The Bogs of Xenu, by Seamus Heaney.
CAN Press. $19.95.
If there’s one thing we don’t need from Seamus Heaney, it’s another book about Scientology. When the poet first converted five years ago, most critics had only three questions: (1) How would it affect his poetry?; (2) Would he start dating a hot, young, weird celebrity?; and (3) Assuming the answer to the previous question was “Yes,” would the hot celebrity come to poetry events so we could hang out with her? His engagement to Jenna Elfman answered the second question and the third (Jenna! Kisses!), but the first was still an open issue. Not anymore. With The Bogs of Xenu, Heaney establishes himself as the most disappointing Scientologist poet since Richard Wilbur.
To be fair, Heaney is still capable of solid, poised writing, as in the opening to “Free Stress Test”:
Some day I will go to Clearwater,
That town of stucco and wise men,
To don the believer’s epaulets
And free myself through Hubbard’s words
Like a rill escaped from some icy tarn.
Notice how he links Clearwater, Florida, the major North American center for Scientology, with the “clear water” in the high mountain lakes of Ireland. This is vintage Heaney. Elsewhere, however, the poet succumbs to repetitiveness that’s as obvious as it is disheartening. The Bogs of Xenu is now the third book in which Heaney has described L. Ron Hubbard as a fatherly figure with “his boot nestled on a spade’s staunch lug” and the second in which he’s called John Travolta “a harness rod of the inexorable.” Even more depressing is the book’s finale, a fifteen-page poem called “Thetan Peat,” which is simply a repackaging of the imagined dialogue between Tom Cruise and Wolfe Tone that closed his previous collection. While a man’s personal religious choices are no one’s business, maybe Heaney should consider that, as Helen Vendler once wrote, “The line between great poetry and intergalactic space aliens is admittedly fine, but it remains a line nonetheless.”
* * * * *
Hensonia, by Louise Glück.
Farrar, Straus and Giroux. $19.95.
Nobody works a myth like Louise Glück. In her early writing, she devoted poems to Achilles, the Gemini, and Hyacinth; in Meadowlands, she took up the story of Penelope and Odysseus; and in her last book, Averno, she channeled Persephone with unnerving ease. In this new collection, however, Glück undertakes an even greater task – engaging with what is arguably the great mythos of our own time; a story so complex, so resonant, so deeply ingrained in our collective imagination that . . . well, if it isn’t obvious already, it should be after the first poem in Hensonia, “Overture”:
It’s time to play the music,
it’s time to light the lights –
here, in the vast theater
that was home to us once,
before the song ended, and the curtain
swept down in a great wave
casting us forth
to make an end of desire
in the blossoming of desire.
Do you remember, Kermit –
A woman and frog lie on a white bed;
I look out over the sterile snow . . .
We were made fools of.
And this opening, this broken
surrender – this
is what we call the Muppet Show.
Yes, after years of preparation, Glück finally has given us her version of the magical puppet universe of Jim Henson (or as Glück calls it, “The Muppet-Fraggle-Dark Crystal Continuum”). In doing so, she joins a crowded field that includes, most recently, Albert Goldbarth (Pigs in Spaaace!) and Kevin Young (Rowlf’s Blues). Even in that distinguished group, however, Hensonia is an arresting achievement. The majority of the poems here focus on the tortured relationship between Kermit and Miss Piggy; they are uniformly searing (“It is no easier/to be green/than to be gripped by a love/itself unpossessed”). Yet Glück is equally adept with the minor figures in the Henson pantheon. Her “Statler” is not only an exacting portrait of weltschmerz, but a vivid rewriting of “Prufrock”:
On the stage, the souls arrive,
their antics childish,
their jokes unremarkable,
and from the balcony, my boxed isolation,
I can say only that I object;
I object to this sideshow.
It’s rare that a poet can shift with such deftness from grand tragedy (as in the Kermit/Piggy poems) to the minor, yet poignant example of a Statler, a Waldorf, or a Swedish Chef. With Hensonia, however, Glück somehow has gathered all hues and shades of this vast myth system and forged – it has to be said – a rainbow connection.