Phil Hall

Recent Tree Appearances

October 28, 2014
Tree Seed Workshop
December 13, 2011
Tree Seed Workshop
September 13, 2011
Tree Seed Workshop
July 26, 2011
Featured Reader

Earlier Tree Appearances


In Print

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Oak Hunch
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Videos of Phil Hall

Special Events
December 11, 2012
Featured Reader
July 26, 2011
Featured Reader
May 25, 2010

Phil Hall

Raised on farms in the Kawarthas region of Ontario, Phil Hall's most recent book of poems is Killdeer.

Phil Hall’s poetry has been nominated for the Griffin Poetry Prize & the Governor General's Award. Among his many titles are Old Enemy Juice (1988), The Unsaid (1992), & Hearthedral – A Folk-Hermetic (1996). He has taught writing at York University, Ryerson Polytechnical University, Seneca College, George Brown College, and elsewhere. He has been poet-in-residence at Sage Hill Writing Experience (Sask.), The Pierre Berton House (Dawson City, Yukon), & elsewhere. His most recent books of poems are White Porcupine (2007), The Little Seamstress (2010) & Killdeer (2011). He is a member of the Writers’ Union of Canada, and lives near Perth, Ontario.


From Phil Hall


 My complex friendship 

with this oak table  


 from this pine chair / conducted


is to smear anxious focus upon 

 these radiant equilibrium wolds 


honed questless / grain to pulse


 to try to widen down into 

an affirming prudence


 to revere & help sound 

our one measure

A Widower

Out from the blinding swells 

of sunflowers & the tight rows of young fig trees 

 heavy women drift  


to shout drunk his old name

 to laugh & cant their gowns aside shoving 

each other into rude song 


 his wife is playing cribbage in the nude in the dark 

with talons in her wet hair 

 & here come these overblown bitches 


why not just pork it to them they bend over pull themselves 

 apart blatant caterwauling 

no he would preach the astringencies of romance


 sober them with flaky ballads 

pretend he is marble until he is marble 

 he turns away into his profile 


white-eyed & ravenous they divest him 

 his battered wing-on-a-strap flung hard into

dripping cliff-roots