Arts and Literature in Canada:Views from Abroad, Les arts et la ...

IJCS/RIÉCTrail through the cañon, and the mountain streamSounds his sonorous music far belowIn the deep-wooded wind-enchanted clove.Hemlock and aspen, chestnut, beech, and firGo tiering down from storm-worn crest and ledge,While in the hollows of the dark ravineSee the red road emerge, then disappearTowards the wide plain and fertile valley lands.My forest cabin half-way up the glenIs solitary ...These last lines are remarkably precise about the location of the persona'sviewpoint: he is in a position that allows him to survey the scenery, but thisspot is only “half-way up the glen.” It seems important for the persona'slandscape experience that he is not too far above the landscape to be aware ofits refuge as well as its prospect potential. In fact, the enumeration of thevarious forest trees that might provide refuge is noteworthy, and the viewpointitself features a prominent element of shelter—the persona's cabin.In contrast to the panoramic view, objects seen from a low angle appear totower and overwhelm the spectator, and this perspective is thus appropriate tothe presentation of landscapes encountered with fear. McGregor (1985)observes the 19th-century Canadian artist's preference for painting waterfallsfrom exactly such an angle of vision—or to impute it to characters in thepicture:... waterfalls are typically seen from below and at relatively shortrange. The human figures, usually diminutive and almost alwaysplaced at or near the base of the falls, often seem to be trapped in thebottom of a deep bowl, and although the viewer usually looks downon these figures (diminishing them even further), we share theirperspective in looking up at the falls. (19)Joseph Howe's Acadia (1874) provides a poetic parallel to this use ofperspective, and here, too, an intimidating effect is unmistakable:There might you stand, beside that falling stream,Nor ought of man or of his doings dream;While high above you towers the rifted rock,Crowned by old groves, unscathed by tempest's shockAs from the steep its falling waters springAnd at your feet their broken foam-wreaths fling.12