Looking for the Gulf Motel

by Richard Blanco

Family continues to be a wellspring of inspiration and learning for Blanco. His third book of poetry, Looking for The Gulf Motel, is a genealogy of the heart, exploring how his family’s emotion legacy has shaped—and continues shaping—his perspectives. The collection is presented in three movements, each one chronicling his understanding of a particular facet of life from childhood into adulthood. As a child born into the milieu of his Cuban exiled familia, the first movement delves into early questions of cultural identity and their evolution into his unrelenting sense of displacement and quest for the elusive meaning of home. The second, begins with poems peering back into family again, examining the blurred lines of gender, the frailty of his father-son relationship, and the intersection of his cultural and sexual identities as a Cuban-American gay man living in rural Maine. In the last movement, poems focused on his mother’s life shaped by exile, his father’s death, and the passing of a generation of relatives, all provide lessons about his own impermanence in the world and the permanence of loss. Looking for the Gulf Motel is looking for the beauty of that which we cannot hold onto, be it country, family, or love.

Genres: Poetry, LGBT, American, Fiction, Latinx, 21st Century, Queer

96 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 2012

About the author

Richard Blanco was born in Madrid in 1968, immigrating as an infant with his Cuban-exile family to the U.S. He was raised and educated in Miami, earning a B.S. in civil engineering and a M.F.A. in creative writing from Florida International University.

In 2013, Blanco was chosen to serve as the fifth inaugural poet of the United States, following in the footsteps as such great writers as Robert Frost and Maya Angelou. Blanco performed One Today, an original poem he wrote for the occasion, becoming the youngest, first Latino, immigrant and openly gay writer to hold the honor.

Following the inauguration, he continued connecting communities through occasional poetry. He has written and performed occasional poems for such organizations as Freedom to Marry, the Tech Awards and the Fragrance Awards. In May of 2013, Blanco wrote Boston Strong, a poem he performed at the Boston Garden Benefit Concert and at a Red Sox game at Fenway. Following his performances, he released a limited edition Boston Strong chapbook, with all proceeds going to those most affected by the Boston Marathon bombings.

His books, in order of publication, are: City of a Hundred Fires (1998), Directions to the Beach of the Dead (2005), Looking for the Gulf Motel (2012), One Today (2013), Boston Strong (2013), and For All of Us, One Today: An Inaugural Poet’s Journey (2013).

Blanco has received numerous honors for his writings and performances, including an honorary doctorate from Macalester College and being named a Woodrow Wilson Visiting Fellow. His first book, City of a Hundred Fires received the prestigious Agnes Starrett Poetry Prize. His second book, Directions to the Beach of the Dead won the PEN / American Beyond Margins Award. His third book, Looking for The Gulf Motel received various accolades, including the Tom Gunn Award, the Maine Literary Award and the Paterson Prize. His poems have appeared in countless literary journals and anthologies, including Best American Prose Poems and Ploughshares.

Blanco has been a practicing engineer, writer and poet since 1991. He has traveled extensively in his adult life, living and working throughout Europe and South America. He has taught at Georgetown University, American University, Writer’s Center and Central Connecticut State University. Blanco currently lives and writes in the tranquil mountains of Bethel, Maine.

Reviews

[Julie G · Rating 5 out of 5]

I haven't felt this way about a gay man since George Michael.



I'm serious. It's only the second time in my life I've wondered, if, like Elaine Benes on Seinfeld, I could convert a gay man?

What if he closed his eyes and/or the room was really dark? What if I had calloused hands?

Never mind. This is getting inappropriate, and I'd hate to be inappropriate.

I don't mean to objectify this talented writer, it's just that he's so hot, I can't help myself. Plus, he grew up minutes away from where I grew up and his writing. . .



Whimper. He's my dream man.

Not a study or a den, but El Florida
as my mother called it, a pretty name
for the room with the prettiest view
of the lipstick-red hibiscus puckered up
against the windows, the tepid breeze
laden with the brown-sugar scent
of loquats drifting in from the yard.

