Book Review #2 This Accident of Being Lost

Leanne Betasamosake Simpson is an Michi Saagiig Nishnaabeg scholar, writer and artist. The Accident of Being Lost is her second book of  mixed poetry and fiction. This book is much like the material it explores, it resists categorization by being at the intersection of  prose and poetry.  Other reviews talk about it as a collection of songs, short stories, poems. You could say that or if you are a reader of contemporary poetry you just say it is all poetry.  She deals with intersections of groups and how the speakers in the book personally relate to the tensions coming from these intersections. 

Simpson is exploring the personal and the social.  We don’t know which if any of the stories are factually true but they seem like poetically true experiences of a First Nations woman thinking about her place in the world and looking at the other be that different races, sexes, gendered and non-gendered relationships.  Exploring the suburbs, the reservation, the wilderness and all the differing attitudes of those that inhabit those locales as well as the attitude of the speaker of the work. 

The Accident Of Being Lost is a fascinating work, a piece of literature that delivers in a consistent voice that feels sardonic, observant, self deprecatory, angry, bewildered and thoughtful. Thoughtful about herself and trying to understand the other, whoever that other maybe from her primary relationship or a relationship that exists just on the internet through social media.  And the uncertainty of the speaker about herself and the world draws us in along with an urgent sense of humour. This writer is not only unafraid of being inconsistent or unsure but highlights how we all live as surely as we can in uncertainty.  Within this uncertainty humour is used but often to dilute something heart breaking underneath the humour.  

The book is written in the first person so it has the feel of biography. But that adds to the poetic effect, that this subjective view point is not necessarily literally the author of the book but the reader experiences it as such.  As we move through the book the I, which seems to have a consistent voice, traversing place, time and relationships with no clue as to whether the events in the book are linked.  

I’ve been doing an MFA at a private university in the Bay Area.  There is a lot of exploration of race here around the literature of the US and the context of literature.   That was not something I thought much about for the decades I was ensconced in the old white male bastion called Imperial Oil, the Canadian subsidiary of Exxon.  I grew up in the old Canada, the one that was mostly white and in the case of Toronto, mostly white anglo saxon protestant.  This is in high contrast to today’s Canada with our multi cultural mosaic but that is also continues to be home to racism, hidden and overt.  

I lived in a city near Toronto where we had a total of two black kids in our whole high school, brothers. That family might have been the only blacks in the city of 20,000.  Canada has changed a lot since them, but despite that cultural background I have though of myself as a supporter of liberal causes, I felt from my position of relative privilege I owe it to marginalized groups to support their efforts, if only mostly in spirit.  

I learned a few years ago from a Metis writer friend that I have no idea how people of other groups think.  She was telling me about growing up and attending Banff Indian Days, the event that started off as a way to entertain bored hotel patrons by bringing in local First Nations people and have them perform for the rich hotel patrons. I thought to myself “Oh my God, how could we think of exploiting our native population that way”. Then she said “When I was young I loved it”.

I found myself once again exploring my white liberal guilt as I read Simpson’s book.  As a matter of fact she calls people like me out on it.  In the second piece in the book, Plight, the speaker and two friends are going to go into a neighbourhood to mark maple trees so they can tap them the next spring to make maple syrup.  She describes the neighbourhood as “They have perennials instead of grass.  They get organic, local vegetables delivered twice weekly, in addition, to going to the farmers’ market on Saturday.”  Simpson lightly makes fun of a progressive neighbourhood in ways that seem very true, very much like where I live in urban Hamilton.  

She then goes on take it another step describing how they neighbourhood wants to be designated heritage so you can’t modify in ways so that “it isn’t from the 1800’s or rent your extra floors to the lower class”.    This observation works on two levels in terms of extending the effect of the writing.  The first is this idea of nostalgia by the property owners for the 1880’s, a time of colonization for much of Canada’s First Nations,  the second is the an apparent hypocrisy related to the progressive nature of the neighbourhood that wants to block poor people from living there. The darker side of this progressive neighbourhood is subtly exposed. 

After this setup Simpson really goes for the jugular when talking about getting permission to tap the trees from the neighbourhood.  “We know how to do this so they’ll be into it. Hand out the flyers first. Have a community meeting. Ask permission. Listen to their paternalistic bullshit and feedback. Let them have influence. Let them bask in the plight of the Native people so they can feel self-righteous.  Make them feel better, and when reconciliation comes up at the next dinner party, they can hold us up as the solution and brag to their real friends about our plight.”

