that is possibleof Gaelic emigrant songs and musicfrom oral tradition whenever it survives.Repertoires of traditional fiddle and pipemusic, for example, would seem to bepromising sources for airs.Also, emigrant songs and airs are stillto be recorded from tradition-bearers inthe Highlands and islands of Scotland,as the field workers of the School of ScottishStudies have shown. In 1952, CalumMaclean recorded Kate Ross of Lairgsinging Cur cùlthaobh ri Asainnte /"Leaving Assynt behind," with its accountof an emigrant who left the "landof the Gaels" when "young and foolish,"went to "Great Glasgow of the shops,"and ended up "sad and weary, / Walkingthe streets of Canada." The songs of emigrantbards are still vividly rememberedon Tiree, particularly among those whocome from or have associations withBalephuil — baile пат bàrd (township ofthe bards) —which was the home ofIain MacAilein, Bàrd Thighearna Cholla,who went to Nova Scotia in 1819. WhenMargaret Mackay was collecting traditionalmaterial on Tiree in 1973, and itwas known that she came from the Canadianprairies, she received a particularlywarm welcome from Hector Kennedy ofHilipol, connected with Iain MacAilein's156

BOOKS IN REVIEWfamily, who sang for her with great feelingthe song Manitoba, occasioned by thedeparture from baile пат bàrd of twobrothers, one of whom was the bard IainDhomhnuill 'ic Eachainn. Kennedy couldprovide many details of these and otherTiree emigrants of the 1870's and 1880'swho went first to Bruce County, Ontario,to stay among fellow-islanders and thenpass on to the Canadian West. It is relevantto note that Hector Kennedy cannotread or write Gaelic, and his traditions ofbàrdachd (poetry) and seanchas (genealogicaland township lore) are entirelyoral, which was the case of many of thebards who emigrated to Canada, for example,Calum Ban MacMhannain ofSkye and Prince Edward Island, or whowere born there in the first generations ofemigrant families and stubbornly heldonto their traditions. Margaret Mac-Donell is aware, of course, of the resourcesof the School of Scottish Studies,and records her gratitude to Dr. Mackayfor information about Gaelic settlers inSaskatchewan and Manitoba. The researchbase of The Emigrant Experienceis, in fact, very wide, reflecting devotionto its subject and great sympathy andaffection for the bards whose story it tells.In Notes towards the Definition of Culture(1948), especially in Chapter III —"Unity and Diversity: The Region" —T. S. Eliot made a strong case for valuingthe contribution of Ireland, Scotland, andWales to what he calls the "constellationof cultures" in Britain and, in particular,to the dominant culture of England. Inhis view, there would be an irreparableloss if these "regions" were to lose theirown languages. By extension, the bookreviewed makes the same point aboutCanada: its larger culture needs knowledgeand understanding of its tributaries,among them the songs of those emigrantHighlanders and Islanders and their descendants.To Gaelic speakers and thosewho do not have that language, it says inthe words of the Laird of Coil's bard thatGaelic must live :na tréig gu bràth i,'S na leig air dïochuimhn' ri linn an àil s' /never neglect itand do not let it be forgotten in thisgeneration.POETRY CHRONICLEIAN ROSSGILBERT LANGEVIN, Le Fou solidaire. L'Hexagone,$5.95; Issue de secours. L'Hexagone,$5·95·"SA POÉSIE N'EST NI CRI ni chant," affirmaitPierre Nepveu; "elle est le pouvoirsouverain de l'affirmation sur tout ce qui,en nous et dans le monde, est dispersionet mort" (Livres et auteurs québécois,1973). Langevin continue sa tâche, sapoésie sage représente la mise en versd'un discours moral. Poèmes brefs, verscourts, aucune faute de goût, pas ou peude violence, c'est cette régularité, cettebrièveté, ces limitations choisies, ce flouvoulu qui donnent à la poésie de Langevinun certain charme, le charme peutêtrede la désuétude, une certaine "aura."Alais le lecteur ne risque-t-il pas de selasser de cette forme brève et régulière, dece vers qui trop souvent manque d'image,de musique, de couleur, de souffle, d'envergure?On est heureux d'y découvrirparfois la révolte bien surréaliste contrela vulgarité et l'ignorance bourgeoises, lapureté merveilleuse d'un Eluard (Issue desecours) ou de savourer un distique poursa simplicité, pour sa justesse:Je reviendrai parmi vousnu comme une grande misère{Le Fou solidaire)MICHEL GAY, Plaque tournante. L'Hexagone,n.p.On se demande tout d'abord, et c'est lecas de bon nombre de recueils poétiques157

BOOKS IN REVIEWquébécois — voir Pylônes, Architecturepressentie, La Surface du paysage — quelest le but de l'auteur qui choisit son titredans un domaine spécifique, que celui-ciappartienne à la construction, aux mathématiquesou dans ce cas-ci à la mécaniqueet à la biologie. A la page ι ο de ce mincerecueil de 23 textes, l'auteur nous donneune définition de "la plaque tournante etsensible," tirée du Petit Robert, définitionfictive qui en même temps cumule etocculte les sens disponibles. Nous reviendronssur cette définition, notons auparavantqu'au fil de ces textes nous avons puretrouver, avec ou sans guillemets, avecou sans italiques — et il est certain quenous en avons laissé échapper — dix deces définitions. On sait que Hugo se servaitabondamment et de façon semblabledu dictionnaire de Louis Moreri ; serait-ceune façon d'inclure ce poète dans sonoeuvre? En effet il est intéressant de noteraussi la façon que Michel Gay a d'userde la citation. On reconnaît par exemplela présence de Mallarmé, "un coup,""quel nombre lancé quand" = Un Coupde dé, sans parler chez ce dernier del'emploi qu'il fait de la symbolique de lafenêtre. On retrouve Duchamp et la"question des devantures," Lautréamontdont le "Viel océan, aux vagues de cristal"{Les Chants du Maldoror, 1, 9) retentitchez Gay dans "plaque de verre oude cristal" et "vieil océan," il y a BorisVian, Chloé étant un des personnages deL'Ecume des jours et maints autres auteursauxquels fait appel ce texte.Mais revenons-en à ce que la définitionde "plaque tournante et sensible" occulte.Le Petit Robert dit: "plaque neurale d'unembryon." Or le livre n'est-il pas dédié àChloé? Et à la page 15, c'est-à-dire aucentre du livre — mais au texte 9/neuf —on peut lire: "Une blancheur. Le chantdes oiseaux que ton petit doigt fouineurdésigne si maladroitement, la main pointéepartout, imitant en cela, pourquoi pas,le premier papillon qu'il m'est venu à158l'idée de t'offrir, devenu peut-être, en toi 3papa, sous sa forme adulte, ailée." Chloé,elle est l'envers, l'autre côté de la plaquede verre, elle est l'intertexte, elle est le"ver(s)" de "verdure" (sens de Kloé engrec), l'avenir, l'imaginaire et elle estécloison — "Chloé" = "éclo(s)" = "éclatement,""éclampsie," "déclenchement"— du "ver" du papillon "devenu papa entoi." Elle représente aussi le moment d'unaveu intime et de la reconnaissance de ceque son oeuvre doit aux autres créateurs,car le papillon voltige — "la main pointéepartout" — de même que le "coucou" est"grimpeur."D'ailleurs si Plaque tournante est parallèleà L'Amour fou (les Post-scriptumrépondant à la lettre l'André Breton audernier chapitre) en passant peut-être parHugo et ses Contemplations — pour M.Gay son oeuvre et sa fille se rejoignent, seconfondent: "Tu sauras un jour ce quec'est cette fiction, tu seras elle" et ellessont gaité, gai savoir. Plaque tournantec'est le plaquette Chloé.FRANCOIS TETREAU, L'Architecture pressentie(Précis d'intuition). L'Hexagone, n.p.Si nous croyons déceler chez Claude Beausoleil[La Surface du paysage) la présencediffuse de Francis Ponge, chez Tétreauil est là en exergue et dans "leparti" que lui aussi a "pris" "des choses."Voyez de Ponge "La Mousse" {Le Partipris des choses, N.R.F., 1967) et de Tétreau"Paprika." C'est la même écoute,la même attention donnée à l'inertie, audétail et transmise avec un semblable bonheurd'expression, non qu'il y ait de lapart de Tetreau plagiat mais on retrouvechez ces deux poètes une sensibilité parente.En effet le rythme de l'écrivainquébécois est plus varié, des momentscalmes sont suivis ou coupés de momentssaccadés, l'image y est plus virulente.D'ailleurs le propos de Tetreau c'est denous éveiller aux dangers de la ville, de

BOOKS IN REVIEWles dénoncer. Il s'agit d'une variation surun thème surréaliste exposé d'une manièreelle aussi surréaliste. Le corps de lafemme y est comme chez Eluard, Breton,etc., le lieu d'une métamorphose; elle estcelle que permettra que se retrouve l'équilibre,que se régénère la ville, que soitrefusé un ordre pétrifiant qui est en trainde précipiter l'humanité vers la catastrophe.La poésie de Tétreau plus sentiequ'intellectuelle, l'intuition c'est l'irrationnel,vibre et fait vibrer, accroche etfrappe, ses images ont cette force qui faitqu'elles heurtent la sensibilité du lecteuret s'imposent dans son imagination.JEAN-LOUIS ROY, Terre féconde. Leméac,$6.95.La tâche allait être ardue, un grandthème, un thème traditionnel et longtempsfavori de la littérature québécoise,tout allait résider ici dans la façon detraiter ce sujet, dans l'inspiration, dansla maîtrise dont Roy allait faire preuve.Or tout, même la récolte, est laissé auhasard et à une certaine facilité: versréguliers ou non se suivent, la rime estsouvent puérile:Tels des confettis infimes les arbres flottentComme un tissu soyeux coupé en redingote.On tombe dans l'hétéroclite qu'aucunsouffle poétique ne veut animer, revigorer.Sur "Vergers d'Occident," "Du douxmatin d'Asie couleur perle pubère," "Dusielnce soyeux habité par Mozart," "palabred'Afrique," "main de l'Amérique,"le lecteur ne fait que trébucher, trop c'esttrop, "Terre piégée" que l'auteur n'a passu éviter.JEAN-PIERRE LEROUX, Dans l'intervalle. Leméac,$4.95.Avec cet ouvrage on demeure en effet"dans l'intervalle." Ils ont en communavec Langevin qu'il cite en exergue lafacture, la brièveté du recueil et du poèmemais si chez Langevin l'on reste sur safaim, sur un non résolu, un non affrontéavec Leroux on se trouve plongé dans unetotale ambiguïté, dans Г "équivoque,"dans "l'énigme" et on reste sur "la tangente."Il s'agit au moyen de l'écritured'une mise en question de l'écriture,comme chez Beausoleil, mais dans ce recueil-cil'on se situe bien en deçà car iln'y a ici aucune démarcation nette parrapport à ses prédécesseurs — René Charet Roland Giguère — aucune innovationmais simple expérience sur le langage etchoix d'une lisibilité ambiguë. Suffit-il dese laisser bercer de sonorités, de se laisserprendre au charme de l'énigmatique?MARCEL SABOURiN, Chansons. VLB Editeur,n.p.Chansons se présente comme le reflet d'unQuébec à un moment précis, 1964-1971.Bon nombre des thèmes — la libérationdes femmes par les femmes, la définitiondes rôles homme/femme au sein du couple— ont été repris depuis avec plus devigueur par des femmes interprètes etcompositeurs. On regrette de ne pouvoirtoujours trouver l'unité qui devrait êtreprésente dans chacune des parties, d'oùpeut-être les "Bâtard I" et "Bâtard IL"On peut dire sans se tromper que ceschansons souffrent d'être lues, y perdentleur force, la chanson choisissant souventpour être efficace un texte et des structuressimples. Leur écriture ici doit beaucoupaux automatismes, le jeu des sonoritésprimant le sens. La langue deSabourin est une langue québécoise authentique,l'auteur sait user avec bonheurde la satire et garder toujours un tonpersonnel et vif. Nous ne dirons rien dela préface pompeuse en regard de la simplicitéde l'expression de ce recueil.ROLANDE GIGUERE, A l'orée de l'oeil. Editionsdu Noroît, $35.00.Chez Giguère les lignes s'appellent comme

BOOKS IN REVIEWs'appellent les mots quand la sonoritéprime le sens, quand le projet est devancépar la main, même si peu à peuavec plus ou moins de retard il le réinvestit(voir la légende accompagnant ledessin). C'est bien d'ailleurs, nous semblet-il,l'un des sens que contient le titre durecueil qui le situe sur les rives de la conscience.C'est aussi pour cela que le dessinde Giguère est répétitif, variation sur unmotif pour un même dessin et dans plusieursdessins différents. D'ailleurs commesi l'apprentissage permettait d'atteindre àune couche plus profonde et plus riche,la ligne va se compliquant donc s'obscurcissantjusqu'au point où ayant révélé"son bestiaire" elle s'y tisse sa toile et s'yperd même si c'est pour renaître "commenaît l'oiseau," "comme naissent lesgéodes" et comme si l'artiste refusait dese laisser dévorer par sa chimère sans parvenirpourtant à garder ses ailes: "l'élévation"ne se fait plus en effet que pardécapitation, jeu des forces centripètes etcentrifuges qui accompagnent le vertige.Les résultats d'un tel exercise sont irrégulierset la profondeur de la méditation,la descente de plus en plus pénétrantede l'artiste en lui-même n'entraînepas forcément une meilleure réussite, ledessin devient un mode de connaissance.Cependant cette expérience nous révèlecombien est riche l'imaginaire, la personneprofonde de l'artiste, combien il estsûr et maître de sa technique. C'est unbeau livre.j.-H. LETOURNEUx, Pylônes. VLB Editeur, n.p.LeTourneux poète dont la voix provientdes chantiers a su, pour nous y faire pénétrer,pour nous faire partager pleinement,brutalement aussi ses expériences et leurréalité, choisir la hauteur, la force qu'ilfallait à son écriture. Les pylônes situentson recueil mais ils sont aussi l'armature(la structure) dure, roide, froide, haute,hautaine même de son oeuvre, ils l'encadrentet en constituent l'intertexte demême que ceux qui s'élevaient à l'entréedes temples égyptiens. D'où l'exotisme,d'où parfois de trop somptueuses métaphores,d'où une poésie qui par momentspeut sembler artificielle. Seules convenaientpour se faire écouter sur un telsujet à partir d'un tel lieu et d'un telmilieu — et sa crainte s'exprime ici et làdans son recueil: "Mère, oui je suis là,l'étranger. N'arriverai jamais" — l'éloquence,la fulgurance de l'épique querien ne limite ni dans le temps ni dansl'espace. Ce n'est qu'à cette hauteur queLeTourneux pouvait donner libre coursà son lyrisme, à son spleen mais aussi àl'expression de la souffrance physique etmorale associée de si près aux rigueursd'une nature indomptée d'une solitudetotale, à l'expression de l'amour, de l'amitiéet de l'ivresse de la réussite liée àla persévérance, à l'endurance. Peut-onregretter un lexique trop riche, un styleparfois compassé?CLAUDE BEAUSOLEIL, La Surface du paysage.VLB Editeur, n.p.C'est par la nouveauté de son écriture quel'oeuvre de Beausoleil s'imposa, avec cellede Des Roches, comme une oeuvre d'avant-garde.En effet, devant ces "textes et poèmes"où la clarté succède à l'hermétisme, unecertaine linéarité à une dislocation syntaxiquecomplexe, le lecteur se retrouvedevant un "paysage" aux aspects contrastéset variés. Ceci se reflète d'ailleursaussi au niveau de la typographie. Resteà savoir si seule a changé "la surface"donc l'apparence du recueil, ou bien si letexte, le contenu lui-même a changé.C'est bien, nous semble-t-il, ce dont letitre du recueil, entre autres choses, veuts'assurer, c'est que "la surface" et le "paysage"ne font qu'un de même que l'apparencedu texte et le texte. Et on remarquetout d'abord que ce sont les textes160

