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.)

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