A Different Shred of Skin
by T. Anders Carson.
Photographs by Michael B.
Undead Poets Press (2000).
Reviewed by Joanna M. Weston
Michael B.'s photographs provide the
focus for this book of poetry.
Their rich content comes from the variety of techniques
that he uses:
stark in-focus subjects such as the bucket, boots,
purse resting on
steps (for the poem "Doll House"); blurred
images such as the head of a
statue (for the poem "Bird in a plastic
bag"). He is equally at home
with portraiture and still-life and gives definite
cohesion to this
otherwise dissonant book.
Carson's poetry is jam-packed with
disparate imagery. Poems such as
"Understanding sorrow" are just a list:
It rolls a car in a ditch.
It misses flights and loses luggage.
It reverses cars and parks tractor
trailers.
It knows how much a tank holds.
It flies to freedom under an indigo
sun.
It remembers a placed 'I love
you'
under a cracked McDonald's sign.
"A Tear for a suffering mother," "Foraging
Floridians" and others have
the same tendency, which is not to say that images are
repeated: Carson
has a rich store to draw on from his travels.
There are moments when Carson opens
an image and explores it slightly,
as in "Welsh Grave" ... "On a still
March evening,/ birds sail their
winter song/ plaguing silence./ ... " etc.
But he seems at a loss as to
how to explore his feelings and thoughts in depth.
A good editor would correct his
idiosyncratic use, and non-use, of
commas and apostrophes: "strokes of anxiety
and envy/ lift the seers
sights", "a heroes' homecoming"
etc. Said editor would also be
well-advised to proof-read for grammatical errors, such
as "those two
constables/ that have brought in ...", or
"When one sells their own
children".
The occasions when Carson's language
match his desire for expression
are rich and rewarding:
Children board in haste.
They run madly for the back
as this is the sanctuary
of eternal cool.
They look down on him,
a bus ticket collector,
and heckle him with
prodding looks and edgy faces. /...
Here, in "Bus Ticket Collector," we know he has observed
his peers and drawn conclusions.
He uses alliteration frequently and
effectively, but needs to curb his
propensity for piled images, to explore and expand one
or two in each
poem. In this way he might achieve a personal harmony.
There are
flashes of lucidity which give hope for the future of
this emerging
poet. The shortest poem, "Doll House,"
exhibits the most control: its
brevity eliminates confusion and Michael B.'s excellent
accompanying
photograph gives appropriate focus.
Joanna M. Weston lives in
Prince Albert, Saskatchewan.
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