“When I first met David Elkins, I saw a tall, mature, willowy man who read his poem about a boy shunned by others but befriended by the poet. It was so sensitive that I bought his book A Bulldog’s Guide to Motor Cycle Repair. To this day, that book is one of the few on just poetry that I have had the pleasure to read all the way through. The others are by Charles Bukowski and the collected works of Pablo Neruda. What I will say about David Elkins is that he is the real deal.  ”

— Robin John Anderson

“The writing here ranges from poems so crisply cinematic that reading them is like watching a three-D movie, to poems so simply and delicately honest that they float on the page like watercolour. Elkins's talent is prodigious and his book is an act of generosity.  ”

— Carol Haralson

“As promised in the back cover, Elkins’ poems really do “wander just below the surface … beneath fields and cities, love and family.” Some won the International CKG Award for Poetry in 1992.

Also an award-winning short story writer, some poems tend toward length and detail, but the best are precise Buddhist meditations — Haiku moments of time — the way a Higgs boson indicates the presence of the Higgs field.

My favourite poem from Section 1 is Tipsy Moon: “An old Chinese poet wondered / what is better, poetry or wine? / After the office party / I walk out to the tangled orchard / … amid sweet fruit / a smirking silver moon rises … .” Everyone should read the old Chinese poets. And toast them with wine!

From Sec. 2, Autumn Lovers: “Afternoon’s rush of trees / yellow wind unbraids the leaves / to sweep the naked shoulders of the hill … .” Pure lines of craft any poet would be proud to write and read aloud.

The strongest poem in the book, from Sec. 3, is poetry class: “Irving Layton / gray-maned lion / prophet voiced / reads poems so soft and strong / images rise over earth / explode in storm and light / … we feel our neck hairs rise.” This poetic metaphor suggests we are about to be struck with Layton’s lightning. Perfect!

The longer poems in Sec. 4, written in Spain, read more like a travel journal. One exception is Fragrance of an Idea: “A thin sliver of a silver moon / coaxes luminous roses / to just hold their color in the pale night / spicy air presses down on spilling pools / filled with the same stars … .” Nicely done.

Sec. 5’s favourite is Gift: “ You insisted on buying me this sweater / at the Buffalo Exchange / This was ten years ago / on a brilliant October day … / when all that was important / was kindness.” Crisp.

Finally, a poem from Sec. 6 that resonates, Long Wake: “…your mother died on Saturday / her breath suspended / her heart a buried bulb / that will not flower on earth again … .” Bittersweet.”

— Philip K. Thompson The ChronicleHerald