This is the second poetry collection by R.L. Raymond, a resident of London, Ontario. It consists of 43 carefully crafted poems written in free verse which have a fragmented, pared to the blood & bone feel reminiscent of John Yamrus, the American small press poet. Although the language is deceptively simple, you may have to read the poems slowly and multiple times to allow the complex associations and layers of meaning to sink into your veins. There is an unflinching mystery and understatedness about Raymond’s writing which is difficult to nail down but which is also highly appealing.
The enigmatic
title Half Myths & Quarter Legends
refers generally to the many stories that we read and hear on a daily basis,
but also to the specific myths & legends that we accumulate to explain who
we are & why we are here. As Raymond explains in the interview which
follows: “The only thing we have are myths and legends. From the stories our
parents tell us, to religion, to theoretical science, all the words are really
just tales spun for one purpose or another. I thought it would be cool to study
a few of these — from Christianity to Paganism, French Canadian Lore to Spanish
Folk Tales — in current, daily environments. Why half and quarter? The words
never quite tell the whole story. Everyone has to fill in the blanks, add his
or her own fears, history, perceptions.”
In the
collection, Raymond explores through his narrative poems, appropriated Christian,
Celtic, Islamic, Canuck and a variety of folk tales- but always through a
fresh, secular and skeptical prism. He reimagines myths & folk allegories to the
extent that they become unrecognizable to the contemporary reader. In ‘What the
wolf said’, for example, he takes the big bad wolf moral tale and places him in
a New Mexico desert where the wolf savagely latches onto the leg bone & soon the rib
of the mysterious bone-man.
The cover
features a black & white close-up photo by Raymond of a gargoyle he purchased
at a yard sale- looking to the heavens in pain- expecting an answer it will
never receive. This image bluntly sums up Raymond’s ironic, godless take
on existence.
There are
no gods in Raymond’s world. Christianity is largely seen as an outdated and
irrelevant institution. The speakers of his poems view religion with disdain
and cynicism.
In
‘Littergy’ a lame pun on liturgy, while a boy is waiting for his mother to
finish her confessional, he blasphemously tears strips of paper from a hymn
book, rolls it into little balls and watches as they ignite in the flames of holy
candles. Spurred by glossy ads, a middle-aged couple in ‘They visit’ enter a
church, “the stink of incense hangs/ from the walls/ as if nailed there/
centuries back”. They are there to take photos and not for spiritual reasons.
In ‘Divinity’ the speaker of the poem catches a cab and notices rosary beads
hanging from the rearview mirror. The cabbie drives in a careless manner while
talking to him. The speaker sarcastically quips at the end of the poem:
And that JC himself
is in the
passenger seat
running
the ghost break
The title ‘Stations of Jim’ also ironically
highlights the absence of God. As the days unfold for Jim, there is sense of
helplessness as he discovers that he has cancer, that there is nothing that is
going to save him from a painful and premature death. The title is an obvious
parody of the 14 Stations of the Cross- a reference to the sacred paintings
& scripture scattered around the inside of Catholic churches to represent
the key events in Christ’s passion. Using a clever über structure, ‘Stations of Jim’ is also told in 14
sections but is rather focused on documenting the ordinariness of Jim’s family
life, his sentence of cancer and his inevitable descent into suffering and
death.
The poems
in the collection also interesting in how they describe an ordinary event like
cooking a steak (‘This product has been found to cause cancer’), house cleaning
(‘Her meaning of quotidian’), waiting for an airplane to depart (the excellent ‘Snowbird’)
or slurping on soup (the Spanish folk
tale ‘La bruja) and make it new- as if it has been experienced for the first
time. ‘Soft-boiled’ is my personal favourite:
Soft-boiled
dry leather wrinkles
at the
lips
under a
growl of effort
a butter knife decapitation
the pure
white chunk
discarded
yolk blood drips
down the
sides
to drown the little soldiers
these days he can only chew
the tepid
goo
his knuckles hurt
when he
drops the shell
with the
skull
into the compost
(reprinted with the poet's permission)
(reprinted with the poet's permission)
There are
also some fine portrait poems in the collection. In ‘Ad nauseum’ a mentally ill
man from a park bench raves to pedestrians that the “son (sun?) is dying”. In ‘Onward
on three legs’ a bent elderly man vows he will “never honour” or look into the
eyes of his daughters-in-law who are “waiting to drain him” of his wealth. In ‘The
respite home’ AC smells of cat piss but continues to write stories in a
defiance of his careers & his approaching pine box.
Like many
of Epic Rites books, there is an underlying dark thread in the collection, that
lies in wait just below the surface of everything we do- a lurking, a some-times expected but certain
death. In the powerful fragmented, associative poem ‘Pathetic watches and
warnings’, the weather and the everyday event of driving a car are juxtaposed
with the telescoped cancer diagnosing, treatment, death & burial of Aunt B.