Not a sunroom, but where the sun
both rose and set, all day the shadows
of banana trees fan-dancing across
the floor, and if it rained, it rained
the loudest, like marbles plunking
across the roof under constant threat
of coconuts ready to fall from the sky.

Not a sitting room, but El Florida, where
I sat alone for hours with butterflies
frozen on the polyester curtains
and faces of Lladró figurines: sad angels,
clowns, and princesses with eyes glazed
blue and gray, gazing from behind
the glass doors of the wall cabinet.

Not a TV room, but where I watched
Creature Feature as a boy, clinging
to my brother, safe from vampires
in the same sofa where I fell in love
with Clint Eastwood and my Abuelo
watching westerns, or pitying women
crying in telenovelas with my Abuela.

Not a family room, but the room where
my father twirled his hair while listening
to eight-tracks of Elvis, read Nietzsche
and Kant a few months before he died,
where my mother learned to dance alone
as she swept, and I learned salsa pressed
against my Tía Julia's enormous breasts.

At the edge of the city, in the company
of crickets, beside the empty clothesline,
telephone wires, and the moon, tonight
my life is an old friend sitting with me
not in the living room, but in the light
of El Florida, as quiet and necessary
as any star shining above it.

[Maxwell · Rating 4 out of 5]

I picked this up off a library shelf with no idea whatsoever of who Richard Blanco is or anything about this collection. My goal this year is to write more poetry, and I figured if I'm trying to write more I better read more as well. Well, what a great first collection to start the year. Blanco is a master of blending nostalgia with personal reflection and yet avoids making it saccharine. At the same time, he doesn't only reflect on the trauma or tragedies of his childhood; he blends the good and bad with clear images that convey emotions so well—it's like you are inside his brain. I will admit the first few poems didn't hook me, but I'm so glad I took my time with this collection, reading a few poems each day. It really allowed me to stew in his writing and style, and by the end I was sold.

Favorite poems include: "Of Consequence, Inconsequently", "The Port Pilot", "My Brother on Mt. Barker", "My Father, My Hands", "Cheers to Hyakutake," and "Since Unfinished".

[Dan · Rating 5 out of 5]

I picked up this collection because Richard Blanco was the poet at President Obama's second inauguration, and because we share a similar biography - both Blanco and I are the children of Cuban exiles who grew up in Florida; we're both gay; we both lost our fathers.

It shouldn't be a surprise, then, that I saw myself here as clearly as if I were gazing into a mirror. I found myself dog earring like mad - and I'm the type of reader that regards the book as a sacred object, loath am I to defile it - so that I'll be able to come back to these poems later. There's a line in one of the final poems, "Place of Mind," that sums up my feelings quite nicely: "Always ending, yet always beginning / the search for myself ends in echo."

You and I, Richard Blanco, we're like spirit brothers. I look forward to encountering more of your work.

If you liked this, make sure to follow me on Goodreads for more reviews!

[Ken · Rating 5 out of 5]

A winsome early set of Blanco's poetry, a poet whose name I knew (Obama's Inauguration) but who's work I did not. Glad to set that wrong right.

Blanco mines his own personal story for gold. It lies in his roots as the son of Cuban exiles. Lots of poems, then, around his grandparents, parents, brothers, and mostly himself. Getting used to a new culture figures prominently, too, and Blanco is that rare poet who knows how to put humor (vs. just anger) to good cause.

I'll leave you with an example:


Betting on America

My grandmother was the bookie, set up
at the kitchen table that night, her hair
in curlers, pencil and pad jotting down
two-dollar bets, paying five-to-one
on which Miss would take the crown.

Abuelo put his money on Miss Wyoming--
She's got great teeth, he pronounced as if
complimenting a horse, not her smile
filling the camera before she wisped away
like a cloud in her creamy chiffon dress.

I dug up enough change from the sofa
and car seats to bet on Miss Wisconsin,
thinking I was as American as she because
I was as blond as she was, and I knew
that's where all the cheese came from.