BOOKS IN REVIEWles plus lisibles qui s'imposent au lecteur.Serait-ce que l'efficacité de ces séquencesvient de la difficulté de ce qui précède?L'auteur ayant alterné du lisible à l'hermétique,on pourrait dire que les momentslisibles s'enrichissent de la tensionexigée par la complexité du passage antérieur.Une chose est certaine, le lecteurdérangé par la difficulté, se sentira dérangécette fois par la facilité pour découvrirque "rien n'est moins certain quece que l'on semble avoir cerné," "l'apparenceest peut-être la forme la moinspalpable." Ainsi est mise en doute la conceptionque nous faisions de lisibilité, desimplicité, de "quotidien," de "surface."Dans cet ouvrage, ces moyens d'amenerle lecteur à rompre avec ses habitudes delecture sont multiples et vont du plussubtile au plus grossier; il cite à ce proposLyotard. A coup sûr on se serait passé decertaines techniques grâce auxquelles ilveut déranger (voir par exemple "polyshit / poly tic").Son but c'est du même coup de marquerson refus d'une littérature et d'uneculture devenues institution: "la littératurerelève du savoir qui peut être humaniste,informatif, créatif, le Texte lui estun non-su, un nowhere, ce qui le rendintolérable, comme idée et comme réalisationà tous les tenants de la mise en conserveintellectuelle et académique." Luiveut relever un défi: "faire du Textecomme on fait du ski." Finis le poétiqueet le sacré, la poésie est le geste le plustrivial, dans la parole la plus banale, dansle fait le plus quotidien; tout cela a uneépaisseur et de même que notre être estmultiple, un instant est pluriel. C'est aupoète de savoir faire passer le courant, defaire en sorte que soit possible — et Beausoleilcite Barthes — "le passage incongru«dissocié» d'un autre langage, commel'exercice d'une physiologie différente."Et c'est, dans ce sens, la partie appelée"Angles" où le travail sur le texte noussemble la plus réussie, la plus innovatrice.L'écriture y coule claire et pleine de sérénité,elle met côte à côte, mais commesortant d'un même élan, l'acte et sonverso, son double, le corps et ses gestes,couches, "angles" multiples d'un mêmeinstant, richesse et complexité de l'éphémère,"la scène se passe au présent pluriel."doré. L'Hexa-PAÚL CHAMBERLAND, L'Enfantgone, $7.95.Paul Chamberland devait, en 1981, publiertrois recueils de textes poétiques:L'Enfant doré, Emergence de l'adultenfantet Le Courage de la poésie fragmentd'art total. Il est à noter toutefois que lepoète a eu soin d'intégrer au titre deL'Enfant doré la date de sa composition,d'où son importance. Cette importanceest-elle liée aux événements politiques,sociaux, internationaux ou plutôt à unfait personnel? Connaissant l'engagementtotal de Chamberland, on devine que toutcela est présent dans ce besoin de circonscrireL'Enfant doré. Cependant si déjà,dans Demain les Dieux naîtront et LePrince de Sexamour il avait annoncé lafin de la Civilisation dite moderne, de laCulture (avec un grand C), de la Machineantisociale et, prenant le rôledu prophète, prédit l'avènement de la"Sphère et Civilisation harmonique,"dans L'Enfant doré, il occupe carrémentla place du médium : "je suis un relaisspécifié," "je me découvre être le laboratoired'une spécifique mutation," "je nesuis que ce milieu fertile," de celui àtravers lequel s'accomplira le passage. Eneffet c'est "Transrmgraphie" qui conduità L'Enfant doré: "du futur fonds sur moiirrésistible Enfant doré je suis ta proie tanourriture ton sol placentaire ta materiaprima ta gangue," écrit le poète. On peutdonc être tenté de lire un poème intituléAppel d'Akénaton à Smenkharé à traversles étoiles, comme le message livré "APaul" et qu'il doit transmettre. Il prend161

BOOKS IN REVIEWla relève, il est le "mi" qui permettra leretour de "l'Enfant doré," du "peupledieu" sur terre afin que s'établisse l'harmonie."O Pharaon, mon corégent / macoessence en un seul peuple-dieu / reviensà sol / les temps sont accomplis /tout est prêt / renais de moi, enfin, moi,ta mère mâle fourmi-reine, / corps délectable,/ preuve du dieu, / parais!" continuele poète dans ce même poème. Ilnous dira dans Emergence de VAdultenfantque l'écriture poétique véhicule unmode symbolique et intuitif, parfois lyrique,la vision du nouvel amour." Et eneffet dans L'Enfant doré le choix qu'ilfait de la religion de l'Egypte ancienne,du tarot, de textes gnostiques, Lao-Tse,Rûzbehân, Hermès trismégiste et tantd'autres est symbolique, comme est symboliquele fait qu'il précise dans ce recueil,"ça fait 34 ans que j'existe." Il estdans la lignée de ceux qui tentèrent parleur voix, leur message, de faire en sorteque s'accomplisse la révolution totale, lamétamorphose de la boue en or. Et c'estsurtout les différentes formes de cette écriture-limite,écriture-frontière, écritureouvertureen l'homme amour, qui estintéressante. Elle constitue la cornue quidistille, elle tente, ramassé, efficace, percutanted'être le principe actif et dynamiquequi ouvre sur un nouvel âge amoureux.Cette écriture fonctionne selon untriple niveau: écriture poétique, écritureanalytique (voir Soleil double) et écritureque l'auteur nommera "métagrammes,"les citations prises à certains auteursayant été intégrées à son propre texte.Il est heureux que Chamberland aitréservé les pages théoriques pour la fin,on peut ainsi apprécier le très beau textede "Journal d'un intraterrestre" et lespoèmes de la partie centrale du recueil.C'est un ouvrage plein de lyrisme, unrecueil-somme (plutôt que synthèse) caril correspondait à un moment exceptionneldans la vie de l'auteur et dans l'évolutiondu "Kébèk." Est-ce pour cela qu'ildevait attendre 1981 pour le publier etsortir la même années deux autres recueils?GATIEN LAPOINTE, Arbre-Radar. L'Hexagone,n.p.Il est clair, dès le titre —• qui n'a rien nide spécialement attrayant, ni de spécialementséduisant — que le lecteur allaitavoir à vaincre maints obstacles. Toutd'abord à essayer de le lire, de se le lire,on sent monter une certaine irritation:les mots semblent avoir été jetés pêlemêle,dans une phrase fort complexe, àla syntaxe disloquée et pontuée de blancs,de tirets et où l'on cherche, très souventen vain, le sujet des quelques verbes qui yapparaissent. On remarque (mais commentne pas les remarquer, il les a mis enrelief) les jumelages du type "tige/tigre,"on peut en dénombrer des dizaines et celatourne très vite au procédé. C'est doncailleurs que dans ce jeu intellectuel queréside l'intérêt du recueil. D'autres pointsde repère vont nous permettre de continuerla lecture. On retrouve, en effet,une certaine diffusion (plutôt que disposition)du texte en séquences de longueurvariable avec une préférence cependantpour celles de 4 ou 5 lignes. Lapointea attaché une grande importance à latypographie. Au texte en caractères réguliersse mêlent quelques passages en italiques,qui accentuent ou développent lethème évoqué précédemment, et quelquesvoyelles ou mots brefs (mots clefs) enmajuscules alors qu'au centre du recueill'auteur a placé toute une séquence encaractères majuscules. Serait-ce vers cecentre que convergerait l'ensemble?DE LA BOUCHE D'OMBRE ... JE PRESSE LAMAIN DE MON ENFANCE J'ECOUTE BATTRELA VIOLENTE EMOTIONécrit Lapointe. Et aussitôt retentit en nousle poème de Hugo, "Ce que dit la Bouched'ombre." Tandis que Hugo écrivait dansson poème:Sache . . .Que tout a confiance en la création;162

BOOKS IN REVIEWEt l'oreille pourrait avoir sa vision,Gar les choses et l'être ont un granddialogue.Tout parle ....Lapointe dans un communiqué de pressesur Arbre-Radar demande: "N'entend-onpas encore, des fois, des matières d'arbre,d'ours ou d'astre grouiller et grogner dansnotre chair?" Il est lui aussi venu "écouter"(ce verbe revient souvent sous saplume), réentendre, capter et retransmettreses visions, car il s'agit davantage devisions que d'images. Bien vite on estcertain qu'il est question aussi d'un"corps-radar." De "LA BOUCHE D'OMBRE,""gueule vorace," "l'égarant de jouir"monte aussi "une vapeur monstrueuse":"ces tenailles qui tètent par coups tout lepoitrail rotant rut du vin de l'ancestralegrotte . . .," la chair y est noircie de "l'anciennenuit" et c'est de cet "effroi," decette "extatique Chimère" que Lapointetente de la libérer. Ce parallèle ne veutpas réduire le poème de Lapointe à celuide Hugo, au contraire, ce n'a été qu'unmoyen d'en découvrir la richesse. Pour"acquitter" le corps de "l'ancienne nuit,"il le dira comme si enfourcher Pégase etle laisser piaffer, pousser le dire jusqu'auparoxysme, exacerbation des pouvoirs dulangage, c'était le blanchir, l'amener àaspirer au plaisir qui "désenténèbre.""C'est le songe," nous dit Lapointe, c'estle sien et c'est sa raison d'être; "c'est leson j'E," ou "E est blanc," nous dit Rimbaud,car de Nerval à Yves Bonnefoy enpassant par Rimbaud, le poète a choisises relais.C'est une oeuvre qui avance en dévorant,en effet si l'on est pris par le texte,c'est par sa voracité. C'est là que résidel'efficacité de l'écriture de Lapointe.On aimerait noter que Beausoleil a citéHugo en exergue et Lapointe l'a mis aucentre de son oeuvre, c'est que l'un etl'autre ont voulu aller "au-delà," faireapparaître les multiples facettes d'unmême instant et dégager le corps de laconception simpliste, monolithique qu'ons'en fait pour en jouir dans sa complexité.HERACLITEANKNOWLEDGEDAVID F. ROGERSAL PURDY, Bursting Into Song: An Al PurdyOmnibus. Black Moss, $9.95.HENRY MoscoviTCH, New Poems. Mosaic/Valley Editions, $7.95.BILL HOWELL, In a White Shirt. Black Moss,$7·95·HENRY BEissEL, Cantos North, with lithographsby Friedhelm Lach. Ayorama Editions,$90.00 (six folios); luxury edition,$300.00.IT IS A STRANGE and sad thing that, inthe early 1980's, a poet in his mid-sixtiesas near to the Canadian bone as Al Purdyshould not be able to bring out a CollectedPoems that would allow readersand students to follow, between one set ofcovers, his development and his achievementseen as a whole. But the economicsof large-scale commercial publishing —and especially the high cost of printing —seem to make this impossible. Such volumesare becoming much more infrequentthan in the past. The only recentretrospective collections that come immediatelyto my mind are those of F. R.Scott and of Robin Skelton, the latterbrought out by a western publishinghouse, Sono Nis, that has close links withits printer.Purdy's new volume, Bursting IntoSong, draws attention to this situation. Itis called an "Al Purdy Omnibus," but infact it is only the back half of the bus.As Purdy explains in his "A Sort of Intro.,"Bursting Into Song has to be read"with an earlier selection, Being Alive,plus another book called The Stone Bird"to appreciate "what I think is my bestwork." Being Alive, which is subtitled"Poems 1958-78," was itself a reflection163

BOOKS IN REVIEWof publishing tendencies as early as 1978,for instead of reprinting all of Purdy'spoems from volumes that were quicklyrunning out of print, McClelland &Stewart offered merely a selection. It wasa good selection, sensitively done by DennisLee and including all the spectacularvirtuoso poems and much else, but quiteobviously, like many of his readers, Purdyis not content.Bursting Into Song is designed to fillthe gap. It does not complete the wholerange of Purdy's poems up to The StoneBird (his most recent collection) but itdoes make up for the absences in BeingAlive by restoring all the poems whichPurdy thinks worth preserving and whichDennis Lee, for spatial or critical reasons,decided not to use. Its arrangement, byMarty Gervais who runs the Black MossPress which publishes the book, is, asPurdy says, "much less deliberate andstudied," but that is hardly likely to disturbreaders who will again have accessto good (and not always so good) poemsfrom out-of-print collections that Lee didnot choose to select.Purdy suggests that, because so manyof the "lighter" poems were included inBeing Alive, Bursting Into Song is "amore serious collection, not to say solemn,"but in fact the sardonic comedianis freely at work even here."Bend over,"the doctor said(he was an extremely treacherous person),and stabbed me with apickle fork andgrinned for very joy —("Miss Adventure")for nobody makes friends with an onionexcept another oneand then they don't trust each otherlike two skunks("Helping My Wife Get Supper")Still, I think one can say that in BurstingInto Song, despite the lyricism impliedin its title, a more demotic anddidactic Purdy appears than in BeingAlive. Dennis Lee picked off the best ofthe erotic poems and of the moving poemsof historic nostalgia and topographicalpassion. There is nothing here as spectacularlygood or as lyrically moving as"The Country North of Belleville" and"The Necropsy of Love," as "The CaribooHorses" and "Arctic Rhododendrons."But there are the poems of directhuman contact like "Joe Barr" and"Percy Lawson," compassionate and empathetic,and often in their own way tenderlycomic, like "Washday," in whichPurdy remembers the slightly ambiguousencounter on a remote Arctic island whenhe helped an Inuit woman with her dailychores.In most of these poems there is a senseof probing awareness which Purdy recognizeswhen he talks of "the pure joy ofsome discovery in a poem, feeling a personaleuphoria flow from me to the poemand back to me," and which gives its ownexploratory character to his work. WhenI look at many of Purdy's poems in termsof their content, I am reminded of proseanalogies — the sharply observationalnarratives of Victorian naturalists likeDarwin and Bates or of early investigatorsof urban low life like Thomas Mayhew.Purdy's triumph is perhaps to have reversedthe direction Herodotus initiatedwhen he brought the matter of epic poetryinto prose; he has transferred thematter of anthropological and historicalprose into poetry, and has done so withan unusual combination of concrete visualizationand natural euphony. Thestrange lurid portrait of Purdy on thecover of Bursting Into Song suggests aman in vatic trance, and there is in fact ashamanic feeling about much of this poetry,a sense of common reality transfigured,which I think explains the wayPurdy can touch our feelings by evokingsome banal situation in common speech,but common speech given the rhythms ofincantation. Certainly, equipped with164

BOOKS IN REVIEWboth Bursting Into Song and Being Alive,the reader will possess most of Purdy'smemorable poems and hear most of hisvarious voices.Purdy's considerable production of poems— he estimates that those he thinksworth preserving would fill a 300-pagevolume — is the result of years of continuouswriting, and of publishing what hewrites in collections issued at fairly shortintervals. Few years pass without anotherPurdy volume coming either from Mc-Clelland & Stewart or from some moreprivate press. In comparison with him,Henry Moscovitch and Bill Howell areextraordinary slight producers and cannotbe regarded as poets in the samedevotedly professional sense. New Poemsis the first book Henry Moscovitch haspublished since The Laughing Storm appearedin 1961. Bill Howell's In a WhiteShirt follows eleven years after his onlyother volume, The Red Fox, which cameout in 1971.Bill Howell has spent the interveningyears mainly in radio production, but hispoetry carries few signs of this vocation,and indeed has the tone and attitude ofescape from mundane considerations thatmight justify one calling it Sunday poetry,a series of small releases from routine intofantasy and nostalgia. There is no greatsense of commitment, but one is awarehere and diere of feelings of warmth andeven regret for the sites of the poet'sMaritimes childhood:And hereWe still are, where this place isamazingly as it was once, or was ittwice, we went here anyway, thenas now, whatever the weather.There is never the kind of complex obsessionwith place and time, with personalexperience reaching into tradition, thatinspires the elaborate structures of Purdy'spoems of Loyalist Ontario. The toneof Howell's poetry is simple and muted,given to descriptive image rather than tometaphor, and always returning, as if toan emblem of escape, to the figure of thefox as trickster.To see, after all these years, a new bookby Henry Moscovitch is a reminder of thedays when Montreal was a great centre ofEnglish poetry in Canada. The historicmagazines published there, Preview andFirst Statement and Northern Review,are more than a quarter of a century inthe past; many of the poets who madeMontreal such a centre in the 194.0's and1950's are either dead, like A. M. Kleinand Patrick Anderson, John Sutherlandand John Glassco, or departed, like P. K.Page and Irving Layton and LeonardCohen. Of the few who have remained— F. R. Scott and Louis Dudek amongthem — Henry Moscovitch lapsed intothe longest silence, at least so far as publicationis concerned, though there seemsto be internal evidence in New Poemsthat he has been quietly writing all along.In a rather fulsome prefatory poem,"Stanzas to H.M.," Leonard Cohen creditsMoscovitch with writing "the bravestsongs we have of loss and love's repair,"and certainly loss and the endurance ofloss are poignantly present in his work. Itis the peculiarly compelling work of aman who has remained privately devotedto his art over the years without the senseof a need to offer his heart immediatelyto the public, a poet to whom Cohen'sdescription later in his dedication, "wellorderedand alone," seems clearly toapply.Reading Moscovitch's poems I am reminded,by their form as well as theirmood, of those modest fountains in Japanesehermitages in which a thin, unbrokenand oil-smooth jet of water fallsinto the mirror of an old stone basin. Thepoems are arranged in narrow columns— like water jets — with lines rarely ofmore than four syllables, and in feelingthey have the cool certainty of fallingwater, and the Heraclitian knowledge165

