Sweet Son of Pan by Trebor Healey (QueerMojo/Rebel Satori Press)

Buy it now direct from Rebel Satori Press or from our Amazon.com store -Sweet Son of Pan  

While I’m not qualified to perform a scholarly “exegesis” on scansion, meter, and so forth, I can tell you that Trebor Healey’s collection of poetry is wonderful.  I’m not sure how old Healey is, but I’ve read a little bit of his poetry before, and then as now, I found an overarching youthful exuberance—an eagerness for sex, for discovery, and for life.

Whether creating his own take on Whitman’s “I Sing the Body Electric” with a bright enthusiasm for a hard-on with a bend in it or keenly observant, wildly original, and loving depictions of the young men he’s adored, Healey’s work is both accessible and eloquent; lyrical but fun to devour.  Many of these poems transcend a loving obsession for sex, invoking the power and the bliss of the divine, be it Greek, Hindu, Buddhist, or Christian.  

To me, many of Healey’s poems evoke a sensation similar to that of the Samuel Coleridge poem “Kubla Khan”— bursting with erotic energy to the brink of geyser-like orgasm.   However, one of my favorite poems of Healey’s  is “My Type,” which beautifully depicts the longing and pain of young, unrequited love.  For its ability to capture the combination of hurt and adoration, it’s a poem I’ll be reading many times over.  The alliteration and rolling, tumbling language of his piece, “Bubble”, made that poem another I enjoyed very much.  “Fraternity” powerfully exposes the façade of organized collegiate brotherhood along with the hidden longings, the confusion and disappointments, and the true bonds that sometimes linger, even if only party is aware of them.    

Here’s an example from “Bubble”:

All questions are consumed in the fire of wonder

And his hair

is free and roiling, boiling

as smoke

There’s nothing he can do about it,

the 4-year-old-boy madness of its play

His waist rides low

like a Harley chopper

for he’s stalky

Tight, small circles

river rocks

and water eddying

way down in valleys

where meadows lie

and flowers bloom

popping and pirouetting in the wind

Here’s one thought for people who’ve started buying e-books but have yet to buy an electronic volume of poetry.  With PDFs, my Sony E-Reader changes the line breaks, and that usually makes little to no difference in a novel.  However, line breaks are often significant in poetry, so I read the book on the computer screen instead of the e-reader.  Perhaps another format would have worked or, if not, I’d suggest going for the print book.  

This is poetry that drips with talent and dedication, where the beauty of the words and their arrangement make them far more powerful than meaning alone.  This collection should not be missed. 

Reviewed by Gavin Atlas 

 

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