That wasn't all: chocolate was from Miss
Pennsylvania, the capital of Miss Montana
was Helena, Mount Rushmore was in
Miss South Dakota, and I knew how to say
Miss Con-nec-ti-cut unlike my Tia Gloria

who just pointed at the TV: Esa--that one,
claiming she had her same figure before
leaving Cuba. It's true... I have pictures,
she declared before cramming another
bocadito sandwich into her mouth.

Papa refused to bet on any of the Misses
because Americanos all have skinny butts
he complained. There's nothing like a big
culo cubano. Everyone agreed--es verdad--
except for me and my little cousin Julito,

who apparently was a breast man at five,
reaching for Miss Alabama's bosom
on the screen, the leggy mulata sashaying
in pumps, swimsuit, seducing Tío Pedro
into picking her as the sure winner.

She's the one! She looks Cubana, he swore,
and she did, but she cost him five bucks.
¡Cojones! he exploded as confetti rained,
Bert Parks leading Miss Ohio, the new
Miss America, by the hand to the runway.

Gloves up to her elbows, velvet down
to her feet, crying diamonds into her bouquet,
the queen of our country, our land of the free,
amid the purple mountains of her majesty
floating across the stage, our living room,

though no one bet on her, and none of us
--not even me-- could answer Mamá
when she asked: ¿Dónde está Ohio?


To people of an age, names like Bert Parks and the Super Bowl-esque attraction of pageants like Miss America make sense (the only thing a bit off here is that the winner doesn't come from a southern state), but even if you're a younger reader, you'll no doubt appreciate Blanco's sense of humor and family. Perhaps it's a family like yours.

[Lucy Dacus · Rating 5 out of 5]

This was a gift from a dear friend and it was splendid. It's sentimental without being self-indulgent. The questions he has of his own identity and family will stick with me. His voice is loving, confused, and careful.

[Nadine in NY Jones · Rating 3 out of 5]

I feel like a jerk saying this, but: this was okay. Blanco writes about identity, and the struggle to live a life full of multiple identities and how to combine them into one well-lived life. If I also struggled with identity, I might find these poems powerful. Maybe. Maybe not. They weren't bad. But they didn't connect with me, they just sort of sat there and stared at me.

Since Unfinished
I’ve been writing this since
the summer my grandfather
taught me how to hold a blade
of grass between my thumbs
and make it whistle, since
I first learned to make green
from blue and yellow, turned
paper into snowflakes, believed
a seashell echoed the sea,
and the sea had no end.

I’ve been writing this since
a sparrow flew into my class
and crashed into the window,
laid to rest on a bed of tissue
in a shoebox by the swings, since
the morning I first stood up
on the bathroom sink to watch
my father shave, since our eyes
met in that foggy mirror, since
the splinter my mother pulled
from my thumb, kissed my blood.

I’ve been writing this since
the woman I slept with the night
of my father’s wake, since
my grandmother first called me
a faggot and I said nothing, since
I forgave her and my body
pressed hard against Michael
on the dance floor at Twist, since
the years spent with a martini
and men I knew I couldn’t love.

I’ve been writing this since
the night I pulled off the road
at Big Sur and my eyes caught
the insanity of the stars, since
the months by the kitchen window
watching the snow come down
like fallout from a despair I had
no word for, since I stopped
searching for a name and found
myself tick-tock in a hammock
asking nothing of the sky.

I’ve been writing this since
spring, studying the tiny leaves
on the oaks dithering like moths,
contrast to the eon-old fieldstones
unveiled of snow, but forever
works-in-progress, since tonight
with the battled moon behind
the branches spying on the world—
same as it ever was—perfectly
unfinished, my glasses and pen
at rest again on the night table.

I’ve been writing this since
my eyes started seeing less,
my knees aching more, since
I began picking up twigs, feathers,
and pretty rocks for no reason
collecting on the porch where
I sit to read and watch the sunset
like my grandfather did everyday,
remembering him and how
to make a blade of grass whistle.

[Jake · Rating 4 out of 5]

Though work prevented me from watching President Obama's second inauguration, I made it a point to go on YouTube afterward and watch the inaugural poet. Prior to that moment, I had no familiarity with Richard Blanco. His reading impressed me, both the words and the dignity of his vocal style. Later, after listening to an NPR interview, I resolved to try his poetry.

