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Sacred Wounds Paperback – July 29, 2015
Enhance your purchase
- Print length180 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- Publication dateJuly 29, 2015
- Dimensions5.25 x 0.41 x 8 inches
- ISBN-10094172042X
- ISBN-13978-0941720427
Editorial Reviews
About the Author
Product details
- Publisher : Slough Press (July 29, 2015)
- Language : English
- Paperback : 180 pages
- ISBN-10 : 094172042X
- ISBN-13 : 978-0941720427
- Item Weight : 6.7 ounces
- Dimensions : 5.25 x 0.41 x 8 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #5,717,219 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #38,899 in Poetry Themes & Styles (Books)
- Customer Reviews:
About the author

PW Covington's writing is raw, powerful, and carries the voice of his hard-lived curriculum vitae . His poetry and prose is undeniably of Beat lineage, and his words have the power to carry the full weight of desperate yet hopeful experience. Incarceration, Poverty, War, Heartbreak, Homelessness, Isolation, these are the roots of Covington's work, but his voice is neither bitter nor caustic. It is, in his own way, hopeful.
More information about the writer can be found at www.PWCovington.com
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There's welcome levity, though: "Of Steering Wheels and Bulldogs" pictures a humorous interaction between a driver and his canine companion, and "Breaking Up with Jimmy Buffett" weaves in nods to some of the singer's lyrics. The fourth poem, titled "DeWitt County," is my favorite of all -- briefly yet richly visualizing the desert terrain, and the ghosts of human presence, in south Texas. The poem "Pase, Señor (White Privilege)" won my admiration with the narrator acknowledging an unfair advantage that's been unavoidably thrust upon him.
A number of these entries pay homage to beat authors and their works -- in fact, this collection inspired me to finally begin Jack Kerouac's "On the Road." While it may not be strictly necessary to be familiar with the latter classic to appreciate this poetry volume, I admit that my exposure to the novel brought a new light to my second perusal of "Reading Up on Ecuador" and "Van Horn Rest Stop." On a related note, "Roadtrip (Paying for the Gas)" was tempting me to risk a journey across State lines -- not by plane, but on four wheels.
While I wish page numbering and a table of contents had not been excluded, that's a minor quibble. The biographical summary at the end makes clear (and frank) the poet's varied sources of inspiration. "Written While Volunteering at the Homeless Shelter Where I Once Slept" is minimal and self-explanatory; "Recidivists" immediately bares its theme. "It Was Not Sacrifice" compels the reader to sober up from naïve assumptions at flag-waving parades and ceremonies. I'm impressed by the reverse psychology in "I Want You to Hate This Poem."
A case of Sushi-Zen meets TX BBQ.
The guy grew up in Cuero, TX. Thus no issues on his writing encuerado: he's warned us before of his approach to writing, stating elsewhere, "I simply don't consider myself entitled to privacy."
The menu is full of references to TX themes: the Military, Prisons, Southern Christian Ethos, Borderlands, Jim Crow Lands. And, he's experienced, in the Hendrix sense; Rara Avis digging into his roots and personal past to offer up a cornucopia of underground worms, a peek at the dirty laundry of this oh so prudish, self-righteous world, with just a tad of musings on Another Green World…
But he's no Fernando Pessoa - no need here for alter egos: just one ego in different kinds of altered states. These are real wounds, not just insect bites – well, one could say they're human insect bites!
Ergo, TX Water Buffalo, naked in his shiny dark words, resilient to drought & floods, freely roams this land, our land, as far as gas money and gig engagements would take him, just like a present-day Emerson, with a touch of John Muir.
Actually, poetry fits the bill today: there's no time for lengthy speeches in the Empire of TMI, so better go back to raw speech: Antonin Artaud’s Primal Scream, before the Banalization of Evil and Trivialization of Human Dignity brought on by Mass Media and the “Entertainment Industry.”
This work of present-day Beat Poetry is what happens when you find your name, even though in this case it is boiled down to 2 letters: P.W., as it should be in the land of shortcuts - too easy for a poet, then, to twist acronyms and turn them against themselves, as if presiding over assisted linguistic suicide – PTSD morphs into "Put This $#1+ Down!" Because an acronym ties down, reifies otherwise random letter combinations, and thus deserves to explode into fifty thousand meanings…
Texas red[neck]ness sucks, but so does the dominant ethos of most places for varied reasons… And each culprit adds to the "twisted terrors [lurking] behind every freedom," the wind mills that are the poet’s duty to crush, denounce, battle. With fierce, unrelenting courage, PWC – and I’m not talking about PriceWaterhouseCoopers here! – takes the challenge, like yet another Caballero de la Triste Figura: El ingenioso Hidalgo Don Quixote de La Mancha is here, now, showing us the way to Sancho Panza's Ínsula: The Zen of nowhere!
The true Zen is nowhere, the beatnik proclaims. That is: Here! Now! There's no other choice than to stand, wherever we are, and debunk the establishment where it hurts most, because the conscience is an ageless worm: The Word! After all, somebody needs to be exercising that First Amendment Right, right? And, if the going gets tough, the tough get their very own "Corduroy Jacket!"