BOOKS IN REVIEWthat it is never the same water or, byanalogy, the same human situation.The days go bylike swiftrunning water.I am disturbedin my little shell.I miss youbut it's not thatas I can hardlyremember your name.The yearshave erased youfrom my memory.I hardly knowwhat to call you:force or destiny.When you comeback you willfind me lostin the fieldsof another.Cantos North by Henry Beissel, anotherMontreal English poet who is agood deal more productive than Moscovitch,is an elaborate example of theprinter's craft, handset, assembled in sixfolios of two cantos each, and accompaniedby lithographs "about Canada"by Friedhelm Lach; there is even a luxuryedition of twenty copies priced at$300.00. After the cool economy and certaintyof Moscovitch's tiny lyrics, CantosNorth seems like a sprawling and unfocusedwork. Of course, its subject — thevast untidy land of Canada — has thesame attributes, but one of the functionsof poetry is to draw a pattern out ofchaos. For me the pattern that emergesout of Beissel's poem is neither clear norvery significant. Frank Scott, in a eulogisticnote, describes Cantos North as an"epic," but it has none of the epic's relentlessnarrative movement, and one canbest consider it as a series of geohistoricalodes, devoted to the life of man in thegreat Canadian wilderness. Examiningthe work in detail, one finds clear lyricalpassages, striking images, but the realuniting sweep is lacking, so that even thevirtues of the poem tend to become impediments.Unlike Purdy, it seems to me,and unlike Pratt also, Beissel has not succeededin bettering those who have precededhim in prose. As an evocation ofthe experience of the north, Cantos Northfalls short of Hearne's or Thompson'soriginal narratives or, for that matter, ofDonald Creighton's mytho-historical interpretationsof them. Pound set a badexample when, in his Cantos, he tried todo in verse what could be better done inprose, and Henry Beissel has been influencedin more than his title by the Pisanmaster.POETRY & PROSEGEORGE WOODCOCKGEORGE BOWERiNG, Particular Accidents: SelectedPoems, ed. with an intro. by RobinBlaser. Talonbooks, $5.95.FRANK DAVEY, The Arches: Selected Poems,ed. with an intro. by bpNichol. Talonbooks,$4-95-FRED WAH, Loki is Buried at Smoky Creek:Selected Poems, ed. with an intro. by GeorgeBowering. Talonbooks, $4.95.BILL BissETT, Beyond Even Faithful Legends:Selected Poems 1962-76, ed. bill bissett, intro.by Len Early. Talonbooks, $5.95.BP NiCHOL, As Elected: Selected Writing1962-1979, ed. bp Nichol and Jack David,intro. by Jack David. Talonbooks, $5.95.TALONBOOKS' SERIES of selected writingsis a potpourri of poetry and prose, pictureand sound poems, drawings, doodles,song-chants, "konkreetisms" and a hostof uncategorizable works. Each editor hashad free rein in the compilation of hisown volume and each, thankfully, hasconsidered carefully the implications ofjuxtaposition: the essentially interpretativeact of anthologizing. The result issomething of a very mixed bag.On one hand we get a welcome varietywithin an overall series format (there areno consistent/perspective principles ofselection). Individual introductions for166

BOOKS IN REVIEWthe most part are critical and intelligent,outlining the basis of selection, a briefbiography, and the literary significanceof the poet. Best of all, each volume hasa comprehensive bibliography which is,most notably in the case of Bissett andNichol, a scholarly contribution of thehighest sort.On the negative side we have rather alarge dollop of hype, jargon, and batheticplatitudes, especially in the introductionsto Wah, Bowering, and Nicho!. Considerfor example Bowering on Wah :Wah's poems tangle with the phenomenal,the first act of noticing something, & theytry to signify it without overusing "society's"¡name for it, which latter is next to be peeledaway after we have discarded abstraction &description, & their simi-lies. In the poem"Here," we catch the poet's attention as itis caught, attention being for Wah moreimportant than reflection. Thus rime is moreimportant than reason.Rhetorical? Deliberate overstatement?We've not, it seems, heard the last ofMartinus Scriblerus or Charles Kinbote.But critical bathos aside, the series is asignificant one, particularly as it gathersin one convenient place representativeselections by three of the co-founders ofTish. Although each is decidedly an individual"voice," the present volumes accentuateby proximity the connections,inter-lacings, the networks that join participantsinto a coherent group. In everycase there is the obsession with languageas political tool: inherited verbiage asideology, as imposed, and therefore assuspect idiom to be treated with criticaldubiety.Robin Blaser has made an intelligentchoice from Bowering's voluminous output,using stuff from as far back as 1961as well as (to name a few), Baseball,Autobiology, Curious, and A Short SadBook, bp Nichol has thoughtfully excludedFrank Davey's pre-1970 works because"the published work from 1970 onis vastly superior & gives a much clearerpicture of the author's intent & power."Hence, excerpts from (among others)Weeds, Arcana, and War Poems. As ananthology Bowering's Wah is the mostbalanced of the three, starting withMountain, progressing through each ofthe subsequent collections (including superbextracts from Pictograms) and concluding,though not always wisely, withsome previously unpublished poems.By far the most successful volumes arethose self-edited by Bill Bissett and bpNichol. Not only do we get an interestinginsight into what each artist considersworth re-presenting, but also an astonishinggaze into the range, versatility andpower of two "renaissance" poets. LenEarly, whose introduction is the clearest,least cliche-ridden, and most cogent ofthe lot, sensibly remarks of Bissett (andit might also be said of Nichol) :Bissett's poetry was so closely identified withthe political/cultural convulsion of the1960's that even its admirers were bound towonder how many of its features would retaininterest as the years passed. This selectionshould reassure them. In the first place,it will remind us that his poetry had deepersources than topical issues and literary fashion.In the second, it shows that his bestwork has always been charged with theenergy and formal ingenuity of enduringart.Further along :Objections to avant garde poetry in thename of "the tradition" . . . usually implyeither an undeveloped or a fixated aestheticThese two volumes set out to unfix, toloosen up those hardened aesthetic arteries.Bissett offers a large selection, runningback and forth throughout virtually theentire canon, incorporating voices "erotik,politikul, humorous, lyrikul, sound-vizual,narrative, meditative, konkreet, collage,nd song-chants." Nichol opts for a "definitepattern" and groups his works accordingto formal properties (visualpoems, sound poems, prose, and so on).167

BOOKS IN REVIEWIn both cases the intention is the same:to share the vision, the energy, the delight,the moment. From Nichol's "Maps"here published for the first time:a tranceyour eyes wide open orя heighteningletting defenses dropopening the sensesup & outwidening into the wide worldNo "selected writings" ever convey theessence of a movement or group or individualoeuvre. But the anthologist's juxtapositionscan provide a convenient pointof-entry,a critical indicator of what anygiven accomplishment is about.FOR WORDSTurn-ARTHUR ADAMSON, Passages of Winter.stone, n.p.GARY BOIREMICHAEL BULLOCK, Lines in the Dark Wood.Third Eye Publications Inc., $7.25.STEPHEN ouppY, Ghostcatcher.Books, n.p.OolichanKEVIN ROBERTS, Stonefish and Other Poems.Oolichan Books, n.p.NATURE AND SEASONAL CHRONOLOGYhave long served as metaphor for thedifferent stages of man throughout literaryhistory. The classical view holds themetaphor as instrument of clarificationto reveal a reality of a world which isbasically unchanging. Linear time, periodicitywith its own particular imagery,settings, and spatial configurations,evolves towards one temporal climax ofwinter and death. But there is also a moreromantic view of a cyclical process associatedwith the seasons where althoughman exists within a temporal structurebeyond his control he holds the power tomove through cycles where vertical timebecomes a fallacy. Arthur Adamson's168Passages of Winter is a collection of poemswhere the cyclical overcomes the temporaland the dark images of winter giveway to spring and summer solstice. Adamson'stheme is not new — a fact he iswell aware of — but in the face of a basicallyunchanging world he recognizeseach individual's responsibility to imposehimself and creatively adapt and shapehis own:in my acute sameness and difference Icallmy sameness nature's gift and curse ...eachhuman a monster offspring lover flameof a creating mind that no god could stamp.In reading Passages of Winter I was remindedof Coleridge's theory of the imaginationwhich holds the power of reconciliationbetween opposites: samenesswith difference, the old with the fresh,nature, that "primal genial artist" withman's creativity. It is refreshing to readof winter as an integrative passage whichintensifies the living span instead of symbolof alienation and fragmentation. I dothink, however, that the link between natureand Adamson's poetic imaginationcould have been stronger had he left amore individualistic stamp. Also, manyof the illustrations at the end of the poemsshould have been left out. They tend tooverstate and undercut the poetry.In Lines in the Dark Wood, MichaelBullock writes "how tempting to seeksolace / in despair" and his latest bookis indeed a struggle against loneliness, advancingage, death of loved ones, the darkwood a state of mind so threatening itcan never be considered labyrinthine orexploratory with hope of light at the end.Bullock, who is an artist as well as awriter, fills the page as he would a canvas.Images of "tall green ferns / lookingaskance / from one red tulip eye" transforminnocent gardens into forests andjungles which recall exotic settings ofRousseau paintings, as does the photo-

BOOKS IN REVIEWgraph of the writer on the back cover,peering through broad-leaved foliage. Hisimpression of a setting sun — "a splodgeof orange ink / soaks slowly away into theblue-grey blotter / of the evening sky" —could also have been Monet's. Several ofthe images are beautifully sharp ("theheron / dying on its perch of bone") buteventually they all veer inward where allis tangle and web and "only the thornsthat embrace us / console us with theknowledge / that our blood is still warm...." Even the last poem, "Paris in theRain," one of the three poems of "Rebirth,"ends on a note of defeat and artisticimpotence: "rapacious clouds / havebitten off the finger / that could partthis curtain...." Unfortunately Bullock'slines, those "needles of light" required togather his dark thoughts, are never brightenough to pierce the dark mood of thisbook, and both writer and reader are leftin the dark.Ghostcatcher is an appropriate title forwhat I believe is Stephen Guppy's firstbook of poems. While it is not inaccessible,it is elusive, as Guppy's voices either"hover in doorways like birds," "gleamand fade," or are "lost in forests." Thereare poems about the anima, female personificationof male unconscious usuallyidentified with vagueness and the forcesof darkness, about men who havedrowned chasing dreams, and childrenwho burst into flame. The images do notmerge as much as blur and dissolve intoa dreamy quality luring the reader awayfrom any sense of reality. To add to thisdreamy quality, many of the poems readas sing-songs. Lines are metrically dividedinto equal parts — which is almost neverencountered in poetry anymore — andwhile rhythm may reinforce content, inthis case it only serves to call attention toitself and becomes forced and monotonous.The poem which stands out is "OctoberTurn," where Guppy's clear languagestems from the everyday and growsinto wider but never careless meaning,and the rhythm, quiet and internal, moveswith a pulse of its own."Stonefish," the title poem of KevinRoberts's sixth book of poetry, Stonefishand Other Poems, is based on elements ofGauguin's life in the South Pacific. Therelationship between despair and creativitycontinues to be the centre of modernart and there is perhaps no finer examplethan Paul Gauguin to personify the artistas romantic symbol. The long poem of 35pages attempts to capture the complexrelations of the artist caught between natureand culture, the ideological and thetraditional, desire and some forbiddinggoverning law. No longer able to livewithin the confines of European values,Gauguin sought to trade the "white /celluloid collars tight / black weave / ofhis coat" for "this place / where all thingscurved / bright as vahines' hips." Thetrade-off, which is never achieved, provesto be destructive. Behind the bright colours,the sensuality, beauty, lurks Gauguin'sdemon, his guilt: "the stonefish /spines flared upon its / back / awaits thedancing / foot."While I found Roberts's poetry verycompetent I kept hoping for a languagethat would transcend the familiarity ofhis theme. Gauguin may not have beenable to solve the tensions of his personallife either in Europe or in the SouthPacific but he was the cause of a greatmoment of liberation in the history ofWestern Art. He was one of the first artiststo risk his medium, colour, as anexpressive end in itself instead of a meansof describing aspects of the natural world.While Roberts understands this in Gauguinhe seems reluctant to take any riskswith his own art. It seems that most writers,unlike most modern artists, have notyet grasped the significance of thinkingabout their subject on the basis of literarypractice instead of neurosis.There is no finer example of artistic169

BOOKS IN REVIEWpractice as end in itself than Gauguin'sVision after the Sermon where two distantfigures, Jacob and the Angel, struggleagainst a background of red. Thisbackground thrusts itself forward and becomesthe subject of the painting. Inview of this masterpiece it's difficult toconvince oneself of what Roberts describesas "the great poison of Gauguin'smind." For in the final analysis (and toquote Roberts quoting Gauguin) "seul letravail / explique l'homme."AQUIN EN RELIEFLOLA LEMIRE-TOSTEVINRENE LAPIERRE, L'Imaginaire captif, HubertAquin. Quinze, $10.95.DANS SON INTRODUCTION, René Lapierremet en relief ce qu'il considère avec pertinenceêtre à la source de la ferveurenvoûtée que l'oeuvre d'Hubert Aquinsuscite: elle est lieu d'un jeu de ressemblanceset de sollicitations entre auteur etlecteurs. Toutefois, avant d'être lieu deprojection et d'identification pour le lecteur,l'oeuvre l'est d'abord pour son auteur,ce à tel point que Lapierre constatera:"Lire, écrire ne constituent doncpas chez Aquin des actes libres, maisplutôt les simples épisodes d'une quête dela connaissance et de l'identité condamnéeà s'étourdir dans le vertige du textespéculaire." En tant que reflet de l'identificationnarcissique aliénante, l'oeuvred'Aquin s'avoue oeuvre fermée aux yeuxdu critique, d'où il met en question samodernité. Sans que Lapierre se réfèreexplicitement à Lacan, il saisit que l'oeuvreacquinienne s'affirme sous sa plumecomme illustration du stade du miroir.Au reste, son étude de la matière romanesque,parsemée de nombreuses référencespsychanalytiques, recoupe d'essentiellesnotions lacaniennes. A ce sujet, letitre ^Imaginaire captif est lui-mêmefrappant. Bien que le projet du critiquene soit pas de montrer la captivité d'unauteur et de son oeuvre dans le registreimaginaire par rapport au registre symbolique,il n'en découle pas moins qu'ilrencontrera la théorie lacanienne de larefente en démontrant que les narrateursd'Aquin, de Prochain Episode à Neigenoire, se projettent constamment dans desdoubles d'une manière telle que chacunentretient invariablement une relationavec le Même plutôt qu'avec l'Autre. Ilen résulte que "l'écriture d'Aquin estl'exemple même de la dépossession" puisque"du roman d'espionnage au cinéma,en passant par la peinture, le théâtre etl'histoire, son univers culturel la cautionnesans cesse; tout la complique et lui ressembleà l'infini, mais en revanche, toutla dispense d'affirmer sa propre identité,de s'éprouver comme différente et de passerpar cette différenciation pour arrivervraiment à elle-même, à ce qui la fondeen dépit de ce qui lui ressemble."Dans cet esprit, René Lapierre prouverade façon convaincante, d'une part,que les prisons des narrateurs-écrivainsd'Aquin sont des complexes culturels,d'autre part, que l'absence d'identité quien est la conséquence voue l'écriture àdevenir principe de mort. Cette aliénationdu romancier dans ses identifications imaginaireset dans son discours, il la faitressortir en tenant toujours compte descomposantes et personnages propres àchaque roman, ce qui donne souvent lieuà d'intéressantes et pénétrantes réflexions.Pour Prochain Episode, relevons l'oscillationd'une écriture impuissante à sestabiliser soit sur le registre fictionnel, soitsur le registre scriptural; pour Trou demémoire, l'enfermement d'un discours quis'avoue fascinant trompe-l'oeil déployésur le vide, d'où la parole recèle ici l'infinievalorisation du manque originel;pour Γ'Antiphonaire, Γ écriture-maladie ence sens que l'écriture s'identifie dans ceroman-limite au haut mal qui l'habite et170

