Willows Revisited

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95is that the scholar is thereby enabled to discover not only what the writer is trying to say but also what he is trying to conceal. In Bedfellow's case the psychological method seems to have paid off especially well in that in addition to having thrown light upon some of the hidden facets of his character, it has also produced some interesting nature notes concerning bird life in Saskatchewan^ particularly that of the snearth. These together with pertinent incidents from his childhood have enabled psychologists to explainpractically all of Bedfellow's poems, the convolute-cerebralas well as the bird poems. Only the cow symbol still seems to be lacking in meaning to the psychologists, but then the psychologists themselvesare not Westerners.The details of that traumatic experience out of Bedfellow'schildhood wad which was to change the course of his life, or rather to split it, are somewhat obscure, but the effects are not. We know only that he wasattacked by a snearth. In his childhood trust and innocence he had beensitting on the grass eating a peanut-butter sandwich which wassuddenly wrenched from his grasp by the bird. Such experiences alwaysleave their deep imprint, but in a sensitive child such as the young Baalam the imprint must have been deeper than usual. Any other child with bedfellows natural endowment of protest against the imperfections of the world around him would simply have transferred them to the imperfections of the world above. But apparently Bedfellows experience with the snearth was of an order sufficient to cause him to undergo what psychologists call an "inversion" which becomes an actual perversion in the case of poets and finds its outlet in the writing of bird poems.The child Baalam, as the psychologists are careful to point out, had not himself been under attack. It was the fact that he was being robbed of the peanut-butter sandwich at that particular
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96time which caused the inversion. They point out that since he hadalready eaten over half of the sandwich it had become, and was furtherbecoming, a part^of his very self. It was not so much the sandwichas spiritual integrity which was at stake. It was the actual idwhich was being violated and despoiled. Subconsciously on suchoccasions every human being sees the pit of annihilation beingperceptionopened before him and in the case of the sensitive poetic perceptionof the young Baalam there must have been an awareness of something of himself goingout. There would be a retreat into ansst but in this case there wouldbe more. The fact that the snearth had succeeded in getting onlysome of the peanut butter sandwich would leave the child with a senseof incompleteness, and this, together with the inversion and theangst would account for that deep-seated sense of insecurity whichcharacterizes all his poetic works.The three poems, "Deep Vale," "Seared Land," and "The Ant," sometimesknown as The Socio-somatic Trio, are of the dee|�-seated sense ofinsecurity applied to the social scene. But the bird poems also riseout of that same inner lack. The difference between the two types ofpoetry are more apparent than real. In the bird poems an effort isbeing made to find some scene or some environment in which perfectionhas already been reached and in which individual freedom canfind its place. They express a search, an aspiration, and on occasionseven a doubt as in Who Can Shriek?" But one never finds in them that anguished call as when Archie, the Ant cries out, "God, how awful is hunger!", orthat sense of utter futility and frustration around which Seared Landcentos with its despairing cry, "Gall this a democracy!" Indeed, in the last analysis the socio-somatic trio must be regarded as inverted projections in whichBedfellow looks back, as it were, to a kind of pre-snearth existencein which the spirit is untroubled by the insecurities and the
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97complexities with which he is troubled, because of the unfortunateexperiences with the snearth in his childhood, birds have thus become for him something of a symbol presenting a barrier into the untroubled land. He attempts to surmount this barrier by poetic flights of flawless rhyme resembling in many respects the flights of the birds themselves. As far as Saskatchewan is concerned he has succeeded and as we have seen he has become famous as the bird poet of the province. But as far ashe himself is concerned he has never quite succeeded in reaching that pre-snearth perfection towards which he projects himself. The astute scholar continually discernes in his bird poetry a definite undercurrentof doubt, a mental reservation, and it is this which has led psychologists to the discovery that he definitely hates birds.It is interesting to notfcthat at first ^edfellow was exceedingly reluctant to write about birds and even goes so far as to intimate that they do not rate poetic treatment of any kind. But the significantfact which emerges from his poetry about birds is that he does not seem to have the same doubt about the birds the themselves as about the sounds theymake. Again and again we observe this. He dislikes many of their songs. It may be that his poetic ear is unusually tuned and that he discerns unpoetic values in many mii bird songs. In his "A Bird is a Bird is a Bird" he not only makes the point that birds are not subject matter for poetic treatment, but also that the poet who, as he says, "Hums a refrain" concerning them is himself lacking in poetic adjustments. Later however, in his efforts to get beyond all birds to that pre-snearth idealization towards which a Piltdown Man must always strive, he enters more fully into the poetic treatment of birds, probably feeling that the quicker he gets it over with the better. But to his great annoyance he has merely succeeded in becoming famous.
