A remarkable collection representing early and recent poems by David St. John, the critically acclaimed author of Hush , The Shore , and No Heaven . GUITAR I have always loved the word guitar . I have no memories of my father on the patio At dusk, strumming a Spanish tune, Or my mother draped in that fawn wicker chair Polishing her flute; I have no memories of your song, distant Sister Heart, of those steel strings sliding All night through the speaker of the car radio Between Tucumcari and Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. Though I've never believed those stories Of gypsy cascades, stolen hoses, castanets, And stars, of Airstream trailers and good fortune. Though I've never met Charlie Christian, though I've danced the floors of cold longshoremen's halls, Though I've waited with the overcoats at the rear Of concerts for lute, mandolin, and two guitars – More than the music I love scaling its woven Stairways, more than the swirling chocolate of wood I have always loved the word guitar .
I was underwhelmed. The poems are much more straightforward than I hoped, absent that jarring twist of mystery you get in Norman Dubie's work, and with a startling afterwhiff of patriarchal entitlement.