Larry Kearney's lyrical, probing voice has been an essential in American poetry for the last 50 years.
Joanne Kyger
Kearney is one of those unsung cats who has been producing intelligent thoughtful snarly deeply musical poetry, deeply felt wryly wrought astute poetry of the first rank for decades for a select few-you're in for a rare treat.
David Meltzer
His ear is uncanny, tuned with perfect fidelity to culture high and low, to all the temptations of language and heaven. His curiosity about form and metric have turned his work into a palace of music; it's a poetry so melodic and harmonically inventive as to approach the aural splendor of, say, Charlie Parker's Birdland . . .
Kevin Killian
About the Author:
Larry Kearney was Born in Brooklyn, New York. He moved to San Francisco in '64 and became involved with the group of poets centered around North Beach and generally and inaccurately described as the San Francisco Renaissance-Spicer, MacInnis, Duerden, Duncan, Brautigan, Stanley, Blaser, Kyger, Meltzer, Hirschman et al.
His closest friends in poetry were Jack Spicer and Richard Duerden, and Spicer's insistence on being willing to, and capable of, saying what the poem wants to say when it wants to say it, endures for him as a working definition-poetry as the whole of the real-the seen and unseen, heard and unheard-the voices of the haunted living and the unsuccessfully dead.
