{"id":232,"date":"2011-05-19T10:25:14","date_gmt":"2011-05-19T10:25:14","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue9\/?page_id=232"},"modified":"2012-02-03T19:29:05","modified_gmt":"2012-02-03T19:29:05","slug":"catriona-wright","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue11\/writings\/reviews\/catriona-wright","title":{"rendered":"Catriona Wright"},"content":{"rendered":"

Poetry Review<\/strong><\/h4>\n

Love Figures<\/h1>\n

by Sam Cheuk
\nLondon, ON: Insomniac Press, 2011
\n106 pp. $14.95<\/h6>\n

Reading Sam Cheuk\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s debut poetry collection, Love Figures,<\/em> is like stepping into a film noir. Each poem is \u00e2\u20ac\u0153an interrogation room\u00e2\u20ac\u009d (63) with the speaker at once the detective \u00e2\u20ac\u0153rummag[ing] through the memorabilia \/ for clues\u00e2\u20ac\u009d (74) and the perpetrator confessing, perhaps falsely, to being the one with his \u00e2\u20ac\u0153hand on the cleaver\u00e2\u20ac\u009d (16). A chiaroscuro effect, as likely to be created by 9-11 memorial searchlights as by the shadows between a girl\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s crossed legs, simultaneously conceals and spotlights meaning. Doppelg\u00c3\u00a4ngers and multiple personalities abound. Two-way or compromised by hairline fractures, mirrors disorient and distort rather than reflect. Speakers connect to the others in their lives, most notably parents and lovers, with sincere ambivalence. Here, lying is always the quickest way to the truth.<\/p>\n

The collection is divided into three parts, and although there is a great deal of overlap in terms of imagery, theme and tone, each section has its own distinct preoccupation and feel. The first part is primarily concerned with the bond between fathers and sons and how the narrative surrounding this relationship requires prevarication, exaggeration and mythmaking to survive. For example, in \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Dramaturgy,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d the speaker \u00e2\u20ac\u02dcsupposes\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 that a father and son perform a variety of actions that escalate in violence, until the speaker chillingly concludes, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153This is me, your child, pallbearer of your name\u00e2\u20ac\u009d (16). This direct address startles the reader into the position of the speaker\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s father (a dead one at that) \u00e2\u20ac\u201c one of the many dekes and twists that characterize this collection. While clearly fascinated by the parent-child relationship, Cheuk is still hesitant to decide how important it is. In \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Four Part Elegy,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d for instance, the slant rhyme between \u00e2\u20ac\u0153liar\u00e2\u20ac\u009d and \u00e2\u20ac\u0153heir\u00e2\u20ac\u009d is revelatory. Is lying an inherited trait or are inherited traits a lie?<\/p>\n

The question becomes more complicated for Cheuk because, in a sense, his collection constructs its own parents. Cheuk\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s literary progenitors are primarily fathers. His epigraphs from Barthes, Paul Auster, Bahuddin, and Zhuang Shu Wei and his references to Ondaatje and Shakespeare point to a deliberate genealogy of influence that takes into consideration both Cheuk\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s cosmopolitan existence \u00e2\u20ac\u201c he divides his time between Toronto, New York and Hong Kong \u00e2\u20ac\u201c and his desire to situate himself as the latest generation in a long line of writers and intellectuals. This is contemporary poetry that pays homage to the past while being grounded in the present. It understands that the son will never be an exact copy, or mirror image, of the father.<\/p>\n

The second section concerns the relationship between a lover and his beloved. Written as a series of poetic love letters to a single mother living in Louisiana, this section once again fools around with the lyric form by using the second person, placing the reader in the position of lover. Part two is more stylistically uniform than part one \u00e2\u20ac\u201c which includes forms varying from modified tanka to prose and to drama \u00e2\u20ac\u201c but similarly relentless in the scope of its skepticism. Indeed, at times the entire collection seems to pace anxiously, fretting about whether relationships to other people, especially parents and lovers, can be genuine or whether these relationships are necessarily compromised by lies, falsehood or deceit. How much do we really want to know<\/em> other people and how much do we just want to see ourselves reflected in them?<\/p>\n

In the concluding lines of the first section, the speaker evades this line of questioning when he says, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I want to push further, push myself \/ through my reflection \/ until there is nothing left to reflect and \/ I become the mirror, an eye centered between nothing \/ and the world\u00e2\u20ac\u009d (57). Mirrors are present throughout the collection, a nod not only to a common trope in film noirs, but also to a prevalent symbol in the confessional mode of poetry, Plath\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Mirror\u00e2\u20ac\u009d and Sexton\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s and \u00e2\u20ac\u0153The Double Image\u00e2\u20ac\u009d being two pertinent examples. Mirrors are attractive symbols because they connote so many contradictory ideas. At once promising transparency, self-knowledge and mimesis, mirrors are also deceptive and illusory, especially when paired with smoke, and are capable of thrusting us into parallel realities, \u00c3\u00a0 la Alice in wonderland.<\/p>\n