Simpson is  talking about more than tapping trees here, talking about ways power has managed to exploit First Nations through supposed consultation. She is turning these techniques around and using them on the oppressor, she brings in the word “reconciliation” which evokes the Truth and Reconciliation commission process around the tragedy of residential schools where First Nations children were yanked from their homes and sent to residential schools where many suffered sexual, physical and verbal abuse. She also increases the power of her indictment of the progressive community and at the same time shows how this can be exploited.  She maybe is portraying a stilted view of that community but it is believable that a member of the outsider marginalized community would have that view and the colonialist community would be unaware. 

She then finishes the paragraph with the line “I proofread the flyer one more time because everyone knows white people hate typos”.  This line is an example of how Simpson’s book works so well.  The humour is this line is bi-directional.  It simultaneously makes fun of white people but also of the First Nations speaker’s truisms about white people.  And for me that is the trick Simpson pulls off throughout this book.  Highlighting hypocrisy of others while at the same time apply self-deprecating humour to lighten the material. This what I mean about the text existing in the intersections.  This intersection between two groups on white attitudes produces truth but also humour.  

After this early piece I am constantly on guard for my own liberal white bias in approaching the work.  Even writing this review I am thinking about my reaction in those terms.  I am aware up until this point I much of what I have written about this work relates to myself and other white people, a fact I don't think would surprise Simpson.  While that is a component of this book it isn’t what the book is only about.  Mostly it is about a complex woman try to understand her role and feelings in an alienating and confusing world,  a world she has inherited that is full of unfairness.  And yet here I have focused my race in terms of my relating to the work.  I think making me think about this is an important outcome from this piece of literature.  Through the author’s own exploration of the world we all participate with our own lenses. 

In a later piece of short segmented prose set around her time at a writer’s colony in Banff during a major flood she talks about about her listening to the CBC and NPR and knowing the personality on the radio but also says “she has a fair amount of contempt for all the middle-class white people huddled around the radio listening to that shit” This is a pretty good reflection of other occurrences in the book,  the speaker’s part of the white culture but also not, with  the author’s PhD and literary success she’s part of the country’s intelligentsia but not.  The speaker sometimes seems middle class but  often has roots that aren’t.

The book is excellent on many levels.  The prose and poetry pieces are all well written with a shifting subject but with a consistent voice.  The exploration of race, sexuality, consumerism and the difficulty we all have with understanding others is both obvert and nuanced.  The author shares her bewilderment with the world and we engage with her in that bewilderment while examining our own attitudes. 

Radical Revision #2 Emily's Poem as a Ghazal

California Irregardless: A Ghazal

A rose is a rose, or maybe not, they keep lettin’ the water out

soul is missing, too many housing starts end up lettin’ the water out.

In this drought is a missing stanza, not sure of their intentions

the California law’s no boogeyman, they keep lettin’ the water out.

That’s Ratto luck only in the Neenee world

luck’s different in God’s world, always lettin’ the water out.

With blankets pulled over heads, no can do the laundry 

we judge the cut of Vargas’s lawn, how they’re lettin’ the water out. 

Neenee says towels are not sufficient, God says that’s our luck

Emily, says Neenee, you seem tired. Please let the water out. 

Radical Revision Exercise #1

Radical Revision

A Joke Comes To Me About Ecopoetics For Business Students

Tree or moss, there is never
an answer in the wind despite

what has been said or sung or you may have
thought you heard.  Look to see if boots crush

new born grass, look to see if crushes have
ever been new born grass, look to see if radical revision

of a past alleviates boredom or vermisilitude
an antidote to dying live oaks. Alternate facts

or alternate realities, the appearance of truth
more than matter of fact.  The sound of moss

growing not up for debate.  Exploitive
in the end seems to be just another salve

for half charged capability.



Original

Thinking About Business Below A Dead Live Oak

This old tree, a rope barrier around it to try and protect
it but the drought may have killed, only small brown leaves left
here and there.  Moss and lichen ignore the state of the tree, thrive off the
tree whether dead or alive, while not visible I’m sure life is below the
bark as well,  rotting wood provides a good home for
those that live off the dead or dying.

A joke comes to me about ecopoetics for business students that are here too,
how they are getting insight into the best ways to exploit
the natural world, what opportunities, what can be leveraged.
Perhaps a lesson from the moss or the lichen and this tree.

Beside me a woman’s grey Puma trainer crushes brown leaves
into mud.  Fresh tiny blades of grass break through the dirt on the other side
of the rope barrier.  Look to see if my boot crushes any new grass.
It’s not.

Probably dead, bare branches reach towards a grey blank sky.
Which I must ask myself,  the tree or the moss?

further further further work on after the movie

ok, final version. went to a formal triplet structure.  David brought up the uneven system for stanzas and the indents.  I was resistant to that at first but a comment from Geoffrey O'Brien on my thesis brought that into focus for me.

