These poems are about driving and exploring, music and heartache, and one poet's fascination with the Backwoods Barbie of Tennessee and Hollywood. This book paints with tongue-in-cheek reverence an offbeat picture of where America fits today in a world turning under the shadows of pop culture icons. With diversions to Milwaukee, New Orleans, Paris, and other places far and wide, The Follower's Tale does for Dollywood what Ulysses did for Dublin. Powers lives in Wisconsin.
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A choice pick for poetry lovers, highly recommended. --The Midwest Book Review
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More About the Author
Stephen Roger Powers was born in Madison, Wisconsin, and grew up in the cornfields of nearby Sun Prairie. While working on his PhD in English he wrote a stand-up act about his hearing impairment and performed for several years in comedy clubs and casinos around the American Midwest. Today he splits his time between Milwaukee and Georgia, where he teaches at Gordon College and enjoys the beaches of Tybee Island. The Follower's Tale is his first book.
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2 of 2 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
An offbeat and original story,
By Midwest Book Review (Oregon, WI USA) - See all my reviews
This review is from: The Follower's Tale (Paperback)
Just because you aren't leading the way doesn't mean you don't have your own story. "The Follower's Tale" is a collection of poetry from Stephen Roger Powers in his first anthology of poetry. Aiming to tell an offbeat and original story, he brings readers a unique brand of poetry that hasn't been seen much before. "The Follower's Tale" is a choice pick for poetry lovers, highly recommended. "The Night Before Dolly's Parade": I watched an old man watch his son on stage/in Master Harold. I ignored the play/and traced his laughs, his lips, his nose, the way/his eyebrows flew up when his son engaged/the audience in something humorous./After the show I drove all night through states/too flat for companionship. No complaints,/no one to make me feel ridiculous/when I cranked up Dolly's dulcimers down/through cincy on my way to Dollywood./I named my future son, sang along, looked/behind while I drove up hills south of town./My eyes coffeed open to watch for deer/as the rhinestone skyline sank out of my mirror.
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