Perth-based poet Liam Blackford’s first collection, A Gateway Has Opened, was published in 2021 by Proverse Hong Kong. In this new and second collection, No Freedom Too Total, Blackford again demonstrates his mastery of the art of binding imaginative freedom within the confines of form.
Each poem, framed by six stanzas of six lines each, with six syllables per line, echoes classical Chinese poetry, the grammatical parallelism of classic Western literature such as the King James Bible, and the rigor of traditional syllabic structures like the Japanese haiku or tanka.
But Blackford’s strict adherence to this form does not constrain expression; rather, it liberates his verse, much like how a classical musician finds creative flexibility within a fixed metre, exploiting rhythmic elasticity to expressive effect/affect.
No Freedom Too Total is notable for its liquid-architectural precision, reminiscent of the formal logic of a Bach fugue. The poems are intricately patterned, each a “two-dimensional verbal cube,” and this structure creates spaces where meaning shifts and develops, echoing across stanzas like motifs in a piece of music. Blackford’s parallel grammatical structures achieve a delicate balance, building thematic bridges across the violent, erotic, and transcendent landscapes of the collection.
Much like in classical Chinese poetry, where the juxtaposition of images often connects seemingly disparate worlds, Blackford’s rigid form sets up patterns of repetition that allow the reader to detect subtle variations – the differences between sorrow and solace, violence and desire, become perceptible through their structural similarities.
A single example from will suffice to demonstrate Blackford’s general approach, in this case a triptych (3×2) as opposed to the diptych (2×3) form used elsewhere in the collection. Try reading each line first as six equal syllables in rigid rhythm; then relax and reread the entire poem following the syntactical phrasing. You’ll hear how the natural stresses and units of meaning play like arabesques of jasmine over a trellis.
A soul is born, exists, and transcends
A voice from the mirror:
‘Do you see the ocean?
A wave is receding;
a force takes it away,
leaving the gasping shore,
purifying the air.
Don’t let it sadden you.
As the wave dissipates,
a horizon expands
at the edge of this world,
unearthing new landforms.
They are yours to explore.’
A voice from the mirror:
‘Do you see the ocean?
A wave is approaching;
a force draws it nearer,
bringing a hissing flood,
liquefying the air.
Don’t let it frighten you.
As the wave advances,
a dimension opens
from a rift in this world,
unlocking new platforms.
They are yours to access.’
A voice from the mirror:
‘Do you see the ocean?
Two waves are colliding;
a force puts them at war,
making a thrashing spray,
vaporising the air.
Don’t let it confuse you.
As the waves make chaos,
a harmony occurs
at the heart of this world,
creating new meaning.
It is yours to witness.’
The expressive advantage of Blackford’s method lies in its controlled variability. Just as the repetition of a musical motif in strict sonata form encourages the listener to appreciate the minutest of shifts, Blackford’s recurring motifs invite readers to witness transformation within the repetition. His use of grammatical parallelism draws out resonances between the human, the angelic, and the mechanical, all simultaneously confined and liberated within the strictness of form.
As previously indicated, this is far from oppressive; it is a poetic insistence on finding freedom in discipline. One is reminded of Alexander Pope’s observation (in a strict iambic pentameter couplet, sound mirroring sense – listen to the dancing triplet variation on “easiest”!) that:
True ease in writing comes from art, not chance,
As those move easiest who have learned to dance.