BOOKS IN REVIEWla possède; pour Neige noire, l'appartenancesimultanée à la parole et au silenced'un texte-scénario qui en appelle à unsacré à la fois divin et diabolique, donc àune ambiguïté qui débouche sur l'impossibledénomination. Dans le chapitre"L'oeuvre dispersée, la mort manquante,"Lapierre élaborera la mise en questioninitiale de la modernité de l'oeuvre. S'ilrange Aquin hors de la modernité, c'estque son oeuvre, à la différence des récitsouverts et ludiques de Sabato, Borges ouMichaux, ne s'abandonne ni à l'incertain,ni au possible ; c'est qu'elle programme etcirconscrit la lecture, qu'elle se révèle incapabled'imiter, tout en les détruisant,la tradition et les codes réalistes qui l'instituent,à savoir Balzac, Holbein, Paracelse,Shakespeare. . .. Cherchant au contraireà se fonder sur eux, l'imaginaired'Aquin demeure de ce fait un imaginairecaptif. Ces réflexions du critique sur lamodernité et le traditionalisme d'uneoeuvre ne sont pas sans inciter le lecteurà s'interroger sur les critères de la modernitéici retenus: y aurait-il lieu de lesélargir, de distinguer entre autres des varianteset particularités nationales?En résumé, le livre de René Lapierreest captivant et bien écrit. Le regardlucide et aiguisé que l'auteur porte surl'oeuvre presse le lecteur d'Aquin à "laferveur envoûtée" de dépasser cette dernière.FRANÇOISE MACCABEE IQBAL*** Wyndham Lewis: Letteratura/Pittura,éd. Giovanni Cianci. Sellerio Editore, Palermo,n.p. By an irony he would hardly have appreciated,Wyndham Lewis has become anacademic commodity. Alone of the great modernists,he still remains largely impenetrable tothe general reader. Among writers and paintershe commands the respect accorded to an originalmind and a tireless diligence, but he hadno imitators. A cult of dilettantish devotees hasslowly built up, yet it shows no signs of acapability to provoke a widespread revival ofdevotion to The Enemy. But for the scholar,Lewis (with his monstrous idiosyncrasies andhis wayward erudition) is a gift; students maynot like him, but the material for an endlessseries of papers is there, and now they arebeginning to appear abundantly, and not inEnglish only. The latest Lewis collection,Wyndham Lewis: Letteratura/Pittura, is publishedin Sicily, and includes contributions inItalian, French, and English. It ends, appropriately,with a survey by Bernard Bergonzi ofother such collections on Lewis. The contentsare not uninteresting. There are sane discussionsof what Vorticism really was, the consensusbeing that it was nothing more thanLewis and that Pound was an intruder. Andsome little-discussed texts are considered. Butone misses the insights of fellow writers and ofthe dwindling remnant who knew Lewis himself.*** j. L. GRANATSTEIN, The Ottawa Men:The Civil Service Mandarins, 1935-57. Oxford,$24.95; P a - $ ! 4·95· The underlyingthesis of Granatstein's book is that Canadianfederal administration was shaped by a smallgroup of civil service mandarins operatingbetween 1935 and 1957 who departed fromearlier bureaucratic traditions by becomingsharply politicized and whose particular brandof nationalism led them into alliance with theLiberals. That era has ended. "Intelligentgeneralists, such as the Ottawa Men, came tobe replaced by hordes of 'experts.'" But themandarins of that classic period helped totransform the country and to "alter the wayCanadians lived, acted and thought aboutthemselves." The crucial question, "For betteror for worse?" is left virtually unanswered,though in general Granatstein admires themen of whom he writes without disguising thethirst for power that drove them all. It is asmoothly written book, but this quality addsto the deliberate and deadening neutrality withwhich Granatstein tends to evade the question— crucial in a country like Canada — of thepowers a central bureaucracy should wield in aconfederal society. The result is that in detail— as a series of portraits of individuals encapsulatedwithin their careers — the book is effective,but as a reflective study of a class anda time it lacks a clear direction.00171

BIRNEY'S BEARi ndesEARLE BIRNEY'S "Bear on the DelhiRoad" 1 has long been a favourite poemof mine. It has also been a source of someanxiety and frustration, because I havenever been able to understand it completely.I know it as a series of words;I know it as a structure of images andstatement; I carry it in my head and useit to relate to that world out there thatsurrounds this consciousness in here thatI call me. The poem says something tome that is very profound and very important,but I have always failed to pin itdown and explain exactly what that somethingis. At least that has been the situationuntil now. Recently I have comeupon an article by anthropologist RobinRidington 2 that seems to account for myfascination with Birney's poem, and toilluminate the basic truth that it expresses.Before dealing with Ridington's ideas,however, I would like to discuss the poem,setting out my insights and responses upto the point at which I used to becomeoverwhelmed and bewildered.Birney tells us that the poem developedfrom an experience he had while travellingthrough India in 1958. On the roadoutside Srinagar, he came upon a curioussight: two men with a wild bear. Althoughhis encounter with the trio wasmomentary, the experience was vivid andunforgettable. The significance of theevent seemed unquestionable but also ungraspable,and so the image stayed inBirney's mind for more than a year beforehe was able to exorcise it by putting itinto the poem that we know today. 3 ForBirney, this bear and these men stood forsome basic relationship between man andnature, for some fundamental process inwhich we, as civilized and cultural beings,are involved.Birney begins the poem by setting upthe scene of the men and the bear on theroad, the opening line presenting twoimportant points of reference:Unreal tall as a mythby the road the Himalayan bearis beating the brilliant airwith his crooked armsBesides rendering an effective visualimage of the bear, the words are loadedwith information. The bear, exaggeratedin stature and somewhat incredible in thisparticular circumstance, is characterizedas "unreal" and compared to a "myth."The two words are placed strategically ateither end of the first line. They are, infact, the poles of the axis on which thepoem will turn. However, the questionarises as to why these terms apply to thisparticular bear, who is certainly realenough to make his captors lively.About him two men barespindly as locusts leapThe figures of speech tend to humanizethe animal, who has "arms," and to dehumanizethe men, by comparing themto spindles and insects. There seems to besome kind of reversal going on, or is it anexchange? Birney fills in more details ofthe scene:One pulls on a ringin the great soft nose His mateflicks flicks with a stickup at the rolling eyes.It is not a case of torture but of training,as the poem goes on to point out.They have not led him heredown from the fabulous hillsto this bald alien plainand the clamorous world to killbut simply to teach him to dance.The adjectives set up a pattern of contrastbetween the bear's natural home, the hills,which are now characterized as "fabulous,"and the "clamorous world" of men,172

OPINIONS AND NOTESwhich happens to be the bald plain thatis alien not only to the bear but to hiskeepers, Who have come here for the purposeof exploiting the animal by turninghim into a performer and then puttinghim on display.They are peaceful both these sparemen of Kashmir and the bearalive is their living tooIf far on the Delhi wayaround him galvanic they danceit is merely to wear wearfrom his shaggy body the trancedwish forever to stayonly an ambling bearfour-footed in berries.The relationship between men andbear is becoming more detailed and complex.In order to render the bear amenableand marketable, the men must wearhim down. The word "galvanic," as appliedto the dancing men, is the key tothe central metaphor of the poem. Theword is derived from the name of theeighteenth-century inventor of the electriccell, Luigi Galvani, who demonstrated theflow of electricity in a circuit by attachingfrog legs to a wire between zinc and copperelectrodes in an electrolito solution ofsulphuric acid. As the chemical actiontook place in the cell, the current in thewires animated the frog legs. I rememberin my high school physics class we did thesame experiment, but used a galvanometerin place of the frog legs. It is Galvani'sprimitive model, however, that underliesthe poem's image of dancing men andrearing bear. The metaphoric figure iscomposed of two corresponding images.On one hand we have the allusion toGalvani's electric cell, its frog legs dancingin response to the current that is flowingthrough the wire. On the other handthere is the poem's image of two mendancing around a bear, connected to himby a rope and a stick. The animation ofthe men is powered both literally andfiguratively by the energy of the bear. Thefrog legs and the men will dance untilthey have exhausted the charge in theirrespective energy cells. In the case of thebear, this charge is his energetic determinationto remain a natural, wild bear.Depletion of this energy will result in thebear's domestication, after which the menwill be in control and the bear will dancefor them. Of course, their aim is to' reduceand channel the bear's energy rather thanto use it up completely. As the poem mentions,a dead bear will not provide themwith a livelihood.The poem would present few problemsif it were to end at this point, but it goeson to comment once again on the men'sactivity and the process in which theyare involved :It is no more joyous for themin this hot dust to pranceout of reach of the praying clawssharpened to paw for antsin the shadows of deodars.Birney then presents us with the interpretingstatement to which the poem has beenleading :It is not easy to freemyth from realityor rear this fellow upto lurch lurch with themin the tranced dancing of men.It was here that my comprehension ofthe poem habitually faltered. I could appreciatethe irony that both the naturalwish of the bear and the civilized dancingof men are characterized as "tranced." Icould also understand that the bear, as afinished product ready for circus tents orcarnival lots of Delhi, would at best beable to "lurch" in spastic parody of humanlocomotion. However, I was baffledby the second equation that the poemdraws up. Although I could glimpse someof the implications of the metaphor, Icould not fully appreciate the correspondencebetween the attempt to "free /myth from reality" and the effort to "rearthis fellow up," using either or both sensesof the verb "rear." Clearly, my problem

OPINIONS AND NOTESwas in comprehending the meaning ofthe two abstract terms, "myth" and "reality,"in the concrete context of thepoem.In his paper, "Monsters and the Anthropologist'sReality," Robin Ridingtondiscusses the relationship between mythand reality as he interprets his experienceof encountering the culture and traditionsof the Athabaskan Dunne-za Indians ofthe Peace River area. The problem thathe sets out to explain is the existence ofthe dual and conflicting realities of theDunne-za and himself.In Dunne-za tradition, as in the traditionsof many other North American native cultures,there was a time when the relationsbetween people and animals were reversed.Giant animals that spoke and had culturehunted humans, who were their game. Inthese stories about this time, terms normallyused to describe animals were applied topeople, and human terms were used for thegiant animals. 4To the Dunne-za, traditional stories,which we would classify as myths, are notoutside nature or human experience.The giant animals that characterize thesestories now lie buried in the earth, givingshape to the various contours of the landscapeand exerting an influence on thelives of people.When Dunne-za children are sent into thebush to obtain "supernatural power" . . .they experience directly the power of thegiant animals. It is from these giant animalsof mythic times that the Dunne-za acquirethe powers that enable them to performcompetently as adult members of their society.The giant animals are encountered directlyby every normal person at the timeof the childhood vision quest experience, andthey remain a constant presence behind theappearance of everyday reality. Through thevision quest people learn to exert a controllinginfluence over the animals of the realworld. 5Ridington goes on to point out that thegiant animals "are intelligible transformationsof the natural animals upon whichthe people's lives depend." The Dunne-za"live by making contact with animals inthe bush and transforming them into culturalresources, such as food and clothing."In their myths, "where human-likeanimals overcome animal-like humans,"the pattern is reversed, until Saya, theculture-hero-transformer, sets thingsright. 6 Just as the mythic events are interpretationsof the Dunne-za hunting andtrapping activities, their day-to-day activitiesare concrete expressions of their underlyingmyths. The unity of this experienceis fundamental to their traditionalworld. The giant animals, therefore, arenot a separate, occult, reality, but ratheran essential component of the context ofDunne-za life.The function of myth as Ridington hasexplained it here is similar in any culture.Myths reiterate and stabilize our historicaland traditional relationship with theworld as we experience it. In the Dunnezasituation there is no> need to "free mythfrom reality," because the categories arefunctionally inseparable; myth is part ofreality. In a less integrated culture, suchas our own, myth has a more ambiguousstatus. We can, and frequently do, identifyand study it as an isolated form.Nevertheless, even for us there are certainrudimentary mythic patterns that remaina presence behind our everyday lives.Many of our own public rituals, the bullfight,the rodeo, and the circus, for example,act out the residual myth of man'striumph over, and domestication of, thewild beasts. This fact accounts for thelasting appeal of these forms of entertainmentand the fascination Birney had withthe stark example of the ritual which wasbeing prepared once more at the side ofthe Delhi Road.Let us consider what is going on in thepoem in the light of Ridington's illumination.The task that the men have laid outfor themselves involves transforming anatural item, "an ambling bear / fourfootedin berries," into a commercial174

OPINIONS AND NOTESproduct, the humanoid dancing bear fromwhich they will eventually make theirliving. At the same time this task alsoinvolves freeing myth from reality in thesense of transforming a real bear into amythic entity : the trained bear as symbolof man's technical domination of nature.The two transformations are parallel andmutually dependent: one motivates theprocess, whereas the other interprets it.Unlike the Dunne-za, we, as analytic andspecialized beings, have developed thetechnique of separating the real and themythic here on this bare and alien plainof our clamorous civilization. Birney'spoem gives us a rare perspective on thisseparation and on the nature of the mythmakingprocess itself. The experience ofcomprehending the poem is the experienceof standing back to witness a parodyof our own technological competence.That is why the poem is a masterpiece. Inits metaphor of the bear and the electriccell, in its vivid and evocative imagery ofthe insect-like men and their exaggeratedcharge, in its sonorous and ironic play ofwords, the poem illustrates and commentson the mysterious exchange which is basicto the history of civilization : man's simultaneousexploitation of nature and creationof myth. Technological man's involvementin this process parallels that ofthe Dunne-za, though the outcome of ourinvolvement is much less inspiring thantheirs. Birney, of course, is not endorsingthe process or the particular myth withwhich the poem is concerned. He ismerely laying it bare.We are the men on the Delhi Road,even as we sit in our warm houses andturn on the television or fill our cars withgasoline and drive to the movies. Perhapswe are about to watch a bear in a WaltDisney cartoon. Anyone for a dance or atrance?1NOTESGhost in the Wheels: Selected Poems (Toronto:McClelland & Stewart, 1977), p. 75.2 "Monsters and the Anthropologist's Reality,"in Man-like Monsters on Trial: EarlyRecords and Modern Evidence, eds. MargorieHalpin and Martin Ames (Vancouverand London: Univ. of British ColumbiaPress, 1980), pp. 172-86.3 Earle Birney commenting on the poem atvarious public readings, and in conversationwith the author.4 Ridington, "Monsters," p. 173.5 Ridington, p. 173.6 Ridington, pp. 173-74.THREE LAMPMANLETTERSLIONEL KEARNSREADERS WITH A PARTICULAR INTERESTin Lampman studies will be delighted tolearn of the discovery of three letters fromthe poet's father, the Reverend ArchibaldLampman, to one Joseph McNeely. Mc-Neely, whose brother John had marriedthe poet's aunt, was a farmer in Lanarkcounty and discovered what he thoughtwere promising rock formations on hisland. He then contacted the ReverendLampman to arrange to have samples ofthe rock assayed to determine their value.The letters in question, donated to theChancellor Norman M. Paterson Library,Lakehead University, by a direct descendantof Joseph McNeely, and dated respectively"Sep. 18th 1886," "Sep. 23.1886," and "Sep. 12. 1888," constitutereplies to McNeely's enquiries. The earliestletter recounts the Reverend Lampman'svisit to the Geological SurveyOffice during which he learned, amongother things, that "they [the Survey Office]could not send out a man to satisfyevery 'Sporadic' attempt that scatteredparties might make to find metals." Hegoes on to note that "'Sporadic' is a newword to me; it means separate, isolated."The letter of "Sep. 23. 1886" reports theactual findings of the assay ("copper175

