In case you haven't yet read Shelby Stephenson's newest collection of poems, Playing Dead, you should. I had the great pleasure of listening to him read at the NC Writers Conference in New Bern last weekend, and here is the response I had to what I heard:
"It takes no keen ear, scholar's mind, or poet's appreciation to recognize that Shelby Stephenson loves language, loves naming things, and loves remembering the specific names of things in a particular time and place. Riprap of a Southern life, his poems recall the intimate names of things that being uttered bring the things they name to life. He does the hard work of memory for us in a way that makes what has been lost ours again forever."
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