This Cabin as the S.S. Titanic

Don Precosky teaches English at the College of New Caledonia and is the
co-editor of Four Realities: Poets of Northern B.C.

These poems remind me of that rare yet disturbing person who can make you feel uncomfortable because his/her manners are too gracious. We’ve all met him — the one whose kindness you know you can never quite repay no matter what you do. We all suspect deep in our souls that the kindness is not entirely sincere. There is something of this offensive niceness in This Cabin as the S.S. Titanic. Shay comes across as gentle, quiet, meditative but also flat. Where’s the bite, the kick to this poetry? There’s not enough conflict nor any satisfying edge of controversy. His tongue needs sharpening.

Many of the key features of this book — the cabin, the life in the woods, the insistence that the universal can be found even in an isolated retreat — immediately bring Thoreau to mind. But Thoreau raises his voice. His railing and ranting can excite the reader. Shay leaves me cold.

The title puzzles me. “Titanic” suggests death disaster, perhaps even justified punishment of hubris. But there’s no such grandeur in this book. There are no icebergs; it’s only a paper moon, floating over a cardboard sea.