Irving Layton (1912–2006)

Living as an expat in a "difficult" country such as China, one meets the weirdest people, and meeting new people, one of the first steps is assessing their normalcy, meanwhile gauging how "normal" I am perceived by them (yes, one does wonder whether one is slipping oneself). Now, quite a number of these weird people I happen to know, are great fans of poetry. Some of them stare you in the eye while reciting at length (and I mean really at length) from all sorts of poetry, while others throw show more poetry parties, where everyone has to show up in a wig, or some other thematic clothing apparel. Needless to say, I wouldn't go to such parties. Actually, I am no longer invited, as the hatred seems mutual.

Anyhow, poetry was spoiled for me in college. I loved reading poetry before going to university, and I hated it when I came out. Worst of all, of course, modern poetry, as I still feel dear about renaissance poets. Also, my dislike is mainly for Dutch, English and German modern poetry, while I can still enjoy French or Spanish poetry, but read very little of any.

I feel, my new interest in poetry is entirely attributable to Club Read 2011, yes folks, you have inspired me! I must admit that I have adopted a slightly different mode of reading, though. I am no longer trying to understand everything, but would rather read 10 poems relatively fast on an evening, and only ponder or rest my attention on the ones that strike a cord. A bit after the fashion of visiting a picture gallery: in my youth I would stand in front of each for the best part of half an hour trying to see everything, while now I walk through the gallery, until my view alights on a painting that either delights or troubles me, sufficiently to catch my attention. I think it is called "a mature way" of reading.

I also have the feeling that that is how Europe, and other bad news by the Canadian poet Irving Layton should be read. Layton (1912–2006) was an incredibly productive, and very successful poet, and I would not say this volume was very balanced. But, as a beginning reader of poetry, I should not criticise the structure or quality of the volume, but rather focus on the poems, perhaps.

The trouble with Europe in this volume, published in 1981, is the author's past, or rather Germany's past, in particular the holocaust. And who will be there to remind young, new readers of that horror, if older poetry is no longer read?

as in: FOR HANS, MAYBE KLAUS OR TADEUSZ

Who clubbed emaciated men to death

Who machine-gunned old men and women

Who all in the day's work
gassed thousands of humans
and afterwards walked thoughtfully home
to wife and children

Who smashed in the skulls of infants

and is now not a little pleased
with himself, having somehow survived
when so many others died
- so many better ones too

And would do it all over again
if only history offered the chance again
and your beastly arthritis
wasn't acting up
or the old pumper thumping so fast. Right?

Of course you would! Because, really,
life was never so dizzying as then.
How full of surprises each day was.
Though the sausages and good wines
have been plentiful, a glory
has departed from the world.
Dullness has come back again.

Let's be up front about this.
For the squashed and depleted
there's no greater happiness
than wiping out another mortal
or humiliating him. Little man,
at last you've made it into history.
In the constellation of human
possibilities, your place is more fixed
than that of Socrates or Christ

From here on you're the reality
by which everything must be weighed
and tested. Haven't you noticed?
Everyone lives as if Auschwitz never happened.

There are lighter, and similar pieces of poetry. Not all refer to the holocaust, but many do, as many of those, while apparently pointing to the past, point to similar events all around us, and, as we all know, to the future.

Not the kind of poetry to read at an expat dinner table, while all are looking stupid in a wig and a bra. Spoiling the fun, it would. show less

Fortunate exile is a collection of modern poetry by the Canadian poet Irving Layton. The poetry in this collection rips fresh tears in the memory of the holocaust. Although Layton lived in Canada, not quite in "exile" his anger at the treatment of Jewish people burst forth in a type of scar literature describing the fate of Jews during World War II.

A lot of literature, stories, poetry and memoirs appeared relatively late during the Twentieth Century, as it took Jewish people to recover from show more the profound trauma of the war, and European readership collectively repressed that awful period. However, as Layton lived overseas and observed from the side-line, he started publishing from as early as 1945, and, very productively had published more that 40 volumes, when Fortunate exile was published in 1987.

The poems are strong reminders of the holocaust, the pain and suffering of Jewish people. show less

Fabulous poetry.

See What I Have Been Reading, May 2010 at From Word to Word