The Man from Saskatchewan

Chris Knight is copy editor of the National Post in Toronto.

In spite of its vaguely James Bond–style title, this collection is
down-to-prairie-earth, an example of work that is not about a place per
se, but is clearly informed, even infused, with a sense of place. Gerald
Hill is a Saskatchewan poet, and it shows.

The poems are presented in five loose groupings, and they work well as
such. In a series called “Eye Pieces,” the repetition and various
takes on the ocular—“Sharp Eye,” “Wandering Eye,” “False
Eye,” “Evil Eye,” etc.—strengthen the larger group. Hill writes:
“The fake eye says See ya later, / but you know / it will not.” Or
the wandering eye, “frightening / schoolgirls with its manic weave /
befuddling strangers with its loose ironies.”

Hill excels in the book’s longer works—he’s able to stretch his
poetic legs, as it were. The eight-part “Spike’s Weeks” is a good
example, as it paints a delicate portrait of a rough man: “Wondering
how spike feels is like waiting / for a train. It’ll show up, but
when.”