OPINIONS AND NOTESpyrites, a useful order of iron") and, likethe earlier letter, contains the usual wishesto be remembered to family and variousfriends. It is the letter dated "Sep. 12.1888" which is the most interesting of thethree. In it the Reverend Lampman notesthat Mr. B. T. A. Bell of the [Canadian]Mining Journal wished to mount "a largeexhibition" of ore samples, including somefrom the McNeely property. Among thefairly precise instructions which McNeelyis then given for the shipment of thesematerials is an admonition that they"must be sent him [Bell] not later thanthe 19th inst." and then follows this intriguingparagraph :To comply with this proposition will cost yousome trouble; but no more than a man whowill grasp at all means and helps to gainhis end is bound to incur. Whether this orthat Ticket will win in the Lottery nonecan know. I have been groaning under theheavy load [in manuscript "burden" hasbeen struck out and "load" written in overthe eliminated word] of idleness and selfburdenedold age: have some kind of pityand regard for me if you can. . . .The surprisingly despairing tone ofthese remarks suggests not only the disappointmentof a man disillusioned bywhat he saw as the narrowly focusedactivities of an increasingly materialisticage — a perception shared in full measureby the writer of the sonnets "Reality" and"To a Millionaire" — but also somethingof what must have been the prevailingatmosphere in the Lampman familyhousehold. Shortly after he took up residencein Ottawa to work in the PostOffice Department, Archibald Lampmanwas joined by the rest of his immediatefamily. The household then, and for severalyears thereafter, seems to have consistedof the Reverend Archibald andMrs. Lampman, the poet himself and thethree sisters, Sara Isabelle ("Belle"), AnnieMargaret, and Caroline ("Bebe").The ordinary expenses of daily livingwould have been quite enough to strainthe resources of most families of this sizeat that time, but, in addition, Annie Margarethad aspirations to be a concertpianist, for which expensive lessons werenecessary, and Caroline wanted a careeras an artist. The financial resources availableto fund all this were modest enough :to Lampman's salary as a clerk in the PostOffice Department (less than $750 a yearuntil 1890, according to Desmond Pacey),there was only what the Reverend Lampmanhad as pension as a retired Churchof England in Canada clergyman. Apparentlyto help ease the financial burden,Mrs. Lampman assumed a role as themanager of a music academy specializingin dance. Even so, the disparity betweenthe money needed and that actually availableresulted in a home dominated bythe necessity for utmost frugality. Thefinancial situation was further exacerbatedby Lampman's marriage to MaudPlayter in 1887, and more still by Annie'sremoval with her mother to study pianoin Germany.This background makes more understandableLampman's acerbic complaintin November of 1888 to his Torontofriend, May McKeggie, that both "Belle"(who had not yet succeeded "in huntingup anything to do") and "Bebe" (who"is working at the art school") were stillat home. And it is in this context thatwe must see the remarks quoted earlierof the elder Lampman to Joseph Mc-Neely. Quite clearly, the debilitating financialstrain which evoked the commentaryby both Lampmans suggests thatthere was a real basis for the anxiety feltby the poet and that we are dealing herewith something other than merely thesubjective response of an overly sensitiveromantic spirit. It seems clear, too, thatthe happy family atmosphere even of theNicholas Street address, referred to byalmost every critic from Carl Connor toMargaret Whitridge, must now be seenin a qualified way. Finally, it is clear that176

OPINIONS AND NOTESthose interested in pursuing further detailsof the Lampman biography for thelight which may be shed on both the poetand the work will have to take into accountsuch letters as these of the ReverendArchibald Lampman to JosephMcNeely.JACQUESGRAND'MAISONS. R. M AC GILLIVRAYJ. D. RABBJACQUES GRAND'MAISON, universitaire,écrivain, théologien, sociologue, auteur deplus de vingt-cinq volumes, a aussi écritde nombreux articles dans les revues spécialiséeset les journaux. Il a publié chezLeméac, en 1980 les deux livres: De queldroit? {Les Fondements critiques, tomeI) ; De quel droit? [La Pratique sociale,torne II). L'auteur nous parle de l'évolutionhistorique du droit; il nous situe lesidéologies dans leur "contexte socio-politique"et il nous explique les "pratiquessociales des droits" et plaide "pour unepédagogie sociale du droit."Dans Les Fondements critiques, l'auteurtente de répondre à la question sociale dudroit, et quand il interpelle "de queldroit?" il le situe dans la société actuelle,c'est-à-dire "une nouvelle conscience quiinterpelle, les deux grands systèmes dominantsdu monde contemporain" : le capitalismeet le communisme. JacquesGrand'Maison vulgarise d'une façon remarquableles synthèses soumises à sonattention, mais il oublie, parfois, de préciserle sens des mots et la valeur réelledes idées. A titre d'exemples, il nous parled'"une nouvelle conscience" en passantde Socrate à Sakharov, "leur conscience" ;"de la conscience moderne, on se demandeavec objectivité, comment établir,avec clarté, les rapports ou les différencesde la conscience morale de la consciencepsychologique ?Le rôle de la conscience morale est dejuger les faits, les actions; la consciencepsychologique s'étend à tous les faits psychiques;la conscience morale s'appuienécessairement sur la conscience psychologique,car pour juger un acte qu'onvient d'accomplir, ce qui est le cas vraimenttypique, il faut que je connaissel'intention, le motif auquel j'ai obéi; or,cette connaissance est l'oeuvre de la consciencepsychologique. Aussi ces deux consciencessont, au fond, intimement liées.La conscience morale, sans la consciencepsychologique, serait probablement restéesuperficielle et confuse, car c'est par"l'examen de conscience," par la rechercheanxieuse des faits et des actions,qu'elle s'est entraînée à l'analyse interne,à une introspection de plus en plus subtile.Quelle serait la valeur intrinsèque dudroit sans une conscience objective etscientifiquement éclairée? Et quand l'auteurse pose la question: "De quel droit,"il nous parle des droits de l'homme, desdroits linguistiques, de La Charte desdroits. ... Il explicite le point de vue individuelet le point de vue social tout enprécisant la nature du droit, fondé sur laforce, l'utilité sociale et sur la liberté.Dans Les Fondements critiques, l'auteurprécise qu'il y a dans chaque personne,un droit primordial, absolu, éternel, quifonde la justice, ce qui signifie qu'il y adans la personne raisonnable et libre, unevaleur absolue, qu'elle ne doit jamaisêtre traitée "comme un moyen, maiscomme une fin." Jacques Grand'Maisonnous convie à la prudence quand il nousparle "du libéralisme" et "du collectivisme,"qui, selon lui, tendent "à balayerles différences culturelles et qualitatives."Et dans toute évolution, il faut tenircompte de la liberté de chaque individuqui n'a de limite que dans la libertéd'autrui; par suite, il y a autour dechaque individu, une sorte de cercle sacré,a l'intérieur duquel il est inviolable; lecercle de liberté est son droit.177

OPINIONS AND NOTESLa conception du rôle historique estuniverselle, c'est en son nom que desesclavages ont été abolis, que des révolutionsont eu lieu, qu'une multitude d'institutionsprotectrices de la personne humaine,ont été créées; que les nationalités,considérées comme des personnes collectives,ont proclamé leur droit à l'existenceet à l'indépendance. Et l'auteur n'a pasoublié le point de vue d'Auguste Comte,pour qui l'individu n'a pas cette valeurmystique que lui attribuent les idéalistes,les rationalistes, les Kantiens. Il n'estqu'une partie d'un tout, une cellule dansl'immense organisme social. Il n'y a doncaucun droit inhérent à l'individu. Il n'aque des devoirs et pas de droits. Ce quenous appelons le droit est donc concédépar la société à l'individu. Elle peut, encas de besoin, le modifier ou le supprimer,c'est une institution sociale. L'essentiel dudébat revient donc à ceci: Où est lavéritable existence du droit? Dans l'individuou dans le groupe? La théorie individualisteimplique une sorte de mystiquede la personne humaine; mais lathéorie sociologique implique une mystiquedu groupe, considéré comme un êtreréel, supérieur à l'individu.Après ce bref rappel historique, l'auteurrevient au "tournant actuel" avecdes dessous idéologiques; et ces "dessousidéologiques" se traduisent par les conflitsde travail, l'incapacité des gouvernements,des syndicats à assumer leurs responsabilitésrespectives. A chaque crise,le même scénario se répète: "Une loispéciale," que ce soient l'éducation, lasanté, les pompiers, les conducteurs dumétro, etc. . .. "Une loi spéciale" ! Uneconvention collective signée à la vapeur,et le droit est sauvegardé. La démocratieest saine et sauve.Etat législateur, employeur, planificateur,promoteur, entrepreneur, coordonnateur,médiateur, distributeur, contrôleur, tantôtaccélérateur, tantôt amortisseur, tantôt compresseur,tantôt moteur, tantôt preneur. Jecharge à dessein, dit l'auteur, pour bienmontrer l'enchevêtrement des rôles de nosmachines institutionnelles modernes et particulièrementde l'Etat.Succinctement, Jacques Grand'Maison seméfie autant de l'Etat que des syndicats.Les contradictions internes de ces deuxpouvoirs "renvoient aux calendes grecques"toute réponse qui conduirait à l'actionpositive et qualitative. De part etd'autre, on est beaucoup plus préoccupéd'idéologies que du bien commun. Lesfaits le prouvent: après le compromislibéral, l'idéologie socio-démocrate, l'idéologiemarxiste, etc. Et l'auteur termineLes Fondements critiques en réfléchissantsur la morale traditionnelle, la moralelibérale, la morale socialiste, la moralechambrée, la morale libertaire. Il se demande:"Que serait le droit sans la morale?Après avoir nuancé la morale juridique,la morale de la lettre, et non del'esprit; il nous dit que le rationalisme apris la place, aujourd'hui, au dogmatismereligieux. On déshumanise pour bureaucratiser,structurer, encadrer et établirdes infrastructures. La morale doit établirune éthique "d'une conscience adulte"responsable, prise dans son individualité,face à la société universelle "des cinqcontinents." En établissant l'hiérarchiedes valeurs, la morale, à partir de laconscience morale et de la consciencepsychologique individuelle, soutient etdonne au droit, sa substance et sa raisond'être.Dans son deuxième tome: De queldroit [La Pratique sociale), JacquesGrand'Maison analyse les fondementscritiques du droit. Il s'appuie sur une philosophiede base, qui est "l'ultime garantiedu juste, du vrai, du bon, de l'honnête,du pur, de l'intègre." On sait depuislongtemps que tout ce qui est humainn'est pas nécessairement la rectitudeidéale et parfaite. Il aborde "la pratiqueplus pertinente des droits" et il le fait"comme un pédagogue social soucieuxd'aider au façonnement d'une pratique178

OPINIONS AND NOTESdes droits aussi riche et qualitative que lesautres pratiques sociales." L'auteur ne secontente pas d'expliquer et de critiquerles pratiques sociales du droit ; il les confronteavec leurs principes, leurs fondements,en les évaluant à partir d'unedonnée sociale qu'il élabore graduellementtout au cours de son analyse. Cetteétape, il la veut "exploratoire" en ce quiconcerne "les pratiques sociales du droit,"en expliquant la véritable dynamique dudroit et en faisant appel à son histoire,tout en considérant les forces adultes,latentes et positives du peuple "dans lechamp de la conscience et de l'expériencedes citoyens." Jacques Grand'Maisonanalyse avec soin la démarche critique ethistorique, qui servira à l'élaborationd'une pédagogie sociale et philosophiquede base du droit.Dans La Pratique sociale, l'auteurétudie les questions de choix politiques,sociaux, économiques et culturels, reliésaux problèmes démocratiques dans uncadre de liberté, axé sur la règle du droitet de sa législation. Le paradoxe desdroits, selon Jacques Grand'Maison, ceserait que les "citoyens capables de seprendre en mains, de faire leur proprepolitique, d'abord à partir de leur expérience,plutôt qu'en fonction des règlesextérieures." Au lieu de se fier à la machinedes droits, et de se débrouiller avecun million de lois qui sont modifiées quo^tidiennement. Il importe de bien discernerce qui fait avancer ou reculer les choses.Il faut que la continuité, au moins relative,soit assumée, sans trop rompre avecle passé, en évoluant dans le présent, faceà un futur à construire pour une sociétéjuste. Il s'agit, en somme, de bien démêlerce qui dans les faits, dans le concret,ce qui appartient aux moyens et auxfins, dans les domaines psychologique,sociologique, culturel, moral, économiqueet politique. Tout ne se résoud pas par ladémarche juridique, il faut tout démêler,en faisant appel aux sciences humaines,dans leur ensemble. Cette démarche critiquevient remplacer le droit dans cequ'il est, pour le renforcer dans ce qu'ildoit être."Ma petite expérience de pédagogue social,"affirme l'auteur, à plusieurs reprises, lui adonné une conscience nette de combien ilétait difficile de faire comprendre aux gens,d'assumer et d'aller au bout de leurs problèmes,de leurs diagnostics. La Révolutiontranquille québécoise, n'a pas sécurisé lesindividus et la société. Au contraire, tout estcontroversé et tout est à refaire à la base.Et le sociologue-pédagogue écrit: "On seretrouve aujourd'hui devant certains culsde-sacpour assumer un tournant on ne peutplus compliqué. La nouvelle tuyauterie a purendre des services indéniables, mais ce quifait de plus en plus de difficulté, c'est cequi y circule, c'est la source même; c'estaussi ce qui en sort au bout."Pour ce faire, le pédagogue invite lesavocats et les juristes, à sortir de leurdomaine, à aggrandir leur champ devision scientifique vers un universalismequi viendrait englober leur propre disciplinejuridique, par une intelligence pluspénétrante de leur époque dans l'évolutiondes êtres en particulier et dans lasociété en général.Le contexte pluraliste s'accompagne dedonnées de plus en plus problématiques,à l'égard de nouvelles découvertes, danstous les domaines, afin de mieux maîtrisercette pédagogie du droit et des droits.Sous prétexte de pluralisme, on ne peutécarter l'exigence fondamentale : "LaCharte des droits et des libertés des personnes."Elle contient les orientations defond qui exige un consensus minimal envue du bien commun, avec une bonnephilosophie de base, sinon la société perdson sens et son impact face au changementhistorique. Peu importe les débatsidéologiques que fera naître La Charte, ilspeuvent être utiles. A quoi bon reviser lecode civil et d'imprimer de nouvelles lois,si on ne comprend pas la philosophie debase de La Charte pour le bonheur et laliberté intégrale de tous les individus?179

