A bouquet of ghazals
Dog and Moon
by Kelly Shepherd
Regina: U Regina Press, 2025
$19.95 /9781779400383
Reviewed by Christopher Levenson
*
When I first encountered Dog and Moon and saw that it was composed entirely in ghazals, I was dubious: starting with Imagism and Pound’s anglicization of the haiku in the 1920s, the last few decades have seen a plethora of revivals, or introductions of earlier or exotic poetic forms, such as the pantoum, the glosa, the renga, and of course the ghazal. Sometimes it’s as if poets use these forms simply to prove that they can, rather than as a tool, a means of discovery.
In this instance, I need not have worried: Dog and Moon, bracingly opinionated and often cryptic virtuoso performance though it is, is not self-indulgent and gives the reader a lot to think and feel about.
At times Kelly Shepherd’s ghazals take on the witty, aphoristic function of the Augustan heroic couplet—“Darkness is an endangered species: we hunt the night” or “Failure is a great teacher, someone said. / But how do the report cards work?”
Occasionally the assertions or affirmations come across almost like exam questions, so that one is tempted to add: “Discuss.” Such is the case, for me, with “Nature isn’t nature: it’s language” and “The purpose of art is transparency.” Normally one might expect to find such statements, or affirmations concluding a poem rather than being offered up en passant in the middle. Such formulations, whether or not they strike the reader as true, run the risk that they will come across as instant nuggets of wisdom
Mostly, however, Shepherd captivates the reader with surprising, pithy insights, as here: “A poem is a torch with a beam of shadow / instead of light. And memories for batteries.”
Or thoughtful, more general observations:
Art survives within modern civilization
rather like little islands of wilderness
saved to show us where we came from.
Then again, sometimes he is content to be simply charming:
If your linen closet is near a window,
sometimes you’ll find yourself unfolding moonlight
Or else, playfully inventive, as in, “The dog as writing companion: a musance.” (Though in this case he spoils it by the next line’s unnecessary explanation, “Both an inspiration and a distraction.”)
Added to all of which, Smithers-raised Shepherd is widely allusive, so that readers will lose a lot if they do not pick up on the references:
I saw the best minds of my generation
not necessarily destroyed, and not necessarily by madness
but spending a lot of time talking about real estate.
It’s a clever idea, but it does raise the whole awkward question of ‘common knowledge’ if that term still has any meaning. My only mild irritation with the book came from the frequent adducing of other writers’ comments, which then provide fodder for seven pages of endnotes.
Fascinating though such observations often are, the poet’s overarching relationship is with the natural environment. As expected we find many invocations of the mostly negative impact human activity has had on the natural world whether stated directly as in,
The last time I saw a snake,
it was cut in half by a lawn mower.
The roots snapped under the plough blades
with sounds like gunshots, and sometimes screams.
(Or, more symbolically, “The skies are full of embers, occulted moon and stars / A smoke ceremony: a prayer for rain.”)
But what the reader is probably not prepared for is the quasi-spiritual leap of the imagination implicit in —
Let me wake up with green skin, a foliate head.
A leaping greenly spirit: instead of words I’ll speak leaves and vines.
For me slow growing as a tree, spring would be the dawn
and falls would be the dusk of a single day
Or, again: “Little birds of an idea: magpie nests are shaped like brains. / The trees keep their brains underground.”
What the poet often achieves, then, is less an evocation of the natural world than a firmly grounded but almost mystical uniting with it, a transubstantiation. So for me at least the book is unified not by an overriding theme so much as by a sensibility, a mental and emotional awareness of our total interconnectedness with the world around us.
Cumulatively, the effect is like a nocturnal landscape that is suddenly lit up by flashes of lightning. This is not a book to devour at one sitting but to savour briefly and return to often.
*
Born in London, England, in 1934, Christopher Levenson came to Canada 1968 and taught at Carleton University till 1999. He has also lived and worked in the Netherlands, Germany, Russia, and India. The most recent of his many books of poetry is Moorings, reviewed by Trish Bowering. He co-founded Arc magazine in 1978 and was its editor for a decade; he was Series Editor of the Harbinger imprint of Carleton University Press, which published exclusively first books of poetry. [Editor’s note: Christopher has reviewed books by Cynthia Woodman Kerkham, Catherine Owen, Jess Housty, Susan Musgrave, Katherine Lawrence Leanne Boschman, Isa Milman, H.C. (Hans) ten Berge, John Barton, John Pass, and Rob Taylor for BCR. Kelly Shepherd recently reviewed Dustin Cole’s After Sunstone for BCR.]
*
The British Columbia Review
Interim Editors, 2023-26: Trevor Marc Hughes (non-fiction), Brett Josef Grubisic (fiction and poetry)
Publisher: Richard Mackie
Formerly The Ormsby Review, The British Columbia Review is an online book review and journal service for BC writers and readers. The Advisory Board now consists of Jean Barman, Wade Davis, Robin Fisher, Barry Gough, Hugh Johnston, Kathy Mezei, Patricia Roy, and Graeme Wynn. Provincial Government Patron (since September 2018): Creative BC. Honorary Patron: Yosef Wosk. Scholarly Patron: SFU Graduate Liberal Studies. The British Columbia Review was founded in 2016 by Richard Mackie and Alan Twigg.
“Only connect.” –E.M. Forster