Cheuk not only explicitly refers to mirrors, he also implicitly evokes them by playing games with reflecting lines. For example, on the title pages of the first two sections, the title is mirrored (i.e. \u00e2\u20ac\u01531. Punctum\u00e2\u20ac\u009d in the upper left corner and \u00e2\u20ac\u0153mutcnuP .1\u00e2\u20ac\u009d in the lower right), while the third section defies this convention by reflecting \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I am you.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d with \u00e2\u20ac\u0153.uoy era uoY\u00e2\u20ac\u009d (89). Similarly, throughout the collection Cheuk uses slightly off repetitions and echoes. The effect is like playing the game where you look at two nearly identical pictures and try to find the differences. For instance, he concludes \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Reconstructing Father\u00e2\u20ac\u009d with the lines, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Say to yourself: my father\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s name is Simon.<\/em> \/ Say aloud: my father, his name is Simon<\/em>.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d (18). The speaker\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s need to alter his internal thoughts before they enter the world body signals a compulsive need to bend the truth, no matter how minor the change. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Even now,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d the speaker in \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Epilogue\u00e2\u20ac\u009d tells the reader, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6the simple truth refuses to surface.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

In the third section, made up of a final love letter and two epilogues, Cheuk drops an inevitable (but no less satisfying for its inevitability) reference to Narcissus. Famous for falling in love with his own reflection, believing it to belong to a handsome youth, Narcissus is a clear argument against selfish love. Or is he? Tellingly, Cheuk eschews the common story of Narcissus in favour of a slightly different rendition:<\/p>\n

In one version of the Narcissus
\nmyth,\u00c2\u00a0the Beotian hero falls not in love
\nwith his image, but her image within
\nhis reflection. Narcissus was no fool,
\nhe knew the face he saw. He would say
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I love you.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Love me.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Love you.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\nHe knew it wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t her face either, rather
\nHis mirroring hers. But who among us
\ncould abandon a music mellifluous as
\nlove\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s abandon? (96)<\/p>\n

This variation of the myth gives us a self-aware Narcissus, who instead of being duped by his reflection, actively accepts the knowledge that \u00e2\u20ac\u0153\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6there is no selfless love.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d (97). Cheuk relates this lesson about romantic love to the love between a parent and child when the speaker says, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I wanted fatherhood, something to disappear into\u00e2\u20ac\u009d (97). The idea of fatherhood as a suspect, even selfish act echoes the final lines of Sexton\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Double Image\u00e2\u20ac\u009d in which the speaker, pondering why she desired a daughter, concludes, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I made you to find me.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d When Cheuk\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s speaker tells the reader, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153We all love \u00e2\u20ac\u00a6 \/ for our own reasons\u00e2\u20ac\u009d (97), it is not a lament for a more genuine, authentic connection with each other, it is an honest appraisal.<\/p>\n

If pressed, I could only find fault with one aspect of this collection: its use of literary critical jargon, such as \u00e2\u20ac\u0153antisyzygy\u00e2\u20ac\u009d (85). The occasional appearance of these words grates because for the most part the collection reads smoothly while at the same time advancing difficult and complex ideas. But this is a minor quibble in an otherwise stunning debut.<\/p>\n

This playful, deeply philosophical collection plays good cop and bad cop with the reader. It shines light in our eyes, interrogates us endlessly and begs us to stare at ourselves in the mirror with the full knowledge that there are others staring back at us, just on the other side of our reflection.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Poetry Review Love Figures by Sam Cheuk London, ON: Insomniac Press, 2011 106 pp. $14.95 Reading Sam Cheuk\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s debut poetry collection, Love Figures, is like stepping into a film noir. Each poem is \u00e2\u20ac\u0153an interrogation room\u00e2\u20ac\u009d (63) with the speaker at once the detective \u00e2\u20ac\u0153rummag[ing] through the memorabilia \/ for clues\u00e2\u20ac\u009d (74) and the perpetrator […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"parent":77,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","template":"authorpage.php","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-232","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue11\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/232","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue11\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue11\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue11\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue11\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=232"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue11\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/232\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1024,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue11\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/232\/revisions\/1024"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue11\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/77"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue11\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=232"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}