Somerville writer Pagan Kennedy emailed me about a new book ("Why The Long Face?") of short stories by local writer Ron MacLean, who used to direct Grub Street (a writing school now located in Boston). MacLean reminds me of the well-regarded fiction writer Timothy Gager, whose work deals with the ying and yang of relationships, existential crises of men in their early middle age, with liberal use of the Somerville-area environs for a backdrop for his fiction.

The lead story "Aerialist" deals with a man who recently lost his wife due to illness, and how he and his young daughter deal with this tragedy. The daughter takes to walking a tightrope, much to her dad's bemusement. The father learns from the girl's aerial alchemy to let go of the past and move on, and to let his daughter stand on her own two small feet:

"Kate, turned, her back to me. Took three steps away and hurled her herself backward, into air, into sky, legs gently propelling, upside down, floating, above the rope, my body resisting the urge to leap forward, to catch her, her feet spinning back to earth…Katie's face a big, blurry grin. In her element. Where did this come from? Where will it lead? I can't answer these questions. What I can do is wait for Katie land, and hold her while she's here."

There is a lot of local color in this book. Characters drink at Bukowski's, a watering hole in Inman Square. They hang in my favorite barbecue joint in Davis Square, Redbones. In this selection, we have a right on description of Bukowski's, a bar whose patrons might have driven "the dirty old man" of letters to even more libations:

"The bar is called Bukowski's, which is unfortunate, and it is populated by young men-late twenties-early thirties. You wouldn't believe the goatees. Excuse me, Van Dykes. Most of these guys are in advertising and already lost."

As in most collections, some stories are strong and others less so. MacLean can obviously spin a story. You may have the nagging feeling you have read stuff like this before-but, hey-a little more won't hurt you.

School St. Somerville, Mass. 02143 dougholder@post.harvard.edu

initiation

before you

become

a poet

you gotta

be a

taxi driver

so you can get

the feel of the

gun that the customer

presses against your

neck and demands your

money

before you

become a poet

you gotta go on

strike and carry a sign

cause the company you

worked for

won't give you a

five dollar raise

before you get

to become a

poet

you gotta wash your hands

in the dirt and grime of

mud sloggin through the hell

of vietnam

your face blackened so

the enemy out there

can't see you while you're

waitin in the dark to kill

someone

before you get to

become a poet

you gotta face death, pain,

loneliness, prison, jail, hard times,

good times, phony dames, scams on the run,

liars, cheats, and bein crazy…

pay your dues, man…

then, and only then

you

will become a poet.