Stately and majestic, yet scuffed with wear and disillusion, the
poems of Smaller Hours mount the sky like columns and fora of some
archaic ruin. Through these ancient halls, Kevin Shaw tracks Eros,
clearing away the rubble and polishing the marble, along the way
exploring queer ways of keeping time. Music and movies, clocks and
inventors populate these poems. History casts a shadow over
all.Kevin Shaw's debut collection is a tour de force of control and
grace; musical lines anchored by powerful rhythms dance into the
reader's ear. The speakers of these lyrics encounter Nijinsky in a
waiting room, Ovid at the laundromat, or re-enact a devastating
flood after a night of drinking. From a mixtape full of
quarter-century-old regrets, to the sensuality of a harmonica
buzzing against pursed lips, to the violence and hope of Stonewall,
Smaller Hours collapses the past with the present and the personal
with the public, taking a sideways glance at historical figures --
inventors, poets, movie stars -- from across a gay bar's crowded
dance floor.
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