![]() It is a book of bloodied, mangled wonderment. ![]() Not a celebration of the violence, and yet, the persona narrator that presides over these accounts unfolds the devastation with relish, with an air of hard-boiled wonder, so that the accounts snowball together into a kind of blunted amazement that anyone at all has lived to sing these tales, let alone he himself. Disfigurements, dismemberments, attacks, horrible death upon death, descriptions of car crashes, shootings and beatings, gruesome workplace accidents, plus all the miraculous near-misses, constitute perhaps the core subject driving this work. 2) The making of a writerly presence - the figure and voice of “Sesshu Foster the writer,” beyond the historical instances of Sesshu Foster the person in time.Īmongst other things, this book is an unabashed - resolute, joyful even - catalog of violences. 1) The lives and grisly deaths (the fate, really) of the people he has known and loved in his community in East LA. ![]() Two things seem to matter most in Sesshu Foster’s poems. ![]()
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