14th NATIONAL POET HUNT
THOMAS LYNCH
POET HUNT JUDGE

COMMENTARY

Of the several poems in this batch that were far more than admirable, "Sprung Rhythm" is the one that caused that catch in the breath that always signals poetry to me. There is about it such a transport -- a sureness of diction that moves the reader from the invisible air observed to the visible woman never observed and connects, quite magically, the natural, the spiritual and the carnal. These elements of creation make the homage to Hopkins, in title and text, more than merely artful accessories, for certainly the tension between nature, soul and flesh were essential in-spirations (wind heaves, frets of limbs) to that poor, chaste Jesuit, as they are to most of our kind. It is a pied beauty, my first place and favorite.

SPRUNG RHYTHM

Wind heaves through the oaks. Limbs on the lilac fret.
Pines lean, their canopies like sailors when waves crash,
the sails swing, and the man in the crow's nest considers
the depth of the long drop. "I never saw a naked woman,"
Gerard Manley Hopkins confessed. He said he wished he had.
What might that have done, his poems embers,
his God a bellows, the naked woman nothing but herself.


The MacGuffin Poet Hunt Winner, Winter 2010 SPRUNG RHYTHM

On the Day Your Leg Is Amputated


This is the season of compromise
wind contorts the trees
maples, oaks, and elms lift their limbs
they dance as if they are made for wind
grackles lift from the stubble,
cacophonous, a great black exit
as if they know what winds can do,
as if they know the meaning of the dance,
and you tell me, as I lean to you,
If it has to be, well then, it has to be,
the way you will tell me, years hence,
We all have to go up on the hill some time.


Tiferet: A Journal of Spiritual Literature, Issue Eleven, 2009

History
The author visits post-Civil War racial history in the school system in Portland, Oregon.
Poetry
Casey’s poems are compelling. Throughout, Casey’s lyrical voice resonates.
--Vivian Shipley
Deft. Real, honest, terse, sinewy, searing, passionate poems of emotional and sensual immediacy
--Brian Doyle