In his twelfth book of poems, San Francisco–based poet Thom Gunn
takes
on
the likes of King David, raunchy bartenders, a lonely Jeffrey Dahmer,
and
anonymous young men on street corners. Gunn's writing is mostly smart
and
concise. While he can sometimes be undone by his own cuteness, the
best
poems here are at once ribald and meditative, profound and
unpretentious.
In "My Mother's Pride," he writes: "She was proud of her ruthless
wit/And
the smallest ears in London./"Only conceited children are shy."/I am
made
by her, and undone." Gunn has a keen ear for language, be it deranged
chatter from smoky bars or the dialect of personal ads. From "Letters
from
Manhattan": "I seek a potent mix/of toughness and tenderness in men./The
paradigm/being the weeping wrestler."
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