Man & Beast
By Eric Cole
Insomniac Press, 2005
Reviewed by Nathaniel G. Moore
In the most recent issue of Matrix
Magazine, managing editor Jon Paul Fiorentino had an incredibly poignant
rant or platform that some Canadian poets are making "exaggerated
claims against university-educated and popular culture-engaged poets.
Apparently the influence of literary theory and popular culture has
steered too many young pets away from the church of the
pastoral."
He goes on with much brilliance
basically convinces the country of his point without much effort. Really
it’s a great piece of writing. Personally and professionally I love
this argument, and the fact that Fiorentino is so passionate about this
argument and provides clear examples of past pop-culture junky poets
like Ginsberg is assuring. I’m not exactly sure if I’m anti-pop
culture, I highly doubt that I am. But I love a good fight, especially
against such a fan-favourite.
"Ultimately," writes
Fiorentino. "the argument is not about form or tradition; it’s
about subject matter. And with the subject matter these disenfranchised
young poets are positing, they are doing what poets tend to do best: not
sell books." But we’ll see if Fiorentino’s theory that those
who write about nature aren’t going to sell poetry books. Of course,
my attitude is no one is really selling poetry books, it’s all Soduko,
but that’s another bag of pills all together.
So, dear loyal Danforth Review Water
Buffalo members, I’m going to review a book that I think has zero
popular culture references. Unless you count a shark as a pop culture
reference because of that 1975 film that Jewish filmmaker made.
* * *
Perhaps man and beast seems like an
obvious title, and countless artistic endeavours, literary, visual and
cinematically have taken human and animalistic qualities and mixed it up
so to speak. However, in this thin and concise volume of poetry, for
what it is, which is, a book of poems dealing with linguistic
adaptations and musings on animals and humans—the context provides a
simple and thorough use of animal as both subject, muse, dream,
projection, dissection, emotional convoy.
Put simply, in these pages is a
challenging and imagery-laden attempt to reveal the inner human or inner
animal that dominates our mental landscape. Eric Cole has gnawed long
and hard at these poems to elevate the reader’s senses and explore the
animal kingdom’s primal fixations while taming the human spirit. All
this leaves the reader hunting for exotic animal encyclopaedias,
reconsidering their own natural instincts, and licking their wounds in
empathy.
But its not all animal in the fury
sense. The beast side comes through in "Yobi" where the poet
confronts his rage issues. "I did it because the baby’s yelling
worsened." With unsentimental meanness, we see the dark and
unthinking beast at his worse, "cold as any emperor, lavished you
with justice."
"Tuna" is unfortunately slow
and uneventful. Even the use of "ghost nets" does little to
offer any new insight into the mighty fish. "Octopus" has
goggled teens, and some other clever oceanic ooze. "Snapping
Turtle" is a bit of a warped drive-by animal cruelty campaign with
some comedic granny crossbow action. "A granny could put her
knitting needles aside, take up a cross-bow and shoot one through the
heart."
Whether it’s the slow and vulnerable
image I experienced while reading about the sick pigeon his wife had
dreamt she was in the poem "The Apple-Namer" or the otters
lapping for blood in "Cuchulain Dies" Cole’s work is
ready-made to read aloud with a thud of primal affirmation. There is
nothing wishy-washy washing up on the shores for the reader, no po-mo
fluff. Well edited, paced and timed, these are mini-marathons of quaint
and sometimes violent pictorial beauty. And oh how it would have been
ruined with sketches of animals.
Nathaniel G. Moore is a
wild bowling party. |
