Tom Thomson in Purgatory

the real life tom thomson was one of canada's greatest artists who died, story has it, under mysterious circumstances, drowning in algonquin park's canoe lake in 1917. a story of which jollimore is most familiar. tom thomson makes his appearance in the first section of jollimore's collection, entitled: from the boy scout manual, a selection of poems pondering the elemental nature of the earth and universe thru first perceptions of transformations as seen by a boy in the poem, glass: 'what a surprise to see that things end, that things are transformed into other things...it must have been so much for a child to grasp. and what of water, which looks like glass but does not shatter? and what of air? and what of the soul? are we glass or are we water? and where does the child go who wants this answered?' and by ovid, and the presocratic philosophers, though the philosophers are shunned when the boy becomes a man in trout quintet: 'the philosopher thales devised a method of measuring tom thomson by taking the length of his shadow at the moment when a normal man's shadow was as long as the man was tall. tom thomson snorts at philosophers.' and in trout quintet looms large as folk tale hero who when interviewed is deferential of the legendary exploits that spring up around him: four men could stand in tom thomson's shadow, smoking cigars and talking about baseball. one night four men came for him carrying guidebooks and sawed-off shotguns. a week later their chevy suburban was found. the motor was running. the left turn indicator blinking. the glove was filled with trout.' this is the territory of ernest hemingway's short stories. the second section of the book, entitled: tom thomson in purgatory, has tom hiding out, one of the poems even entitled tom thomson hiding out, going to his uneventful job every day and returning to his apartment at day's end. the poems describing his purgatory are 44 sonnets influenced by jollimore's 'co-conspirator', john berryman, particularly his dream songs wherein berryman follows henry on his travels, switching noun verb agreement and giving grammar a good slouch, 2 strategies employed by jollimore: 'time goes on. and ashamed he is to say how time goes on. as if it might be paused if only he the password had. ...'

There is no question that critics are correct in saying that Troy Jollimore is the next great American poet... but let's just remember that he is Canadian. I think it important that every once in a while Canadians make that claim on him, lest it be forgotten... There is a decidedly Canadian feel - at least to this Canadian - to his poems of the fictitious Tom Thomson. To see the inner life of Tom is to see an honesty and depth lacking in most poetry and absent in most fiction. The poetry involving Tom Thomson is a character study of unnerving depth which fascinates and draws the reader in to the truth of Tom. While I enjoy the titular Tom Thomson series of poems, it is the many other works here which move me the most... especially "Height of my Powers" which, in its simplicity and simple setting reveals the strength of love and the little things: The simple dress/ that you say looks like an apron, that I won't/ admit how much I adore, because/ I don't want you to stop wearing it. What bibliophile can resist "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, Ruined by Reading the Cantos of Ezra Pound: Or, Song of my Shelf" with its constant use of book titles and literary reference (and of course that great film Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead) and quiet denouement: Little friend, little friend,/ fall on your knees./ Let it come down./ Call it sleep. Of course, connecting back to my rural Canadian upbringing I can't help but love "From the Boy Scout Manual". Not how I remember Boy Scouts...but I think I like Troy's version better: If gold, jewels or currency/ are turned up during the process, they/ belong to the scout who owns the shovel. In reading Troy Jollimore's Tom Thomson in Purgatory, happily, you are that scout...

An academician who currently serves on the faculty of California State University, Canadian poet Troy Jollimore is deftly adroit at writing both free verse and prose poetry. "Tom Thomson In Purgatory" is a compilation of his best work and proved to be the 2005 winner of the Robert E. Lee & Ruth I. Wilson Poetry Book Award. Imaginative, lyrical, compelling, thoughtful, thought-provoking, and highly recommended reading, here is a body of work that will well serve to demonstrate and document Troy Jollimore as one of the best of his generation. `After': If we must speak of each other, let it be/in the forms that monarchs and generals use/to refer to their rivals; as if each were known/to the other only through field reports/and classified intelligences. Let it be/in tones of wariness, grudging respect, and,/where permitted, mutual admiration./Let our campaign be conducted on these terms.//And if people speak of the `break-up,'/let us hear in that the cold overtones/of the word as applied to a glacier: how,/new light found an entry, and the gleaming designs,/a kaleidoscope view-a lens through which/itself to be seen-as the fragments, mindless/and pure, frigid yet free, plunged/to the sea, that vast, that resolute,/that insensate, that insatiable sea.

Near the center of Troy Jollimore's book come the following lines: "and people form strange patterns, fields, as if / a magnet he, and iron filings they." The people in this book, particularly the protagonist, form strange and compelling patterns. When we first glimpse Tom Thomson he's fishing and playing solitaire: "Each time he loses, / he throws his cards into the water. / Each time he wins / he catches a trout." The relationship between the characters and the world they inhabit is quirky--sometimes charming, sometimes sad, sometimes extremely funny. It's always complicated, and not in the conventional ways that poems often throw their readers. In Jollimore's poems we always know exactly what has happened in the literal sense. We can picture it, summarize a plot, name the main characters, and even tell some choice stories about them. Yet something important remains mysterious, inexplicable, impossible to pinpoint. The mystery (and the relentless variation in the long sonnet series) keeps you reading. Along the way, you acquire some questions: "And what of water, / which looks like glass but does not shatter? / And what of air? And what of the soul? / Are we glass or are we water? And where / does the child go who wants this answered?" And you learn a plethora of reasons why Tom Thomson likes a place: "because the satellites cannot see it" and because the trout come and stop there, because parsley and wild tomatoes grow on the banks, and because of the way "his canoe fits the water" and "the water fits the earth." And you even get an invitation to slough off your own identity for a bit (in "How to Get There"): When you reach the village (the cluster of white houses) stop and discard the map. Also get rid of the passengers. From here on they'd only weigh you down. Leave them by the side of the road. You'll need a new identity. Call yourself `Gary.' Say that you're in `insurance.' My advice is to call yourself Gary, take the detour, and spend some time in Jollimore's beautiful and strangely patterned world.