The Globe & Mail
June 28, 1975
By Tom Walmsley
Pulp Press, 85 pages, $2 paperback
Reviewed by Janis Rapoport
Rabies, the disease that is, is symptomatically characterized by irritability, restlessness and melancholy. As the central nervous system succumbs to the effects of the virus. the irritability progresses into a state of wild terror which is itself followed by paralysis and death.
Metaphorically speaking, Walmsley’s Rabies is infused mainly with the more grotesque and static aspects or the disease. Many or the poems in this volume are purely pornographic. They deal with sadism, masochism, group obscenities and generally bizarre sexual activities. Unfortunately these encounters are described with a flatness that is so non-erotic it barely manages to titillate.
Such is the poet’s obsession with sexuality that commonplace objects take on deviant overtones. In the poem As Good an Offer as Any, a vacuum cleaner assumes the role of a pursuing lover. Abstractions arc not spared either. The protagonist of the poem Love kisses a “commercial potential” and fondles a publicity campaign!
(several paragraphs follow, and then the conclusion…)
Much or Walmsley’s poetry echoes the drug-induced transcriptions or the sixties. From an altered slate of consciousness, words and lines of brilliance and depth may appear to flow onto the page. Considered in the context of reality, however, they are not special. And the associative gaps between them are often too wide to be coherently bridged by the reader’s imagination.
As Good an Offer as Any
I was chased by a vacuum cleaner
of many arms
all attachments attached
that sucked up my breath as I ran
stronger as I am weaker
and just when
and I thought
I may as well crank till I die
tentacles took me
in machine embrace
and next to the steely warm body
I was pressed
looking for a handle
day to day jerking of the levers
am i what.
i kissed her commercial potential
fondling her publicity campaign
to at last
liquidate her assets
and broke the bank
she ate my self-respect
manipulated my image:
she found it!
jerked the handle —
and sucked my niche.