"feels like a charged repudiation of “order” or tidiness and it too can have its place. But two things about it: 1) its frequency also begins to slacken its expressivity in that it tapers to ONLY expressing this commitment to asymmetry and 2) as a dissipation of traditional form it joins up with the reverse Haibun effect to form a double assault on the expressive capacities of ruled lineation—in other words, I think you have to pick (for the most part) either this variability of line or line’s dissipation into prose because they duplicate the same principled undoing rather than complicating and informing each other. "

I took from this some of this results in a feeling of sloppiness rather than deliberate design.  At any rate I decided to structure the poem more strictly.  Here it is.

After The Movie
(After Marie Howe’s After The Movie)

My friend Michael & I cross King Street West, dodging
traffic, arguing about the movie. He says he believes success
& happiness are tied— you can only have one if you have

the other. I say, No they don’t have anything to do
with each other,  that’s like saying shoes are necessary
to have a coat. He says  But that is true,

no point having a coat to go outside if you don’t
have shoes. There’ll come a day you’ll stay inside
for good if you don’t have both.

I say,  That sounds like you had happiness before that day.
He says, You might have thought you were happy but
then you realized you were unsuccessful.

I say, What you mean by happiness sounds more like
a business arrangement. I say, Happiness isn’t conditional.
He says, It’s conditional on what it takes to be happy.

We’re now standing in front of the Snooty Fox—
the old Westdale Theatre’s marquee blinking
half on & mostly off across the street— & I hear my voice

saying what I say to myself all the time— Most
everyone’s life is pretty well mediocre at best
& really should anyone ask for more?

Michael takes hold of my elbow.  Yes, he says, They can
& fucking well should. Inside we order Barking Squirrels
from our bartender, burly & bearded.

The beer is dark, rich burnt orange. I sip it like
I have never seen beer before. Hey, I say, Didn't
this conversation feel kind of like Marie Howe’s

poem, After the Movie? I was just thinking that,
says Michael, Though this sure isn’t New York City
and you aren’t nearly as smart as the speaker

in that poem.  Funny, I say, I was just thinking
how you aren’t nearly as smart as her Michael.
We both sip our beer some more.

What are you up to tomorrow? says Michael.
But what I think he is saying is—
“You are a failure, you should stay in your house forever.”

Then I think “Does he know I want to remain
bewildered?” The noise level is rising, laughter
coming  from somewhere, glasses clinking

somewhere. Although we just got to the bar
we both have been here a very long time.
I say, Try not to be a man of success said Einstein.

Michael says, Idleness is fatal only to the mediocre
said Camus.  Our bartender jumps in, Stupidity
lies in wanting to draw conclusions said Flaubert.

Outside the marquee still blinks no-blinks,
blurred red tail lights pass by on King St West,
I know down the side street

my perfectly squat house sits perfectly
darkly quiet, at the end of that street is the trail
into the woods where nocturnal beasts wander.

further further work on After the movie

discussing with MZ how close this poem mirrors the inspiring poem.  one idea he had was to acknowledge that in the poem.  so here is my attempt at doing that.

After The Movie

(After Marie Howe’s After The Movie)

My friend Michael & I cross King Street West, dodging traffic, arguing 

about the movie. He says he believes success & happiness are tied—

you can only have one if you have the other.

I say, No they don’t have anything to do with each other, 

that’s like saying shoes are necessary to have a coat. 

He says  But that is true, no point having a coat 

to go outside if you don’t have shoes.  There’ll come a day

you’ll stay inside for good if you don’t have both. 

I say,  That sounds like you had happiness before that day. 

He says, You might have thought you were happy but 

then you realized you were unsuccessful.  

I say, What you mean by happiness sounds more like 

a business arrangement. I say, Happiness isn’t conditional.

He says, It’s conditional on what it takes to be happy.  

We’re now standing in front of the Snooty Fox— the old Westdale Theatre’s marquee 

blinking half on & mostly off across the street— & I hear my voice 

saying what I say to myself all the time— 

Most everyone’s life is pretty well mediocre at best & really

should anyone ask for more?

Michael takes hold of my elbow.  

Yes, he says, They can & fucking well should.

Inside we order Barking Squirrels from our bartender, burly & bearded.

The beer is dark, rich burnt orange. I sip it like I have never seen beer before. 

Hey, I say,  Didn't this conversation feel kind of like
we’re in the Marie Howe poem, After the Movie?

I was just thinking that, says Michael, Though this
sure isn’t New York City  and you
aren’t nearly as smart as the speaker in that poem.

Funny, I say, I was just thinking how you aren’t nearly as smart as her Michael.

We both sip our beer. 

