Home and Native Land – Sean Virgo



Sean Virgo (1940 - )

I think that the picture I found of Virgo is one of the coolest I have discovered of an author to include in this blog. There is something about him in this photo that I find very interesting. Perhaps he is fitting nicely into the mold that I have created of a 70’s poet. The long hair, spacey look in the eyes, disheveled clothing...and I have studied the photo...but for the life of me, I can’t figure out what he is holding up to the photographer. In his left hand he seems to have a small cup of something that he has pulled something he is holding in his right hand.

My mind went directly to a drug. It’s almost as if he is offering it to me...just can’t figure out what he is doing.

I tell you what though...if I was in that room with him, and it was a drug, I would probably take what he offered.


I agree with the great minds of our species that feel that poets, singers artists authors...what ever you want to label them as....are the true educators of our kind. We should with question and wisdom of our own learning, absorb what they have to offer...song, painting, photo, stories etc.


So, if Sean Virgo offered me an interesting drug...I would consider it. By reading what he has written, and researching his life and what he has given to this world, I think it would be a nice decision to accept what he would offer.


Concerning the story, I think Virgo’s background as a poet shined through giving a sort of easiness to the reading. The Pacific North West and having Native Americans as characters also gave something fresh to my mind. It’s a nice short little piece with the substance needed to pull you and as well as disturb you. In this case, you can see Oates chose the story for the disturbing nature of the plot.


Score 8 out of 10

2 comments:

  1. This guy taught me English Literature in 1965. He was great; we all loved him!

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  2. Eclectic life. He was our bus driver - Haida Gwaii, formerly known as the Queen Charlotte Islands (late 60s). I ran into him in Merida, Mexico at the Hotel Reforma in 1987...and now here again...perhaps holding a fingernail pulled from a hotdog?

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  Before I dive into this wonderful little story, I’ll do what I always seem to do in these entries and wander down a path that has absolute...