“These poems echo, reverberate with meaning, and give us new perception, insights into the world we inhabit. Offering us the consolation of an intelligent human spirit who speaks of everything that flails at his heart, Davis struggles with the darkness and is not broken. The poems show us not only that we must not look away from the world, from its terror, but that we also must not ignore its ravishing beauty. His poems teach our hearts to persevere.” Vivian Shipley
“These are poems that think and wonder and yes, by God, that pray. They do so with a cosmopolitan tongue and a formal sense acutely measured against the expansive possibilities of the poet’s intellect and spirit. Brad Davis is a storyteller, has a marvelous touch with detail, and can be awfully funny. He’s also that most rare thing: a poet with a profoundly moral vision who can plumb the richness of experience, both public and private, as it is cast against the inscrutables. The motto implicit in these poems? “Not merely to describe (beautifully) nor to tell (deftly) the tale, but (as in the Biblical sense) to reveal.” Clare Rossini
Brad Davis is from San Diego, California. He has an MFA from Vermont College of Fine Arts and has taught at The Stony Brook School (NY), Eastern Connecticut State University, the College of the Holy Cross (MA), and Pomfret School (CT) where he was the founding editor of Broken Bridge Review and the Broken Bridge Folio Series. His own poems have appeared in The Paris Review, Poetry, DoubleTake, Image, Michigan Quarterly Review, Tar River Poetry, Connecticut Review, Puerto del Sol, Ascent, and other journals. In 1995, a poem of his won an AWP Intro Journal Award; in 2005, his chapbook Short List of Wonders won the Sunken Garden Poetry Prize (selected by Dick Allen); and in 2009, a poem of his won the IAM (International Arts Movement) Poetry Award (selected by Brett Lott). Brad is married to Deb; they have a son John who lives with his wife Mariko in Brooklyn (NY).
The Antrim House seminar room offers notes, issues for discussion, and writing assignments. Click here to attend the seminar on Song of the Drunkards.
Click here to read a major review of all four books in the Opening King David series, published in the journal Christianity & Literature, Summer 2009.
Click here to read six sample poems.
For other books in the Opening King David series, see the Antrim House catalog.
|These things I remember.
What she read to us from her journal a week before
Every Thursday after supper, she and Bill drop by
and listen for God’s voice in the stillness of Scripture.
call God sightings. Sometimes we laugh so hard
Bill has taken a leave of absence from work to care
as a deer pants for streams of water, that sort of thing.
than what follows a slow walk in the woods, a month
of whatever time it may take for a long bath, longer
That Thursday, Bill sat with her on the couch, eyes closed.
You no longer go out with our armies.
Four slow decades on,
He lifts his voice, the earth melts.
students lie out like soldiers in a field
Last week, we buried a young alumnus.
and grabbed my arm, the sudden
of grief, that old impassivity
|May the Gentiles be glad and sing for joy.
make a royal mess of my cynicism,
for this would be salvation to me, tired
will know of it, the rocks and fields will
stringed instrumentation: a psalm, a song
|From the depths of the earth you will again bring
me up. Psalm 71:20
In cracks between other rocks, we hid the first
You always loved the feel of flat rocks
and arcing flight toward distant targets.
In our teens at the reservoir, we jumped
the rocks you, by then a college freshman,
on the summit of Blackcombe three-
centimeters of new snow again rocks
Some days I imagine it’s where you’ve gone:
and set your tent forever there, in that gathered
|Endow the king with your justice, O God.
Pray for the emperor.
Wouldn’t be so bad
Pray for the emperor’s advisors.
One side of me wants the empire
Pray for Babylon; as she prospers, we prosper.
But my notion of prosperity differs
and so there is another side of me
Yes, pray for the emperor’s soul
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