To be frank, Mr. Blanco uses a poetic style I tend to get cynical about. As I once told my Facebook friends, so much of contemporary poetry is just half-assed essay. Not so with Blanco's work. He has the ability to string together a series of images that could be forgettable, but instead makes them memorable with well-timed qualitative phrases that provide contextual and emotional punch. Technique and forethought are everywhere apparent. More than anything else, Blanco is profoundly gifted at ending his poems. They don't peter out. Whether with a twist, or a sense of arriving at the core idea, the poetry ends wonderfully.

If this volume has any weakness, I would point to the cumulative effect of so many poems exploring similar sentiments. This is a subjective criticism. Still, without blaming any one poem, while reading cover to cover I sometimes felt a sense of the material wallowing. This is a minor criticism. I loved the poetry. This is an excellent volume filled with humanity, heritage, and humor. For the price of a movie ticket, soda and popcorn, I treated myself to an extremely satisfying weekend of great verse.

[Michael · Rating 5 out of 5]

I've started carrying this slim volume of poetry with me, just so I can reflect on the words whenever I have a moment. Blanco explores the search for identity, family and the legacy of time in this collection. Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the beauty of the words, or they trigger images from my own life. It's worth having on your shelf.

[Rebecca McPhedran · Rating 5 out of 5]

Glorious small glimpses into his life as a young boy. His memories of his parents. His thoughts on belonging, and loss. In his writings, you can hear the ocean, feel the intense heat of the Florida sun, and smell his mother’s cooking.

Poignant and so very powerful, Richard Blanco has a lot to say in a few pages.

[Caroline · Rating 5 out of 5]

I’ve been wanting to read some of Richard Blanco’s poems ever since Obama chose him as the poet for the inauguration which brought his name to my attention. I’d liked the poems of his that I found on-line. He’s had three collections published and someone suggested that it might be good to start with his most recent ‘Looking for the Gulf Motel’. Very sensible advice as poets generally get better as they get older and more mature. I took `Gulf Motel’ with me on a trip to the West of Ireland and it was an ideal travelling companion. Blanco pours so much into these poems, his family, their history, his childhood, growing up gay and stumbling towards an accommodation with being different and also with wanting to be American. In ‘The Name I wanted’ he writes
...
Ricardo De Jesus Blanco I dub thee myself
Sir Richard Jesus White
defender of my own country, protector
of my wishes, conqueror of mirrors, sovereign
of my imagination – a name of my name.

Members of his family appear in various guises so that reading this collection is like looking through a photograph album except that they speak and argue back and in the middle of them all is Blanco – Of consequence, Inconsequently

I’d like to believe I’ve willed every detail
of my life but I’m a consequence, a drop
of rain, a seed fallen by chance, here

in the middle of a story I don’t know,
having to finish it and call it my own.

There are love poems in this book for the men who’ve passed through his life and to the one who stayed – Love Poem according to Quantum Theory – for Mark

….. except you
with me in this world of words I’ll never

find for us, yet always reaching farther
than Orion to where the stars all bloom,
and according to theory there’s another
for you whose words are far more clever.

[Jonathan Tennis · Rating 5 out of 5]

Richard Blanco’s Wikipedia page lists as occupations: poet, public speaker, civil engineer, teacher and memoirist as jobs held and performed. But that list is so limiting. Blanco, whose parents fled Cuba in the late 1960s, first to Spain and eventually to the United States, is just the fifth poet to read at a Presidential inauguration, joining the likes of Frost, Angelou, Miller Williams and Elizabeth Alexander.

My favorites from this collection were Looking for the Gulf Motel & Queer Theory: According to My Grandmother

[Mary · Rating 4 out of 5]

Beautifully sensitive and compelling volume of poetry about life's cycles: beginnings, growing, learning, disappointments, endings and then the inevitable transition into the next life. Unbelievably relatable and lyrically beautiful. I liked the title poem: Looking for the Gulf Motel, The Island Within, House of the Virgin Mary, Remembering What Tia Noelia Can't, Bones, Teeth and Burning in the Rain.

