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"For all commercials regardless of length, there must be 12 frames of silence from picture start and 12 frames of silence before picture end." - Cybermarky

Caveat Emptor: This is not an unbiased review: Allan Brown is a friend and I am a fan of his work. When I was an arrogant and presumptuous young man and back in the seventies began my own literary mag (Nebula) based on the naïve belief that I'd read enough to have 'taste', one of my earliest submissions was by this fellow Allan Brown. I have no idea how Allan found out about my obscure publication, or why he deigned to submit to it. But I, now in my putative maturity of judgement, can look back and say I was perhaps not quite the naïve editor I think I was, for I had the good judgement to accept and publish two of his poems.

Brown has just published what isn't, but could/should, be called, a 'selected works' with Seraphim Editions: Frames of Silence. And all serious connoisseurs of contemporary Canadian poetry should have this elegantly produced volume in their collection.

Having said that but - despite my long-standing enthusiasm for his work - not wanting to write a mere puff piece for a friend (in the guise of review), I will state out front that Allan Brown is not an 'easy read' nor suited to the poetry aficionado who favours the Beats and Dub Poets and Poetry Slams but rarely ventures far from these familiar vernacular shores. Brown's poems are not always so accessible that a first read or a poetry reading performance will do them justice.

This is not to say these are Academic works, dry as dry bones; on the contrary, they often are extremely sensuous. But it is to say they require careful reading to extract the juices.

One thing I have as writer and editor found dismaying is the lack of attention to structure and sound in what could have been great poems. Allan Brown's work does not suffer from this inattention, but alas, too often ears dulled by careless aural constructions do not fully appreciate such fastidious attention to technique. Like the best of the Beats, like the best of the Dubs, like songwriters such as Tom Waits, Brown's poems are musical and gain much by being heard. Brown's subtle sensitivity to sound, so often lacking in contemporary imagist poetry, may stem from his passion for concert music, referenced in some of his titles and allusions -and very much evidenced in the melodic, harmonic and rhythmic music of his prosodic technique.

But unlike the aforementioned, it takes several 'listenings' to access the semantic element beneath the sound. It also, frankly, requires, for fuller appreciation, more literacy and familiarity with the canonical literary traditional than is usual these days. Allan Brown is probably less well known, and so less appreciated, for this reason - that and his quiet existence largely at the periphery of the 'poetry scene' in Canada. One can only hope that this collection finds wide distribution and a thoughtful audience, for this book certainly deserves both.

I say this because I feel he combines in his work disparate elements that rarely coexist in contemporary poetry.

Firstly, he does rich images very well, but always in compliance with the music of his poems - especially the rhythm. Brown shows an exceptional sense of rhythm that from the first time I read him reminded me of Stravinsky. Stravinsky achieved this with the use of polyrhythms derived from African music. Brown achieves this with the games he plays with syntax, vaguely reminiscent of the so-called 'sprung rhythm' of Gerard Manley Hopkins. It is difficult to pin down exactly what tricks Brown is using to perform his magic, although one is definitely the use of what would by a marker of freshman essays be called mangled syntax. This 'mangled' syntax is as carefully planned as a trip line in a forest and causes the reader to stumble into a pause - and insight.

Secondly, Brown, like Hopkins, has a 'spiritual' side and some of his poems seem to verge on parables definitely intended as traps to trip us into insight. I should add that I say this most reluctantly, for the word 'spiritual' coming from my lips is usually pejorative: I am more than non-religious; I am very strongly anti-religion, and that includes even what most people call being 'spiritual'. But I can still appreciate Milton and Donne, and I can still appreciate Allan Brown - who has more than a few characteristics in common with the likes of John Donne, such as the combination of the sensual with the incorporeal. In fact, it would not be entirely inappropriate to call Allan Brown a modern metaphysical poet. Ideas and images are no strange bedfellows in his work.

Thirdly, this man can write poems that bridge the gap between the poets of the vernacular and the poets of the Academe. His vulgarity (although that is too strong a word) is based in wit. And his esotericism is never really based in Academe - for his poetry is not academic, heaven forbid I suggest that. I only mean he is neither a wild man like Ginzberg, nor a priss like Ashberry, but still could appeal to those who appreciate both of these fine poets. And I am saying that I believe he also would be equally appreciated by Lawrence Ferlinghetti and T.S. Elliot.

In short, Frames of Silence is work which comes close to achieving in verse my personal goal in life: peace in complexity. I have not, contrary to the reviewing tradition, quoted a single line of his verse, but only because it would be like playing a few bars from Beethoven or reading a few lines from The Bard. Which is not, of course, to imply Brown is some reincarnated Ludwig or Billy, but simply that 'clips' would only be misleading regarding the artist's range. I can only hope my comments, sans textual teasers, lead a few readers of poetry to take a good look at Allan Brown's contribution to contemporary poetry - for I sincerely feel it is significant.