Author: admin

my phone is haunted by another shadow
her name is Linda Lee
every day there are calls from collection agencies
Linda owes money everywhere and
has skipped town
leaving me with her details
her phone number that doesn’t spell anything

I feel a strange sneaking guilt when they call
as if I might really be Linda Lee
they might somehow prove it
the irrational blush of the good girl
accused of lying
who suddenly doubts her own truth

the second week I say things like
Linda’s a tour guide in the
Dominican Republic now
I don’t think she’s coming back
or
Linda left to work with Greenpeace
she disappeared last fall
a tragic dinghy accident they were
chained to a Russian whaler

these telephone voices remind me of
my ex-husband parental somehow
slightly disapproving but
too polite to accuse one of anything
to spell it all out

Notes on the Poem
Along with great, welcoming storytelling and wry character development, Leslie Greentree employs a simple touch in "shades of Linda Lee" that can get under your skin without you even really noticing it.

The poem "shades of Linda Lee" has no punctuation. The poem's phrasing and line breaks offer a good sense of where one thought leaves off and another begins, but the absence of punctuation gives a subtle feeling of one sentence starting before the previous one has finished. The effect is of voices - on the telephone, in voice mail messages - fading in and out.

Does this ever-so-slight sense of sentences not finishing mirror the narrator's own sense of uncertainty? She admits that she feels "a strange sneaking guilt", thinks maybe she is Linda Lee. Later, she confesses that she feels she's still being admonished by her ex-husband.

"the good girl / accused of lying"

... does indeed go on to lie about Linda Lee's whereabouts and fate. Even if they're harmless lies to fend off calls for which she's not responsible, should the narrator indeed "doubt her own truth" after all?

Does clarity and truth emerge when sentences are crisply punctuated? Conversely, are clarity and truth optional when one sentence slides into the next without delineation? Is the recipient of Linda Lee's messages avoiding what needs to be spelled out?

It must have been after a
birthday; at Christmastime
daylight hasn’t the lambency
I remember as part of
the puzzling present somebody
had given me: a scribbler, empty pages, but
not for scribbling in.
Instead of a pencil box there was
a jellyglass set out, with water, and
a brand-new paint brush.

The paper was not pretty.
A pencil-point might in an upstroke
accidentally jab a hole in it.

But, painting it –
as I was told to, with only
clear water, “Behold!”
my whole being sang out, for “see”
would not have been adequate.

The pictures that emerged
were outlines? I remember
only the paper, and the wonder of it,
and how each page was turning out to be
a different picture.

There were no colours, were there?

In the analogy, there are
glorious colours
and, in some way that lacks
equivalents,
deepening colours, patterns that keep
emerging, always
more to anticipate.

For that there is no other process.

Locked in the picture is
missing the quality of the analogy of
morning light
and the delighted holder of the paint-brush
and who gave him the book, and where he found it.

Notes on the Poem
Enjambment is a poetic device whereby a sentence or clause continues beyond a line break. You don't have the full meaning of a line in a poem using enjambment when you reach the end of the line - you must continue to the next and possibly multiple lines. The effect of enjambment can range from entrancing to downright suspenseful, depending how it's used. Margaret Avison uses it gently but intriguingly in "Present From Ted."

  It must have been after a
	
From the start, Avison nudges us along in her account of the "puzzling present" (which the title says was from Ted, but the poem says was from "somebody"), trying to guess what it is and how the narrator is figuring it out and taking to it ...

... or not.

  Instead of a pencil box there was

Clearly, the narrator was expecting a "pencil box", which which to write or possibly draw, but instead has been presented with the accoutrements of painting:

  a jellyglass set out, with water, and
  a brand-new paint brush.

But when the line does finish, isn't something missing? Ironically, the full sentence seems to create the greatest mystery and suspense of all. 

Throughout the poem, enjambment seems to reinforce the narrator's own sense of discovery and not knowing what to expect during the tentative exploration of a new and clearly unconventional form of artistry.

  The pictures that emerged

  In the analogy, there are

  Locked in the picture is

Amidst the sequences of enjambment, the poem is punctuated with end-stopped lines - the opposite of enjambment - where the full parsed sentence or thought is contained in the line.

  The paper was not pretty.

  There were no colours, were there?

  For that there is no other process.

Still, while it ends in apparent delight for someone, there are still mysteries and questions unanswered, both for the painter and receiver of the gift, and for the reader and receiver of Avison's subtle gifts.