Of Grenada

Gaton recently gave me a chapbook of his from the early 80's, a 6 part anti war poem that uses metaphors as wide ranging as Films by Gehr and the Mountain Meadows Massacre to discuss the Regan administrations various "weekend" conflicts in South and Central America. It is either a harsh condemnation of the American Public's inability to pay attention or a plea for sanity in foreign policy.

The whole book begins with a quote from a book by Harold Lamb "Genghis Kahn: Emperor of All Men"

"He knew now that beyond the ranges of his westerly border existed fertile valleys where snow never fell. Here, also, rivers never froze. Here multitudenous peoples lived in cities more ancient than Karakorum or Yen-king"

It's tone is similar to Robinson Jeffers and has the awareness (maybe not quite the hipness) of Ginsberg. Gaton seems to have a direct line into the CIA's mindset in section I and his comparison of that organization to the Spanish Inquistors is as near a bullseye as one can get.
It's a little dated in terms of content but since it is highly political/topical it must be viewed in this scope and taken as a lesson of what happens when the powers that be to quote Gaton: "wear bloodstained gloves".

It was a limited edition chapbook that was self published and sent overseas to friends abroad. The copy I found was autographed by Gaton "To J- they're never worth it but we love them"

He refused to tell me who "J" was, or why the book was back in his posession, but insisted that I take it.

Exerpt From Gaton's Latest Book

While this might not be the best example of Chris Gaton's work, he asked me to share a work about his late wife before anything else:

Periodontal Maidenhead

Someday soon when I’m too old and deaf
to remember that I’ve fallen asleep
with the television too loud, a woman screaming
in a film will drive my neighbors
to report me to the police

and after they burst in, guns out and raised,
arresting me, they’ll bring in the scientists
with the white plastic suits
and black lights
and find our trails of blood:

yours on the sheets, mine in the sink.
Where’s the body? they’ll ask me
in the interrogation room. The blood
told them about a murder and I can’t
bring myself to talk about your wedding gift.

It is a short work, emotional without being burdensome. He finds a comical approach to dealing with his grief. It is sexual without being graphic. Well, perhaps a little graphic, but in a way that is tender and familiar, not vulgar.