Milton Acorn remains one of the most important Canadian poets of the 20th century. This new volume of his Selected Poems solidifies Acorn's reputation and confirms his place in Canadian literature. As James Deahl, the Editor asserts in his Introduction, Milton Acorn's poetry stands among the most challenging work produced during the last half of the twentieth century. His ability to see connections between a strange assortment of things is striking. And the reader is called up to be as agile as the poet in jumping from one idea to another. Acorn remains a conundrum for many. He was both a communist and a traditional conservative, not at different times, but at the same time. He was awarded an honorary Doctor of Laws degree from the University of Prince Edward Island at the same time as the Rt. Hon. John Diefenbaker, former Prime Minister of Canada, received his. Acorn read deeply and widely, and in his personal library the poet had the complete works of George Grant and many volumes of the works of Stalin.
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James Deahl was Acorn's long-time friend, an accomplished poet, essayist and publisher in his own right.
Foreword, by Terry Barker,
Editor's Introduction,
A Note on the Text,
poems from In Love and Anger, 1956,
poems from Against a League of Liars, 1960,
poems from The Brain's the Target, 1960,
poems from Jawbreakers, 1963,
poems from I've Tasted My Blood: Poems 1956 to 1968, 1969,
poems from More Poems for People, 1972,
poems from The Island Means Minago, 1975,
poems from Jackpine Sonnets, 1977,
poem from Captain NealMacDougal & The Naked Goddess, 1982,
poems from Dig Up My Heart: Selected Poems 1952-83, 1983,
poems from Whiskey Jack, 1986,
poem from A Stand of Jackpine, 1987,
poems from The Uncollected Acorn: Poems 1950 – 1986, 1987,
poem from I Shout Love and Other Poems, 1987,
poems from Hundred Proof Earth, 1988,
poems from To Hear the Faint Bells, 1996,
poems from After the Eclipse, 2004,
Bio note on Milton Acorn,
Books by Milton Acorn,
THE MINER'S WIFE
The pit's above and down below the town,
And every day the man I love goes down.
It's not the pleasantest place to spend the day
But he must go down to earn his pay.
The pit's as black as night ... as black as death.
It keeps on breathing out its coaley breath.
Tho I eternally wash it's always there
Until I'd give my soul for good clean air.
But half my Johnny's life's down in that dirt,
Where every step you go some man's been hurt.
It's sure I am he'll be carried out some day,
But he must go down to earn his pay.
The coal's been there a hundred million years,
Like sunshine hidden in a sepulcher.
It's strange my Johnny works to bring it up
Then comes out blacker than the devil's pup.
The man I love is sunshine all himself;
He makes this land but doesn't own its wealth.
He's a working man ... and what's there more to say?
So he must go down to earn his pay.
REMEMBERING
I saw the myriad glittering points of dew in spiders' mesh;
and I thought of the trail of your fingers on my flesh.
THIS IS THE HEART
This is the heart that since the dawn of time
has missed no beat, that struggled out of slime.
There is no hypocrite, there is no knife
can steal and own the promise of its life.
These are the hands that make the world go round
and make the very chains with which they're bound;
but they shall raise, for all eternity,
the cool and shining cities of the free.
This is the brain that sees the planets rise
in these and in pale planetary skies.
Who can imagine it will bear the grey
mad nonsense that is preached for truth today?
This is the tongue reveals man to his mate;
whose truth has always won the last debate:
and it must sing the truth, or else it dies.
Truth is its life ... the only death is lies.
TO MY LITTLE SISTER ABOUT HER ILLNESS
My little sister, you were the youngest.
Till you were ten we used to call you "Baby",
but then our mother put a stop to it
for fear they'd name you "Babe".
Yet you were always determined
to sip life's sweetest, most ephemeral juices ...
to sip them lightly, and with no abandon:
so until now you've lived
like a silver water-bug
skating over the sun-blue lake of your youth.
Know then, my little sister:
that where black seas crash against riven rock
their roaring drowns out neither life nor thought;
that in the stronghold of endurance
the coins of life are counted one by one;
and sometimes in the pauses of the storm,
when the sun strikes many-coloured on the battlements
of new clouds rolling westward on their thunders
a glory can strike you
greater than a lightning bolt.
ANNIE'S SON
Weeks after her abortion,
Clutches of bone
(A thin nearly straight one,
A rib cage, a spine)
Came into the world-light.
Last was the skull and
Pelvis ... which she wore
For a charm.
THE CASE OF IVAN SONOVICH
Let us now discuss that octopus
Whose tentacles enter every bedroom,
In tones of high moral seriousness;
For profound indeed is the subject
Of that conniving undermining Russian
Called Ivan Sonovich.
I say called, but was he actually
Christened Ivan Sonovich? Only
A few hint his existence, and
Never blatantly utter his name.
Yet behind each of our disasters
Look for Ivan Sonovich.
All over the world, when natives
Stop speaking pidgin, peasants
Cease to be picturesque, scientists
Meddle in low things like politics,
Can be detected the crafty hand
Of Ivan Sonovich.
And in our land, though workers
Cackle at his mention, still
Unions leave legitimate business
To meddle in high things like politics.
When such unwisdom is committed
Beware, I say, of the never resting
Ivan Sonovich.
He is no ordinary mortal, never feels
The press of doubt and...
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