Dogstones: Selected and New Poems

Donalee Moulton-Barrett was a writer and editor in Halifax.

There are numerous superlatives that could easily and accurately be used to describe both poet Anne Szumigalski and her fifth collection of poetry, Dogstones: Selected and New Poems. Incredible is perhaps the best because itapplies in several ways: incredible range and diversity of vision; incredible power, force, control and sensitivity; incredible that this poet, a Governor General’s Award nominee, is barely known in this country. Incredible that the strength of this collection lies not in the new poetry but spreads itself evenly throughout all 151 pages.

In “Victim,” Szumigalski traces an act of violence to a tormented conclusion. “I am the tiny girl in the thin nightgown/That Mr. B carries in a seashell/In his trousers pocket among/The sticks of Dentyne gum and the spent flashbulbs/Oh I am glad I am dead and can’t see/The dirty darkness in here/I was murdered last Thursday but even so/The heat of his groin/And all the fumbling that goes on there/Is disturbing my final rest.”

There is an unusual blend of everyday reality and futuristic fantasy in Szumigalski’s work. What starts off as a fairly ordinary scene becomes bizarre. In “Jazzing at the Vatican,” the poet plays with images and with sound. It’s a fun, provocative piece with a pulsating, sing-song lilt: “idea not sound he admits/is the first principle/of music yet hands/have their fingers/and fingers their nails/ruby refuses to learn the guitar/because she doesn’t/want to pare her nails short/rummy tit tit he sings.”

There are poems in Dogstones that leave the reader with a chuckle, there are others that leave the reader with a chill. They all leave the reader wanting more.