For years, I've been posting Buck's postcard poems on my office door, which edifies my students and makes colleagues wonder why I stand in front of my own door for so long.
I suppose I should confess that I've actually sat atop one of those contraptions illustrated on the cover of this book. There was an ancient cultivator of this type on my grandfather's farm, though I had no idea those things in the middle were called "hooded shields." There have been many times in my life when I could have used a hooded shield.
And why is it that every time I read the title of Buck's book I hear Marvin Gaye off in the distance singing "Distant Lover"? Marvin, like me, said "dag." Buck's from outside the beltway (as our media insist on calling the rest of the country), so he says "dang."
Blessings to rob mclennan's above/ground press for this latest. You can find out how to get a copy here: http://abovegroundpress.blogspot.com/2016/10/new-from-aboveground-press.html
And here is an excerpt [fair use -- buy the book and read the whole poem] from the right Buck Downs poem for our time:
ask me if you want more
starting from where
I was turned out
turned out to be
a bad position -- I lacked
the leverage
to move myself,
I did not have
a fuck to give --
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