Gavin Yuan Gao



‘I want to stand at the end of a poem as the humans stand beneath the sky’: Gavin Yuan Gao in conversation with Thomas Enriquez

Poetry often asks the reader to navigate an incommensurable distance: the breath-length attentiveness of a line, an image set aglow, even an ending as it unfolds – to bend towards the silences thereafter, to sit and listen to what remains. My conversation with Gavin Yuan Gao was one such exchange, widening across questions of distance, memory and the seemingly impossible task of approaching what inhabits the body.

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Jennifer Compton Reviews Sarah Holland-Batt and Gavin Yuan Gao

Both of these considerable books, The Jaguar by Sarah Holland-Batt and At the Altar of Touch by Gavin Yuan Gao, arrived into my hands, out of their padded envelope, with all of the gravitas of prize-winners. They are, both of them, winning books—they shine with sincerity and reach and craft—and they won me over with minimal resistance on my part.

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Argument of Incorporeality

Through the mist-aproned mountain, wind blows a gate open. Years that don’t belong to me flood my palms like coins too heavy to hold. Memories—time’s avalanche sweeping the mountainside of the mind. In my naked namelessness, I lie down in …

Posted in 107: LIMINAL | Tagged

Lullaby

Before the divine inventions of dawn & grief, before all bare beginnings, there is the body’s intention to sing. The river wants to hear it & so does the shadow abandoned by its owner under the chestnut tree, waiting with …

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Letter to Blair from Home

Brother, when the raven came for me last night in its black cassock, when my breath was sweetened with dreaming, I heard you call to me in that bell-clear treble, Roy, Roy, and knew there would be no peace, as …

Posted in 93: PEACH | Tagged