By Fayth Simmons
The Hands by Canadian poet, journalist, and teacher Marty Gervais features a collection just shy of forty poems, in which life and its complexities are narrowed down into minute and thoughtful details. It is within these smaller details that Gervais best illustrates the import of lasting universal themes.
His collection is separated into three main parts, titled “Language of the River,” “His Father’s Work,” and finally, “The Hands.” A single poem serves as the epilogue, and another as the prologue. The layout is pleasing and meaningful in and of itself. The title is characteristic of the role that doing plays in the process of creating art, life, and ultimately—identity. In reference to the symbolism and function of the fingerprint, in that each is individual and key to identification, Gervais utilizes the idea of hand characterization to describe the innate components of the self; in the third part of his collection, he transfers this philosophy directly into the narrative descriptions of various significant people, from Mother Theresa to Rosa Parks. Within these portrayals, he highlights their humanity and the poignant details that compose their states of being. Using language, he is able to shine a singular light upon his subjects in a way that acknowledges the surrounding shadows without allowing them to distract from meaning and intention.
His narrative pieces are very dynamic—both objectively simple in their telling, and yet each word is eloquently placed to suit the tone of the work. Gervais writes and ruminates upon a variety of themes, focusing most prominently upon the movement of time and place and the importance of doing, in a sense of both the physical and the abstract. In language that almost murmurs, he aligns his words and the spaces between them to shape the page and the mind of the reader. He is intentional and works to place heavy emphasis upon the cruciality of detail (which is fitting for a poet, as mentioned within the introduction by author and professor Bruce Meyer).
By incorporating detailed musings, sometimes so specific as the mention of a teacup balanced precariously atop a ruin of disorder, Gervais centres his reader, giving a meditative experience of sorts. His collection is successful not because of its subversive and conceptualized intellect, but because it is so easily and almost effortlessly consumed. Each poem resonates at some mundane or existential level. For example, in “Walking Distance,” Gervais uses simplistic and yet delicate language to describe a universal feeling of overwhelm and the peace that might be recognized amid such states of unrest. It embodies longing and release in equal and opposite measure. And this is perhaps what Gervais does best. In minimized tones he is able to prescribe plot to his poetry; in each poem, there is linear relation, with a concrete beginning, middle, and end. This element of finality likely allows for a greater appreciation of the themes which he touches upon in his work—the reader is left satisfied, with closure established, having benefitted from Gervais’s power over language.
Thank you to Guernica Editions for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.