OPINIONS AND NOTESCette complémentarité des droits et deslibertés ne peut se définir et s'appliquer,dans la vie respective des personnes, sansune véritable éducation en profondeur dusens social et du bien de l'ensemble. On yinsiste. Si ma liberté commence là où cellede l'autre finit, il est impérieux, en démocratieet dans la Cité, qu'on tienne comptede la complexité des exigences et desidentités en présence. Depuis le fameuxmessage de Jésus: "Pax homnibus bonaevoluntatis," les problèmes, dans l'universet le temps, se sont accentués. La richesseétant dans la diversité, dans la vie dechaque être raisonnable, aux tendances etaux passions morales et psychiques distinctes,le droit n'a jamais réussi, à érigerune Charte de nature à répondre auxattentes infinies des désirs moraux, intellectuelset humains de l'être qui pense, quitravaille, et dont l'ambition, souvent concurrentielleest insatiable. Même les plusvertueux, parmi les humains, (on ne doitpas se le cacher, l'histoire le prouve àsatiété), ont des tendances vers le bas.Prendre et donner, quelles différencesdans la nuance! Et quand l'idéalisme doctrinal,fait réfléchir la conscience, on sedoit de revenir vers le réalisme dansl'espace et le temps, avec ses conceptsangéliques (et d'animal) que l'instinct dela bête tenaille et flatte.Pour Un Nouveau Contrat social,dans la première partie du livre, MarcBrière, juge au tribual du travail, auQuébec, s'évertue a nous faire comprendrel'évolution du droit québécois, dansle contexte nord-américain, depuis quelquesdécennies. Marc Brière, dès l'introduction,nous avertit qu'il na pas lu Rousseauet qu'il ne connaît pas De l'esprit desLois de Montesquieu. Pour un Juge quidoit établir la cause à effet de l'évolutiondu Contrat social depuis lors, cette constationnous laisse sur notre appétit àsavoir comment peut-il associer les lienshistoriques, s'il ignore ses principes et sessources? Et pourtant Jean-Jacques Rousseauavait un peu de génie! En lisantl'Emile (1762), notre savant juriste auraitvite compris que l'exemple vientde haut et de la nature, peut-être? Jean-Jacques Rousseau, si on le comprend bien,disait que la société corrompt l'enfant.Qui est la société? Vous et moi? Quepense la jeunesse actuelle des aînés, despenseurs, des informateurs publics et autres?Quand une province, un pays, n'ontpas de travail à offrir aux jeunes de vingtans? Comment voulez-vous leur enseignerles valeurs et le droit?Quand on est juge du tribunal du travail,que l'on s'appuie sur la morale, avecun système politique social, où les richesdeviennent de plus en plus riches et lespauvres de plus en plus pauvres, la responsabilitémorale ou juridique est-elle dejuger à partir de haut, ou s'il ne seraitpas mieux de former des juges pour mieuxaider et valoriser la société en donnantaux jeunes leurs droits de vivre et d'occuperune place au soleil? N'est-ce pasJean-Jacques Rousseau qui affirmait:"Tout est bien sortant des mains de l'auteurdes choses, tout dégénère entre lesmains de l'homme"? Il fut le premier àéveiller les coeurs et les esprits au sentimentproprement romantique de la nature;son amour pour elle avait pourcorollaire un profond pessimisme social;Le Discours sur les sciences et les arts(1750); Le Discours sur l'inégalité(1755) ; ainsi que La Lettre d'Alembertsur les spectacles (1758) dénoncent lesméfaits de la civilisation et les injusticesdes rapports établis entre les individus.Son oeuvre fondamentale concerne laphilosophie politique. Le Contrat socialde Rousseau va plus loin que Montesquieuet Voltaire dans la défense de laliberté et l'instauration de l'égalité entreles différentes classes sociales; son but estde concilier les libertés individuelles et lesexigences de la vie sociale, bref, de fonderun ordre social "naturel." On sait que LeContrat sociale inspirera La Déclaration180

OPINIONS AND NOTESdes droits de l'homme (et de la femme ycompris). Il contient toute la philosophiede la Révolution. Brière nous parle duCode du travail, des dispositions particulièresau secteur public, de la loi sur lasanté et la sécurité au travail ; de la loi surles normes du travail; de la dynamiquedans les relations de travail. L'auteur a lemérite de reconnaître, avec beaucoup defranchise, que "personne ne semble satisfaitde la situation, ni les patrons ni lestravailleurs, ni les autres," Les principalescauses :grèves, vandalisme, agressions de toutessortes reviennent constamment; le publicest de plus en plus pris en otage; des rouagesimportants de l'Etat sont paralysés; on ditl'économie menacée; on reproche au syndicalismed'être trop fort ou l'on se plaintqu'il soit trop faible.Dans tous ces mécanismes évolutifs, Brièreadmet que les québécois veulent se réalisereux-mêmes en voulant "une refonte globalede leur société." Ce n'est pas en"civilisant" ni en "judiciarisant" qu'onva perfectionner le Code du travail, maisc'est surtout en faisant évoluer l'esprit dudroit du travail et en améliorant le climatsocial en totalité. Et l'auteur a confiancedans l'avenir, il affirme que malgré "toutesnos gaucheries et notre droiture," nos"timidités et nos audaces," il est convaincu"que nous, Québécois, sommes entrain de nous façonner un nouveau petitmodèle de société bien à nous."Il faut dire que Jean-Jacques Rousseauet Montesquieu connaissaient mieux notretempérament latin, avec notre caractèreindividualiste, et que c'est avec beaucoupde difficulté que nous respecterons leCode du travail dans sa version actuelle.Brière, sans insister, on lui suggère demieux lire la deuxième partie écrite parJacques Grand'Maison, dans ce présenttravail, où il nous dit que nous avons uncomportement d'adolescent voire infantile.L'état/adulte est de nécessité pourbâtir un Québec viable et cohérent.Dans la deuxième partie de Un NouveauContrat social, Grand'Maison parlede la société en projet, "le contrat social,un mythe"? D'une nouvelle pratique socialedu travail qu'il nous faut redéfineravec tous ses dynamismes culturel, socioéconomique.. . . Cette jeune société, àracine judéo-chrétienne, d'un modèled'avenir unique, détaillé, monolithique,avec un peuple capable "de faire la société,son histoire, sa politique, sa culture,son économie." L'auteur nous convie àagir en fonction de nouvelles synthèses,qui tiennent compte des meilleures expériencesdes forces qui sont à l'oeuvrechez nous et ailleurs. Il importe de discernerce qui fait avancer et ce qui faitreculer les choses, principe important dansl'idée du sociologue et pédagogue, qu'estGrand'Maison. Etant de surcroît théologien,appartenant à un ordre religieux, ildemeure fidèle à ses engagements politique,social et culturel; il défend desprincipes de base, auxquels on ne peut pasmettre sa bonne foi en doute. Il est direct,sincère et absolu. Pour le constater, on alu Jacques Grand'Maison, le Roc et laSource, entretiens avec Gilbert Terral·,où l'auteur se raconte avec un natureldéconcertant, et une dynamique toujoursrenouvelée! Qu'il parle de son enfance,de son cheminement intellectuel, sa libertéde parole nous pénètre et nous faitréfléchir avec clarté. Il est une invite autravail sérieux et bien fait. Issu d'unmilieu familial modeste, mais affectionné,il évolua, au milieu de cinq enfants, où ilapprit avec art et intelligence, le sens dela vie qui implaiquait lutte et travail.Après des études au séminaire, à l'Université,au pays et à l'étranger, il se mêlaaux débats de son temps: conflits syndicaux; grèves entre patrons et employés —A Saint-Jérôme, à Tricofil, industrie autogérée,où il faisit partie du conseil d'administration,il apprit combien il était etest difficile d'établir ses propres règles, de181

OPINIONS AND NOTESles respecter face à la société démocratique.Jacques Grand'Maison, dans ses entretiensavec Gilbert Terrab, universitaire,avoue que "l'utopie autogestionnaire," cemouvement coopératif, Tricofil en particulier,était une aventure audacieuse, unpeu naïve. Par contre, il se console endisant qu'il a mieux appris à connaîtreles humains (on passera sous silence tousles millions que le bon gouvernement québécoisa investi pour que cette industriedevienne rentable, qui, on le sait, fut unéchec économique et social) et pour cefaire, il cite Aristote: "on ne comprendbien que ce qu'on a vu naître." Même lanaissance d'une industrie autogérée pardes humains, n'enlève pas les obstaclesidéologiques, intellectuels, théoriques, lesconflits de personnalité. Si tous les individusétaient égaux, ce serait peut-êtrel'idéal, étant donné que les individus,dans l'ensemble, sont faibles vis-à-visd'une infime minorité de forts. . . . Tousles déchirements ont pour cause, souvent,cette latence dans le psychique des êtresrationnels qui deviennent irrationnels,dès qu'un intérêt personnel est en jeu.Et par extension, Grand'Maïson déclareavec sagesse, en parlant de notre évolutionquébécoise :Depuis la révolution tranquille, nous avonsdéveloppé une attitude, un comportementcollectif en porte-à-faux, à savoir: l'illusionde croire que nous pouvons tout faire enmême temps et sur tous les terrains à la fois :les meilleurs salaires du monde, les meilleursservices publics du monde, les meilleuresmesures sociales du monde, le contrôle totalde l'économie (des autres), l'indépendancedu Québec, c'est là un comportement adolescent,pour ne pas dire infantile.On est d'accord! Pourquoi? C'est toute lavérité. Après avoir parlé: "De queldroit"? avec une nouvelle approche pourUn nouveau Contrat social, ses entretiens,dans le Roc et la Source, nous font prendreconscience de notre idéalisme, de nosrêves, un peu de notre réalité, de notreimmaturité et de notre manque de sagesseen général. C'est grave et sérieux.DENISE & EMILE DASTOUSAPOCALYPSE NOWFrye's Vision of the BibleNORTHROP FRYE'S The Great Code: TheBible and Literature (Toronto: AcademicPress Canada, 1982) presents the firstcomprehensive structuralist interpretationof biblical literature. Its publication thusmatches the significance of his Anatomyof Criticism (1957), which remains atouchstone of structuralist literary theory.From the title and frontispiece on, thedebt to Blake remains as deep as it hasbeen since Fearful Symmetry ( 1947 )opened that poet to serious academicstudy. 1 The style of The Great Code intensifiesFrye's familiar bricolage. Erudite,unabashedly allusive, extravagantly theoretical,often leaving specific texts unrecognizablyin the background, the book islucid and seminal, exhibiting the author'sformidable power for synthesizing massesof detail into systems that are at onceelegantly simple and capable of complexintellectual development. A profoundlyoriginal scholar, Frye has also proved abrilliant popularizer, as in The EducatedImagination. At a time when the humanitiesseem under siege, it is gratifying to seeCanada's foremost literary critic figuringas a cover story for Maclean's (April 5,1982), to see such a demanding book asThe Great Code displayed prominently inbookshops across the nation, and to hearfrom the publisher that the volume soldover 10,000 copies in Canada during thefirst five months and reached a fifth printingafter a year.The book grew out of the universityclassroom, and the introduction dealsshrewdly with the problems of teaching182

OPINIONS AND NOTESthe Bible in a secular context by using amixture of tact, wit, and Socratic irony.The subject is neither biblical scholarship,nor theology, nor even the Bible itself, but"the impact of the Bible on the creativeimagination," that is, "how or why a poetmight read the Bible" (pp. xxi, xvii). Thefirst part of the volume, "The Order ofWords," consists of four theoretical chapterson language, myth, metaphor, andtypology; the second part, "The Order ofTypes," mirrors the first with four chaptersinvestigating specific aspects of biblicalrhetoric (ch. 8), narrative (ch. 7),imagery (ch. 6), and theme (ch. 5). Apromised second volume, awaited impatiently,will survey "the Bible's relation toWestern literature" (p. xxi).The organizing principle of the ChristianBible, indeed for The Great Code,is "Typology" (ch. 4). Early Christianssaw Christ as the fulfilment (the antitype)of the Old Testament (with itsprefiguring types) ; appropriately, Fryediscusses the royal metaphor at length inthis chapter. Unlike modern writing,which bases its conclusions on past observation,typology concerns itself with "thefuture, and is consequently related primarilyto faith, hope, and vision" (p. 82).Typology is thus a theory "of historicalprocess : an assumption that there is somemeaning and point to history" (p. 81).These insights save typology from its toofrequent whimsicality: here it becomesthe tool for finding thematic coherencein a diversified and self-contradictorybook.Chapter 5, "Typology II: Phases ofRevelation," sets out the book's pièce deresistance of biblical criticism. In 34breathtaking pages, Frye distills the essenceof biblical themes in a structure ofmought that many books of several hundredpages fail to convey. Seven roughlychronological biblical stages are distinguished:Creation (with its concomitantFall), Revolution or Exodus (where Godforges the oppressed Hebrews into a nation),Law (which codifies the Revolution),Wisdom (which individualizes theLaw), Prophecy (which individualizes theRevolution), Gospel (which as the antitypeof all the previous phases, gives anenlarged vision of the possibilities of humanlife), and Apocalypse (which destroysthe mode of vision that keeps manenslaved in the world of time and history)? Occasionally specific texts aretreated at length, Creation and Ecclesiasteswith particular illumination. But thischapter, more than any other piece ofbiblical criticism I know, points the wayout of the impasse of analytical historicalcriticism to an integrative reading of theBible. By indicating how each phase containsthe seeds of what follows and thefruition of what precedes, Frye recreatesthe phenomenological experience of thereader familiar enough witii the book thathe or she can hear, in any given text,scripture's own cross-references anddeeper echoes. 3Chapter 2, "Myth," unfolds several importantcritical commonplaces. Mythos isa way of organizing writing, whether narrativestories or conceptual arguments.Myths are not unfactual fictions, but "thestories ¡mat tell a society what is importantfor it to know, whether about itsgods, its history, its laws, or its class structure"(p. 33). This didactic element explainswhy the Bible is so "violently partisan"(p. 40). While history is the record(usually damaging) of what man has alreadydone, myth presents a vision ofwhat man might become. The correspondingseventh chapter deals with biblicalmyth as "Narrative," that is, as typicalaction. A U-shaped plot defines itsstructure, beginning in an ideal situation,descending to the world of disaster, thenrising again after repentance to deliverance.The Exodus is seen as the typicalaction of deliverance, and Christ's resurrectionas the antitype. After a brilliant183

OPINIONS AND NOTESexposition of the well-worn theme ofExodus typology in the Gospels, Fryethrows new light on the myth of the firstborn.Jesus, as first-born, becomes theantitype of all the exiles and rejected firstsons of the Old Testament, as well as ofthe Passover lamb and the slayer of thesea monster Leviathan.Chapter 3 discusses "Metaphor" interms of self-referentiality. It "is the[Bible's] words themselves that have theauthority, not the events they describe"(p. 60). Acceptable as this statement maybe in some current critical theories, itseems more germane to Frye's thesis oftypological development that in differentparts of the Bible words are chosen intentionallyto delineate different mythoi. Inother words, the system is not as closed assome theories would make it. 4 At any rate,Frye finds the "primary and literal meaning"of the Bible in the interconnection ofall its words and the various meaningsthey evoke. These crystallize into the primalmetaphor found at the beginning ofJohn's Gospel — that Christ and theWord, or the Bible, are identical metaphorically.Chapter 6, "Metaphor II:Imagery," looks at "the Bible as it appearsto practical criticism" (p. 139).Though this could be the least theoreticalapproach, Frye structures the chapter bycontrasting the divine and demonic examplesof images that are grouped in asevenfold hierarchy on pp. 166-67. Suchsystematic study of images can even untangletextual knots: Revelation 15:6 isdiscussed on pp. 157-58. 5 The chapterends by arguing for a comprehensivetypology of metaphor, where every imageis equal, in fact identical with everythingelse because Christ holds all categoriestogether.The first and last chapters, on "Language,"reveal what Frye is ultimatelyessaying in The Great Code. Chapter 1sets out to isolate the particular linguisticmode of the Bible by expanding Vice'sdistinction between three types of languagethat have succeeded each otherchronologically. The first, "metaphoric"or "hieroglyphic," type corresponds to amythic age where the gods are immanent,where mind and body are not divided,where poetry is the primary mode of expression,and Where metaphor (this isthat) "convey [s] the sense of the presenceof a numinous personality in theworld" (p. 24). The second, "métonymie"or "hieratic," type of languagecorresponds to the heroic age, where the"soul" is felt to be imprisoned in an alienbody, where syllogistic prose becomes thedominant genre, and where metonymy(this is put in place of that) uses abstractionsto talk of a transcendant God. Thethird, "descriptive" or "demotic," type oflanguage corresponds to our own antimetaphysicalage, where the "mind"forms part of the human body, wherewriting becomes scientific, and wheretruth describes "objective reality" (thisis this) and unmasks mere appearances.This scheme provides the second quintessentialinsight of the book, though theimplications affect a type of criticism differentfrom Frye's. The modern criticlives in a demotic society that communicatesdescriptively, yet the Bible hasmetap'horic and métonymie aspects thatresist purely descriptive approaches, as acentury of historical criticism has shown.The literary critic is faced with evengreater complexities, since the Westerncultures he studies view the Bible from avariety of different métonymie perspectives.Western writers who use the Biblealso introduce a second metaphoric levelcorresponding to the literary usages oftheir time, accompanied with a secondnon-biblical métonymie structure, and(since the Renaissance) a strong dose ofthe descriptive mode's distinction of illusionfrom reality. This outline is the firstI have seen in print to grapple with suchcomplexities. Uninterested in pursuing184

