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Robert Hogg

Updated: Feb 18, 2020

Robert Hogg was born in Edmonton, Alberta, grew up in the Cariboo and Fraser Valley in British Columbia, and attended UBC during the early Sixties where he was associated with the Vancouver TISH poets and graduated with a BA in English and Creative Writing. In 1964 he hitchhiked east to Toronto, then visited Buffalo NY where Charles Olson was teaching. After spending a few months in NYC, Bob entered the graduate program at the State University of NY at Buffalo, completed a PhD and took a job teaching American and Canadian Poetry at Carleton University in Ottawa for the next 38 years. He currently resides at his farm fifty miles south of Ottawa and is working on four collections: Lamentations; The Cariboo Poems; Postcards, from America; and The Vancouver Work. His publications include: The Connexions, Berkeley: Oyez, 1966; Standing Back, Toronto: Coach House, 1972; Of Light, Toronto: Coach House, 1978; Heat Lightning, Windsor: Black Moss, 1986; There Is No Falling, Toronto: ECW, 1993; and as editor, An English Canadian Poetics, The Confederation Poets – Vol. 1, Vancouver: Talonbooks, 2009; and from Lamentations, Ottawa: above/ground, 2016. Two Cariboo poems, Ranch Days – The McIntosh from hawk/weed press in Kemptville, Ontario, and Ranch Days—for Ed Dorn from battleaxe press in Ottawa have recently been published (2019). He edited the April 2019 Canadian poetry issue of the Portland Maine Café Review.



Oil Change

Draining the oil of a tractor

is hardly a mythical act

worthy of classical hexameters

But neither is a seized up engine

a purely metaphysical fact

Likewise: add new

oil and change filter

are poor excuses for

Christian parable

Nonetheless we follow

such modern precepts

happily enough nor chafe

unduly at skinned knuckles

knowing that freedom consists

in meeting perfection half way


Dawn Poem

All cataracts

the gray-fall light

stepping between bodies/friends

asleep on the floor

had held itself

openly the white

blind pulled down

can’t keep out

the light

the night

sounds of your child

first chirps of a bird

rattling window night

weariness back

pain can’t

keep anything out

can’t keep out these

thoughts of you

here, turning in


torsion of your hips




I want to say but what

does that have to do with your lips

which seem to quiver

knowledge and loveliness

in the half light

After breakfast you read my Tarot

the cards falling

spherically the Sun

at center evidently