Poetry isn’t a staple here at the Trout Underground, and if my high school English teacher was right, it’s because I lack the genes needed to correctly interpret it.
Still, when I posted (long ago) about David Fraser’s Killing Trout and Other Love Poems, I was interested enough to dip my beautifully manicured manscaped toe back in poetry’s metaphor-rich waters.
Fraser’s a fly fisherman and outdoorsman, and not surprisingly, the outdoors occupy a high profile in most of his poems.
Interestingly, this collection of spare, direct poems were compiled over several decades, and in places, you glimpse the progression of Fraser’s life.
The result is a collection of sharp, all-literary-encumbrances-removed poems that reminded me of John Gierach’s little-seen, pre-Trout Bum Signs of Life poetry collection.
Fraser doesn’t burden his poems with overripe metaphor or literary pretense. His is the art of carving away all that isn’t essential, and the result is a series of visceral glimpses into a life lived largely outdoors:
In Canoeing After Midnight, Fraser:
There are moments under
the full moon when there are clouds
and trees, and Octobers
and warm south winds
and the broad river
kicks up and everything else
is subdued but the sounds
and I point the canoe into the wind
and I am challenging the wind
and the river when I should be sleeping.
a fool again, with one paddle, huddled
in the reeds on the far side of the river,
always traveling to that other side to rest.
always knowing there will be no rest
until I get back, the bow cutting
through the bullshit and the boredom
Killing Trout’s 35 poems range from fun to darkly observant, and a few truly stand out.
Poets and poetry fanatics will want to lay their hands on this volume - as will anyone interested enough in poetry to have dug up Gierach’s first book of poems.
This book is also the first from an independent press largely powered by its online presence, and frankly, that’s a trend I’d like to encourage.
Speaking as an absolute novice in the field of poetry criticism, I’m giving Fraser’s Killing Trout & Other Love Poems two fins up, if only because I “got” it. And liked it.
See you in the coffeehouse, Tom Chandler
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{ 12 comments… read them below or add one }
kbarton10 08.28.08 at 6:06 am
Some states are red,
Others are blue,
Hillary’s in debt,
McCain too.
I’ve got the same gene problem.
Tom Chandler 08.28.08 at 6:32 am
Kbarton: I removed the irritating (and non-rhyming) political spam, but perhaps you’ve hit on something - I should have decreed that all responses to the poetry review be written in rhyme.
Damnit - another opportunity missed.
Then again, I didn’t exactly expect many responses to the poetry review.
SMJ 08.28.08 at 9:27 am
“There once was a fly fishing poet
Who threw only bamboo, don’t you know it
His rod was sublime
Till he drank too much wine…”
I should probably stop now.
kbarton10 08.28.08 at 9:49 am
Graphite is fast
Glass throws true
But I never boiled a horse
So’s I can own bamboo
Now TC’s pissed
I’m getting the finger
Upper Sac is off limits
I better not linger.
SMJ 08.28.08 at 10:22 am
I’m in the same boat
He’s mad at me too
We’re considered un-washed
If we don’t love bamboo
And slaw on a dog?
That isn’t cuisine
Now I’d better sign off
Before he gets mean
Amy 08.28.08 at 11:10 am
There, upriver
Tight loops
Fish on
He smiles
Damn,
I’m in trouble
Tom Chandler 08.28.08 at 2:57 pm
Damn. I’ve got to come up with a haiku while I’m walking the Wonderdog.
SMJ 08.28.08 at 3:12 pm
Here’s some inspiration for you, compliments of
nanceestar.com/DogHaikus-DogCleverPage23.html
I love my master;
Thus I perfume myself with
This long-rotten squirrel.
I sound the alarm!
Paperboy - come to kill us all -
Look! Look! Look! Look!
I lift my leg and
Anoint each bush. Hello, Spot -
Sniff this and weep.
I lie belly-up
In the sunshine, happier than
You will ever be.
Today I sniffed many
Doggie derrieres - and I celebrate
By kissing your face.
My human is home!
I am so ecstatic I
Have made a puddle.
Behold my choke chain -
Look, world, they strangle me!
Ack! Ack! Ack! Ack!
Sleeping here, my chin
On your foot -no greater bliss -
Well, maybe catching rats. . .
Dig under fence-why?
Because it’s there. Because it’s
There. Because it’s there.
My owners’ mood is
Romantic - I lie near their
Feet, expelling much gas.
How do I love thee?
The ways are numberless as
My hairs on the rug.
I am your best friend,
Now, always, and especially
When you are eating.
Look in my eyes and
Deny it. No human could
Love you so much.
Tom Chandler 08.28.08 at 3:54 pm
The “expelling gas” reference was frankly way too close to the truth to be funny.
Philip 08.31.08 at 8:31 am
Check out Ted Hughes’ “River” for a collection of some of the finest fishing poems ever written. He was a well known writer, married to Sylvia Plath, the talented poet who committed suicide. If you wanted to get laid in the early 70’s (at least by the smarter girls), familiarity with her work was often a prerequisite.
Anyway, “River” is out of print but easily found by searching the Intertubes.
Tom Chandler 09.01.08 at 10:38 am
Philip: Thanks for the Plath information - about 30 years too late.
BShay 09.01.08 at 10:51 am
Is it ever too late?
Take the dog on your date.
She’ll think you paternal,
and love spawns eternal.