[Terri R · Rating 4 out of 5]

I do not often read poetry but I liked Richard Blanco's story and that he was chosen to read at the second inauguration of Barack Obama. This slim volume was fun to read, though many of the pictures he paints with his words are melancholy as well as beautiful.

[Nina · Rating 5 out of 5]

Blanco's collection reads like a memoir in verse, the poems moving the way life does from his family's early days in America to his adult years. Blanco is a consummate storyteller. We see the longing by his adult relatives for Cuba, and the ache of Blanco to fit in with neighbors and classmates in America. The prologue title poem could be the past of any reader, returning to the area where his family routinely went for vacation, searching for the physical and familial landmarks that anchored his childhood.

from the title poem:
I should still be eight years old
dazzled by seashells and how many seconds
I hold my breath underwater- but I'm not.
I am thirty-eight, driving up Collier Boulevard,
looking for the Gulf Motel, for everything
that should still be, but isn't.

The theme of searching runs throughout this book, searching for identity, for family memories, for belonging, connection, and love. Sexual orientation is also a prominent theme.

[Andrea Taylor · Rating 4 out of 5]

Richard Blanco speaks from the heart and memories. The experiences that shape our inner life and our actions. Tearing the band aid off of what were painful feelings and exposing them to the air. Now that is what one calls a TRIUMPH! Bravo to this brave and interesting poet that shares the ups and downs of his life's journey so far.

[Bookish · Rating 3 out of 5]

Richard Blanco is an American poet who describes himself as being "made in Cuba, assembled in Spain, imported to America." Selected by President Barack Obama to serve as the fifth presidential inaugural poet in U.S. history in 2012, Blanco joined the ranks of Robert Frost and Maya Angelou with his reading of For All of Us, One Today: An Inaugural Poet’s Journey (2013) in which he "shared the emotional details of his experiences as presidential inaugural poet and reflected on his understanding of what it means to be an American."

In Looking for the Gulf Motel, his third collection of poems released the year before his inaugural reading, Blanco explores complex concepts such as personhood, home, masculinity, sexuality, and mortality through the central question of belonging. Taking the form of a memoir, the first two of the three untitled sections of the book follows the author from childhood to adulthood as select memories trace a maturing path.

Throughout the first section, the young boy attempts to situate himself as part of a larger whole, whether that be in an artificially constructed sense of American-ness, or the 1st generation child of Cuban exiles in 1970s Miami grappling with what Marianne Hirsch terms "post memory." Drawing on the seemingly dueling forces of Cuban and 'American' culture, the nature of one's name in "The Name I Wanted" becomes the source of displacement, whereas in "Tia Margarita Johnson's House in Hollywood" ubiquitous and notoriously whitewashed popular culture acts as a point of differential. "Cousin Consuelo, On Piano" and "the Island Within" subtly manage the stresses of post memory, while "Of Consequence, Inconsequently" seems to ask if perhaps the nature of national identity itself hangs on tenterhooks. What is home? What makes a home? How does one get home? And how long does this journey take? are a few questions alluded to.

The second section brings forth a further challenge to belonging: memories which see the boy and teenager questioning the nature of masculinity and sexuality, and the man question the nature of his loves. "Playing With Pepin" attempts to subvert paterfamilias with the young boy acting the wife in a game of playing house. "Queer Theory: According to My Grandmother" presents a long and concerted attack on the perceived homosexual nature of, amongst other things, legos, GI Joes, and crossing your legs, according to the titular figure. The incredulousness of the list cannot help but inspire laughter, which does not last, however, when the restrictive nature of what is homosexual, and the implications of her "seeing him" as queer becomes increasingly transparent.

As the collection comes to a close, the author's perspective remains that of an adult throughout; confronting his parents personhood's, his mother's aging and mortality, and his powerlessness in the face of it, and finally his own mortality and selfhood, along with the uncertain state of memory itself. "Burning in the Rain" is an especially thought-provoking poem on the potential for damage that lies in our past, and our sometimes futile efforts to let go of it, while "Cooking With Mama in Maine" brings elusive memory into a cherished space.

