All the tools are there

Page 7

Native Canadiana: Songs from the Urban Rez

By Gregory Scofield

127 pages, Polestar Vancouver, $14.95 (pb.)

From his poetry, one can conclude that Gregory Scofield has a lot to say and that he's earned the experience to say it. What he hasn't done is found out how to say it, yet.

Native Canadiana is Scofield's second book of poetry. His first, The Gathering: Stone for the Medicine Wheel, won the Dorothy Livesay Poetry Award. He was awarded the Air Canada Award by the Canadian Authors Association this summer, given to a writer under 30 who the most promise in their field of literary creation. He does show promise.

Having spent a lot of time on the street, not only in Vancouver but also in Alberta and Saskatchewan, and now working with youth in Vancouver's inner city, Scofield shares the rage, jealously and despair of the person caught on the street. Sometimes, he's also able to express it, as in "the last Uncivilized Indian":

All throughout my teens I tried hard

Keeping out of sight,

Keeping quiet, keeping

Shut up in my room

Pillow over my head

To drown out/her screams.

Powerful lines on a powerful subject, and moving. There are other strong passages of note: including almost all of "Day's Work."

Unfortunately, rage is not enough to make for an award-winning poet, or at least it shouldn't be. Too often, Scofield slips into an almost inarticulate rant, and can't make his point.

On sex, Scofield can be playful, as in "I Used To Be Sacred (on Turtle Island)":

Just yesterday I was nosing around

At a turtle's pace/thinking

What an urban turtle like me should do

When some big tortoise nudged up alongside,

wanted to know where all the best turtles go.

Usually, though, his attempts at eroticism, especially in the second part of the book, which contains poetry that explores Scofield's explicit street sex, fluctuate between genuine and juvenile, more of the latter.

Other times, he tries for effects using figures of speech and ends up sounding childish and laughable:

How do I act

I act without an Indian Act

Fact is I'm so exact about the facts

I act up when I get told I don't count

Because my act's not written.

Poetry is a discipline, and bad poetry is, too often, simply a lack of discipline. Oscar Wilde knew that sincerity is not enough when he said, "All bad poetry is sincere."

Scofield tries to duck this criticism in the last poem in Native Canadiana, "The Poet Leaves a Parting Thought," when he says:

I might not be the best Indigenous poet but hey,

My English is lousy enough to be honest.

Nice try.

Scofield has all the tools to become a good poet, but he must focus on the medium, not at the expense of the message, but to make sure that it comes across as clearly as it can. And he should remember, as Wilde might have said, "All bad poetry is honest, too."