A Few Words Will Do
Lionel Kearns
Reviewed by Michelle Boucher-Ladd
Whenever I think about Canadian Poets only a
few seem to come to mind, there’s Margaret Atwood, James Reaney,
Phyllis Webb, and did I mention Margaret Atwood. Until recently I am
ashamed to admit that my spectrum of Canadian poets has been far too
narrow. However, having read several new collections from Talonbooks
this summer, I am struck by how very talented and wide a Canadian
Literary Scene there is. One collection of poetry that I have enjoyed
is Lionel Kearns’ A Few Words Will Do.
Kearns has a steady energy that seems to
electrify his poetry, almost as if the poems are plugged into some kind
of current. His poetic forms vary. Some have iambic meter, some are
concrete, while others are free verse. They all seem to say see what I
can do! I love the crazy alliteration in the poem Omen. It is such fun
to read aloud. I think my favorite line is this:
I proffered the
pittance of poetry in the paltry pit of poverty for the profligate
prophets of
profanity.
I also love the last lines:
I heard the last
voice begin the first verse with the word choice:
Oh Women! O Men!
The last half of Kearns’ book has poems about
poems, most of which say “this poem is“ or “this poem does.“ While
these poems are witty and a showcase Kearns’ talent, what I remember
about them after I close the book is that they are poems demonstrating
poetry.
The best poems in the collection are at the front of the book and are
full of crisp images, snapshots of life, and a taste of now. I
particularly like Definition.
Standing here on
the wharf
this cold
January morning,
I watch a family
of wood ducks
swim by and
disappear with little
inaudible plops,
then reemerge.
in shimmering
horizontal halos.
Perfection is
being totally adequate
at any given
moment. I have known
perfection in
your presence. Don’t
expect
perfection to last. It is
always now. When
I look up
two hawks are
turning, turning,
high in a
distant sky.
For me, I love this dangerous sense of it is always now, the divinity
of ducks, that perfection can happen at any given moment, and that
there is a certain foreboding circling the future. This is lovely
poetry.