Words from the editor

Welcome to “Mythology,” or—as we on the editorial team at CV2 have come to affectionately refer to it—”The Pomegranate Issue.” It seems the mythological reference to this particularly odd fruit continues to capture the imagination of poets. For those not familiar with the symbolism of the pomegranate, it was the fruit Hades, Greek god of the Underworld, offered to the goddess Persephone to keep her by his side in the deep-down kingdom of the nether regions.

This is an interesting myth because if you look at the imagery closely, you can’t help but see the similarity between the Biblical story of Eve and the apple, and Persephone and her pomegranate. Seems in ancient time women were always getting themselves, and consequently everyone else, into trouble! And it is a good thing they did, I say. Throughout history representations from the past have influenced the present culture; currently bits and pieces of myth dot our perceptual landscape, whether we recognize it or not. It doesn’t really matter what culture you are from, or whether you regard mythological explanations as superstition or as literal manifestations of intellectual and cultural curiosity—that mythology, while changed, remains with us.

All cultures have mythologies, but for many of us raised in Western culture, the word “myth” has come to mean the classical Greek myths—the unpredictable pantheon of Zeus and his gang—and the closely related Roman myths. Indeed, the word “myth” comes from the modern Latin mythus, which is originally derived from ancient Greek muthos, “meaning symbolic story, fable.”

In Greek mythology, the relationship of poetry and mythology is so intimate as to be inseparable. The number of pomegranate poems submitted to CV2 for this issue was a reminder that the irascible gods still capture our attention, perhaps because there is that perpetual grain of truth in their personalities, their interactions, and their powers. There seems to have been an awful lot of irrational emotion behind their godly acts, both good and bad. In ancient Greece poetry existed as the first form of literature. Of those early poets, Homer stands out from the rest, representing the creative imagination and events of that time, a man who has come down to us as little more than a myth himself. There isn’t much known about him beyond the work that has survived him, but it would be hard to find a poet in modern times whose work is as widely read and influential as his. The Iliad and The Odyssey remain two of the most influential literary works in Western civilization. Why?

For example, in The Iliad there are a lot of sons of sons fighting other sons, and gods are arguing with gods, some of whom are siding with the sons fighting the sons of other sons. The descriptions of the battles are as bloody as they are bold and heroic. Some of the gore would rival that of today’s best slasher films, and when we look around, especially at what’s happening in the Middle East and Afghanistan, is it really all that different? Perhaps the ability of film to capture the brutal reality has replaced the dramatic capabilities of the human voice, but in many ways The Iliad, with its gods and men, is not all dissimilar from what is happening in the Middle East right now. Of course, in The Iliad, they are all fighting over Helen of Troy, but she can represent whatever causation the modern mind needs her to represent.

In The Iliad and The Odyssey, Homer’s verse describes the fickleness of the gods, who could be cruel, petty, lascivious, and tremendously selfish as well as capable of great benevolence and wisdom; who could display genuine warmth, true understanding and grace—gods who could be remarkably human in their behaviour. In fact, I would guess that close examination of the antics of family Zeus—minus the togas, golden harps, and cool winged boots—would reveal attributes that would remind most of us—ancient or otherwise—not so subtly of our own families.

The history Homer writes about is the Trojan War, which, because of the heavy focus on the role of gods in described events, some scholars have suggested exists only as a gruesome fairy tale. But even if this is true, perhaps here lies the importance of poetry, for the Greeks at any rate, in the commitment of not only great acts of bravery however they took place, but also acts of tenderness; the importance of poetryto memory, not necessarily literal memory but emotional, creative, and soulful memory. This relationship is substantiated by two words repeated throughout The Iliad and The Odyssey, suggesting the significance of their meaning and moral implications. One word was time, meaning “honour,” and the other was arête or “virtue.“ Arête was perhaps the more abstract but has been defined as achieving one’s greatest potential as a human being. Another important word, which relates directly to the function and role of poetry in ancient Greece, was kleos, or “fame.“ Kleos was a gift of poets, great deeds; honour and courage were rewarded with the creation of poetry. In other words, poetry became the means by which certain people, deeds, and events became known and remembered; means of longevity, passed initially by mouth, and later in written form. As both of Homer’s works attest, kleos was given to those who earned it.

In this issue there are three poems by George Ellenbogen that exemplify the concept of kleos, or the memory of poetry. Two of these are devoted to the memory of the Holocaust, and the third, about a place that has, in the memory of the village, risen from disaster time after time, grateful of the gift life is. None of these poems is a myth in fact, but all are mythic in the scope of memory they represent, the “remembering” at the heart of them, describing events so horrible as to be beyond the human capacity to survive, and yet there is survival. George Ellenbogen commits that survival to poetic memory, through kleos, or “fame,” a guarantee that the value of their lives and courage will not be forgotten.