Written in the style of narrative poetry, the author's tone is generous, wry, and contemplative. Considered by some critics to be a memoir, or by others a genealogy, the collection does not limit itself to a particular way of looking back upon the past, even invoking the spirit of an elegy at times. On the whole, I've enjoyed reading and re-reading what has been my first book of poems by Richard Blanco. I look forward to reading his prose memoir: Prince of Los Cocuyos: A Miami Childhood.

[Johnny Diaz · Rating 5 out of 5]

Like Miami, Richard Blanco's writing is lush and seductive, crackling with a sophisticated sensuality.
Blanco's prose glows like a slow burning Key West sunset in his newest book of poetry "Looking for the Gulf Motel." As in his other collections, Blanco escorts the reader on a rich spiritual journey of self-discovery as he seeks to understand his complicated Cuban past and present. For so many Cubans, the crocodile-shaped island is a virtual country, one that many generations can't help but wax rhapsodic over after hearing their parents' stories. Or as Blanco writes "still trying to reach that unreachable island within the island...I thought I was done with Cuba, tired of filling the blanks, but now I'm not so sure" he writes in "The Island Within" p. 16.

Blanco's writing sparkles with the details of everyday life from Miami to Maine and anyone who has lived or visited those places will instantly recognize Blanco's spot on descriptions. There's his childhood living room where he "sat along for hours with butterflies frozen on the polyester curtains and faces of Lladro figurines'' to "the White Mountains etched in my living room window" as Blanco prepared to cook with his mom during her visit to Maine.

Seashells (que South Florida!) serve as literary devices that split the book into three sections - Blanco recalling vacations in South Florida (hence The Gulf Motel) ; how he wrestled with his homosexuality as an effeminate kid in a Latin household; and how as an adult, he tries to come to terms with his triple identity - Cuban, American, gay man.

Although the settings change, the poems share a common theme - the meaning of home and how those places and the people in them intertwine and shape who we are, from childhood to adulthood.
A recurring character: Blanco's watchful abuela!
One particular poem, "Queer Theory: According to My Grandmother" (p.34) stood out for me. It's an ode to Blanco's late grandmother who verbally scolded him for being who he was - a gay Cuban boy and young man in Miami. (Something I related to growing up as a budding writer in Miami Beach.)

Blanco lists all the do's and don'ts - the pato commandments - that his grandmother barked at him:
"Stop eyeing your mother's Avon catalog, and the men's underwear in those Sears flyers. I've seen you.''
"Stop click-clacking your sandals - you're no girl."
"Don't stare at the The Six Million Dollar Man. I've seen you.''
"you will not look like a goddamn queer, I've seen you...even if you are one."

In a similarly-themed poem, "Afternoons with Endora'' (p. 33) Blanco recalls being "a boy who hates being a oy who hates cats and paint-by-number sets." He describes how he enjoyed watching "Bewitched" and wished he had Samantha's wiccan powers so he can be whom he really was.

In one scene, he uses his make believe powers to make his grandmother vanish.
" poof- she disappears in a cloud of smoke, leaving me alone in my room again, the boy afraid of being a boy, dressed like a witch, wanting to vanish too."
That soulful (and bittersweet) sharing has become a hallmark of Blanco's writing which is intense and muscular (like Blanco!)

My only critique is the length (it's a small book(let) with 81 pages). So a reader should treat the volume as a delicious cup of cafecito from Versailles in Little Havana. Breathe in the brew's aroma, sip s-l-o-w-l-y, savor each drop ... and make each page last.

[Jackie Craven · Rating 4 out of 5]

When Richard Blanco spoke at Union College in Schenectady this year, he mentioned workshopping his poems. Oh to be a fly on the workshop wall. (A talking fly, that is.)

First, I would tell Richard that some of the poems in Looking for The Gulf Motel are dazzling perfection: 5:00 AM in Cuba, Practice Problem, and, most of all, the title poem. Moreover, I would admire the way the poems in this collection mesh to form a cohesive and moving coming-of-age story.

