Changes of State

Martin Singleton was a poet living in Toronto.

This is the eighth book of poetry from this prolific and very gifted author. The lovely cover illustration by Jerry Didur leads into type that is always clear but, in the longer poems, somewhat small.

The first of the book’s two sections is largely political. There’s a sensitive poem about the retiring, underrated Philip Larkin: “he composed no score/for happiness, but improvised/a life of common pleasure taken in a minor key.” “A Commonwealth of Poets” takes a satiric look at the vainglorious pretensions of that breed, while “The Last Canto” is a splendid send-up of Pound. The focus, however, is mainly on political change, struggle: the death-squads of Guatemala, Gandhi’s magnificent defiance, the changing face of China. Though the scenes he portrays are often horrific — the anger is justified — Geddes can lighten the poem with puns (“cowhorts,” “Hull-bent for leather”), and children appear frequently as symbols of hope.

Section Two is more personal, dealing with childhood memories, friends, loves, and the author’s interaction with nature. The poems are set in a variety of forms: three-line stanzas, a superb, five-page, free-verse soliloquy, a long poem in haiku-like sections. Frequently the poem ends in a rhyming couplet, giving a sense of completion. Content shapes form: there is never any sense of falseness or strain. Imagery is striking: out west “mountains hold you,/in parentheses,” the mast of a capsized boat is a “crazy metronome.” Changes of State, in its humanism, insight, and craft, is — quite simply — a world-class book.