[Rick Mullin]

Nick's critique is very interesting and on target. This is a cerebral poem, which for some readers, myself included, erects a barrier. I feel I need to have studied to enter the gallery, so to speak.


There is interesting paradox in what Nick describes as well. I often drag onto the Sphere advise that Lee Strasberg is said to have given Dennis Hopper: You gotta loosen up to get tight.

But there is another paradox to consider--the paradox of constraint. I think writing in form frees our minds--or prevents us from going directly where our consciousness and smarts tell us to go according to an initial intention.

All this is much more in response to Nicks's observation than a critique of the poem, though my difficulty with the poem does come down to it having been generated up here (points to head).

[John Riley]

In the interest of discussing something I think of often, I need to say I don't see this poem coming from the head. I can feel it flying out of the imagination with a wildness that doesn't come from thinking or pondering. I'm the guy that it was said I "baffled" people here when I said I don't start what turns out to be my best poems with an idea. I can't do it. There is more to do once it springs free, but it isn't calculated. My poems are mistake babies, not a planned family. I see that force in this poem. I can't envision Cam calculating this. I think he is deeply knowledgeable about a wide array of literature and the "Happy Day" allusion and others flew into his head. There is too much force here to be calculated at its birth.

It reminds me that Wallace Stevens said his best poems were the ones that flew into his ear. Anyone who reads Stevens knows how much work he did on them after they went from ear to paper, but he said they appeared first. It is often said his poems are too cerebral but he said that wasn't his process. This poem reads to me as though went through the same process.

Cam, now it's time to tell us.

*Again, this isn't a challenge or snark. I'm curious how other poets begin poems and accept I may be full of it. It wouldn't be the first time.

[R. Nemo Hill]

I pretty much agree with John. I feel like the poem is worked out using the head, most poems are, and that the head in this case is a formidable instrument; yet the poem's thrust is not specifically cerebral. Its references, like "Happy Days", can be taken at face value (much like Mark's references in his Ulysses poem) or they can have an added academic layer to enhance them. But the language of the poem is quite clear and primal. I mean, pull out individual phrases, and test their tenor: the imagery is strong, often brutal, "gouging".

Of course, in the end, it must be true that one man's cerebral is another man's ______________.

Nemo

[Mark McDonnell]

As I said initially, this seems a fairly straightforward poem to me, using Goya's dog painting as an image to capture the sense of helplessness and abasement in a relationship where the balance of power is askew. One could read it, as Nemo suggests, as having a larger meaning, with the speaker addressing God for example. But I don't feel this. Of course I could be wrong, wrong, wrong in my interpretation but it's the one I feel from the poem. I do agree, I think, with David when he wonders "Do the references to Dylan Thomas and Beckett come too close to overturning this frail barque?" The reference to Fern Hill, "in my chains like the sea" doesn't seem to fit with the theme and the "Happy Days" Beckett reference (which I had to Google, because I admit to having Fonzie in my head) seems like one embedded allusion too many: (the speaker feels like the dog in Goya's painting, which itself also looks a little like the buried actors in Beckett's play).

I like the poem the more I have read it. But, on the "is it too cerebral" question, well I'm kind of left with the impression that this is at heart quite a rawly emotional poem slathered with a somewhat unnecessary sheen of allusion and intellect. To repeat myself again, something about that balance isn't quite working for me.

It's a good poem from a very good poet but it's not one of my favourites.

I now feel sorry for Cam, whose job in responding is becoming more of a task by the hour. Yikes.*

*edit: or not, of course. He could just say “thanks folks, lots to think about”.

Mark

[Carl Copeland]

Originally Posted by R. Nemo Hill

Its references, like "Happy Days", can be taken at face value ...

Not with quotes and caps they can’t. I have Fonzie in my head too, but the Beckett, which went over my head, has sent me off in some interesting directions and is a welcome part of my cultural edification.

[Nick McRae]

Originally Posted by R. Nemo Hill

I pretty much agree with John. I feel like the poem is worked out using the head, most poems are, and that the head in this case is a formidable instrument; yet the poem's thrust is not specifically cerebral. Its references, like "Happy Days", can be taken at face value (much like Mark's references in his Ulysses poem) or they can have an added academic layer to enhance them. But the language of the poem is quite clear and primal. I mean, pull out individual phrases, and test their tenor: the imagery is strong, often brutal, "gouging".

Of course, in the end, it must be true that one man's cerebral is another man's ______________.

Nemo

I enjoyed the bolded.

It's maybe also worthwhile noting that it's not just a question of where the poem originates, but also a question of voice and who the poet is. The poem is usually going to be a projection of the poet's voice and personality.

Ted Gioia wrote that in the jazz world one way of listening to the music is to find the musician's personality in what you're hearing. Bill Evans played quiet, reflective, intelligent music. Adderley had fire in his belly. I don't see why it should be any different with poetry.

It may or may not be true that this is a cerebral poem, but what is definitely true is that it's reflective of Cameron's voice and personality, it's the way he wants to write.

When I brought up the cerebral/visceral dichotomy, I definitely didn't intend it to be a negative criticism at all, it was just an impression of how the poem reads to me. It feels deliberate and measured, precise.

[R. Nemo Hill]

"...one way of listening to the music is to find the musician's personality in what you're hearing..."

Yes, Nick, that's an excellent suggestion, all the more so because it says "one way" instead of being exclusive of all other ways.

Nemo

[Rick Mullin]

Reading the crits, I realize my cerebellum failed to pick up on several of the literary references. Were that not the case, I would likely have appreciated this poem more. I am, however, certifiably educated and so sensitive that I actually write poems. So, I think a guy like me should have been less put off by what hits me rather hard as an attempt to write in the 21st century very much in the archaic style of sonnetry. The first sentence is very Shakespeare. In a way, I admire the attempt more than I like the poem.

[Jim Moonan]

.
Because I am in my early morning state of mind, I'm seeing things connecting in a loose, fragile kind of way. As I re-read your poem it occurs to me that in some respects it is a beloved dog poem. Maybe not of any one specific dog, but rather the dog in Goya's painting. An archetypal dog of love. And then I I skipped over to John Riley's Sinews poem and It occurred to me that the two poems intersect at dog. Dogs often take on an aura of unconditional love. So I'm leaning even more to reading your poem as being a representation of love present in dark times in our lives.

But soon it will be noon and all of that could change...

The poem comes to life each time I read it, no matter how obtusely or lucid, like a dog does when you walk into the room, so it's real.

.

[R. Nemo Hill]

Yet the poem is sardonic above all else, for it casts a sober eye on dog-love, calls the dog "cute and crushed", and is skeptical of the sacrifices made for love. It's that complexity that unsentimentalizes the subject. Yes, the dog is an optimist, but the dog (and the lover) are still in chains. The fact that the dog still believes seems a mixed blessing from the point of view of the narrator; but to readers who love dogs, that belief is a small miracle; and the tension between those two views, belief and critique, faith and doubt, is the exquisite knife-edge the poem is balanced on.

Nemo