Then, I would say something that poets in workshops always seem to say: "Throw away your babies." Even as I swoon, I believe that many of Blanco’s poems would be better if he chopped off the last line or two.

So. Richard Blanco, please — Trust your readers! We don't need to be told that you are “a boy afraid of being a boy” (Afternoons as Eldora). We understand that “you are one” (Queer Theory) without explanation. And we get that you yearn for your brother to “believe someday” you’ll glide down the mountain together. Terminal lines like these add a layer of sentimentality and dilute your otherwise powerful work. So, stop it!

Next, I would gently inquire whether Richard Blanco has, perhaps, written enough “It’s not this, but that” poems — as in “Not Ricardo but Richard” and “Not a study or a den, but El Florida.” Starting with a negative is a nifty device, but it does wear thin after awhile.

Finally, after spouting my opinions, I would flutter off (remember, I’m a fly) and try to write my own poems. Wish me luck with that. Richard… would you give me some tips?

[Ann · Rating 5 out of 5]

"I want to find the Gulf Motel exactly as it was/ and pretend for a moment, nothing lost is lost."

2013 Presidential Inaugural poet Richard Blanco's most recent (third) collection of poems is a treasure. It's a book to read and go back to when you need this voice.

Blanco's poems are about place (Cuba to Miami to Maine) and loss (his childhood, his father) and especially love (his mother, brother, friends and husband). These familiar themes are made new with the poet's crisp, accurate writing style. Although the poems are lyrically beautiful, they contain truisms about growing up and identity that resonate deeply with those of us who have taken similar journeys.

One small gripe. The inartful poem, "Queer Theory: According to my Grandmother," is filled with vitriol for the old lady's homophobia. The poem escapes a neat pattern on the page. It also lacks the understanding and forgiveness Blanco's displays elsewhere.

I cannot stress this enough: people who don't normally read poetry would enjoy this book! It is not abstruse.

[Ellen · Rating 3 out of 5]

When I was growing up, I loved writing poetry but not reading it. And when I did read a whole book of poems by one author, it was Stanyon Street and Other Sorrows by the recently deceased Rod McKuen, called “the king of schmaltz” by the first website my Google search brought back. So when I say I really enjoyed Looking for the Gulf Motel, how much you can trust me? And if I say that the first Richard Blanco poem I heard was read from the pulpit of a Unitarian Universalist church, does that make it better or worse?

Two things I came away with: what haiku is to poetry, Richard Blanco’s poetry is to a memoir. A word here, a word there, a poem here, a poem there and you already know this Miami boy of Cuban parents, who wants to assimilate while his parents want to go home. Also: the most interesting things happen to us when we’re young. We may still be writing the poem of ourselves as our knees start to creak, we worry about our aging mother, and imagine our tardy lover in the ER (Why didn’t he call!), but what made us like this was written in our body and mind long ago.

[Edward Moore · Rating 5 out of 5]

OK, done with Richard Blanco. At this point in his writing he has moved to Maine with Mark. I wonder if they will get married now?
He has many references and images of the ocean which endears him to me. He also writes about his father and how one's perception of parents changes and deepns as time moves. I can really relate to that. Thee are more relational poems as well.
Again, his prose poems are well done and not a chore to read.
Some favorites: "The Name I Wanted" brings in the influenc of American culture and its influence on his name identity, "Queer Theory: According to My Grandmother","Love Poem According to Quantum Theory","Playing House with Pepin" a poem about nascent sexual identity. Two of my favorites are about his father:"Papa at the Kitchen Table" and"My Father, My Hands".

[Rebecca · Rating 4 out of 5]

I am not usually a poetry fan, but I absolutely loved this book of poems. I saw him read his poems live and immediately bought this book. His use of language is beautiful, and the themes about establishing an identity as a gay man and as the son of Cuban immigrants in American society resonated with me. Some of his lines, like "there should be nothing here that I don't remember" perfectly capture the timeless desire for places of childhood memories never to change and the way we have to cope with the fact that they do. He also grapples with realizations that of his parents' humanity and the fact that someday they will die and his place in the universe. It might be because I'm in my 40s now and starting to grapple with those issues myself, but these poems spoke to me and stayed with me long after I finished the book.

