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Methodist Hatchet
Marooned in the shiftless, unnamed space between a map of the world and a world of false maps, Ken Babstock's poems cling to what's necessary from each, while attempting to sing their own bewilderment. Methodist Hatchet sets the currencies of living, thinking, and writing on a level plain. The symbolic currencies of natural and engineered worlds—the monetary, cultural, intellectual, and experiential—mimic, dog, and evade each other in a brilliant play of contingency and consequence. Even the poem itself—the idea of a poem—as a unit of understanding is shadowed by a great unknowing. Fearless in its language, its trajectories, and its frames of reference, Babstock's fourth collection gazes upon the objects of its attention until they rattle, and exude their auras of strangeness. It is this strangeness, this mysterious stillness, that is the heart of Babstock's playful, fierce, intelligent book. Methodist Hatchet is an exhilarating new work from one of our most celebrated poets.
112 pages, Paperback
First published April 1, 2011
3 people are currently reading
42 people want to read
About the author
Ken Babstock
13 books8 followersKen Babstock is a Canadian poet. He was born in Newfoundland and raised in the Ottawa Valley. Babstock began publishing his poems in journals and anthologies, winning gold at the 1997 Canadian National Magazine Awards. He currently lives in Toronto, Ontario.
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Displaying 1 - 7 of 7 reviews
June 20, 2011
A stellar collection, I preferred it slightly to AIRSTREAM LAND YACHT simply because I felt Babstock was taking greater risks with his lines, with disjunction, and having more fun -- especially like the ode to profanity that constitutes "To Inflame the Civic Temper." How could you not give five stars to a book with the poetic line "Cumlicker in the Dirigible!"
March 21, 2019
Not sure if it’s age (most likely).
But, it’s becoming more and more difficult to find anything to read that gives me a “hell, yeah” kinda feeling (well, Don Winslow’s trilogy has but that’s about it). It’s as though the literary pool has been exhausted…
What to do….what to do…
Find a new Pool.
Hence: Poetry.
With the exception of Poe’s “Raven”, or compulsory Shakespeare back in high school, I’ve never given poetry a shot.
My thoughts were that poetry was too hard and too boring. But, my thirteen year old self had similar thoughts after an enforced digestion of prose, by way of Hemmingway and Laurence. As I learned with novels and short stories, different strokes for different folks. Stephen King was my introduction to literary enjoyment, and through his six degrees, I have come to reap the rewards of personal favourites such as: Jack Ketchum, John Irving, Don Winslow, David Foster Wallace and William Faulkner (just to name a few).
Poetry, apparently, works the same way.
A little research and self-discovery opened a gateway to Don Paterson (and his poem “Two Trees”).
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poet... more on Mr. Paterson when I review his collection, NIL NIL.
Six degrees later, and my shelves are filled with books by Alice Oswald, John Burnside, Don McKay, John Ashbery, and…
Ken Babstock.
With Ken (after this intense journey, I feel we’re on a first name basis), I chose his Griffen Poetry Prize winner, METHODIST HATCHET (the most eye-catching title, like ever). I devoured all forty plus poems, each with a distinctive style and theme. Canadian memories of the ONR rail (“A Pharoah in Moosonee”), protests in Caledonia (“Caledonia”), beach-side arcades in western Ontario (“Nottawasaga”), blend easily with poems concerning European travel through the Czech Republic (“Brno”), environmental surroundings and prophecy (“Bathynaut”), and one poem that goes down in infamy: “To Inflame the Civic Temper” (fascination similar to getting copy of Larkin’s “This Be the Verse”) – I said ahoy!
What made the journey so wonderful was the knowledge I was wanting to incur while reading.
Who is Vaclav Havel? (Czech president who had recently passed at the time of the poem)
What does Kekking mean? (as far as I can track down: laughing)
What is an ichthyosaur? (Apparently, fish reptile)
Suggesting that his next door neighbour was the inspiration for a character from a Coetzee novel ELIZABETH COSTELLO (resulting in me reading DISGRACE, because I had never heard of this author).
You remember those pictures with thousands of dots that, if squinting and concentrating long enough, revealed the old lady smoking a reefer (just go with it). Well, Ken’s poems revealed to me the geriatric with the ganja habit – and, it felt incredible.
David Foster Wallace is the voice of my generation, and the sighs automatically come when I think of his passing. Ken Babstock appears to hold DFW in the same regards. His poem “Russian Doctor” is dedicated to the fallen icon. And, through weaving with words creates his own INFINITE JEST of a poem.
There is extensive wordplay:
From the poem, “Sobjectivist”: It’s hard to concentrate/juice in the rain
From, “Que Syria Syria” (I want to quote the entire poem) The North Pacific Gyre spits out basketballs/pen caps, rat-tail combs for the well-behaved/and habitually cagey.
Canadian memories of the worst fucking helmet ever worn in the NHL:
From , “Which Helmet”: Our universe, said to be coming apart at the seams,/poorly made, a Jofa from the mid-eighties, placing/us, like Butch Goring’s head, at no small risk
And, some phrases that connect with you, on a level that the poet must be talking with you directly:
From, “Radio tower”: back home wall mirrors/ wait like pie crusts for the boiled fruit of us.
MEHODIST HATCHET reflects Respect and Understanding. A down home feel that should compete on the world stage. Ken Babstock: Thank you for the perfect introduction to contemporary poetry.
I salute you (Cheers!)
But, it’s becoming more and more difficult to find anything to read that gives me a “hell, yeah” kinda feeling (well, Don Winslow’s trilogy has but that’s about it). It’s as though the literary pool has been exhausted…
What to do….what to do…
Find a new Pool.
