This Wednesday March 5 on
The Moe Green Poetry Hour
To listen to show click below
Listen live or later
Call in number 5 Pm Pacific time 8 PM eastern
Join Moe Green (AKA) Rafael F. J. Alvarado and
His cohost Corrie Greathouse
as they listen to the poetry of
Mr. Gavin is a poet, essayist and translator as well as a teacher. His book of poetry, Necessities, published in 2005 was nominated for a Pushcart prize. His second book Least Resistance was published in 2007 and is nominated for a Minnesota book award. His third book will appear in 2009 and is titled Stone and Sky. Mr. Gavin is editor of Tumbling Crane Magazine a postcard magazine that is devoted to publishing haiku. He’s also a senior editor of Fly Fishing Magazine.His environmental writing has appeared in , Gun Dog Magazine, Fly Rod and Reel, Sporting Tales, Monthly, the and many other publications. His poetry has been published widely and is anthologized in Seasons: Classic Tales of Life Outdoors, published by Cabin Bookshelf and in Farming Words an anthology of rural poetry.This year his short story “Even Better Than Love” was published in TOSCA: a magazine of opera, and his story “Just Above the Water Line” will appear in the spring issue of The Yale Angling Journal.
He’s a founding member of The Rivers Trust of , an organization that purchases and preserves the headwaters of critical coldwater streams.
Mr. Gavin lives in.
Born in the Bronx and having grown up next door to Harvey Shapiro’s poems. He makes me see my birthplace as he sees his home territory, with an added element of Old Testament reference, beautiful wording, expression and emotion. At 84, I have no desire to go back to — to the parks, museums, theaters, stores, eateries. Only in Shapiro’s poems am I pleased to look up at a bridge, a street sign, as if walking back into a dream and sitting down one day on a park bench. Particularly appealing is the odd, diarylike poem ”May 14, 1978”:in Montclair, N.J., I feel an odd nostalgia hearing
The poetasks me,
What world is it you want to enter?
Percussive rain on the early morning window.
The house, the steady breathing, focused now
on the lighted surface of my desk.
I cannot answer him for joy and dread.
there as if we were in ,
Jesus and Mohammed touching down
and going up, just another
launching pad, as I get off
the bus and head home.
I am on the lookout for
A great illumining,
Prepared to recognize it
Instantly and put it to use
Even among the desks
And chairs of the office, should
It come between nine and five.
Shapiro’s women seem to be equal parts goddess and whore, beauty and a kind of harmless beastiness. This vision is too limited, but it is at least frank — not hostile, just limited. Many readers may wonder, as I do, how he put his book together. Although the work seems to be printed in roughly chronological order, it would be a kindness to the reader to have some sort of grouping, even if only numbered batches. But these are minor concerns. As a ”reader” who has recently gone blind, I am thankful for Shapiro’s ”Selected Poems.” As he says of the English poets, ”they can / bring me back my City line by line,” so his poems bring me back my childhood city, poem by poem.