The Icelandic connection - 01.09.2010, Side 44

94
ICELANDIC CONNECTION
Vol. 63 #2
understated manner, really Icelandic
sparse irony, Bill speaks to us:
Friends, hearing some of these
poems, remarked that the connec-
tion between boxelder bugs and
Beethoven’s Diabelli Variations
is not immediately apparent, (p.
109)
It is not essential to know the corre-
spondence between boxelder bugs and hi-
brow composers but it is the sense of play
that informs this poem ; it is vintage Bill
Holm in life and art. Whether the subject
is semantic, musical, literary, geographi-
cal, philosophical, political or technolog-
ical—this homo ludens- this spirit of the
man at play- stands as the core of his writ-
ing and his life.
Bill Holm , the poet shows us that an
empathetic eye and an acute ear can
enhance the work at hand, that is living
the life authentic:
For it is life we want. We want
the world, the whole beautiful
world, alive----and we alive in
it.
But he also tells us simply and direct-
ly that long conversations with the self
are critical; “internal music being com-
posed by an improviser” (p. 13). The
resultant Song of My Self comes in your
own voice:
Where does this voice come
from? Is there more than one?
No, I’m afraid it is my ordinary
voice, the one I use to actually
speak to you, or to a thousand
people in a room . . . (p. 12)
These essential words in “1 Began
the Day in My Sixty-fifth Year” were
written weeks before his death. They con-
tain the key to this collection of new and
selected poetry. Whether Bill is unpack-
ing new technology with the wry humour
of a self-confessed Luddite or contem-
plating life and death in “The Wisdom in
a Rondo,” his poems allow us to eaves-
drop on “the only important questions,”
(p. 12) the ones he asks himself.
Whatever Bill Holm loved or admired,
celebrated or ranted against he has shared
those passions with us and we should be
grateful. In Section IV of “ To explain my
unusual interest in boxelder bugs, partic-
ularly those who live in my piano” he
writes:
This piano kept itself lean, does-
n’t eat much.
Its voice darkened and mellowed
since 1922.
It plays noisy music quietly, quiet
music like feathers dropped in a
well.
It’s fit for Bach now, and music
by old men.(p. 118)
Bill did not outlive that piano but like
that patient instrument, his aging brought
new tones, subtle registers, dignified
modulations and ecstatic bursts of joy for
our jaded ears.
Let us honour Bill Holm’s achiev-
ment by taking up his challenge to recap-
ture the delight and surprise that comes
from passing words from one soul to
another in real time and space. Read his
Chain Letter from the Soul, begin to write
your own and pass them on to someone
YOU love.