Martin Galvin’s Comments
I hesitate to pre-tell
any reader how I meant a poem. Surely there are elements of my own experience
in these poems: the abiding fascination with language, even clichés; the memory
of a summer afternoon when I actually did cleat a friend in a sandlot game—but
not on purpose; an old Brownie photograph of my parents in our back yard. But
each of the facts that started the poems has had the happy transmuting of time
and image to make them more than they were and a merciful love of poetry I
have had for my entire conscious life to gentle them into being. I thank the
reader for finding some shared human and aesthetic values in my adjustings
of reality.
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