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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