BackStreet
Review
Crave narrative? crave noir
imagination? crave (mostly) unique prose transformed and christened “poetry”? —Hint:
the truly good materials seem to be written in historic (narrative) present tense.
Then, BackStreet Review is poss-ib-ly for you. But the highlight of
this gritty, down-to-earth publication is, not, its lengthy life, almost two
decades in one form or another; or its ongoing collection of accomplished
writers; rather the pearl in the soup kitchen oyster stew is the writing of, editor,
producer and publisher: Ray Foreman. Ray’s lived it…
Ray’s a cat person (Max happy.)
Ray’s a cat person (Max happy.)
Never met Ray. Do you think?
because the backstory of the guy is so convoluted, perhaps he is actually only
the figment of someone’s imagination; the HanShan of the faded beat generation.
But I know I like this guy. He comes across as street-tough, as blue-collar as
they come. Apparently, used to own—as in own, operate, cook, clean and babysit all
day—every day— a Chicago hash counter, a diner when a diner was King on Clark Street; was a Merchant
Marine, a coffee shop entrepreneur near City Lights book store in the city by the bay. Ray’s been around and
seen it all, a “poetry” hustler, street philosopher, story teller, professor of
honest-to-Jake writing. Foreman doesn’t stand for pinky-flair poetry, he wants an
honest sounding story with substance, true to life, to slam, punch and grind.
And if you hear what he is saying in his “editorials,” absorb what he shows (not
tells—Ray doesn't sell this soap) in his
“poems” you’ll be guaran-damn-teed to come out of the fire a better writer.
Contact
“Ray” @:
BackStreet Quarterly Review
P.O. Box 1377
Berthoud, CO 80513
Can’t recall the meager cost for
some of the best street-schooling in the trade: $10.00…perhaps $15.00 per year?
Oh. Go ahead, at least, send him three or four wrinkled Georgies for a sample copy. I’m certain he can use them (can’t we all) and you can’t
afford not to spend ’em…
Trust the
ticky-dot.
Best from, Max tdc