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Bird is a Bird is a Bird.is said that the poet can hear far cry of wild-goose end hawk, there's also the Bronxian cheer, And the screechy not to mention the squawk; And the poet who hums a refrain Concerning those twirps in the sky, Must be half paralysed in the train, Deaf too, and blind in one eye:or the full-throated note that is wrung From the robin when bursting with joy, Is nothing but noise �and is sung Just to aggravate, plague, and annoy; And if poets have frequently heard That a rose is a rose is a rose, Then a bird is a bird is a bird, To be treated as such �and in prose.There are always poets who can abandon themselves to the more sensuous joys of nature, its smells and its sounds and color". ButBedfellow is too cerebral. He is haunted by an intellectual doubt, and even in some of his finest poetry such as Alas That Mature he questions the final meaning of some of nature's aspects, and even when he relates them to some of natures deeper urges, he leaves the questions unanswered. This of course, is poetry at its best.Alas That Nature.Alas that nature so abounds In catalogue of diverse sounds,Of twit and tweet, of chip and chirp, Of gulp and gackle, beep and burp, Emit by things that fly; Worse, worse, by far, than woman's blurb Whose piping treble can disturb The human brain beyond enduring When given to her so-called luring Are birds in ecstasy; 'Tis always given to cut a throat, But who, thus, can arrest the note Of cat-bird imitating cat, Or rat-bird emulating rat, Or cow-bird miming cow, Or say of these," Such bird-pretense Is nature's vague concupiscence, And that, like woman's preen and paint, To make herself out what she ain't, It makes the grade �somehow."
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99Bedfellow has undoubtedly matured in his attitude towards birds. In some of his later poems, The Robin' s Note, for example, he concedes that bird noises may have a larger purpose than merely that of annoyance, and may, in fact, serve as a means of communication between the birds themselves, he does however question their intellectual content.)The Robin's Note.I deem the robin's note would make But little sense when out in words And what the sparrows undertake To say within the tongue of birds, would never make Grade Four at school, Or even Three �but each can tell, In general what the others drool, And give his own peculiar yell.Bedfellow seems to be developing an increasing tolerance for bird sounds, This may be due to a greater maturity but is more likely due to an increasing deafness. Nevertheless he reserves his highest praise for the bird with no voice whatsoever, the heron. The heron of Saskatchewan, (Pokus Canadensis) locally known as the Shy Poke, actually happens to have a voice, but like the African Giraffe has never been known to use it and this self-discipline wins the poet's admiration!The Heron.The heron wisely takes to flight When anything comes into sight � Except another heron; And if perchance the other yells, , He knows it aint �and jet propels Himself beyond 'all nearin'.For, lacking voice, he cannot teach That life is something more than screech, But earnest aim, and service; And thus, in pre-defeat he bleeds For birds not thus endowed, and leads A frustrate life �and nervous. The poem is regarded as being definitely escapist by discerningscholars but in the prairie provinces it has won wide acclaim because
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99Aof its high moral message which was certainly never Bedfellow's intention. Indeed the thought of a high moral message of any kind or even the thought of being associated with any writer from whom ahigh moral message of any kind can be expected is sufficient to infuriate him. When, for example, the Sakatchewan Order of Merit was conferred upon him and he then learned that it had also been conferred upon John Swivel, the Great Dean of Saskatchewan letters and upon Bessie Udderton, the Poet of innerness, he immediately returned the certificate to the Government with very specific details as to what they should do with it and refused to be included in the group portrait of the School of Seven. In his English classes at St fidgets he frequently refers to the Great Dean as "The Great Dane." and as far as Bessie Udderton is concerned he generally dismisses her simply as "B", or sometimes as "That K" depending upon which of Bessies Vestal verses happens to be under discussion. But Saskatchewan, though it knows little of his convolute-cerebral poetry, is nevertheless proud of himbecause of his bird poems; and on one occasion at least has evensuggested that some of his poems- in particular his "Who Can Shriek?."since it seems to be devoted almost entirely to the great healingpower of nature and raises no contentious issues of any kind, beincluded in the songs of The New Curriculum when it is adopted inSaskatchewan, "Who Can Shriek?" certainly rates that honour.WHO CAN SHRIEK?Oh who can shriek with sorrow in the morning Or join with friends in agonizing shout, When overhead the clamant jays are swarming, Or louder still the sparrows drown him out?Oh who can split the air with lamentations Or groan aloud through anguish-gritted teeth, When up above the robins' exhortations Assuage the wary mourner underneath?There is no grief so deep within Nan's marrow, But birds will seek it out: there is no pain Which man can hoard that chickadee and sparrow, Will not displace and make him whole again.
