David Ferry













I’m going to put up a few posts on this book of poetry, new to me, that I’m into. I will be pushing it like Ooga Booga, so be prepared to either give in right away and tell me you like it, or cope with me pestering you about it until you give in and tell me you like it. I’m not bossy, I’m a psychedelic fascist.


To entice my two readers, I might add that:


(1)   The cover features a non-erotic ETRUSCAN MOSAIC.

(2)   The book was winner of the 2000 Rebekah Johnson BOBBITT National Prize for Poetry. (If you move  the N from National and the P from Prize and settle them astride the 0’s in 2000, it basically says Poon Bobbits, and we all have spoonerism these days like a Math Bat anyhoo.)

(3) The first poem to be posted will concern our beloved Spotsylvania (and remind me of that eerie scrap book Tristan found in his attic).


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