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Leland Bardwell’s The noise of masonry settling is the latest offering from an author whose patience in releasing her work has rewarded her well. There are poems which resonate here. The collection itself mind you, is not easy to sum up. There are a multitude of themes interweaved within. Death, mental illness, life on the street, and class prejudice appear from time to time. War, nature, and love at others. Possibly one of my favourites is The old peoples outing: Ageism. It’s a short but harrowing account of an old man’s denigration for the purpose of TV entertainment. When read with the wonderful That day, a meditation on the line “I employed Gary Cooper the day he got old” sore, unpalatable truths, linger within us, even though with these particular poems individual lines don’t. This I think, makes for great poetry; because the artfulness is hidden; the message remains vivid. Elsewhere in the collection however, for those of you who like to memorise, individual segments really do linger. I’ve selected a few to give you a sample:


Dear Mr. Psychiatrist

Dear Mr. Psychiatrist
I don’t like your pills,
(I prefer my ills)

Song.

I gave a poem to my friend.
He spat upon the burning ground.
I said My friend, it’s not the end,
My song is better than it sounds.
But he said lately he had found
That matter divulged and matter penned
Created enemies all round.

We sell you buy: Gulf War 1.

I once read a book about some old Jap,
Who saw the shadow of his daughter on a wall.
By the corkscrew of fate, he survived to tell the tale
Went far away and cultivated carp.

Thought many of the themes are serious, there is a tender sense of humour running through the work. Love poem really raises a smile (“Do we always have to live like Bonnie and Clyde”) as does the heroic Drum up a poem (probably worth memorising if you are a poet) and These Aspirins seem to be no use, (the last words of Ernest Shackleton) is a light but interesting meditation on the hunger of the human spirit. Bardwell’s brightest fire however burns for the dispossessed. In poems like Prison Poem III, We don’t serve travelling people here and Mrs. Katherine Dunne Street Trader, she saves and embraces worlds which others seem blind to. As a collection then, though diverse, there’s a lot here which I found I liked. And there are some even (like Song), which I really loved. I suspect I will return to it often. There is poetry here which will flower in all seasons of a mind.