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100Those very qualities through which bedfellow has come to be regarded by the more sophisticated literary critics as being a modernist have also led to his being regarded as a Communist by others, both judgements are wrong. It must be emphasized again that bedfellow is not some social reformer looking forward to a Utopia, but that he is a throwback', he is recessive. Naturally, therefore he must find fault with present conditions as he finds them, and he does so with poetic vigor and vehemence, so much so that on one occasion at least, the question was raised in the Provincial legislature as to his fitness to teach a class in home Economics. But his popularity as a bird poet in Saskatchewan has protected him from too great criticism. Moreover his position in the academic world seems to be further secured by the fact that no one has ever been found willing to succeed Professor Marrowfat at St Midgets at the salary offered.Actually Boctor Bedfellow is popular among his students becauseof his tendency to return to the primitive Any misgivings as to his fitness to teach modern English to a class of girls in home Economicshas come not from the girls themselves but from those few mothers who happen inadvertently to have come across a copy of the St. Midgets Quarterly to which Bedfellow is a regular contributor. His casual use of such four letter words as damn and hell, and the frequent appellation of Brother and Comrade in some of his definitely non-bird poetry has led them to believe that he is not only leftish in his views on life but that such an attitude may have definite social Implications extending beyond the pasteurization of milk, and that their daughters should not be exposed to it. Fortunately bedfellows poems of protest against conditions and conventions remain practically unknown in Saskatchewan except to those few who are themselves contributors to the
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101St. Midgets Quarterly and which appears only onceor twice a year."Seared Land" is undoubtedly Bedfellows finest work to date. Q,uite apart from it being convolute and cerebral poetry of the highest order, there is a peculiar staccato quality about it which gives it a charm unknown to most of the moderns, He not only deals here with his native land but as a Westerner he employs here the cow as a leitmotif , which, whatever its symbolism in other cases, is here obviously a symbol of strength."Strive for us, cows, for we are weak',' he cries and somehow or other the reader gets the impression that he is speaking from the heart. SEARED LAND.<3>Boom! Boom! Boom! Seared land! Seared land! Seared land! Break this land!Not yesterday! Not tomorrow! Not day after tomorrow! Now!Break the land!Break the hard-pan beneath it! Break the sound-barrier above it! Break the barbed-wire fence around it! Take a hammer to it] What? Can this be land? Spotted with things, Chasmic, Abysmal,Monstrous in its declivity,Loathsome in its fissionable material?Ferrous, Granitic. Perhaps Bentonite?Man is here] Crawl, man, crawl] Ferret-like, tothed-like, glazed, Zodiac stricken,Umbilical, maniacal, clerical, anti-clerical �And yet there are cows]Strive for us, cows, for we are weak,The land is weak,The tea is weak,The liquor is weak,Everything we buy seems to be weak these days � Call this a democracy?
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102Seared land! Seared land! Seared land! Prairies, pampas, steppes, the African veldt � Cows? Yes. But weakness is endemic; Support me, Comrade,Let me lean upon you, Let me tap of your strength! Let me lean upon your thigh-bone, Support me, Comrade, lest I fail, I fail, Comrade! I fail, I fell, I have fallen, I shall fall, I shall have fallen, Lest I fall Ah, subjunctive! Lend me your hammer, Comrade! Boom! Boom! Boom!The use of "Boom! Boom! Boom!" ls singularly effectlve. Bedfellowmay scorn all rhyme and (though they are inserted here for clarlty), also capitals and punctuation, he nevertheless achieves a deep poetic cadence. Like the beating of surf upon a distant shore, suggested here but never clearly outllne together with the skilful use of "Lend me your hammer, Comrade," followed Immediately by three booms again, we are led from the deep despair of "Call this a democracy!" to somewhere else. Just where, it is hard to say.The Deep Vale is not quite as depressed as Seared Land but it raises Issues and presents us with a challenge;THEPEEP VALE. Boom! Boom! Boom! No one is free, No one is emancipate, We are all slaves, We are all victims!This is the Dark Vale! And is it ever dark! What is it that you seek, man, in this Vale? Look over the edge, man, and tell me what you see. Is it deep? Is it dark?"Ah" you say," It is even deeper than It Is dark."You stand on the edge and you say, "Ah, how dark it is You stagger on the edge and you~ say, "How deep it is!" Man, you can stand on the edge and totter, And you can stand on another edge and teeter, But in this Vale one edge is as good as another � Its the Deep Vale!But what did you expect to find, man? A bottomless abyss? An abysmal bottom? A quaking? Something cataclysmic?
