Airstream Land Yacht

by Jodi ~ August 16, 2006

I bought Ken Babstock’s last volume, Days into Flatspin, while living in Montreal, after reading “His Domestic Pleasures Song” in the now-defunct poetry column of the Globe and Mail’s Books section. Ken Babstock made me like poetry. Really like it. I went on a bit of a poetry-reading tear after Days: Christopher Dewdney, Anne Michaels, Christian Bök; Lynn Crosbie, Helen Humphreys, Billy Collins — you get the idea. There’s something about Babstock’s writing, though — I’m sometimes compelled to close my eyes after taking in one of his deftly crafted images in order to savour it fully — that has brought me back to his work again and again. I’ll be walking past the bookcases at home and spontaneously pull down Days and read “The 7-Eleven Formerly Known as Rx” or “Anorak” or “Public Space” before slotting it back into place and resuming whatever it is I’m doing.

I somehow fell out of the habit of reading poetry regularly — at all, really, for the past year — but the publication of Airstream has seen me dive right back in (I’ve got Karen Solie and Sharon Thesen next in the queue). I’m finding this third Babstock volume challenging: while he continues to render exquisite everyday objects and moments in these poems, he does so while asking some demanding questions about the self — what it is and where it comes from. I look forward to subsequent readings, when the layers and connections will begin to reveal themselves more fully.

I took my mom to Bonjour Brioche on Queen Street East for breakfast during her recent visit, and while waiting to pay I decided that the man in line ahead of me looked a lot like the Ken Babstock I know from the author photos in his books — particularly the blondish-brown curly hair. As he rummaged in his jeans pocket for change I tried discreetly leaning to the left to get a better look at his profile. I almost asked if he was indeed Ken Babstock but chickened out. Ken, if that was you, congratulations on another wonderfully rich and inventive volume of poetry.