{"id":1629,"date":"2009-09-03T16:50:51","date_gmt":"2009-09-03T20:50:51","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/fryeblog.blog.lib.mcmaster.ca\/?p=1629"},"modified":"2009-09-03T16:50:51","modified_gmt":"2009-09-03T20:50:51","slug":"jeffery-donaldson-palilalia","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/macblog.mcmaster.ca\/fryeblog\/2009\/09\/03\/jeffery-donaldson-palilalia\/","title":{"rendered":"Jeffery Donaldson: “Museum”"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"Fuseli.ghost\"<\/p>\n

Jeffery Donaldson has graced us with this poem about an encounter with a ghostly\u00a0familiar,\u00a0 if not a “familiar compound ghost.” Jeffery is currently working on an article about the significance of Frye to a poet, to be published in <\/strong>New Quarterly<\/strong><\/a>.\u00a0 A video of Jeffery reading the title poem from his latest collection, <\/strong>Palilalia<\/a>,<\/strong> can be found at the end of this post.<\/strong><\/em>
\n<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

Museum<\/p>\n

But one writes only after one has willed to renounce the will,
\nand the wisest of poets have always insisted that in the long
\nrun all poetry that is worth listening to has been written
\nby the gods.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u2014Northrop Frye<\/em><\/p>\n

Subway, in the middle of my commute,\n   I found myself in a dark corner.\nThe line vanished into the underground\n   in two directions, the clack and crow-screech\n\nof steel wheels echoed in recession\n   of the just missed five-o-nine\nfrom the tunnel\u2019s depths. Museum Station.\n   A chilled solitude widened around me\n\nand water-drops pooled in mimicked snips\n   between the rails below. The ceiling lamps\u2019\nsubdued fluorescence seemed to cast no shadows\n   and were like peering through green water.\n\nExhibits from the ROM in glass cases\n   with aboriginal wooden masks descended\nlike messengers from the real world above,\n   whose outsize faces gestured witness and alarm\n\nin the apocalyptic style of indigenous myth.\n   Farther up, the February dusk\nwas tawny, the air tasteless and dull\n   as pewter plate. Fog had moved in on\n\nOld Vic\u2019s scrubbed-stone but now vague\n   turrets uncobbling upwards to the last\nvanished spire, as though parting illusion\n   from the epigraph above the stairway arch,\n\nstill insisting, after these twenty years,\n   that the truth would set me free.\nAll gone up in a mist now, as far\n   as I could see. I pictured them above,\n\nthe Burwash quad, Pratt, and residence,\n   whose faux-gothic walls hold the city at Bay\nlike the brim of an empty cup, and where\n   the mind-set of college years, memories\n\nof what unwritten words, burn perpetually\n   as in a crucible. I wonder now had I known,\nthose years hiding my fidgets, of the tics\n   Touretters spend their days trying to release,\n\nor heard of how the obsessive\u2019s repetitions\n   grind every last impulse to its death,\nwould I have finished more, managed\n   the regimental habitus<\/em>\nand got things done?\n\n\nToo skittish by far to do as that passage\n   from Faust always roared mockingly I should,\nfrom its perch on the cork board above my desk,\n   Settle your studies! and sound the depths\n\nof that thou wilt profess.<\/em> Get real! I still\n   have the welts from the nightly tongue-lashing.\nBut now school\u2019s out at last, and the long ghostly\n   hours of doodling, daydreams, lectures, lessen.\n\nThe students pouring from Northrop Frye Hall\n   slushed in out of the fog in private directions\nescalating down into the commuter scrimmage\n   towards the platform. And that brought it on.\n\nThe clapping heal, nasal-snort, the lurching nod,\n   the whooped-up screech and cluck.\nI tried to catch the right patterns up,\n   send them unfolding in dervish rhythms,\n\nunstoppable as blinking. Suddenly,\n   out of the unasked-for corporal hootenanny\nI sensed a conjured presence whirled out\n   in tangents from myself echoing\n\nin the sniggers I bounced off the walls,\n   until in my thinking, it appeared,\na stooped man stood apart,\n   behind a pillar, unhurried, thoughtful,\n\nneither leaving nor arriving, one I seemed\n   to recognize or remember, coming through\nand breaking up like a cell-phone signal\n   too far from its source. The chunky glasses\n\nand electric hair, plain, perennially ancient,\n   he was there, bunched up within himself\nlike New Brunswick brushwood, swaying\n   like a scraggly jack-pine or as a man\n\nin thought at arm\u2019s length from a lectern\n   will rock, it seems, to captivating rhythms\nfor the sake of argument. Sheet folder.\n   Waiting for this line to take him home.