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103A continuity of existentials?No wonder you stagger on the edge,No wonder you teeter �"Ah," you say, "it is an edge I have selected from the many.""Ah, you say, "in the matter of edges I am my own master, It is an edge of my own choking, I am a free agent, I am free as a bird when it comes to edges!"Friend, not so fast, this is the Deep Vale, Friend, you are wrong there and you couldn't be wronger, You are not at all free!If one edge is the same as another you have made no real choice. And you go around saying, "Ah, I am free!" Cows may be free, but not you! Not in the Deep Vale. You damned fool!And you just can't go around saying "Ah," like that, And to hell with birds!It is because of such poems as THE DEEP VALE and"THE ANT, that v Bedfellow has come under suspicion of being Communist or at least very leftlsh in his views. To be misunderstood is, however, the lot of the poet and in Bedfellows case he seems not only to have accepted but,as some maintain, has actually encouraged misunderstanding. He certainlyseems to be indifferent towards the good opinion of his readers, andin the case of The Ant, he even disdainfully dismisses them at the endof the poem with the remark, "You wouldn't know!" Such an attitudeneverhe refers to his reader as "You damn fool," it is not surprising thatmakes for sympathetic understanding, and if, as in THE DEEP VALEsome of the mothers of the students in Home Economics have their misgivings as to his suitability to teach their daughters. But it must always be remembered that Bedfellow is a throwback, a primitive, and that his longings are not cast towards some economic and social utopia, but back to an age in Saskatchewan's distant past when, in his opinion, the country was wooded. As we would naturally expect from a professor of English his science is at fault in that he assumes the giant sloth to have proceeded the bird-age in evolutionary history, and the question has frequently been debated as to whether a tree could actually ever grow in Saskatchewan regardless of how far back we go Into its geo-
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104logical history^but such fine points are the concern of scholarship and not of poetic appreciation. The fact remains that in such poems as THE ANT Bedfellow shows a real concern for his fel3 jwmen and not merely a Communist anger. The ANT, in spite of its deceptive simplicity^ strikes deep into the human problem. It well merits the description given to It by Professor Verysnoff in the Encyclopedia of Canadian Poetry as "a search of the soul for Its origins giving every promise."THE ANT.Listen, Comrade!Listen, you who call yourself a forward-looker!Listen, you who like to think of yourself as a peerer into the future I will tell you a story which is very sad: It is about a little ant whose name was Arthur,Arthur's lived with his mother in a little house across the tracks, Arthur's mother loved Arthur, and Arthur loved Arthur's mother, But there was no love lost between Arthur and Arthur's father, Nor between Arthur's mother and Arthur's father; This was because the old man was lazy,At least everybody said he was lazyOr was he a victim of the capitalistic system? In any case he was an alcoholic. Well, one day Arthur's mother said to him, "Arthur, you look hungry!You look pale and undernourished and underprivileged � I think you are hungry.Go out and find yourself something to eat, Perhaps a chip, or something else of wood, See what you can find!"And Arthur said, "Yes, mother," and he went out.� God, how awful is hunger!So Arthur went out and hunted for something to eat, And after he had hunted for hours and hours and it was getting on, He said, "Iwish to God I lived in a country with trees!" And shortly after he saw a little chip and began to eat. Is it not wonderful, Comrade, to eat?Look back, Comrade, instead of being such a forward-looker, Look back, Comrade, you're nothing but a future-peeker, You're just one of these Pre-Revolutionites! Once this country was full of chips �real chips, Long ago. Before the buffalo1. Before the bison! Before the Giant sloth! They didn't go around pasteurizing milk in those days, They didn't go poking holes in the ground looking for oil,Or potash, or Bentonite, or Gypsum,_Look at it now!
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105Well, Arthur was sitting and eating his little chip, And molesting no-one, And certainly doing nobody any harm, Just smiling all over his little ant-like face, And saying to himself, "is it not wonderful to eat?" A tall Swede, who weighed two hundred pounds, And owned a section and three quarters of land, And had two tractors, And over a hundred head of cattle, But all his sentiment and brains in his feet, Came walking that way; And as he came walking that way � He stepped on the little chip. Bora.Tell me, Comrade, is life not sad? Tell me, Comrade, has life a meaning? You wouldn't know.

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