At Poetry Daily, we find two new poems by Billy Collins, 'January in Paris', and 'Divorce'. The second of these is barely worth mentioning, playing on every cliché in the marriage/divorce book. The first poem is typical Collins, but not Collins at his best. He has a great idea: Valéry’s abandoned poems roam the early morning streets of Paris, and along comes a writer… The best section comes in stanzas 5-7 but, as often happens with Collins poems these days, the build-up is too long (and in this case not particularly funny or imaginative). After S8 we get a pointless (and no doubt unfair) description of Valéry, and the poem rumbles to an entirely predictable conclusion - whatever the appearances, Valéry is proved correct (is the 'completion' of the "gorgeous orphan" also the death of her? - the cigarette as smoking gun, together with the 'bed', 'head' and unspoken 'dead' rhyme - or is it just a post-coital cigarette?. Either way, the narrator is smug about it, as smug as Collins depicts Valéry, come to think of it). Collins is well capable of surprising a reader, even those critical of him, but not with this poem. A shame really, because I feel he could have done far better with his idea. 1½/6.
Over at No Tell Motel, Kim Gek Lin Short continues her angel’s datebook with Ms. Chatterley. The angel tells us about her loss of faith, her attempts to cover up what felt unacceptable, her efforts to tame herself into following the party line (all that symbolism about cutting wild strands of hair etc). So she no longer has spiritual aspirations. And she’s an angel! Oh, the postmodern irony… The problem with all of this is that the poem is a giant cliché – child brought up to believe denies her true self until finally the light dawns and she becomes a free secular woman. The image of the mirror and the back-story regarding the father are left for the reader to interpret, but form no meaningful context. How do they relate to spiritual aspirations? – you, dear reader, must do the guesswork. The final phrase about spelling out words for the dead is intriguing – but what words? That’s where you come in again, dear reader. Your job is to fill the gaps. As a reader, I don’t mind bringing my imagination to a poem, but the poem must have resonance within itself for that encounter to become more than an exercise. Here, despite the funny line about parking cars on a Sunday and the superficial oddity of some of the images, the poem follows a predictable path. 1½/6.
I have a wide and varied taste in poetry. I often like stuff posted at these sites. Maybe tomorrow…
