NEW HOPE INTERNATIONAL REVIEW ON-LINE

The Fiddlehead is Atlantic Canada's International Literary Journal and here is an issue entirely devoted to poetry.

The work is weighted to the bucolic and the personal. No politics (except in the most general terms.) Not much about culture and history. The feel of the thing is provincial— but provincial in the best possible sense. I come away with a blurry feeling of having just lived through a lot of rainy days and long damp winter's nights.

Here, in order of appearance, are three poets who made me want to turn back the pages and read their work again.

First Lynn Davies. She contributes two country life poems that are well-crafted but not unlike everybody else's country life poems and one piece of dream-like fantasy, THE DWARF, which takes us somewhere else entirely— to a menacing landscape

	Hostile unless you wear scales
	or hunt in packs.

Next Catherine Black. Three more country life poems, but standing out from the crowd on account of their precision and emotional intensity. All are wonderful but the masterpiece is SINKING, an under-stated, breathless, child's eye account of double bereavement— a lost brother and a home left behind. Black is a newish writer, with only a few previous publishing credits. Take note, you read it here first: Catherine Black is a star.

Finally Ken Babstock. Four poems. Difficult, engorged with images, wide-ranging, metaphysical. I don't always get what he's driving at, but I reckon he's worth the effort he demands of his reader. In a collection which is high on craft but short on range and ambition, Babstock stands out as a poet who is pushing language towards— and perhaps over— the boundary of the unsayable. He's won a lot of prizes and he deserves them.

Yup, on this showing, Atlantic Canadian poetry is in rude good health.

130 pages of poems, stories and reviews. I didn't find one bad piece of writing, but somehow the magazine itself didn't really excite me either. Perhaps because it feels a little too solid and respectable. Which isn't to say that many of the poems and stories don't make for enjoyable reading — they do. And among the wide variety of mainly Canadian writers there is probably something here for everyone's taste.

Among the fiction, I especially liked Emily White's VARIOUS METALS, the story of the unexpected way a woman finally comes to terms with her husband's death.

Among the poets, Erin Knight stood out for me. From NOTES IN CYRILLIC:

	the thief's blade was not meant for you.
	your hand came between the knife
	and small footsteps, 'if you want to get tough
	get tough with me.' the first time your serbian,
	that unearthed stone, was understood, your blood
	navy on the dark street, your open palm,
	both nerves sliced.

This issue of The Fiddlehead contains tributes to Don Gammon (1924-2004), first editor of magazine, and to Fred Cogswell (1917-2004), poet and another early editor. Both men died last year. One of Cogswell's later poems, EARTH, I HAVE ALWAYS MADE MY PRAYER, ends with the lines:

	And though my strength is nearly gone
	I yet would rather work than weep,
	I want to die with my boots on
	And not slip away in my sleep.

The Fiddlehead— Atlantic Canada's International Literary Journal is a remarkable literary journal. Published four times a year, by the University of New Brunswick, this edition features an oil painting by Stephen Scott, entitled BOY WITH DRUM, on the front cover. Paralleling the rich literary content, this painting is also highly remarkable, with the overdressed boy staring out from the cover in an inviting, yet sly and joyful manner, his hands holding drumsticks placed lightly on the drum, with faded human faces all around his head. This cover could be the inspiration for a number of poems and perhaps reflects the type of poetry contained here both representational and ironic, poetry that is accessible yet not so obvious that one reading is enough.

It is not hyperbole to suggest that The Fiddlehead is one of the best literary journals on the market, both in content and production. This issue contains KAY SMITH, A TRIBUTE by William Pouty, followed by five of her poems, the first of which AGAIN WITH MUSIC was published in The Fiddlehead #52 in 1962. Smith's poetry is extremely evocative, beautifully structured, and spiritual in the best sense of the word. Despite some of these poems being over forty years old, they have a contemporary feel that still speaks which is the mark of great poetry. Three short stories, seventeen poems, then a section entitled CONVERSATION and an excellent reviews segment of six books, follow Smith's work.

All the poetry in this edition is exquisitely crafted, but Michael Quilty's interestingly entitled poem concession fog stands out as worthy of close attention. Two opening quintets and a final sestet depict a sensual, melancholic and highly visual journey that at every juncture, as with all superb poetry, subverts our expectations. The first line

	listen for the mist covering the roadway, droplet

	droplets
	of darkness

	uncle Ambrose rides in a hearse for the very first time.

	is this where death veers into the living?

The final four lines of the final stanza have an American gothic quality, with again an invitation, as in third and fourth lines

	never mind the June sky — dark blue,
	or the swooping of the barn swallows

	one of the cousins holds a newborn delivered a pound too thin,
	with hair brownish-grey, tubes pink, and toes — without nails

Three poems by Elizabeth Bachinsky, AT FIFTEEN, THE HOME OF SUDDEN SERVICE, and THE DINER OF HER HEART, are also worth highlighting. They too have a Gothic sensibility yet they are rooted in the everyday of cooking and relationships. The sexual and physical quality of these poems gives them an authenticity and an honesty that most poems never come near. It is important to stress that it is the form of Bachinsky's poems, substantial stanzas that commence en media res, that makes them more substantial compared to others in this journal and elsewhere that appear more like abstract wisps of thought. Finally, as a British reader, it is excellent to have a number of reviews of new collections from small regional presses. Given the richness of its content, and the excellent selection of profound and refreshing poems, I hope that readers and writers of poetry the world over will seek out The Fiddlehead.