Billeh Nickerson, Duct-Taped Roses (Book*hug Press, 2021), 96 pp., $20.00.
Billeh Nickerson’s new poetry collection Duct-Taped Roses begins with the lines: âWhen we wrap our legs / around one anotherâs / Iâm not sure.â This first poem, âMermen,â is situated just before the seven more official sections that comprise the collection. It acts as a hint, however, of what is to come, what themes are explored, and the nuance that keeps readers like me attuned to Nickersonâs sometimes diaristic, often vulnerable, always incisive eye as he admits to his unsureness in love, mainly because of past sorrows that can seemingly fill an ocean. Not all doom and gloom, âMermenâ also encapsulates a sort of everyday magic that is found throughout this collection, where the possibility of a roll in the sack abound: âwhose limbs / are whose â / whether weâre growing // fish tails / or more / entangled.â
A longtime fixture among queer CanLit circles, fans and followers of Nickerson will remember some of the strongest poems in this collection from early appearances in various journals like CV2, The Fiddlehead, and The Malahat Review, so it is a gift to have them collected here in one volume. Ultimately, Nickersonâs direct use of language, in sometimes surprising combinations, offer insights into contemporary queer life in Canada.Â
For example, the section Rhymes with Boyfriend starts with the devastating, âSix Years On,â about recounting the lost promise in a friendâs unexpected death:
Iâve often discussed the loss
of mentor figures for gay men,
how those who would have taught us
what it meant to be fortysomething
never made it that far,
but Iâve rarely spoken about the void
felt by a middle-aged man who loses
his gay best friend
to an accident in a bathtub
Nickerson goes on to index memories of his time with the departed, signaling hilarious, humiliating, and humble moments that make up a friendship. Similarly, the section Skies is an elegy for the poetâs late father, who was a pilot. Among moments of the magic of growing up looking at the sky to attempt spotting his dadâs plane, he relays conversations about his fatherâs proximity to AIDS during the early days of the pandemic through his gay male coworkers: âJeanEduardoPierreMarcTim rolls off his tongue with a natural flow, like one long mellifluous nameâŠâ, and it is this precision through the pathos-laden anecdote that lets Nickersonâs readers inside his world. Death appears throughout this collectionâsomething that speaks more to where the poet is in his journey than anything else. In our forties we learn to say goodbye, and here Nickerson offers his own version, with memorials not only to his best friend or his father, but also to fellow poet Zaccheus Jackson, the former Nylon-turned-childrenâs-showhost and thespian, Dennis Simpson, along with close friends and near-anonymous acquaintances.Â
This is a solid collection by a writer in mid-career stride: itâs got some poems that have appeared elsewhere, some new ones, a nice homage to his queer lineage, the personal nods weâve come to expect with the unflinching honesty (even crassness) that makes Billeh Billeh.
Alongside the humorous takes on queer life, Nickerson offers his memoiresque cliffnotes in âLangleyâ (After Joe Brainard). I once read that Brainardâs poem âI Rememberâ is among the most taught in elementary schoolsâpresumably because of the unfettered, straight-forward reportage that nearly anyone who has lived a day can attempt on their ownâso it is both surprising and not to find a seasoned poet like Nickerson offering his own take. However, the breadth of Brainardâs recollections (everything from socioeconomics, popular culture, and sexual awakenings to food, classroom hijinx, and uninspired Christmas presents) far surpasses the offerings here in this homage written some fifty years later. The comparison isnât really fair, seeing as the original is around a hundred and thirty pages, and Nickersonâs is a mere four and a half pages. What I appreciate about âLangleyâ is the situatedness derived from the title; here the poet is telling us about where he grew up and how. Heâs playing witness to his own life, but also the very real political implications that only come into focus after decades. With lines like, âI remember my school divided into house teamsâHaida, Nootka, Salish, Bella Coolaâthough nobody ever taught us the namesâ true origins, so when I hear them I first think of my school,â which is directly followed by, âI remember Jasvinder preferred to be called Vinder as he thought it sounded cool like Darth Vader. Every other Jasvinder Iâve met has preferred to go by Jas.â we understand how the insidious colonial settler state embedded itself into all of our lives resulting in various levels of hardships. Nickerson is better at locating his queerness amidst his working class backdrop: âI remember being called a frog because I was in French immersion, a preppy because I wore dress shoes, and a faggot because thatâs what happened when pickup trucks with rolled-down windows drove past.â Same, Billeh. Same.
Though I am partial to Nickersonâs longer poems, he proves here that he is still the master of a striking image offered through a few quick lines. Nowhere is this as present as in the suite of poems titled âOccupational Therapy,â where he describes with light and ease the various aspects of sexual encounters, such as âThe Dart Player,â where we are privy to the nuance: âHeâd do this thing where his pinky / would jut out to the side / just before he shot.â
The collection culminates with the section Curiosa, which feels like a bit of scramble to include what some might consider the âalso-ransââthose poems that help make up a reading set, but arenât the real standouts from the evening. Part inside joke, part commentary from an astute smart alec, these final poems do have moments of clarity and make more sense when considered amidst the collection as a whole. I love âHashtags,â a short poem that positions our past knowledge of shared drug culture with the unrepentant redefinitions rampant in our new social media savvy existence. Through memories, asides, jokes, and even a curious found poem retelling the step by step instructions of âHow to Clean a Gravestone,â Nickerson reminds us of the queer power found in the anecdote.
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A writer, curator, and publisher, Kegan McFadden is also the Executive Director of the Victoria Arts Council, where he produces exhibitions and acts as managing editor for the digital publication, UNTIL. The current issue of UNTIL, Queer Island, has just been released and can be downloaded here.