The tone of the poem is deadpan, matter-of-fact- highlighting the commonality
and the bleak & utter finality of death:
Pathetic watches and
warnings
the sheetmetal threatened
they pulled under an overpass
wondering how the
beefsteak plants would fare
then about Aunt B’s knuckles
swollen as she fought
the aspirin bottle
‘moth ball’ would be a description
on the weather network that night
apt in colour and size
covering the pavement
the odd hailstone plinking
the hood or the trunk
***
‘golf ball’ was the description
on the medical report
the first image that came to mind
was death
all grim
all
reaper
with one iron
the club even god can’t
hit
teed up high
lined at
Aunt B’s head
and not a ‘FORE’
to be heard
***
after the meltwater evaporated
under whipping winds
they drove off
thankful their car was untouched
when they passed others
dimpled and dented
***
tomato juice had
spilled
on the marble countertop
pills pebbled on the floor
around her body
dropped and
crumpled
cooling by the window
***
rain soaked
the
course was closed for the day
the plot
was easy to dig
no hail
no gusts
no storm
just a procession of freshly washed cars
and a body
lowered amidst chatter and platitudes
(published with the permission of the poet)
(published with the permission of the poet)
Death is
represented as a certainty but also as an inconvenience to the living in ‘Death
brings certainty’ in which an aunt dies intestate. The surviving relatives don’t
really give a shit about the deceased. They are more concerned about what they
can get out of the dead aunt’s estate for themselves. In a dark, ironic tone,
the speaker of the poem shits out the line, “but nothing prepares them/ for the
backyard/ unkempt/ ravaged” to have to exert an effort to clean up the property
for sale purposes.”
‘Dead End’
provides another original perspective on death. In the poem the battered body
of a deceased homeless man is hurriedly removed and safely disposed of to “once
again” shield “the coffee shop patrons” from the grim reality of death.
In
Raymond’s world things are only partially observed and only temporarily
understood. Simple events are not always what they seem to be on the surface.
Matter is finely perceived and luminal in increments. The reader is awakened to
the ordinary anew and then in a penumbra of inner consciousness, shifts once again.
INTERVIEW WITH R.L. RAYMOND 27 OCTOBER 2013
Q: Can you provide some background detail for your
readers on the processes involved in getting Half Myths & Quarter
Legends published through Epic Rites Press?
There
really wasn’t a process per se. I was introduced to Wolf Carstens at ERP by
John Yamrus who’d dug some of my poetry online a few years back. Through
talking, exchanging ideas, reading each others stuff, Wolf and I realized that
ERP was the perfect home for Half Myths & Quarter Legends. The poems
are pared down, to blood and bone, and have a certain darkness based in reality
that Wolf respects. It was a dark horse that fit the stable.
Can you clarify what you mean by your title?
The
only thing we have are myths and legends. From the stories our parents tell us,
to religion, to theoretical science, all the words are really just tales spun
for one purpose or another. I thought it would be cool to study a few of these
— from Christianity to Paganism, French Canadian Lore to Spanish Folk Tales —
in current, daily environments. Why half and quarter? The words never quite
tell the whole story. Everyone has to fill in the blanks, add his or her own
fears, history, perceptions. As for the cover, an image I took, it fit the
concept pretty well: a gargoyle, a regular, garden-variety gargoyle, looking up
at the heavers in pain. Summed it up. Something mundane, from a yardsale,
trying to look like something else, staring up for answer it’ll never get. Ok,
that’s deep enough… I just though it looked damn cool.
Are your stories usually grounded in real
experiences?
Love
this question. Of course some of the poems are loosely based in reality (“Marbles
and skipping ropes” is a nod to my Mother, and “Coyotl” has a ‘real’
base in local news), but mostly, they are made up. People seem to think that
‘poetry’ — their word — always points to catharsis, ‘soul’ searching, capital T
‘Truth.’ That’s crap. Poetry is just the vehicle I’ve chosen to tell stories.
And that’s what they are: fictions, made up, artifice and lies. When someone
asks “Wow, wasn’t it hard writing about your daughter/son/etc that way?” they
can’t believe when I tell them it’s not about me. I’m a writer, not an
autobiographer.
Several of the poems are explicitly connected but is
there an overall pattern to the way the collection has been sequenced?
I try to follow a linear
chronology that makes narrative sense. Within that, there are ‘sections’ in
HM&QL representing different religions and situations. Moreover, if you
read Sonofabitch Poems, Weakdays, HM&QL, and the new one, you can
find long overarcs. It’s important to have voice, and to have cohesiveness
inside a collection and inside a body of work. I can’t stand ‘collections’ that
seem to be a jumble of poems or thoughts without connection. Maybe it’s the
formalist in me, or the inherent mathematician — I like patterns.
