In his Prologue,
Ottawa poet Blaine Marchand gives the reader background on how this
book came about, explaining that he was part of a delegation sent to
the Middle East who "met with Afghan refugees-in-exile in Pakistan and
Iran, as well as with returned refugees in Afghanistan." [viii] It is
evident from the book's content that the experience had a profound impact
on Marchand. He goes on to describe Aperture as a triptych--one
that he hopes captures some of his experiences there.
He uses the word
triptych because the book consists of poems, prose descriptions, and
photographs. Although the presentation they convey does seem to follow
a fairly chronological order of his tour through the region, the three
genres are interspersed in an almost-random manner. This is especially
true of the placement of photographs, which generally seem to have little
to connect them with the words on nearby pages.
For the most part,
the prose is strong, the kind of present-tense travel writing that lets
the reader feel she's there.
We drive up to
a medical centre. Against white-washed walls are clutches of women in
thrown back blue burqas, girls in tangerine and persimmon and boys in
mocha and charcoal. All stand waiting. Most of the children have rust
coloured hair, a sign of malnutrition. TB is rampant. The women draw
down the burqas to hide their faces as we approach. [9]
Most of these pieces
are enlightening, and offer much to help at least this reader to better
understand the geography and circumstance of the region. But occasionally
these prose pieces, which I assume are based on the journals Marchand
kept, lapse into overworked metaphor, as in this description of an armed
vehicle (which I understand to be some kind of tank): "A soldier, perched
in a turret in the centre, scans the horizon as the turret slowly rotates.
Its armoured belly, a modern-day Trojan horse, conceals officers whose
inward arms nestle rifles. A flag flaps from an aerial that curves and
is secured to the back of the steed." Trojan horse, maybe; steed, no
thank you.
Yet there are just
as many images that stand stark and sharp: "At one side is an archway
that is being restored. Bamboo scaffolding surrounds it like bones picked
clean." Although this bones imagery also gets a bit of a workout throughout
the book, it is one that is certainly apt.
Marchand does create
many clear visual images, especially in his poems, such as this, which
also conjures The Kite-Runner:
In the spring
of each year, the sky
is a phalanx of tinted shapes in all sizes,
tethered to glass-coated strings, manipulated
in a skirmish to cut each other down.
Mindful that
during the rule of enforced cruelty
this simple pleasure was forbidden, the boy,
although posing for our cameras, runs away.
Rising up, behind him, his kite
a renegade against
the sky. [46]
Although it is
nowhere near this poem, but rather at the back of the book on page 73,
there is a photograph of a "Boy with Kite, Kabul." Awkwardly, titles
for the photos are located at the front of the book, so to identify
images, readers must keep flipping there to determine what they're seeing.
I'm not sure what would have been so difficult about running titles
beneath each photo.
Geographically
challenged Westerner that I am, I also would have appreciated the addition
of a map that indicated where Marchand's travels took him. Even though
names such as Khyber Pass are part of my vocabulary, they don't always
translate into points that I can place.
Perhaps the photographic
term Aperture as the book's title made me expect too much of the photo
aspect of this triptych. The pictures vary greatly in both composition
and resolution. Even when the images present a subject that appears
to be near at hand, many of the plates look grainy or flat, as if they're
lacking sharp contrast. Unfortunately, this quality rubs off on my overall
impression of the book--it's as if the lens is fuzzy, leaving the collection's
focus blurrier than it should have been, especially for a topic that's
so urgently important for all of us to understand.