Compatibilist (by Ken Babstock)

Compatibilist (by Ken Babstock)

Original Text
Ken Babstock, Airstream Land Yacht (Toronto: House of Anansi Press, 2006). This poem is reproduced on the Griffin Prize Web Site (from a volume on the Canadian Shortlist 2007).
1Awareness was intermittent. It sputtered.
2      And some of the time you were seen
3         asleep. So trying to appear whole
4         you asked of the morning: Is he free
5      who is not free from pain? It started to rain
6a particulate alloy of flecked grey: the dogs
7wanted out into their atlas of smells; to pee
8      where before they had peed, and might
9         well pee again--thought it isn’t
10         a certainty. What is? In the set,
11      called Phi, of all possible physical worlds
12resembling this one, in which, at time t,
13was written ‘Is he free who is not free--’
14   and comes the cramp. Do you want
15      to be singular, onstage, praised,
16      or blamed? I watched a field of sun-
17   flowers dial their ruddy faces toward
18   what they needed and was good. At noon
19they were chalices upturned, gilt-edged,
20      and I lived in that same light but felt
21         alone. I chose to phone my brother,
22         over whom I worried, and say so.
23      He whispered, lacked affect. He’d lost
24my record collection to looming debt. I
25forgave him--through weak connections,
26      through buzz and oceanic crackle--
27         immediately, without choosing to,
28         because it was him I hadn’t lost; and
29      later cried myself to sleep. In that village
30near Dijon, called Valley of Peace,
31a pond reflected its dragonflies
32      over a black surface at night, and
33         the nuclear reactor’s far-off halo
34         of green light changed the night sky
35      to the west. A pony brayed, stamping
36a hoof on inlaid stone. The river’s reeds
37lovely, but unswimmable. World death
38      on the event horizon; vigils with candles
39         in cups. I’ve mostly replaced my records,
40         and acted in ways I can’t account for.
41      Cannot account for what you’re about
42to do. We should be held and forgiven.
RPO poem Editors
Ian Lancashire
RPO Edition
2011