Doug Roy, Cactus Moon, Cut Paper
First time I saw him
With a warm heart and tired eyes I said to her, I don’t want to wake up until the bears do, in the Spring. And then do it slow, drunk-like lumbering heavy at dusk, parts of me still asleep. Dobru notz.
* * *
An elk bugles from somewhere behind me. An older man walks toward me from the shore. A serious man with plenty of fuck off. But he means no harm. I can see his simple wooden boat is made from the planks of my grandfather’s barn. He says to me, Blood only means what you let it. Then tells me plain and matter of fact he’s packed everything I no longer need to carry through this life. It’s on the boat. All the shit you don’t need that burdens others, he says. I know where to take it. Just give me the word. I stood there looking at his enormous hands—his left hand a Sycamore, the right a Slavic Oak.
* * *
Drinking coffee in bed, I tell her becoming a chaplain in the prison and getting ordained will mean shedding my antlers. Of course, she says. I just don’t need to be trusted, I tell her, the way others do. Or liked. What I need is to do the work.
________________
Craig Goodworth
Review by Massimiliano Nastri
How should one define this work: poem, poetic prose?
I would call it a sketch, an impression but not exactly personal, a one-take but not an instant photo; it can grow, build up, but compressed. The tone is perfect, at least to a foreign ear: as plain as post-epic or agnostic Bible: you have the story, and the inner voice does not interfere with it. It is stated, does not overcome. Raymond Carver pulls out the roof of Nick Adams’ house, hears, sees and writes.
Review by Zeke Sanchez
Very powerful, a definite personality behind the poem. The depiction of the man is vital and strong. This poet has a gift for tying disparate scenes, images, together. Who are those poets that preceded us who tied things together like this, I forget. The man talking to his wife about a long sleep, a long rest, the image of the older man and the boat and his hands, and the enigmatic statement about loading the writer’s unwanted, unnecessary shit onto a boat, and then explaining to his wife the conditions he pulls from himself for the work he will be doing. It’s not easy to pull these paragraphs together, but it is rewarding.