Poetry. The "snare" in Robert Eastwood's new poetry collection is the past, historical past interwoven with personal past, a web from which the poet cannot escape and into which the reader will tumble headlong. The scent of citronella wafts through the ages and these pages (though watch out for a certain Colt pistol along the way as well), through tales that link Civil War and Cold War, persona poems and memoir. Mad, maimed Boston Corbett, assassin's assassin, seeks refuge from the demons of the flesh and of war and of his own actions; while in another time a family seeks another form of refuge from the new terror of nuclear annihilation, attempting to put both geography and a retreat from modernity between them and their fears. In lesser hands the result might have been chaotic, but Eastwood's mastery of language and detail weaves these seemingly disparate threads into a rich tapestry of memory. What we cannot escape, we must try to comprehend, perhaps even...to celebrate.
Robert Eastwood lives in San Ramon, California. He has had many jobs: a soda jerk, a turret lathe operator, a construction laborer, a gardener, a soldier, a telephone craftsman, a manager, an engineer, a statistician, a labor contract negotiator, a business executive, and a high school English teacher. Throughout his life he has written poems and stories as an alternative but persistent calling. His prize-winning poems have appeared in many literary journals and anthologies, and he is the author of three previous chapbooks Over Plainsong, The Welkin Gate, and Night of the Moth, published by Small Poetry Press. He has twice been nominated for the Pushcart Prize.Author City: SAN RAMON, CA USA