Revisiting E. E. Cummings
October 30th, 2009 § Leave a Comment
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Earlier this week a co-worker mentioned in passing, having read through parts of my book, that some of my work reminded her of E. E. Cummings. She meant this as a compliment and it’s certainly how I took the statement. It’s true I do enjoy Cummings a fair bit. His presentation and rich imagery is quite appealing to me, but moreso it’s the way Cummings’ verse combines the old and new, the traditional and the avant garde to wonderful effect. These are techniques and concerns that I try to approach in my own writing though, admittedly, I’m less on the fringe than was Cummings.
Of all Cummings’ verse perhaps my favourite poem is a short elegy written in a stroke of genius by the poet:
Buffalo Bill’s
defunct
______who used to
______ride a watersmooth-silver
___________________________stallion
and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat
_________________________________________Jesushe was a handsome man
_____________________and what i want to know is
how do you like your blueeyed boy
Mister Death
Cummings is brilliant in his use of standard or traditional rhythm. Bill’s prowess as a gun-slinger is presented in two five syllable sections in line six counting out shots made at clay pigeons. Though a free verse poem, this line makes use of trochaics to give a staccato effect that at once bangs out the sound of pistols firing while allowing the line to move along quickly. It’s an excellent example of sound and sense coming together to compliment the portrait of the man. The wonderful sliding elegance of the “s” sounds playing off the i and o vowels of lines four and five present an opposition to the gunfire rapidity. Here we can see Bill mounted high on a beautiful horse whose movements are “watersmooth” (as is its appearance), flowing with the ripple of muscle on bone. This blending of traditional metre with free verse sensibilities creates a magic which echoes the showmanship and class that Buffalo Bill would quite likely have wanted to represent in his Wild West shows.
*E. E. Cummings. 100 Selected Poems. New York: Grove Press, 1994.*
Post Launch Fun
October 24th, 2009 § Leave a Comment
Signing a book for George Murray at the Ship in St. John's.
This week has been a busy one, what with the St. John’s and Gander launches of my book, Never More There, and the interviews and publicity that go along with it. Both events went quite well.
In St. John’s I was introduced, very kindly I might add, by George Murray, who some of you might know through Bookninja – the awesomest site on the web for literary and book news. I had a chance to chat to some people I haven’t seen in a while and make a new friend or two. The weather was the only negative of the evening: the cold, wind and rain is not what you want to deal with when all you want is to go out and enjoy a reading and book launch, right?
I read at the Gander Launch of my book.
In Gander, things went off without a hitch. A teacher colleague of mine, Brian Mosher, introduced me to the crowd and had some wonderful things to say. I was lucky enough to get permission to use the art gallery in the Arts and Culture Centre for the launch and I’m quite happy with how the location worked out. A number of great people came out to help me celebrate my book and it was a wonderful feeling to be able to read from my own work for them.
I mentioned some publicity. Below are a couple f articles or interviews you can check out that have helped promote these events. I believe The Telegram in St. John’s will have an article in the next couple of weeks as well.
- Article in The Beacon.
- Interview on The Weekend Arts Magazine (CBC):
- Interview on The Central Morning Show (CBC):
Patience, Apuleius
October 17th, 2009 § Leave a Comment
Lucius Apuleius, The Golden Ass
I think patience truly is a virtue. In general I would say I have more than my fair share of it and really can’t complain. It’s a common occurence, especially among others I know who work in high stress jobs, to have semi-regular pseudo-breakdowns over details that go awry, people who drive them completely up the wall with daily incompetencies, or a long and seemingly insurmountable list of tasks that must be completed.
This comes to mind in particular today since I’ve been reading Lucius Apuleius’ Metamorphoses, otherwise known as The Golden Ass; in particular the section concerned with the marriage of Cupid and Psyche. As a story it doesn’t contain much of Apuleius’ humour (which is seen throughout the book), but it does contain plot points that, had I been Psyche, I’m sure I would have just had sat down and laughed myself silly over.
The poor woman, though she’s been blessed with beauty that rivals that of Venus herself, is miserable throughout. First she is so beautiful (read goddess-like) that all men are scared to death to have anything to do with her beyond just standing there and gawking, somewhat creepily I might add. She can’t marry, which we know in all great past literature is the end goal of life for a woman, at least in the sexist, traditionalist way of looking at things. So she’s nothing but miserable. Venus hates her for shifting the spotlight from god to mortal. Psyche ends up lucking into (read plunges horribly into) a marriage with a god, Cupid no less. You’d think she’d be happy with this, but the arrangement falls utterly apart due to her own mistrust and silly habit of listening to her jealous sisters (another necessary relationship in great works). Left to roam the country looking for Cupid in order to persuade him to take her back, Psyche is on the run from Venus. Eventually she is caught/gives herself up and is tortured (because, really, Venus is a small and bitter deity) and given numerous tasks to complete, each with increasing difficulty that I imagine would take months to complete (though characters in antiquity tend to have a direct line to the underworld and manage the round trip in what seems like minutes). In the end she manages to complete her divine orders with some help and, when it’s all said and done, is rewarded for her trials and tribulations by chugging down a goblet of ambrosia and becoming a goddess herself. Tada!
If I had to jump through these hoops and live an entirely worthless life for as long as Psyche I would just have to laugh at it. How that much misfortune can make it into one person’s life is beyond me, but it is not beyond literature it seems. At this point I feel like speaking to Hardy’s Jude the Obscure, but even thinking about that is depressing. The patience needed to live through the ordeals of great literary works is truly divine. It’s a lovely touch to reward some of these characters (I can’t imagine poor Jude could get a break in any reality) as it brings a catharsis which is certainly relieving.
If nothing else I feel somewhat better about the impatience and lack of good luck I seem to be having at the moment. Anyone who says literature doesn’t provide therapeutic release needs to read more.
