In memoriam of Reginald Shepherd

In thinking about Reginald Shepherd for some time now, I was contemplating what his greatest contribution to the poetry scene has been.  For me, I think it was his criticism; insomuch as, my first introduction to him was not his poetry, but his criticism.  I can still remember happening over a poetry review of his in The Boston Review.  I think it was of Mark Wunderlich's first book The Anchorage.  I can't quite remember.  What shocked me was that it wasn't a goody-goody critique, one overdetermined to point out the virtues of the book, and ignore its limitations.

A gay writer could say something not necessarily positive about another gay writer, and he could continue.  Gay men are so willing to backstab, but rarely have the conviction to make those thoughts public.

True, Shepherd wrote his reviews with grace and tact.  So few queer writers do that anymore, and, as a result, I get bored.  This blog is an attempt to relieve myself of that boredom.  I wish it had a greater aspiration.  But it doesn't, and I have no apologies for that.