\n\nHe spoke up under my own chirps and wheens\n   snickering back under the stone work,\nlike a cold draft working itself out.\n   \u201cStill conjuring ghosts, are you Hamlet,\n\nfrom the depths of the waiting place?\n   Have you forgotten my Shakespeare lecture\nin \u201881, on how the Danish spook\n   is not one jot less real than the made world\n\nhe rises in?\u201d He looked himself over.\n   \u201cNot that I can say much in the matter,\nbut you might have made me younger.\n   When you conjure someone in a dream,\n\n(where are<\/em> your manners?) it\u2019s best to be more\n   generous than time was . . . . But look at you<\/em>.\nWhy you look as though you see a burning\n   bush or a hanging disk of fire.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh no no, I see you, heavenly ghost,\n   old sky father, old officer of art!\nbut holy company of angels\n   what are you doing<\/em> here? Fifteen years\n\nhave passed since we sat through the Blake\n   readings at your remembrance service,\nand together cracked what wine bottles afterwards\n   launched you on your way across the Styx,\n\nthat second journey you once wrote about\n   as having rather less to do with ego\nthan the first. You always looked for how\n   to get past it without actually dying,\n\nand I thought if I kept reading your prose\n   you might show the way chosen ones take\nto the spiritualized secular,\n   and find you again, or myself at least.\n\nBut not haunting some in-transit concourse\n   buried under old grounds I\u2019ve already trod.\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019re still looking in all the wrong places.\n   Time you saw through your own smoke and mirrors.\u201d\n\n\u201cA window then? Not a thing I see?\u201d\n   \u201cCloser, yes, but don\u2019t get your hopes up\non clarity, too many hands and noses\n   have been pressed to the glass for you to find\n\nwhat you\u2019re looking for in someone like me,\n   even in this state. I was never much\nfor small talk, as little on subway platforms\n   as on that elevator we once rode together.\u201d\n\nHe shied away three steps and started to fade,\n   searched himself as for the rumpled coat\nhe was still wearing. But I wanted more,\n   moved to step clear of my own withholdings.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve long imagined I had missed my chance,\n   had lost you to the ranks of bygone\npaternal mentors, fathers in whom I planted\n   the seeds of long-nursed dependencies\n\nfor the tall harvest that never came.\u201d\n   \u201cStill stripping grafts from confidences\ngreater than your own? You\u2019ve a way to go,\n   and it won\u2019t be this old crow, cocking\n\nhis eye at you under these shady lights,\n   who will get you there. Don\u2019t you know\nthat mine too was the ventriloquist\u2019s thrown voice,\n   and that what I spoke was a stirred echo?\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll never write as much as you did, spirit,\n   the endless notebook-drafts of plumbed inklings\nand the thirty odd volumes of limpid prose.\n   I can\u2019t pinch off a dozen lines in a year.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou could use some metaphoric roughage\n   in your diet. An evacuation and purge,\nas Auden said, can be a positive omen.\n   But you\u2019re the one who goes on about Whitman . . . .\n\nYou have to keep the tics down in public,\n   and the vocal dirt from passing at all times,\n(like kegel exercises for the mental sphincter . . . ).\n   I can understand that. But your verbal\n\nwarm-ups are over-worked, if I may say so,\n   too handled and pushed, too proudly shaped.\nYou\u2019d rather lay off the inkpot than risk\n   the odd bad sheet, won\u2019t commit a line\n\nnot already hammered into its promise.\n   You have this chiselled-phrase stuff backwards.\nA poet finishes<\/em> with cut gems\n   for the jeweller\u2019s eye, his sturdy maxim\u2019s\n\nsculpted waterfall hefted upwards\n   into empyrean, he doesn\u2019t start there.\nYou\u2019re a Touretter. Why not write like one?\n   Hold off the perfectionist blocking out phrases\n\nto exhaustion, those worrying threads,\n   the Penelopian back-ravellings of the unmade.\nYour repetitious tics have always come first,\n   and so they should, the ecstatic rhapsodist\u2019s\n\nSt. Vitus\u2019 Dance, slangster\u2019s whizzle\n   and conjuration, philologist\u2019s hullaballoo.\u201d\nYou think of Moses breasting the mountain top\n   to find the right words already<\/em> carved\n\nin stone. But Moses too went round and round,\n   \u2019til he found the clearing and the words came.\u201d\nMy tics slowed, and he dimmed like a science fair\n   light bulb, whose frail filament is\n\nkept lit by the frantic, pumping cyclist\n   \u2019til he tires. I cried, \u201cBut wait! What words?