Hence: Poetry.
With the exception of Poe’s “Raven”, or compulsory Shakespeare back in high school, I’ve never given poetry a shot.
My thoughts were that poetry was too hard and too boring. But, my thirteen year old self had similar thoughts after an enforced digestion of prose, by way of Hemmingway and Laurence. As I learned with novels and short stories, different strokes for different folks. Stephen King was my introduction to literary enjoyment, and through his six degrees, I have come to reap the rewards of personal favourites such as: Jack Ketchum, John Irving, Don Winslow, David Foster Wallace and William Faulkner (just to name a few).
Poetry, apparently, works the same way.
A little research and self-discovery opened a gateway to Don Paterson (and his poem “Two Trees”).
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poet... more on Mr. Paterson when I review his collection, NIL NIL.
Six degrees later, and my shelves are filled with books by Alice Oswald, John Burnside, Don McKay, John Ashbery, and…
Ken Babstock.
With Ken (after this intense journey, I feel we’re on a first name basis), I chose his Griffen Poetry Prize winner, METHODIST HATCHET (the most eye-catching title, like ever). I devoured all forty plus poems, each with a distinctive style and theme. Canadian memories of the ONR rail (“A Pharoah in Moosonee”), protests in Caledonia (“Caledonia”), beach-side arcades in western Ontario (“Nottawasaga”), blend easily with poems concerning European travel through the Czech Republic (“Brno”), environmental surroundings and prophecy (“Bathynaut”), and one poem that goes down in infamy: “To Inflame the Civic Temper” (fascination similar to getting copy of Larkin’s “This Be the Verse”) – I said ahoy!
What made the journey so wonderful was the knowledge I was wanting to incur while reading.
Who is Vaclav Havel? (Czech president who had recently passed at the time of the poem)
What does Kekking mean? (as far as I can track down: laughing)
What is an ichthyosaur? (Apparently, fish reptile)
Suggesting that his next door neighbour was the inspiration for a character from a Coetzee novel ELIZABETH COSTELLO (resulting in me reading DISGRACE, because I had never heard of this author).
You remember those pictures with thousands of dots that, if squinting and concentrating long enough, revealed the old lady smoking a reefer (just go with it). Well, Ken’s poems revealed to me the geriatric with the ganja habit – and, it felt incredible.
David Foster Wallace is the voice of my generation, and the sighs automatically come when I think of his passing. Ken Babstock appears to hold DFW in the same regards. His poem “Russian Doctor” is dedicated to the fallen icon. And, through weaving with words creates his own INFINITE JEST of a poem.
There is extensive wordplay:
From the poem, “Sobjectivist”: It’s hard to concentrate/juice in the rain
From, “Que Syria Syria” (I want to quote the entire poem) The North Pacific Gyre spits out basketballs/pen caps, rat-tail combs for the well-behaved/and habitually cagey.
Canadian memories of the worst fucking helmet ever worn in the NHL:
From , “Which Helmet”: Our universe, said to be coming apart at the seams,/poorly made, a Jofa from the mid-eighties, placing/us, like Butch Goring’s head, at no small risk
And, some phrases that connect with you, on a level that the poet must be talking with you directly:
From, “Radio tower”: back home wall mirrors/ wait like pie crusts for the boiled fruit of us.
MEHODIST HATCHET reflects Respect and Understanding. A down home feel that should compete on the world stage. Ken Babstock: Thank you for the perfect introduction to contemporary poetry.
I salute you (Cheers!)
March 26, 2014
Ken Babstock joined us at Kingston WritersFest 2012. You can read more about Ken and the Festival here: www.kingstonwritersfest.ca
February 3, 2015
Writing a review for a book this widely acclaimed is a bit of a catch-22. I suspect that no matter how much I could justify my reading preferences, in the face of the Griffin chairs and their selection, my opinion might just look like sour grapes. That said, the quote I found the most helpful to come to terms with the contents of this collection was in a review, I think published on Quill & Quire, in which they called it something like "the Finnegans Wake of Canadian poetry". I have to say I'm inclined to agree--it was mostly indecipherable for me, and at points I wondered whether there was some giant key that I was missing. I suspect if I went back and overanalyzed every single poem, I might get a bit more out of it, but even being a discerning reader with an eye to detail didn't get me a greatly meaningful takeaway at the end. I acknowledge that Mr. Babstock is surely much more talented than I am, but acknowledge that there is no accounting for taste.
March 21, 2013
Brilliant, carefully honed.
"Joining land with how we see the land"
"Coleridge saw starlings flit and sweep
then climb and bank en masse and thought his mind resembled
them, kept him from finishing great
things he'd long ago begun. It wasn't
the opium."
"I could have
taken prisoners but lack administrative skills,
all those numbers followed by letters followed
by answering to Amnesty and ghosts
bringing in ghosts that exit as corpses.
"Joining land with how we see the land"
"Coleridge saw starlings flit and sweep
then climb and bank en masse and thought his mind resembled
them, kept him from finishing great
things he'd long ago begun. It wasn't
the opium."
"I could have
taken prisoners but lack administrative skills,
all those numbers followed by letters followed
by answering to Amnesty and ghosts
bringing in ghosts that exit as corpses.
December 19, 2014
well, if you are in the mood to feel pretentious, this would be a good book to read and talk about. I'm not saying he isn't a good writer, but you do have to sit and mull to get the full meaning of each poem and how they relate. this is not a light read or meaningful on first glance poetry.
December 19, 2011
Charming acerbic and tuned wonderfully to the ear.
Displaying 1 - 7 of 7 reviews