Vic Chesnutt in the Perforated Sky
By Eric Hill • Jan 5th, 2010 • Category: Editor's Picks, Essays, From the InterwebThere are no books of Vic’s lyrics (yet), and so I don’t know if his work translates onto the page in the way that Dylan or Lou Reed’s does not, but I feel safe in saying that–baggy caveat above noted–Vic Chesnutt is one of my favorite poets.
He died over Christmas, so it seems as good a time as any to say it.
Vic’s attention to words–his weird way of rolling vowels around in his mouth and clucking out his consonants–showed as much feeling for what the overly bookish among us call “the materiality of language” as any dime-store Ezra Pound currently holding office hours. But Vic also had a heart (”In My Way, Yes”), a bizarre Rome, Georgia version of a soul (”Steve Willoughby”), and a bag full of big ideas he liked to hash out in his songs (”Speed Racer”). He also had a deep sense of tradition, both in terms of song and of poetry, which drew poets and writers to him like pilgrims to the waters.
Read rest of article at The Huffington Post.
Eric Hill is the editor of branta.
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