OPINIONS AND NOTESthe ramifications of historical considerations,Frye typically catapults the discussionlight years farther by trying to integrateall the phases into a new suprametaphoricphase in the last chapter. Inthe first chapter, after 24 closely reasonedpages, it comes as something of a surpriseto discover that the Bible belongs to afourth class, "oratory" (kerygma, to use aNew Testament term), which is the vehicleof revelation. At the top of p. 29,Frye even admits an uncharacteristic inabilityto relate oratory and revelation toVico's threefold scheme.This impasse is created by a confusionbetween types of language and the meansused to convey ideas. Oratory and revelationare not so much phases of languageas voices belonging to differentphases. Each phase of culture has a differentview of truth and a different meansof conveying it: revelation unveils realityin the metaphoric phase, oratory or kerygmaexpounds the truth in the métonymiephase, and description explainsfacts in our own demotic phase. Thus,in the metaphoric phase it is difficult todistinguish the oracle from the divinity,revelation from reality, the Word fromGod. Revelation is the vehicle of poetrybelonging to the metaphoric phase. TheGreeks, for example, speak of "muses,""genius," and "inspiration," all of themallowing the poet to embody the numinoussphere directly in words : the Iliadbegins, "Sing, goddess, the wrath ofPeleus' son, Achilles." In the secondphase, reality is not revealed, but mediated.A reasoning audience must be persuadedof the truth through oratory,syllogism, allegory, sermons, commentary,and any number of métonymie devices. Inthe classical world, rhetoric provides theinforming structure, as with Cicero; inmedieval ecclesiastical circles, doctrine isthe great mediator, as in the sermon orthe commentary. The same mediation appearsin the poetry of this phase: just asthe gods are no longer prime actors in theAeneid, so Virgil mediates the story, beginning"Arms and the man I sing." Inthe third phase, persuasion normally consistsof explaining the facts, as in theempirical proof for a scientific theory,ideal parliamentary debate, or even Frye'sbooks. Similarly, the modern epic usuallyrests squarely on fact or sense perception,and might even delineate a pluralisticuniverse, as in the novel or in Browning'sThe Ring and the Book : "Do you see thisRing? . . . Do you see this square old yellowBook ... ? Examine it yourselves!"(1-1,33,38)·Where does the Bible fit? Frye rightlypoints to several métonymie tendencies —its rationalizations (p. 10), the problemof translations (p. 11), its conception of atranscendent God (p. 27), to which couldbe added the abstract theses in Judgesand Kings, the Exodus typology in Hoseaand Isaiah 40-55, the elaborate allegoriesin the New Testament (e.g., Galatians3:6-29; 4:22-31; James 2:21-24), etc.But, as Frye himself hints, the balance tipsmore toward the metaphorical in the Bible.Its language is "almost obsessivelyconcrete" (p. 27), with an elementalpower when vows are sworn (p. 6) orwhen God reveals his name in Exodus(p. 17) and speaks to bring Creation intobeing (p. 18). The Bible usually makesno distinction between subject and object(p. 6), between mind, body, and soul(pp. 19-20), nor, it could be added, betweenimagination and intention andaction (cf. Genesis 3:6 and Matthew5:21-30). Symbolic gestures and oraclescharacterize the prophets' activities in theOld Testament, and Jesus preferredteaching in parables and similitudes. Godmay be transcendent in the Bible, butonly in Job, Ecclesiastes and some lamentationsis he a Deus absconditus. He isimmanent in Old Testament history andincarnate in the New Testament. As inall didactic endeavour during the meta-185

OPINIONS AND NOTESphoric phase, the true prophet becomesGod's own mouth, revealing the divinewill without intermediary: "Thus saiththe LORD" is the prophets' formula;Jesus' style is "Verily, verily I say untoyou."The last chapter, "Language II: Rhetoric,"begins with phenomena that areader stumbles over first : the style of theAuthorized Version, the Bible's oral quality,the parallelism of Hebrew poetry, theaphoristic "auguries of innocence," theeditorial levelling of "authors," the Bible'scapacity for self-re-creation, and soon. Here Frye is closest to the descriptiveaspects of modern biblical scholarship,though familiar subjects blossom anewunder his green thumb. The last dozenpages embark on an ambitious polysemouscritique for the Bible, isolating fourimaginative levels, or "wider contexts ofa continuous sense, unfolding like a plantout of a seed" (p. 221 ). The first level isthe literal level of myth and metaphordescribed in chapters 5 and 6. On thesecond level, myth and metaphor collidewith their opposites, the human contextsof history and concept that the Biblegrew out of and sought to unify. On thislevel, "man creates his gods in his ownimage" (p. 228). The third level growsdialectically out of the first two, movingfrom knowledge to the existential planeof faith, which soon meets its complementin doubt. Facing the bedrock of doubt in"the total nothingness of death," the ultimatequestion becomes, "What speaks tous across our own death?" (p. 230). Thisleads to the fourth level, a mode of visionbeyond the constraints of myth, historyand faith, framed in the language of love.Glimmerings of this kind of vision haveshone throughout the book, from Ecclesiastes'"program of continuous mental energy. . . determined to smash . . . throughevery locked door of repression in hismind" (p. 123) to the metaphors of decentralization,particularly and interpénétration(pp. 100, 167-68) where Christbecomes the one knower in a new heavenand a new earth, like Blake's Albion encompassingall, where opposites cease toexist, where nothing is objective, nothingdead, where eternity shines in every grainof sand.Here Frye passes far beyond anythingthat can be found in the Bible or in mostWestern interpretations of the Bible. Heends not as a reader of biblical myth, butas the forger of a new myth substitutedfor the biblical religions. The concludingvision is radically Romantic (specificallyBlakean) in the imaginative sense, subjectivistor idealist in the epistemologicalsense, totalitarian in the ideological sense,and neoplatonic, gnostic 6 or eastern (cf.p. 168) in the philosophical and religioussenses. Frye is undoubtedly more intellectuallyimpressive and practical than mosttheoretical critics. But often the Bibledisappears from view, so that one istempted to reach for Dr. Johnson's touchstone:"I refute [Berkeley] thus." 1Some practical problems with Frye'stechnique can be highlighted by viewinghis polysemous critique from the nonidealiststandpoint. His "literal" levelconfusingly subsumes everything "verbal"in the Bible, ranging from the strictlyliteral to the figurative, the mythic, thenarrative, and the typological (pp. 224,226). In fact, for Frye this level is less literalthan typological. Such a focus may beappropriate for the English Christiantradition, with its Old Testament endingin Malachi's prophecy of the second Elijahpreceding 'the Messiah, and with itsNew Testament focusing on faith in theperson of the Christ. But this interpretationallows the Old Testament no voiceof its own. The myth, metaphor, andtypology of Hebrew scripture concern aplace that is regained through obedienceto the Law : the Hebrew Bible ends withthe promise of the restoration of Jerusalemin 2 Chronicles з6:22-23·8186

OPINIONS AND NOTESLike many literary critics, Frye viewsthe Authorized Version as the exclusivevehicle of the "literal" level of the Bible.Indeed, the AV supplies the handbook forbiblical myth and metaphor in the Englishtradition because most English writersread it, and because the métonymie interpretationsof the English tradition areembedded in its language and chapterheadings. But this position leads to aparochial impatience for everything outsidethe bailiwick of the AV and itstradition. Critical biblical scholarship isviewed excessively negatively (p. xvii andnote, p. 202, etc.), while modern textualomissions are attacked without a clearexplanation of the facts (pp. 141, 163). 9Even though the AV is sufficient for Englishliterature or for a general structuralistapproach, the reader interested in themyth and metaphor of Mark or Job mustbecome familiar with some of the textual,philological and other knowledge that hasaccumulated since 1611. Who todaywould turn to Nahum Täte's acting versionof King Lear or to the bad quartosfor a study of Shakespearean myth andmetaphor? For many critics, a more satisfactorytreatment of the literal level of theBible appears in Robert Al ter's The Artof Biblical Narrative, the only book Iknow other than The Great Code to' presenta synthetic literary approach to theBible. 10Non-idealists will find the emphasis ofthe second level of history and conceptmisplaced, since they view texts as creativeexpressions of writers responding tothe cultures they have grown up in.Frye's uneasiness with the Bible's insistentreference to history, to levels of realityoutside itself, will have to be limited toone example here. He sweeps aside thedifferences between Protestant and RomanCatholic translations, commentingthat he is "not concerned with the truemeaning of such words as episcopos orecclesia, but, for the most part, withnouns so concrete that it is practicallyimpossible for any translator to get themwrong" (p. xiv). Firstly, even concretewords can change dramatically when theyare translated, "carried over," from onephase of language to another, as when themetaphoric Hebrew phrases "nostril ofGod" and "heat of God" become themétonymie English idiom "wrath of God"(cf. another example noted on p. 18).Secondly, the connotative overtones ofconcrete words can change radically whenthey are incorporated into a structure ofthought different from the original. AsFrye himself sagaciously points out, "allcommentary is allegorical interpretation,an attaching of ideas to the structure ofpoetic imagery" {Anatomy, p. 89). TheGreat Code takes images from a book offaith and metamorphoses them into asecular manifesto for the imagination.Finally, one sympathizes with the determinatitonnot to get bogged down in thequagmire of denominational wrangling,but (as Frye knows) writers have a habitof responding to the intellectual debatesof their times. The word ecclesia, forexample, can stand for different conceptsat the heart of quite different views of theworld, as a list of a few poets will haveto demonstrate : Dante, Langland, Chaucer,Spenser, Milton, Blake, and Eliot.For each of these writers, the communitythat the word "church" stands for on thesecond level resolved into different existentialand visionary stances on thethird and fourth polysemous levels. KingJames I realized this when he called fora new translation, not because of any literarydeficiencies in the Anglican Bishops'Bible, but because the widely used CalvinistGeneva Bible contained a marginalnote to 1 Kings 15:13 exhorting the punishmentof monarchs for lapses in piety.James's qualms were fully justified : bothhis mother and his son were executed asmuch on religious as political ground. Atany rate, Frye's metaphoric critique levels187

OPINIONS AND NOTESthe significant differences between worldviews that have an historical habit ofconfronting one another.Frye's third level of faith is more animaginative than a doctrinal quality, sothat it can be treated here with the fourthlevel of the fulfilled imagination. Thislevel of vision reduces the Bible and theentire universe, with all their superabundantvariety and antitheses, to a singlemonad. Historically, similar views havehad a very uneasy relationship with thebiblical religions, which have tended tofocus on the individual in the existentialflux of a history that exhibits elementsof good and evil, sin and grace. As anintroduction to the Bible and its influenceon most Western writers, this fourth leveland the participating Apocalypse of chapter5 are highly misleading. Critically, thegoal resembles the Anatomy, where acritical meta-system razes the particularsof different books and the individuality oftheir various authors.Of course, the historical, non-idealistapproach has equally serious shortcomings,which Frye exposes ruthlessly. Thecontribution of The Great Code is to haveopened the Bible to students of literatureas no other book has. What is even rarerfor an academic work, it unfolds a visionof the possibilities of fulfilled human experience,so that the external world entersthe argument more seriously than in theAnatomy. The Great Code will exerciseenormous influence in the humanities, thefinal effect of the book being aestheticand Frye being the most poetic of scholars.To everything there is a season ; withFrye we turn from the dust on a bowl ofrose-leaves to a vision where the fire andthe rose are one.NOTES1 The title was suggested by a phrase inBlake's Laocoo'n, "The Old and New Testamentsare the Great Code of Art" (see p.xvi and note ). The enigmatic frontispiecefrom Blake's Job heralds the possibility ofhuman deliverance from the chaos anddarkness within creation (see p. 196).2 As a critical tool for showing how the variousparts of the Bible foreshadow and recapitulateeach other, Frye's system is unparalleled.To cavil over details seemsungenerous. Nevertheless, a few oversightsand misplaced emphases deserve mention.The Psalms are not systematically includedin the chapter, though they belong to thephase of Wisdom, adapting to individualpiety the great themes of Creation (Psalms104, 29, 96), Revolution (105), Law andWisdom (1, 73, 119), and the lamentationsand thanksgivings that individualize thereligious concept of retributive justice (mostof the Psalms ).A crucial phase, Monarchy, is omitted,possibly because the royal metaphor is dealtwith at length in chapter 4. The Israelitemonarchy viewed itself as the antitype ofall four previous phases, which it proceededto subsume. As far as Creation is concerned,the Israelite king assumed severaldivine prerogatives, being styled "son ofGod," "begotten" at his coronation, seatedat the "right hand" of God himself (2 Sam.7:14, 16; Pss 2:6-7; 89:26-27; 110:1-3;132:11-14). Occasionally cosmological imageswere associated with these prerogatives(Pss 72:5-7, 17; 89:29, 36-37> and the decorationof Solomon's Temple — see W. F.Albright, Archaeology and the Religion ofIsrael [Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press,J 953L PP- !47-55 )· The Exodus is not somuch subsumed as suppressed by the monarchy,since an absolute king views the ideaof the equality of all members of society assubversive to his power. Psalm 78 presentsthe history of Israel as a "parable," explainingwhy the "stubborn and rebellious generation"of the Exodus (v. 8) necessitatedthe election of a king, David, to organizeGod's chosen people (v. 70; cf. 1 Kings8: 16). The period of revolutionary theodicyunder the Judges is dismissed with contemptby the final, monarchial editor of thatbook (21 : 25 ; cf. 17:6 and 18:1). The Lawbecomes the king's prerogative (Pss 72:1-2;99:4), while the rhetoric of the court suggestedthe absolute surservience of all Israelitesto the crown (2 Sam. 14:17; 19:27;1 Kings 3:16-28). Because the Law includedsacred as well as civil and criminaljurisdictions, it is no surprise to see theearliest monarchs absorbing the nation's religioustraditions. David moved the Ark ofthe Covenant to Jerusalem (2 Sam. 6:12-19), while Solomon built and personally188