\nSuppose I did<\/em> dance circles, made off-beat\n   tongue-claves my first exuberance, tell me\n\nwhat I\u2019ll find there beyond<\/em>.\u201d \u201cNo time,\u201d he said,\n   turning away, \u201cand we\u2019ve both said enough.\nBut look, you\u2019ve waited on this line for some time,\n   haven\u2019t you. I think I hear what you need coming,\u201d\n\nhe said, and fading, said something else I missed,\n   when a shriek, as from depths within, drowned him out,\nand it was then I saw, what else?, a light\n   at the end of the tunnel, and heard the train\u2019s\n\nsliced-steel, involuntary skreak and howl,\n   an offense to all, but look with how many\nalong for the ride! One last tic, I sounded\n   my barbaric yawp. And a door opened.<\/pre>\n
\u201cMuseum\u201d
\nfrom Palilalia
\nMcGill-Queen\u2019s University Press, 2008
\n\u00a9 Jeffery Donaldson<\/p>\n
httpv:\/\/www.youtube.com\/watch?v=P2bcjdf8qJs<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Jeffery Donaldson has graced us with this poem about an encounter with a ghostly\u00a0familiar,\u00a0 if not a “familiar compound ghost.” Jeffery is currently working on an article about the significance of Frye to a poet, to be published in New Quarterly.\u00a0 A video of Jeffery reading the title poem from his latest collection, Palilalia, can […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":21,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[75,165],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1629","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-guest-bloggers","category-video"],"yoast_head":"\nJeffery Donaldson: "Museum" - The Educated Imagination<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/macblog.mcmaster.ca\/fryeblog\/2009\/09\/03\/jeffery-donaldson-palilalia\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Jeffery Donaldson: "Museum" - The Educated Imagination\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Jeffery Donaldson has graced us with this poem about an encounter with a ghostly\u00a0familiar,\u00a0 if not a “familiar compound ghost.” Jeffery is currently working on an article about the significance of Frye to a poet, to be published in New Quarterly.\u00a0 A video of Jeffery reading the title poem from his latest collection, Palilalia, can […]\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/macblog.mcmaster.ca\/fryeblog\/2009\/09\/03\/jeffery-donaldson-palilalia\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"The Educated Imagination\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2009-09-03T20:50:51+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/macblog.mcmaster.ca\/fryeblog\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/4\/2009\/09\/Fuseli.ghost_.jpg\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"388\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"296\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/jpeg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Guest Blogger\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"Guest Blogger\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"8 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/macblog.mcmaster.ca\/fryeblog\/2009\/09\/03\/jeffery-donaldson-palilalia\/#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/macblog.mcmaster.ca\/fryeblog\/2009\/09\/03\/jeffery-donaldson-palilalia\/\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"Guest Blogger\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/macblog.mcmaster.ca\/fryeblog\/#\/schema\/person\/7682d54d47432fcfd2a0fd45a522bfc7\"},\"headline\":\"Jeffery Donaldson: “Museum”\",\"datePublished\":\"2009-09-03T20:50:51+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/macblog.mcmaster.ca\/fryeblog\/2009\/09\/03\/jeffery-donaldson-palilalia\/\"},\"wordCount\":126,\"commentCount\":1,\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/macblog.mcmaster.ca\/fryeblog\/2009\/09\/03\/jeffery-donaldson-palilalia\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"http:\/\/macblog.mcmaster.ca\/fryeblog\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/4\/2009\/09\/Fuseli.ghost_.jpg\",\"articleSection\":[\"Guest Bloggers\",\"Video\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"CommentAction\",\"name\":\"Comment\",\"target\":[\"https:\/\/macblog.mcmaster.ca\/fryeblog\/2009\/09\/03\/jeffery-donaldson-palilalia\/#respond\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/macblog.mcmaster.ca\/fryeblog\/2009\/09\/03\/jeffery-donaldson-palilalia\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/macblog.mcmaster.ca\/fryeblog\/2009\/09\/03\/jeffery-donaldson-palilalia\/\",\"name\":\"Jeffery Donaldson: \\\"Museum\\\" - 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