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At first, I found these poems too delicate. Then I started
to trust to the collection's form and organising principles:
'This book explores gardens, particularly the seventeenth-century French
baroque gardens designed by the father of the form, Andre Le NotreÉSwenson
probes the two senses of ÔLe Notre', considering both the man himself and and
the literal meaning of the phrase, to discover where they meetÉ'
This coherence quickly hooks you. It's a brilliant example of how ideas and
intellectual depth make a collection readable, when too many others are
random assemblies of poems - adding up to nothing - except the impression of
a brain half-awake. Cole keeps the ideas coming:
IN AN EFFORT
TO MAKE THE GARDEN A STANDING PROOF
of the
ascendancy of reason over nature, strict rules governed its layout:
the principal north-south axis must start at the back door
and head straight toward
an illusion of infinity intersected by perpendiculars that divide all
spaceÉ
Gardens are personal but universal - and so very culturally revealing. The
firm (sometimes ruthless) logic of formal French examples powerfully evoked
memories for me of those teenage trips to Versailles - 'French exchanges' and
all that. I'm talking 1979, when everything on the continent seemed cleaner
and less sleazy than Blighty. A feeling of awe and intimidation, with (being
English) a constant need to compare with our examples - the freedom and
subtle natural power of Blenheim say.
Cole's ability to create such reveries makes it a tremendous success to me,
as a reader. That's what good 'experimental' writing does; and it makes you
wonder how poetry can be anything else. Above all, space is left for the
reader's thoughts and reponses, without them feeling they're being asked to
do too much, or losing faith in the project.
Faith and trust are key words here, and generosity. A fundamental respect,
between poet and reader, a sense of equality; we're a world away from the
bullshit epiphanies of Kate Clanchy, Su Tenderdrake or Polly Stigmata. I
don't care how 'sensitive' these mainstream idols are - they parade humdrum
platitudes, as if readers were cargo-cult savages, knocked out by their
quivering sensitivity.
I read Ours in a meandering way, as
I'd walk around an unknown garden ('And sometimes you're the door') guessing
where to go. Only later, you realise that you followed a path, prepared just
for you:
If a garden
is the world counted
and found analogue in nature
One does not
become two by ever endingÉ.
There is nothing that controls our thoughts
more than
what we think we see,
which we
label Ôwe'.
(from 'If
a Garden of Numbers')
The collection is full of this aphoristic depth, with an insistent - but
never bludgeoning - exploration of the 'ours' meaning of Le Notre. Another
fascinating theme is the impossibility of knowing how people felt in an
earlier age - left wing historians and cultural critics can be incredibly
presumptuous about this, unquestioningly enrolling the long dead into their
own ideologies. I love Cole's lapidary prose on this:
How can we
say whether or not someone who lived from 1613
to 1700 was
happy? Among the many things that make me want
to go back in
time is the incommensurability of vocabulary, particularly
that
involving feelings, but even all adverbs and adjectives - such as old,
or scented,
or slowly - even nouns float cell by cell into some otherÉ
(from 'On Happiness')
The term 'parterre' also kept hitting me - it's used in some Ashbery poem; I
remember looking it up then, but can't be bothered now. The link I'd make is
with that refined, Francophile sensibility - attributing significance
(sometimes over significance) to fine details, sometimes becoming too
cultural cringing.
There's a fascinating comparison to be made between Cole and Ashbery, in
terms of Reader Response. Both of them are committed to using the reader,
arguably as their greatest asset. Of course, especially in Ashbery's case,
many people want (or need) more. Particularly since he works from multiple
surface effects - almost the opposite of Cole's underlying organising
principles - relying on the sheer strength of American cultural signifiers to
bring coherence.
Anyway, this book is a beautiful and heartening work of art. It's inspiring,
signalling what poetry can achieve, using respect and trust in its
readership.
© Paul Sutton
2009
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