OPINIONS AND NOTESdedicated a Temple to house it beside hisroyal palace ( ι Kings 8 ). The monarchialabsorption of the phase of Wisdom wascomplete. Solomon was credited with composing"three thousand proverbs" ( ι Kings4:32); all of the biblical and apocryphalwisdom books except Job and Ben Sirachwere attributed to him. Similarly, David,credited in the titles as author of 73 Psalms,was by New Testament times considered asauthor of the entire Psalter, includingPsalms that are not ascribed to him in thesuperscriptions (see Acts 4:25 referring toPsalm 2, and Hebrews 4:7 referring to Ps95; cf. 2 Sam. 1:17-23; 3:33-34; 22:1-23:7).The phase of Prophecy is dialecticallyantithetical to the phase of Monarchy, withoutwhich it makes little sense. But Frye'sdescription of Prophecy is so heavily colouredby Christian typology that it is closerto biblical apocalyptic. Actually, Old TestamentProphecy does not extend "from creationto final deliverance" (p. 128) as muchas it sees everything sub specie exodi etle gis; it is concerned with contemporary renewal,with reformation. The propheticvoice works itself out in a dialectical strugglewith the Monarchy. The destinies ofElijah and Elisha are intimately connectedto the fate of the house of Ahab and itsusurpers. Where the prophets envisage acontinuation of the royal line, they speak ofan ideal Messiah ruling righteously (e.g.,Is. 9:2-7). Intimately connected with therevolutionary and legal phases, Prophecyattempts to keep the social revolution alivein a post-revolutionary society. Prophecyperpetuates national and denominationalconcerns (for Israelite and Jew), whileapocalyptic moves to the genuinely "widerperspective" (p. 106) of the redemption ofthe individual (Jewish or Gentile) and therenewal of the universe (heaven as well asearth).To this reader, the phase of Apocalypsebelongs next after Prophecy : it first appearsin the Old Testament book of Daniel. Biblicalapocalyptic remains firmly anchored inwhat Frye calls the passive "panoramic"stage, where a series of marvels and terrorsleads to the end of the world in the nearfuture (p. 136). Frye's active "participating"Apocalypse is found neither in theBible nor in traditional Christianity, but inBlake, the Neoplatonists, the gnostics andsome millenarian cults. (See KathleenRaine's study of Neoplatonism in Blake andTradition [Princeton, 1968]. For the gnostics,see the Treatise on Resurrection 49.15["already you have the resurrection"], theend of The Gospel of Philip, and the introductionin James M. Robinson, ed., TheNag Hammadi Library in English [Leiden:Brill, 1977; repr. New York: Harper andRow, 1981], pp. 53, 151, 5. See also NormanCohn, The Pursuit of the Millennium[New York, 1961]. On disputes concerningthe canonicity of the New Testament Revelation,see A. Wickenhauser, New TestamentIntroduction [New York: Herder,1958], pp- 562-63.)While biblical apocalyptic merely revivesand expands an Old Testament form, theGospel phase introduces something radicallynew. Though Paul is given short shrift, hisletters and Acts fit into this phase. Frye isright about Jesus' conviction of the Gospelbeing a realized eschatology in the here andnow; typologically, it is the most advancedphase in the Bible. In other chapters, TheGreat Code sees the Gospel as the fulfilment,since Christ is the antitype of allbiblical imagery and myth in chapters 6and 7. Frye could have followed a microcosmichint in Blake's The Everlasting Gospel,which finds the antitype of all the Bible,including the transmogrifying Apocalypse,in Jesus {Complete Writings, ed. G. Keynes[London, 1966], p. 754) :He laid His hand on Moses' Law:The Ancient Heavens, in Silent AweWrit with Curses from Pole to Pole,All away began to roll.Though introducing the phase of Monarchyupsets the sevenfold perfection ofFrye's model, early Christians sometimesused an eightfold scheme. Since the resurrectiontook place on the day after theSabbath, the Lord's Day was sometimescalled the eighth day. See Jean Daniélou,The Theology of Jewish Christianity (London:Darton, Longman and Todd, 1964),pp. 396-99 (especially the quotation fromthe Epistle of Barnabas 15:3-8 and nn. 36-37), and pp. 19, 28, 34 (n. 123), 36, 140,176-78.A final implication should be mentioned.Any phase can be resuscitated at any laterperiod. Thus, seventeenth-century Englandwas Christian, subscribing to the mainpoints of the Gospel and Apocalyptic. Butthe seventeenth-century monarchists' use ofthe Bible was coloured by a return to theprecepts of the Old Testament Monarchy,while Milton, Cromwell, and the puritansreturned for their inspiration to the phases189

OPINIONS AND NOTESof Revolution, Law, and Prophecy. Frye'ssituation of the book of Job, a wisdom bookconversant with the crises familiar to theMonarchy and Prophecy, is an excellentexample of a biblical book that straddlesmore than one phase.3 Frye criticizes the "analytical and historicalapproach" to biblical studies of the lastcentury, which has led to a "criticism inwhich disintegrating the text became an endin itself" (p. xvii). Similar dissatisfactionwith the most corrosive aspects of this typeof approach is now being voiced among biblicalscholars themselves. Brevard S. Childs'swidely used text, Introduction to the OldTestament as Scripture (Philadelphia: FortressPress, 1979), acknowledges its debt toanalytical learning (pp. 17, 40, etc.), butconcludes that biblical scholarship has cometo a "sterile impasse" (p. 16) that leaves achasm between critical reconstruction andthe biblical text that a reader comes upon,and that allows for no resonance of languageand imagery between parts of theBible (pp. 40-41). Unfortunately, Childshas too few literary skills to produce asuccessful new reading of the Bible.4 In writing as suasive as myth, no words arechosen gratuitously. Whatever images donot fit perfectly are drained of their receivedmeaning and filled with new thematic significance.See Roland Barthes's seminal essayon "Myth Today," Mythologies (Frogmore,England: Paladin, 1973), pp. 109-59.Childs points to a "fundamental dialectic"that affects the composition of the text:"the literature formed the identity of thereligious community which in turn shapedthe literature" {Introduction, p. 41).5 In Rev. 15:6, the angels are usually"dressed in linen." Three of the best Greekmanuscripts read "dressed in stone," a variantthat not only alludes to one of theauthor's favourite books (Ezek. 28:13), butalso parallels other patterns of imagery insideand outside Revelation. In the Englishtradition, the angels are dressed in stoneonly in the Revised Version ( 1881 ) and inthe Douay-Rheims Bible (1582), the latterfollowing a pre-Glementine Vulgate tradition.The Clementine edition of the Vulgate(1592) reads lino ("in linen") ; lapide ("instone") is read in the Vulgate of Jerome(ca. A.D. 386) and Alcuin's edition of theVulgate (before 800), in both fourteenthcenturyWycliffite English translations, andin the Latin commentaries of Bede (d. 735,se Migne, Patrología Latina 93.178), Berengaudius(d. 859, PL 17985), Anselm (d.1117, PL 162.1555), Rupert of Deutz (d.1129, PL 169.1111), Richard of St. Victor(d. 1173, PL 196.821) and Martin Legionensis(d. 1221, PL 209.387).6 Cf. the paradoxes of The Thunder, PerfectMind: "I am the whore and the holy one. /I am the wife and the virgin. / I am themother and the daughter. . . . / I am thebarren one / and many are her sons." TheNag Hammadi Library in English, pp. 271-72. See further n. 2, paragraph 4 above.7 Saturday, 6 August 1763 in James Boswell'sLife of Johnson (London: Oxford, 1953),P· 333-8 A recent structuralist study makes this pointeffectively. See Michael A. Fishbane, "TheSacred Center: The Symbolic Structure ofthe Bible," Texts and Responses: StudiesPresented to Nahum N. Glatzer, ed. M. A.Fishbane and P. R. Flohr (Leiden, 1975),pp. 6-27.9 Ancient editors did not expunge John 7 :53-8:11, since the passage appears in only oneof the dozen extant Greek manuscripts beforethe eighth century. (For technical detailsconcerning the crux, see B. M. Metzger,A Textual Commentary on the GreekNew Testament [New York: United BibleSocieties, 1971], pp. 219-22.) Furthermore,the passage — as stylistically different fromJohn as the Mills are from Blake — isprinted in all modern English translationswith a note explaining the textual difficulty.Frye rightly complains about the silent omissionof the trinitarian formula in 1 John5 : 7, particularly "considering the historicalimportance the verse has had" (p. 163).But if no note records the omission in theRevised Version (1881), Revised StandardVersion (1946), New English Bible (1961),Jerusalem Bible (Reader's ed., 1968) andNew American Bible (1970), an annotationexplains the difficulty in the Jerusalem Bible(Library ed., 1966), New American StandardBible (1971), New International Version(1973) and the Oxford Study Editionof the New English Bible (1976). Regrettably,the comment that the trinitarianformula "does not explicitly appear in theBible except in 1 John 5:7" (p. 163) iswrong: Matthew 28:19, a passage withouttextual variation, has an unambiguous referenceto all three persons of the Trinityin the AV and in every modern translation.10 Robert Alter, The Art of Biblical Narrative(New York: Basic Books, 1981). Althoughinterested in general structures, Alter's criti-190

OPINIONS AND NOTEScism is firmly anchored in the cumulativeparticulars of specific biblical texts. Limitedto the prose narratives found in Genesisthrough 2 Samuel, the book investigatessuch phenomena as type-scenes, dialogue,repetition, modes of characterization, andpoint of view. ALEXANDER GLOBERECENT REFERENCE BOOKS include JustinWintle's biographical dictionary Makers ofNineteenth Century Culture 1800-1914 (Oxford,$55.50), a substantial guide to the ideasof the period as well as to the people; hence,though none of the figures indexed is Canadian,Canadian Culture nonetheless bears theimprint of those who are. Canada on Stage1981-82 (CTR, $44.95) is another in the seriesof illustrated theatre performance yearbooks.Journal of Modern Literature (9, no. 3-4) includesa guide to criticism of a number ofCanadian writers. In Contemporary LiteraryCriticism, vol. 23 (Gale, $74.00), there is an18-column summary of commentary on JackHodgins. Contemporary Authors New RevisionSeries, vol. 8 (Gale, $74.00), contains an articleon Frye by Donna Olendorf ; TCLC, vol. 9(Gale, $76.00), summarizes W. W. Campbellcriticism; Dictionary of Literary Biography,vol. 15 (British Novelists 1930-1959; Gale,$148.00), contains an excellent article onLowry by Ronald Binns, and vol. 13 (BritishDramatists Since World War II; Gale,$148.00) an article on Simon Gray thatscarcely mentions Gray's Canadian connection.Contemporary Authors, vol. 107 (Gale,$76.00), features Buffy Sainte-Marie. RobertDubuc has published a bilingual Vocabulairebilingue de la production télévision (Leméacand CBC, n.p.) ; and P. G. Socken a computerConcordance de "Bonheur d'occasion" deGabrielle Roy (Univ. Waterloo & ECW,$85.00).Recent reprints include Gilbert Parker'sromance of Quebec history, The Seats of theMighty (Tecumseh, $9.95); Frederick PhilipGrove's collection of literary essays, It Needs tobe Said (Tecumseh, $9.95), with a fine introductionby W. J. Keith, which probes the historicalambiance and moral purpose of Grove'sliterary rhetoric; Norman Duncan's story collectionThe Way of the Sea (Tecumseh,$9.95), helpfully edited by Jack Adams; Jean-Charles Harvey's Fear's Folly (Carleton Library,$6.95), with an excellent introductionby John O'Connor; The Stories of ElizabethSpencer (Penguin, $6.95); Robertson Davies'sThe Rebel Angels (Penguin, $3.95); HughBrody's Maps and Dreams (Penguin, $6.95)and Inishkillane (Douglas & Mclntyre,$10.95); Guy Vanderhaege's Man Descending(Macmillan, $8.^95) ; and several volumesof selected poems, by Phyllis Webb (Talonbooks,n.p.), Rachel Korn, translated by SeymourMayne (Mosaic/Valley, $12.95; P a -$6.95), John Robert Colombo (Mosaic/Valley,2 vols., $8.95 and $9.95), George Johnston(Golden Dog, n.p.), and Fred Cogswell (Guernica,n.p.).Capilano Review, Nos. 24/25 ($6.00), isdevoted to the art and comments of GathieFalk, with a special page devoted to the artist'sdiagram of identity, whereby being "artist"and being "woman" and being "lover of raspberryjam" are all shown to have "significance."Canadian Poetry, no. 11 (Fall/Winter1982), is devoted to A. J. M. Smith. Liberté,no. 145 ($4.00), contains literary statementsby the most prestigious of contemporary Quebecwriters. And North Dakota Quarterly,which includes in its Spring 1982 number anappreciative and instructive commentary bySherman Paul on recent Canadian "longpoems" (or, as he prefers, "serial poems"),intends to publish a special Canadian issuelate in 1983.NOTE: In C.L. 96, footnote 61 was inadvertentlyleft off the end of J. R. Nursall's article"To Dare to Attempt Impious Wonders." Itshould read: "Raymond Souster, 'St. Mary'sStreet: 3 A.M.' (1954), in Collected Poems ofRaymond Souster, p. 262."Douglas Barbour's Two Poems, "Art Objectsfor an Inner Landscape:" (C.L. 96, pp. 58-59)should have divided after "it says:".LAST PAGEI HAVE BEEN TRYING to read André Brink'sA Chain of Voices (Oxford, $19.95), withlittle success. Billed as a masterwork about therace cruelty of South African history, the novelis admirable for its conscience more than itscraft. It winds together the lives of two boys,white and black, who grow up to grow apartand to flare into violence — a familiar themein South African writing. The prose wouldhave us believe in several narrators reflectingon their own connection with the main events— the white boy, the black boy, an old blackwoman who is both mother and mistress, others— but unfortunately it's all a chain of onevoice. The prose style does not differentiatethem. And the novel reads as though it wantsdesperately to be a movie instead.By contrast, Maurice Gee's fine novel Plumb(Oxford, pa. $6.95) is an engrossing fictional

NOTES— written — experience, inviting readers topartake of a whole society by requiring themto partake of its language. Told from the perspectiveof an aged Nonconformist/pacifist/politician-preacher, it reveals how a whole culture(New Zealand) has shifted uncomfortablyout of its Presbyterian middle-classness. At thesame time, it records the kinds of sacrifice thathas entailed. The rebellious preacher, lockinghimself away with his own conscience, giveslittle thought to how his reach for independenceaffects his family (his wife, who killsherself in servitude; his children, who opt forsafety and security wherever they can find itand as soon as they can: conservatism, marriage,America). In his last days, Plumb revisitshis children in an endeavour to make hispeace with them; they receive him quizzicallyat best •—- not without love, but not withoutrelief when he finally goes, either. If the mostalienated son, homosexual and bitter, cannotforgive, that underscores the reality of thetension established by his father; the fact thatas readers we are allowed to see throughPlumb's mask of self-satisfaction — and yetwith understanding ! — to the meanness thatlies beneath underscores the technical dexterityof an admirable novel. The Halfmen of О(Oxford, $10.95) shows that Gee can write acaptivating adventure-fantasy for children aswell. A cross between Persephone and Tolkien,it tells of a child's capture by the halfmen wholive underground, and of a battle of will andsoul that regains for the world a balance betweengood and evil.Among recent Australian novels and stories,there is more of a sense of hell than evil, ahell identified with Brisbane, middle-classness,"okkerism," and suburban life. A brittle wit isthe typical medium for such critiques. Theself-reflective stories of Graham Jackson'sSquare Crib (Univ. Queensland, n.p.) regalethemselves with anecdotes of competitivedrunkenness; Geoffrey Dutton's The EyeOpener (Univ. Queensland, $8.50) is a satiricsexual romp, as though by Fielding out of TomSharpe, through the art of recent mores, andvice versa; Gerard Lee's True Love and howto get it (Univ. Queensland, $12.95) parodiesconventional romance by conventionally embracingthe new-found freedom of vernacularoaths. Rather better, funnier, and more seriousis Peter Carey's Bliss (Fitzhenry & Whiteside,$18.25) which begins when a man namedHarry Joy, who has been dead for nineminutes of bliss, is electrified back to his life ofpunishment. Declaiming against fate, he paradesin tracksuit and sandshoes through hisreclaimed days, cataloguing the ironies of presumedordinariness : sexual ambition among hispeers, drugs and incest among the young, mercantilecallowness among his colleagues, forwhich he is rewarded by incarceration in anasylum. So far, so bizarre. But at this point thenovel vengefully chases its Message: that in asixfies-ish Alternate Lifestyle, replete with itsostensibly refreshing obscenities, is the truththat makes us children free. Like the other Australianpublications noted here, it reads finallylike a book from twenty years ago, luxuriatingin the release from previous linguistic restrictions,but longing still for a literary form thatis commensurate with imagination's reach.W.N.192