Where do your poems come from?
Poems or stories all stem,
for me, from an image. Maybe something I spotted or overheard, something tucked
back in the ether of my subconscious. But it's always something concrete.
(published with the permission of the poet)
"To Vagary" came from a backyard rustle one day. A squirrel (probably) that became somewhat Lovecraftian. Nothing more to it for me. For a reader, I hope it invokes a feeling from childhood, or maybe a place he or she was in but shouldn't have been.
"To Vagary" came from a backyard rustle one day. A squirrel (probably) that became somewhat Lovecraftian. Nothing more to it for me. For a reader, I hope it invokes a feeling from childhood, or maybe a place he or she was in but shouldn't have been.
In writing poetry what do set out to do?
That's easy: tell a story
that makes the reader laugh, cringe, feel or think. A story worthy of a reread.
How would
you describe your writing style?
Describing your own style is
tough and sometimes comes off as pompous. I'll throw a couple of words out
there that I think work: simple, pared down, narrative, formalist, imagist. Of
course I'm a writer and I make stuff up, so take it all with a grain of salt.
Do you
have set routine each day for writing?
Can't say that I have the
discipline I'd like to have. I probably do take notes and pictures and jot down
points daily. When it comes to putting it all together, I wait until I have a pretty
complete story in mind and I write it down. Luckily, I can usually pull off
piece quickly without needing incessant rewrites. I've been known to spit out a
poem in the first draft. Not always but often enough. That's the beauty of
writing down notes and ideas all the time. And I take a lot of pictures.
What
advice would you offer talented young writers?
Read. Read more. Write.
Edit. Edit more. Find something interesting to say and say it in your own
voice. There are so many people writing in a style that is so blah that it's
impossible to identify the writer. Develop your own "thing" your
"schtick" and nourish it. Copy folks while you learn; copy no one
when you write. And I can't say it enough: don't be boring. A good fart joke is
better than a bad poem.
I enjoy
reading the e-books on PigeonBike. What’s the background to the latest Trees or Jobs?
(2013): http://www.scribd.com/doc/150431112/Trees-or-Jobs
There
is a woodlot in my city, with a wetland, that is slated for development. A lot
of people, including local poets and writers, want the development stopped. My
issue is more pragmatic: what are they putting up? Big box stores and more crap
we don’t need. We need jobs in this city (London, Ontario) and industry that
will attract new people, new skills, new jobs. In my opinion, the proposed
project would not only destroy the woodlot, but would bring no meaningful
advantage. That is my issue. And instead of just jawing about it, or writing a
poem that no one will read, I decided to put together the broadside, and the
electronic version. A city councillor brought it to council, others were
posted, given to libraries, etc. I wanted to do something concrete, not just
artistic. So I put my money, design, and a piece behind it. I’m not an
activist, but I want my opinion heard. The whole project is still up in the
air.
I notice
that your book publishing wing of PigeonBike is now sleeping. What’s the latest? Do you intend
publishing again in the foreseeable future?
The
pigeon is sleeping and the bike’s put away. I have no immediate or even
mid-term plans for PigeonBike right now. I’m proud of what we did to this
point. I know in the future I’ll probably resurrect it again, but for now, I’m
letting it rest its weary feathers. I’m focusing on my writing.
Do you
have any up & coming projects?
I’m
currently looking for a home for my latest poetry collection “Needle shadows
through the pines.” Although it continues the ‘narrative’ arc I’ve set out to
tell, the collection also dives a little deeper into the man vs woman vs nature
/ pathetic fallacy realm. Some fun ‘stories’ in there, as well as some dark
ones people have come to expect.
Aside
from poetry, I’ve been resharpening my fiction pencil. I’ve written a few
stories, some floating around in submission land, others waiting for a home in
print that I am not at liberty to disclose at this time. I’ve decided to take
the next logical step: add a little flesh to the themes and images from my
poetry, all to expand them and give them more life. Somewhere, buried in my
notes, is a novel, or at least a collection of short stories.
And
I’m taking lots of pictures…
RLR
Bio:
R L Raymond lives and writes in London, Ontario, Canada. He
holds a Master's Degree in English Literature from the University of Western
Ontario. With poetry, fiction, photography, and painting, Raymond just tells
stories. Read his narratives in three poetry collections, and in dozens of
literary publications around the world. For more information: www.RLRaymond.ca
Collections:
Sonofabitch Poems - PigeonBike Press
Weakdays - Corrupt Press
Half Myths & Quarter Legends - Epic Rites Press