[Hester Rathbone · Rating 3 out of 5]

I liked this well enough. I loved the interview that Blanco did on Fresh Air, and his poems sounded amazing when he read them. I got this from the library to peruse, but I don't think I'll be buying it for my collection. There were a number of poems I really loved, but some of the ones about his constant search for "home" didn't move me. I'm just not that full of questions about what is home, and I just didn't feel that his search moved me, for some reason. But I really adored -

- Looking for The Gulf Motel
- Killing Mark
- House of the Virgin Mary
- Remembering What Tia Noelia Can't
- Since Unfinished

I think the title poem was the strongest, I must have re-read it every time I picked up the book again.

[Karen Douglass · Rating 4 out of 5]

Twice this week I have read a poetry collection straight through, no dilution, no chaser. Blanco was not on my list, because I wrongly suspected that a poet who had been asked to do the inaugural thing would be safe, ergo bland. Not so. Blanco writes with courage and detail that allows us into his life and the life of his Cuban immigrant family. He also lets us into his own domestic life. I particularly liked a poem called "Killing Mark," in which Blanco brings to light the experience of worrying about someone who is a little late getting home. I've been there, fearing the worst catastrophes, only to express that fear as anger: "Where the hell were you?" The personal made universal? Yup.

[JD · Rating 3 out of 5]

Pure identity poems - good thing "Mr. White" has an interesting identity! He's a gay Cuban American and this collection delves into all aspects of his ethnicity, sexuality, and manhood. It's a fascinating journey, but one is left wondering where he ended up - how comfortable can we be once we've distilled down the elements of our identity? I wish I knew myself as well as Blanco seems to, so confidently exposing all the contrarian behaviors and broken stereotypes. Admirable, but not particularly clever. I love the poem about his grandmother, "I've seen you..." she says, and criticizes his unmanly habits. She's almost cute in her generational homophobia.

[Hilcia · Rating 4 out of 5]

Blanco uses a narrative style in this emotional biographical piece that touched and in some ways soothed me. I recognized and connected with many of his personal conflicts as the child of a loving, if tough and judgmental, immigrant Cuban family. I laughed in some places, but strongly felt his emotional anguish and nostalgia in others. This is a book I will definitely re-read.

Complete review at Impressions of a Reader

[Jason · Rating 5 out of 5]

I had never heard of Richard Blanco before he became the poet at Obama's second inauguration. I really enjoy his poem that day, so I decided to check out his newest collection. I was blown away by how many poems jumped out from the page at me. Blanco is gifted with his words, and he brings a passion to his topics and invites his readers to share in his experiences.

Favorite poems:
Betting on America
Sitting on my Mother's Porch in Westchester, Florida
Queer Theory: According to my Grandmother
My Father, My Hands
Bones, Teeth
Place of Mind
Since Unfinished

[Stvt · Rating 5 out of 5]

I'm happy that President Obama exposed the nation to Richard Blanco. I was so moved by his reading at the inauguration, I immediately sought out his other work. My favorite poems are always those that leave me with conflicted emotions. This collection did precisely that - I began to read the namesake poem to my husband and found myself unable to finish, bursting into tears. That's the best compliment I can give.

[Lee · Rating 4 out of 5]

When Richard Blanco, a fellow Maine resident, read a poem at President Obama's second inauguration, I was impressed by his words and his delivery.

This 2012 collection of his poetry is lovely. Think of these poems as short stories. They describe his life and the lives of members of his family, immigrants from Cuba.

Blanco vividly presents ideas that speak to our relationships with our family and the places of our childhood.

[Leah · Rating 4 out of 5]

One of the last squares remaining for #bookbingonw2017 was a collection of poetry. Not sure where to start, I recalled the national poet laureate when Obama was inaugurated in 2008 was a Cuban American. A quick search turned up this evocative collection filled with stories of Blanco's childhood, and of his exiled extended family who dream of the land they loved and left. The poems are complete pictures of a time and place elegantly rendered.