Jim Harrison

I could be way off here. If I am, Jimmy will set me straight.

The title “The Theory and Practice of Rivers” struck a chord with me. As a teacher, I find that the terms theory and practice are often mutually exclusive – those who theorize don’t practice and those who teach (practice) don’t have time to do in-depth theorizing. They just have to teach. Rarely do the two meet. But, Jim Harrison seems to have achieved a praxis. He is able to theorize about rivers, birds, the moon, and dancing while living life on rivers, dancing, and watching birds. Then, he seems to incorporate both the living and the theory into his poetry, making a nice full and continuous circle.

Along with the familiar images of rivers, birds, the moon, and dancing, Harrison also uses the familiar ideas of love and death. But, one of the most interesting images that I saw recurring was the question mark, particularly in association with youth and children. In “Porpoise” he writes, “You see a school making love off Boca Grande/ the baby with his question mark staring / at us a few feet from the boat.” And in “Small Poem” is found “dead children fly off in the shape/ of question marks.” This was interesting. First, the shape of the question mark is very suggestive and, in a way, ethereal, like the flame of a candle or a wisp of smoke. It’s not unusual that he would pair the question mark with children as that is what they are often found doing. In the first example, I am left questioning what he means. But, in the second example, he is the one who is questioning why children have to die. I noticed that he dedicated his collection to Gloria Ellen Harrison 1964-1979 and naturally wondered if that was his daughter. So, like the joining of theory and practice, he seems to be achieving another kind of praxis here – the children are question marks, I am questioning, he is questioning. The image is the child, who questions. His questions leave me questioning.

I’m not sure if “The Times Atlas” is one of my favorite poems, but I really appreciated some of the lines. “Camus said / it rained so hard even the sea was wet.” Does that mean that it didn’t rain hard at all? The sea is already pretty wet. I also appreciated the simplicity of the line “Meanwhile the weather is no longer amusing” because he appears to be speaking of more than the weather. Something is no longer a joke; no one is laughing.

My favorite poem was “Homily” with its combination of commonsensical, humorous, and poignant advice. “Dance with yourself with all your heart / and soul, and occasionally others, but don’t / eat all the berries birds eat or you’ll die.” And, instead of giving “how to” advice about love, he tells us how not to fall in love. The don’t advice I found most notable was not to be “a cow floundering / in quicksand while the other cows watch / without particular interest, backwards / off a crumbling cornice.” This was intriguing for several reasons. First, I found it odd that he chose a cow because the natural images he usually chooses aren’t domesticated – they’re wild and free - like birds and porpoises. At the same time, however, the cows not in the quicksand are meeting a similarly disastrous fate. While one cow is drowning in love, the others, fearfully backing away from it yet, I think, feigning indifference, are also going to die, just a little less hideously.