He is 60 years old and though he had started writing poetry in his early '20s it wasn't until he was over 40 that Al Purdy dented the Canadian poetry scene. From that point on he dented, good-naturedly, the ribs of a number of Canadian poets as well. A freight train rider in the Depression and a factory worker later on, at six-feet three-inches and still growing, Purdy seemed never to realize his own physical strength…. The same physical energy animates Purdy's poetry. If anyone, it is he who is Canada's working man's voice, enjoying our land with his fingertips as well as his mind. (pp. 49-50)

Sometimes he is accused of sentimentality in his outspoken love affair with Canada's sheer physical attraction. But Purdy is too wise, shrewd and good-humored for sentimentality. It takes rare reservoirs of rage, love and common sense to capture the contrasts and contradictions of a country as strong and weak, as ultramodern and prehistoric as Canada. (p. 50)