Magic man... Poet?

The marketing of name , an errant, rob mclennan's eleventh book (but first in the UK) is clever in terms of theatre or spectacle. According to Douglas Barbour: Canada's 'mad pilgrim' crisscross(es) the prairies (and Eire) examining the unravellings of culture and 'writing down sand.' Hmmm. Wait now, isn't that more like a magician or a conjurer? Look, I'm not takin' the mick here. I like that quote. I wish someone would call me a mad pilgrim poet; it makes me think of a true sage, a wandering nomad. But there you go. Not everyone can have 'a handle' though some poets need one, no? But wait. Is this poetry as entertainment? (A novel concept, no?) Why didn't someone think of that?

The book is a travelogue of sorts and very good in the sense that the poems seem to be jotted down on the road across Canada (etc.) quick to get the mood of the moment in cafes and airport lounges. There are no sentimental musings of past loves or over wrought 'if only' or 'what ifs?' After all, when you are on the trot the world is a strangely exhilarating place:

'...is nothing more frightening to a 14 year old boy than a 14 year old girl...'
This is true, no?


***FULL BOOK REVIEW***HERE