“There's not really much that's soft about Soft Boy. It is the hardened aftermath of many emotional sidelinings and heartbreaks, and it is a nuanced exploration of those heartbreaks. Art and truth make several appearances, but the central emotional conflicts involved are never shied away from therein. Bertolero is too smart and too wizened to say that these artistic or emotional objects are truth, so he gives us another way out through the ephemeral connection of all three.”
— Blake Wallin, author of Michelin
“Soft Boy is a delicate dance of love and lust. It silently stuns you with it's quiet brilliance, while giving you hope and breaking your heart every other line.”
— Jo Barchi, author of It’s Fine
“Kevin Bertolero's poetry reminds me of how it feels to be young and vulnerable again, as we all are young and vulnerable in love. Exploring tenderness, every poem in this book makes me wish I was in love again, just so I could be hurt and reborn in the same light. A pivotal work in queer poetry, Bertolero brings a gentle sacredness to the everyday”
— Erin Taylor, author of OOOO
“Soft Boy takes place in the liminal spaces of desire, poems balanced somewhere between lust and heartbreak. This is not a soft book.”
— Deirdre Coyle, author of How to Talk to Writers at Parties
Kevin Bertolero is the founding editor of both Ghost City Press and & Change, a journal of gay poetry. He holds degrees in literature from Potsdam College and the University of New Hampshire, as well as an MFA from New England College where he currently teaches writing. Kevin is the author of three collections of poetry, most recently Love Poems, as well as a nonfiction book Forever in Transition: Queer Futurist Aesthetics in Gay Cinema. His work has appeared in or is forthcoming with Hanging Loose, The Cortland Review, Post Road, Blueline Magazine, Olney Mag, Fourteen Poems, and elsewhere. He lives in Portland, Maine.
The title/poem matches this book theme well: You tell me that I am a soft boy, and that boys who are soft don't like being alone.
These are poems about being in quiet spaces, with another boy that sounded like there was an initial spark, but then fading quickly.
I write poems while you sleep and pretend that you're not the source of my anxiety.
These 'relationships' feel like they have a predisposition from the very start:
I don't need to play the game with flowers. He loves me not. He loves me not. He loves me not.
This 'soft boy' theme is consistent throughout this collection.
I'm only good at beginnings at the first times first kisses always first to look away.
I hear hints of optimism...
I want to see the real you, the real you the you that only your mother has seen. Show me your first time with a new boy, clean sheets, a reason to stay in bed alone.
but the next stanza...
You talk about new music and third albums but I like Brahms and going to sleep with someone else. It feels like time for a change.
4.5* for staying true to the 'soft boy' theme. 3* for the short hook-up, not giving-it-a-chance feeling from the first meeting Thus, 4* ave.
i'm only good at beginnings at the first times first kisses always the first to look away.
Well, this little book of poetry is fantastic.
This book goes through the motions of falling in love and the heartbreak, something that's been done so many times before. But Bertolero's poetry is so poignant and personal I feel like I'm reading about it for the first time. Even though the emotions are big, Bertolero's poetry succeeds at avoiding cliche or being too maudlin. One poem, "December 20," may have gotten close without context, but it was so well placed in Soft Boy that it became heart-wrenching.
There are reflections and echos in Part I and Part II, such as visiting the art galley again in "Musée Des Beaux Arts" to reflect on loneliness. I also love Bertolero's references to real life places, which just helps to bring the reader inside his world, showing us how far his love traveled. It's something many young poets fear doing, and like most of his work, Bertolero does it effortlessly.
At first, I was hesitant about Mike Cavataio's illustrations, just because I'm not used to human illustrations in poetry books. But they worked perfectly beside Bertolero's poems. They ended up reminding me of Craig Thompson's illustrations by the end, and I loved them.
If you want to see a little bit of a person's soul, this is the collection for you. Bertolero's deep honesty and unapologetic truths are laid bare here, showing the world that love can hurt in the worst and best ways.