April Is the Cruellest Month

Posted 4 April, 2008 in Poetry | 1 comment

And looking out my office window at the persistent rain drizzling morosely down from the monochromatic sky, it’s not hard to comprehend what ol’ Thomas Stearns was on about.

April is, however, National Poetry Month, when all us literary types are urged to turn our attention to that oft-neglected, chronically underappreciated form of literary discourse.

The foregoing sentences should give you some indication of why your humble correspondent has mostly avoided writing about poetry here; any attempt to wax poetic or to engage with poetic texts inevitably comes off sounding like some fifth-rate hack with minimal rhythmic sense and unfettered access to a thesaurus given free rein to regurgitate overheated, overwritten, anti-euphonic doggerel across the computer screen. Which is to say, I don’t tend to write about poetry cause I kinda suck at it.

But, Canadian author Kate Sutherland has, in a somewhat intemperate moment, issued a challenge to all us litbloggers to take the opportunity of National Poetry Month to bang out some few words of critical discourse about poetry or poets between now and April 30. I haven’t decided whether to take her up on this, or whether discretion will indeed prove to be the better part of valour; regardless, the comments section of Sutherland’s post indicates that there is a broad spectrum of writers out there willing to take up the gauntlet, some of whom may be familiar to readers of this site. I heartily encourage you to check out some of this writing, and, who knows, if your humble correspondent finds himself in a state of adequate recklessness or inebriation, you might even find a poetry-themed post or two here at TSR.

Meantime, you can read Zach Wells, one of the country’s best, and most prolific, critics of poetry, over at his blog, Career Limiting Moves. And, if you’re in Toronto on Thursday, April 17, you can attend the Anansi Poetry Bash, which is always one of the great literary fêtes of the spring. Details are as follows:

Anansi Poetry Bash
Thursday April 17 - 6 p.m.
Celebrate the release of these excellent collections:
Revolver by Kevin Connolly
The Sentinel by A.F. Moritz
Chameleon Hours by Elise Partridge

Levack Block
88 Ossington Ave., Toronto, ON

So, go on: celebrate some poetry this month. Even the usually poetry-averse USA Today is getting into the game. Check out the photo of the universally renowned poet they’ve chosen to accompany their article. Who knew?

Remembering Milton

Posted 1 March, 2008 in Poetry | No comments

Several centuries before Timothy Findley crafted his revisionist tale of the biblical flood in Not Wanted on the Voyage, John Milton reconstituted another story from the Book of Genesis — that of Adam and Eve and mankind’s fall from God’s grace — into his epic poem Paradise Lost. To a certain extent Milton has fallen out of favour in today’s secular society, largely because of his ardently devout nature; when, at the beginning of Paradise Lost, he renders the invocation, “Sing Heav’nly Muse,” there is scant indication that this is to be taken metaphorically.

Nevertheless, the glory of Milton’s writing has not diminished one iota in the years since his death, as Claire Tomalin eloquently reminds us in her appreciation of the poet in the Guardian:

Milton makes you think, provokes you into arguments about power, good and evil, about responsibility, innocence and the right to knowledge. He shows God forbidding this right, but we remember that Milton had himself defended it furiously in his essay on the freedom of the press, “Areopagitica”. The clash between Milton the Renaissance humanist and Milton the faithful servant of God makes things interesting.

Indeed, Milton’s “Areopagitica,” written in 1644, sounds as relevant today as it ever did, particularly when viewed through the prism of the Harper Conservatives’ draconian Bill C-10, which would deny tax credits to film and television productions that the government deems “obscene.” Milton was speaking of the written word, but his sentiments could as easily be applied to any artistic medium: “[A]s good almost kill a man as kill a good book: who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God’s image; but he who destroys a good book, kills reason itself, kills the image of God, as it were, in the eye.”

While I agree with Tomalin’s assessment that Paradise Lost is “as thrilling as a novel,” my sentimental favourite among Milton’s poems has always been “Lycidas,” written for a friend “unfortunately drown’d” in 1637. It contains perhaps the most stirring valediction to a departed soul I’ve yet read:

Weep no more, woeful Shepherds weep no more,
For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead,
Sunk though he be beneath the wat’ry floor,
So sinks the day-star in the Ocean bed,
And yet anon repairs his drooping head,
And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled Ore,
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky:
So Lycidas, sunk low, but mounted high,
Through the dear might of him that walks the waves,
Where other groves, and other streams along,
With Nectar pure his oozy Locks he laves,
And hears the unexpressive nuptial Song,
In the blest Kingdoms meek of joy and love.
There entertain him all the Saints above,
In solemn troops, and sweet Societies
That sing, and singing in their glory move,
And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Now Lycidas, the Shepherds weep no more;
Henceforth thou art the Genius of the shore,
In thy large recompense, and shalt be good
To all that wander in that perilous flood.

Is It Time to Re-evaluate Don McKay’s Poetry?

Posted 31 July, 2007 in Poetry | No comments

Zach Wells thinks so.

I’ve long suspected that McKay’s inflated reputation has a lot to do with his personal charm. I run into the odd person who says some version of “I’m not crazy about his poetry, but he’s such a nice guy.” These folks, able to tease the poetry and the person who wrote it apart, seem to be in the minority. Perhaps on some level McKay’s fans are moved to overestimate his importance because it makes them more special, too: not only is Don McKay one of the best poets writing in English today, but he edited my manuscript. Where would apostles be, without a messiah?