Gary has been widely published including literary journals the Thomas Wolfe Review, Carvezine, Fiction Southeast, Atticus Review, Smokelong Quarterly, Best New Writing 2015, and Pisgah Review.
I first met and heard Gary read at open mics in Charlotte, NC and Huntersville, NC. With Gary’s permission, I’m sharing Crowder Peas because it mirrors Mike’s poem yesterday of where inspiration comes from. In this poem, Gary shows us all the minute details a poet notices on a simple walk through the neighborhood.
His poems can also be edgy and raw, forcing us to look at things that are sometimes uncomfortable to see. But that’s what great poets do – they open our eyes. (Titles are bolded).
So here’s Gary!
1. Do you remember the very first poem you wrote? How old were you? What was the topic?
I wrote my first poem while a freshman or sophomore in high school. I’d written many stories before that and plays that my classmates and I acted out, but I was 15 or 16 when I wrote my first poem. I grew up in a gritty, industrial town and didn’t know anyone who read poetry much less wrote it. But I had a musician friend, a pianist and organist, who played in a rock band with some older guys. They realized that if they had any hope of getting a recording contract, they needed original licks and lyrics. My friend and I collaborated on several songs, none of which landed the band a recording contract, but writing the lyrics for those songs encouraged me to attempt poetry. I’m pretty sure the first real poem I wrote was entitled “That Winter,” which, as I recall, consisted of a series of images attempting to reflect the harsh northern Indiana winter of 1966 or 1967. I was so afraid someone would discover I’d written poetry that I stashed that poem, along with others written during that time, in a manila folder in the back of my closet. To further protect myself from discovery, I wrote under the pseudonym of “Anton,” because it sounded foreign and mysterious.
2. If you could lift a cup of coffee or a glass of wine with any poet, living or deceased, whom would it be?
Although he’s better known as a short story writer than a poet, notwithstanding the fact he published several books of poetry, I’d much enjoy a drink with Ray Carver. He’d probably drink vodka or gin from a gallon jug, but I’d be content with a bottle of wine. I’d select Ray because I’ve long felt a close connection to him both personally and professionally. We were both born in a rural south from which our families relocated to find work. We both grew up in blue-collar towns around rough-cut characters. Neither of us received encouragement early on to pursue our interest in writing. And both of us struggled to write while earning a living and raising families. In the end, both of us found a path, though not necessarily a recommended path. I’d enjoy talking with Ray, not so much about the work, as about the challenges faced in finding the time and space to create the work. One of my most treasured possessions is a first edition of Ray’s short story collection Cathedral. He signed it for me at a reading I attended about a year before his death. In his uneasy scrawl, he wished me luck in my own writing.
Crowder Peas
Remembered picking crowder peas
for the first time in years.
–
Dreamed about a girl I hadn’t seen
since her father passed away.
–
Was reminded by a lilac’s scent
of a garden I once tilled.
–
All this, walking down a street
I hardly know, surrounded by
people whose acquaintance
I’ll likely never make.
–
Saw in a spider’s web the doilies
my grandma would crochet.
–
Heard in a dog’s plaintive bark
the Husky on my father’s farm.
–
Remembered picking crowder peas
for the first time in years.
–
Our Thoughts and Prayers
This is the bullet
inscribed with your name
and the cartridge box
where it resides
beside
nine-hundred
and ninety-nine
siblings.
–
This is a two-twenty-three
Remington round
designed with
brass casing,
boxer priming,
boat-tailing
and full metal jacket,
for accuracy
and range.
–
At fifty-five grain,
this bullet is light
but powerful
with a muzzle velocity
of three thousand
feet per second
and energy measured
at twelve hundred
foot-pounds
–
This is an AR-15,
chambered and hungry,
a rifle
that when fully loaded
is poised to enjoy
the meal it deserves,
not a mere snack,
but a banquet.
–
This is the name
a thousand rounds
when one will do–
and a beast
that feeds
without remorse
even when its belly
is full.
–
This is the sound
of flesh torn,
bones shattered,
and organs exploded,
the scent
of exposed viscera,
and the color
of blood.
–
This is the bullet
inscribed with your name
and the hot summer’s path
it took
through walls
and glass
and alley ways
to find you,
friend.
Gary V. Powell ~ Super Blood Wolf Moon
Available through Kallisto Gaia Press
Crowder Peas first appeared in One Minute Magazine
Other books by Gary V. Powell
Lucky Bastard, Main Street Rag Publishing, a novel
Beyond Redemption, short story collection
Getting Even and Other Stories, short story collection
A Writer's Window 