Going Home
by Ken Norris
Vancouver: Talonbooks, 2007, ISBN 978-0-88922-573-2, 192 pp., $18.95 paper.

Ken Norris immigrated to Montreal from New York City in the early 70s, establishing himself as one of the Véhicule poets along with the other enfants terrible of that era: Endre Farkas, Artie Gold, Tom Konyves, Claudia Lapp, John McAuley and Stephen Morrissey. He is the author of over two dozen poetry books and chapbooks and editor of eight anthologies of poetry or poetics.

In one of Rob McLennan's Twelve or Twenty Questions interviews, Norris entered one of the debates of current poetics by declaring that "I started working with notebooks [around 1981]. I would say that the unit of composition for me has been the book. The notebooks condense to form the book, but they create the shape of the book from the outset." These words are reminiscent of those expounded by Robin Blaser (who passed away shortly before the writing of this review) and Jack Spicer in support of their creation--the serial poem. There has apparently recently been a backlash against the book as the unit of composition, which is best exemplified by Bill Knott's definition of SOQs v. SONs, as referred to in the recent Poetic Front article "Un-Done poetries" by Stephen Collis: "the battle between the so-called School of Quietude and what Knott dubs the School of Noisiness is a privileging of the poem (by the former) versus a privileging of poetry (by the latter): we SOQs continue to want to write the perfect poem, and the SONs have abandoned that quest to pursue their endless unconfined poetic--it's poem v. poetry." Nevertheless, the only appropriate way to review a collection of poems is by evaluating the poems themselves.

The uniting factor of the book is memory. Norris returns to his youth reminiscing about the period of his life spent as a Véhicule poet as well as the women who were a part of his younger days. Within this framework are many fine poems.

"Spring" finds Norris in the midst of a mid-life crisis "wondering how it all went wrong?" (9) where "It's almost the ritual / of spring that you perform, / the lyrics of the blues song / you now sing / sinking down into meaning." This poem sets the stage for the perambulations of mind to follow.

"To Louis," undoubtedly addressed to Louis Dudek, who was a major inspiration for the Véhicule poets, continues the melancholy of the previous:

You probably
told me
once

what I am
coming to know
now--

that life
is cruel
in the extreme,

and insistent. (22)

The structure and tone here reminds one of W.C. Williams's "The Red Wheelbarrow," although Norris uses a triadic, rather than dyadic, structure.

"Melody" is the memory of a girl, perhaps Norris's first love, one who continues to haunt him and his poems. As with many of his love poems, the writing is informed by Neruda. First the memory: "Then Melody walked towards me / with her lightning almond eyes / that swept through me / and pinned me like thrown daggers / against the back wall of spring." (38) Then the reflection: "My heart has walked / in the same pair of shoes, / and I have digested the thorns."

The fifth in the sequence of subtitled poems, "Eight Love Poems," "I Could Never Possess You," begins "I could never possess you. / You came and went like the wind. / Every night you would corral the stars. / Then you would release them to be free." (66) The full stop after each line in this opening stanza generates a feeling of pain, as if each breath of the past is gasped through lungs impaired by the smoke of the fire that once was. Again, one can read Neruda into these lines. But not all is despair and melancholy.

There is also humour, as in "Gwyneth Paltrow's Ass." The poem opens by establishing the place and time: "I buy the November issue / of Harper's Bazaar, / knowing it's as close / as I'll ever get / to Gwyneth Paltrow's ass." (93) and concludes: "It's nice to see her naked over there, / though it's farther than I'll ever reach."

The poem "The Dust of Buddhism" is from a section of the book that looks back at Norris's Asia experiences: "The dust of Buddhism clings to me. / I am a garment / being dragged through the saffron dust" (160). It is followed by "Impermanence" and "The Cities of Asia." Placing the poem in this section salvages it, as otherwise it would not make sense.

Norris has here provided a cornucopia of poetry covering as much ground as the cities of Asia. He has taken us on an excursion through mid-20th-century Montreal, centred on the Véhicule Art Gallery, introducing us to the women he knew and some, such as Gwyneth Paltrow, he wished he had known, and then on an Asiatic cruise. We have also drifted though a panorama of poetic stylings. And we've moved from wistful to melancholy to humorous and back to wistful. It's been a fun trip.

John Herbert Cunningham is a Winnipeg writer. He reviews poetry in Canada for Malahat Review, Arc, Antigonish Review, Fiddlehead and The Danforth Review, in the U.S. for Quarterly Conversations, Rain Taxi, Rattle, Big Bridge and Galatea Revisits, and in Australia for Jacket.

Buy this book at McNally-Robinson Booksellers.

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