Myths apply similar tricks of the trade as poetry. They include the use of metaphor, image, simile, and hyperbole to relate human experience in a way that is larger or smaller than life. It is not how literally but how creatively the poet or mythmaker pulls the rabbits of imagination out of the hat and reveals to us the “supernatural” that dailyunderwrites our mundane existence.

A myth is defined by my trusty, dog-chewed Pocket Oxford Dictionary of Current English, Seventh Edition as “a traditional narrative usually involving supernatural or fancied persons etc. embodying popular ideas on natural or social phenomena; widely held but false notion or allegory,” as in “Platonic myth” as coined by another legendary Greek, Plato. But really a myth, in the most basic sense, is a rationale—an explanation for the way life happens and centres around or upholds rules that keep a certain order of moral behaviour or belief, offering a society or culture some kind of hierarchy to maintain authority or faith. Myths, like poetry, exist in every culture, and they focus on different aspects of natural phenomena depending on resources, terrain, weather, moral and religious beliefs, social order, human behaviour, relationships, and a host of other things. Myths and poems provide a translation of an event, a point of view—which represents a particular spirit of the truth.

Other myths in popular imagination include a bevy of evil creatures of the night including werewolves, mummies, and vampires. One of the best-known vampires, Dracula, is the primary focus of our featured poet, Dennis Cooley’s most recent collection of poetry, seeing red. Dennis Cooley gives us a new Dracula to think about and by undoing the expected with his propensity for visual wordplay, colloquialisms, and linguistic fixings, gives us a fresh view of his chosen subject.

Cooley’s Drac certainly derives from the character in Bram Stoker’s famous novel, but seeing red takes a personal turn. We see a tortured, romantic, soulful, even wistful vampire with a nagging wife and an unabiding love obsession for another woman. This Dracula is not the mega-monster of Stoker, nor is he one of the hip-slickly-dressed-bleached-blond-techno-wise blood-suckers of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, he’s a guy—not bad-looking—with a bad habit, a monkey on his back, a girl on the side, and a conscience. Much like in his depiction of characters in some of his other collections, namely Bloody Jack (based on the life of notorious Manitoba outlaw John Krafchenko) and goldfinger, a chapbook collection of restyled fairy tales, Dennis Cooley doesn’t try to deny the badness; rather, he creates characters who are more complex than just evil, who speak both eloquently and not so eloquently to create more interesting and down-to-earth, not to mention world-wise/weary and sympathetic, entities.

As you delve deeper into this issue you will, of course, find a couple of very fine pomegranate poems as well as an audacious discussion with new poet Nathan Dueck about his first published collection of poetry, king’s(mère), which is “mythically” based on the diaries of Canada’s longest serving and strangest prime minister, William Lyon Mackenzie King. In other poetry selections in this issue are a dwarf, gamblers, a princess—and other topics not normally discussed as myth but that have that kind of persuasion in our lives today, things such as the expectations of pregnancy. We are also pleased to include an interview and poetry from one of Ireland’s finest poets, Medbh McGuckian, who talks about the influence of Christian symbol and myth in her poetry.

Undead aside, the practice of drinking blood began long before there were vampires. In many cultures, including ancient Greece, blood was considered a life force, and by drinking the blood of someone who had died, you took on the life energy of that person. It is also true that in ancient times some people practiced drinking the blood of the living to add to their own energy.

For all the sweat and blood it takes to make it in this business, the red stuff provides an apt metaphor for poetry. Just ask those people who took the challenge of CV2’s annual 48 Hour Poem Contest. CV2 would like to thank all those who put their best efforts forward, and while we would like to offer laurels to each and every one of you, we are only able to do so for the top three finalists. In this issue you will find the winners of our last on-line marathon, and a fine and appropriate selection it is for this issue. Congratulations to Lorri Neilson Glenn, Yvonne Blomer, and Margaret Malloch Zielinski. So if you didn’t make the finals in the last contest, sharpen up those pencils and grab those dictionaries, because the next 48 Hour Poem Contest is coming up fast. From midnight January 21, 2005, to midnight January 23, 2005, where most of the poets I know and love will be pitting their wit and witts against the clock, Why don’t you join them?

Like poetry, mythology never goes away but it changes; it shapes to who we are, what is important to us and how we angle our way through lives fraught with no less chaos and danger than those of the ancient Greeks. We continue to live with the understatement of magic, examine the unexplainable, question the unexpected. We also never cease to marvel at the complexity of humanity and the fickle wiles of nature. These days we have our own personal mythologies: we believe that we can be rescued by love, a new job, a lottery win, a cure for all disease, but all we can hope for ultimately is understanding. Learn to listen to ourselves and others, to speak the unspoken, and to challenge ourselves to find meaning in the world and in our own potential. What the ancient Greeks called arête. While poetry may not be the answer to what ails us, it is one means that can certainly help us figure it out.

—Managing Editor, Clarise Foster