Gary Rainford: A Poet of Maine

by Philip F. Clark

As I have been happy to, I have met many poets whose work I first came to on Facebook. It’s a great venue for such meetings — one is always surprised to find new energies and perspectives and individual visions. Gary Rainford is one of the poets whose work I was very glad to come to. He live in Swans Island, Maine — one of the beautiful places among that state’s many. Maine came into my life three years ago through a friend, and I have always loved going back. There is something about the honesty and warmth of the citizens there that reflects the long harbor lives and history of the state. It is filled with natural beauties as well as colloquial pleasures and hearth fires. Gary is the author of Salty Liquor — a collection of poems that wonderfully express not only his love of where he lives, but also the camaraderie of its inhabitants. Gary and I have yet to meet, but that will happen. Without a doubt. In the meantime I want to share a work of his that captures for me, the real core of Gary’s perceptive and intuitive ability to make the natural world mesh with the wonderful mystery of how we inhabit it.  An interview with Gary in troutfactory notebook will also provide more insight into his unique perspective on poetry, his home life, and more of his work. His website is included as well. It is a pleasure to introduce his work here on The Poet’s Grin.

 

Crickets

 
Orchestrate a darkness
alert with frenzy: the buzz
of lobster boats, salt-
milled fog awash, lapping
the pointed rock

shore, Ron’s ragged
truck, high beams tracking
the Atlantic roadside
where deer and rabbits are
putting on thick

autumnal furs,
and two crows squawk, easting
across September as a cool
breeze on my sweat soaked neck
miracles me

out of bed a proverb
by St. John, although I only bing
wikibible on sprees, “You
will see signs and wonders,
you will not believe.”

An Interview with Gary Rainford

Gary Rainford

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