Going Beyond Tinknand Tanknby Paul RamseynNew and Selected Poems,n1942-1987nby Charles Edward EatonnNew York, London, Toronto:nCornwall Books; 318 pp., $28.50nCharles Edward Eaton, in New andnSelected Poems, as elsewhere, is anremarkable poet, a fine metrist andnstylist, and a close disciple of WallacenStevens in artistic skill and finesse asnwell as in theory and topics. Many anpoet who buys whole hog and pennStevens’ often-prevalent view of poeticsn(and thus poetry) as endless vacillationnand uncertainty, utterly lacks Stevens’npolish and pleasure and talent.nEaton beautifully has them, yet alsonmakes them his own. He is the strongndisciple, not the weak.nOne can even say (I do say) thatnEaton writes more satisfactory poemsnthan the later Stevens. Stevens in Harmoniumnand sometimes elsewherenwrote some magnificent things, butnmost of his later work is one sprawlingnnotebook of genius, perpetually defeatingnits gains and humming its losses innmany a modernist key.nEaton regularly writes poems, wholenand unified poems, with skill and .gracenand frequent power. The theme andntopic is the relationship between aesthetics,nart (poetry and painting mostnof all, but even ordinary conversationnand observation), and reality. The conclusionnis that aesthetic attempts do notnsuffice in their purity, and that the gapnbetween art and reality is really not tonbe closed.nOne can complain of the prevalencenof such skepticism in our time. Descartes’ndream (of achievable certaintynin human thought) has been replacednin much 20th-century assertion withnan absolute certain uncertainty in allnwe think, were it possible for anyn32/CHRONICLESnREVIEWSnthought to be thought or spoken. Tonparaphrase Heidegger: since philosophynis wholly uncertain, then poetrynand metaphor become of importance,nsince they are no more wholly uncertainnthan philosophy. But how likelynthen is it that a given metaphor ornpoetic striving is true? Having confidencenin what is wholly uncertain isnhardly rational, much less heartening.nIn a witty poem by Wallace Stevens,n”A High-Toned Old Christian Woman,”nwe are told that the “supremenfiction” of poetry, its “bawdiness . . .nindulged,” is just as likely to reachnHeaven as are Christian projectionsnfrom moral law. Both, Stevens argues,nare equally projections, and thereforenequally unverifiable. The word “equally”nis his, the bawdiness is “equallyn[with the Christian morality] convertedninto palms,” into heavenly vision.nEqually? An exact tie? 50-50?A fivetenthsnprobability? What a magnificentncertainty of epistemology it would takento arrive at that! The poem ends:nSuch tink and tank andntunk a-tunk-tunk.nMay, merely may, madame,nwhip from themselvesnA jovial hullaboo amongnthe spheres.nThis will make widows wince.nBut fictive thingsnWince as they will. Wink mostnwhen widows wince.nThat is high good fun, but it shouldnmake logicians wince, then have the lastnlaugh. Everything in the poem isnmocked and self-mocked, an epistemologicalninsurance policy that pays fewndividends. The comedy becomes tragedynswiftly enough. It did recurrently fornStevens, whose hunger for truth —nhowever despairing he was at timesnabout achieving it—could not finallynbe placated by jokes. Poetry and truthnare serious matters, in deep senses.nBut, having.said that, there is somethingnto his doctrine — to know the truenis not easy, and Eaton, much more thannmost poets who adopt such a doctrine.nnndoes not let the uncertainty undo hisnpoetic skill, nor does he always succumbnto the limitations of such beliefnHis techniques and structures vary.nHe is one of the most skilled metrists wenhave, and his best qualities can be seennin “Sentimental Education,” whosenlong lines — quiet and constrained —nstand in ironic contrast to the poem’snpassionate lovers and vivid colorations.nThe title, a playful allusion to Flaubert’snL’Education Sentimentale, is at oncenliteral (the poem is about education,nthe training up, and intensifying, of thensentiments, the passions) and pejorativen(applying the notion of sentimentalitynself-mockingly).nThe poem tells the story of tellingnthe story of a man and woman going inna canoe across blue water perhaps to annisland, where they perhaps picnic andnperhaps make (perhaps?) passionatenlove even though “somewhat wistfully”nthey would, perhaps, rather benreading quietly in a quiet room. Thennarrator then tells how that story, fromnchildhood’s mud-plushings — rich sensuousninvolvements in the world —on,nhas haunted and affected the narrator’snart. He has (he tells us) retold the storynmany times and ways, ending with annexcellent line: “Letting the keel of thengreen canoe cut the pages, white, sonwhite, then blue.” The line is lyric,ngraceful, nostalgic, gently self-mockingnof poet and process, and suavely blendingnthe actuality and the telling. Thengreen canoe cuts through pages, whosenwhiteness becomes the blueness of thenlake. How can we tell the telling fromnthe tale, the language from the thingnsaid? Well, the question can be askednand insisted on many a time and way,nwhich come to one reasserted uncertainty,none certain uncertainty: thentruth is not to be had.nEaton builds poems, a welcomenrelief nowadays. In “Portrait of a MannRising in His Profession,” the title’snjollity turns out twice true: a diver in anwet suit is speaking, underwater; thenpoet and the images rise toward and innthe ending of the poem. The blankn