What are you up to tomorrow? says Michael. 

But what I think he is saying is—“You are a failure, you should stay in your house forever.”

Then I think “Does he know I want to remain bewildered?”

The noise level is rising, laughter coming 

from somewhere, glasses clinking somewhere. Although we just got to the bar

we both have been here a very long time. 

I say, Try not to be a man of success said Einstein.  

Michael says, Idleness is fatal only to the mediocre said Camus.  

Our bartender jumps in, Stupidity lies in wanting to draw conclusions said Flaubert.

Outside the marquee still blinks no-blinks, blurred red tail lights pass by 

on King St West, I know down the side street

my perfectly squat house sits perfectly 

darkly quiet, at the end of that street is the trail 

into the woods where the nocturnal beasts wander.

further work on After The Movie

I took the input from everybody last week and revised my After the Movie Poem. I also have decided to extend the poem further with a lyric moment. Dan said the last line was like a punch line (which he liked). Sara suggested that perhaps my poem had outgrown the quotes. In thinking about that I thought maybe the poem was being closed down too much by the use of the quotes at the end. So here is the version with the additional ending and using the edits that came out of the workshop.

After The Movie
(After Marie Howe’s After The Movie)

My friend Michael & I cross King Street West, dodging traffic, arguing
about the movie. He says he believes success & happiness are tied—

you can only have one if you have the other.

I say, No they don’t have anything to do with each other,
that’s like saying shoes are necessary to have a coat.

He says  But that is true, no point having a coat
to go outside if you don’t have shoes.  There’ll come a day
you’ll stay inside for good if you don’t have both.

I say,  That sounds like you had happiness before that day.

He says, You might have thought you were happy but
then you realized you were unsuccessful.

I say, What you mean by happiness sounds more like
a business arrangement. I say, Happiness isn’t conditional.

He says, It’s conditional on what it takes to be happy.

We’re now standing in front of the Snooty Fox— the old Westdale Theatre’s marquee
blinking half on & mostly off across the street— & I hear my voice
saying what I say to myself all the time—

Most everyone’s life is pretty well mediocre at best & really
should anyone ask for more?

Michael takes hold of my elbow.
Yes, he says, They can & fucking well should.

Inside we order Barking Squirrels from our bartender, burly & bearded.

The beer is dark, rich burnt orange. I sip it like I have never seen beer before.

What are you up to tomorrow? says Michael.

But what I think he is saying is—“You are a failure, you should stay in your house forever.”

Then I think “Does he know I want to remain bewildered?”

The noise level is rising, laughter coming
from somewhere, glasses clinking somewhere. Although we just got to the bar
we both have been here a very long time.

I say, Try not to be a man of success said Einstein.

Michael says, Idleness is fatal only to the mediocre said Camus.

Our bartender jumps in, Stupidity lies in wanting to draw conclusions said Flaubert.

Outside the marquee still blinks no-blinks, blurred red tail lights pass by
on King St West, I know down the side street

my perfectly squat house sits perfectly
darkly quiet, at the end of that street is the trail

into the woods where the nocturnal beasts wander.

using other poems as templates

I wrote here about this poem by Marie Howe and gave my attempt at emulating the moves Marie makes in her poem.

Arisa and I discussed the poem in tutorial and she came up with a few changes to help.  But after looking at what I came up with I realized there was something wrong, that I wasn't getting much of what I enjoyed about Marie's poem into this work.  I decided to blow up the poem and take some of the pieces to make a new one I hope would be more successful.   To do that I decided to try and mirror Marie's poem in terms of the moves she was making so I tried to de-construct After the Movie.  This looked something like this.

Start by providing the setting and introducing the two characters
Provide an argument for the two characters that seems surprising (Marie's was you can love someone but murder them)
Then go back and forth on this argument in an interesting way
Further situate the discussion in the real world
At some point the speaker uses an old argument with someone and then goes internal
In the internal space uses quotes from famous people from a variety of fields around the argument
Come back to the real world
Have a surprising response to the other person's question that goes somewhere very different
Close with images and thoughts that seem to say something about the relationship of the characters

My initial piece had some of this but was missing much of the finer moves that take place. At a high level I had an argument but it wasn't as surprising and took a while to develop, I also a situation and some quotes. But not nearly the internal stuff or the surprising mis-interpretation of the question.  I threw out much of the dialogue that I had written and focused on the movement like Marie's.  I'm not saying mine is as interesting, I wish it was but it is closer than my first attempt.  I decided to shift gears for the ending, using the quotes idea but having various speakers say them to move the poem to termination.

I'm workshopping the result of this work today. I am also hoping I have moved far enough from the original structure that I have created my won work