Gary Soto

(1952 / Fresno, California)

Gary Soto
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Gary Anthony Soto (born April 12, 1952) is an American author and poet.
Soto was born to Mexican-American parents Manuel (1910–1957) and Angie Soto (1924-). In his youth, he worked in the fields of the San Joaquin Valley. Soto's father died in 1957, when he was five years old. As his family had to struggle to find work, he had little time or encouragement in his studies, hence, he was not a good student. Soto notes that in spite of his early academic record, while at high school he found an interest in poetry through writers such as Ernest Hemingway, John Steinbeck, Jules Verne, Robert Frost and Thornton Wilder.
Soto attended Fresno City College and California State University, ... more »

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Comments about Gary Soto

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  • Michael (12/6/2018 1:17:00 PM)

    You forgot the poem Oranges

  • unknown (11/30/2018 12:51:00 PM)

    researching him for school! ! ! ! He is great at writing poems! ! ! ! !

  • Unknown kitten (11/14/2018 9:54:00 PM)

    I guess I'm not the only one who loved poems a lot! ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ

  • Gary Soto (11/14/2018 1:32:00 PM)

    Thanks for your comments, love y'all

  • I love Gary Soto''s poems (11/13/2018 10:10:00 PM)

    They are right he did write oranges. That was a fantastic poem!

  • Unknown kitten (11/13/2018 2:24:00 PM)

    He also wrote oranges and it was a good poem

  • unknown (11/7/2018 10:50:00 AM)

    Why are there so many little kids on this site?

  • unknown (11/1/2018 7:55:00 PM)

    he also wrote Antigua

  • ur friend (10/9/2018 1:52:00 PM)

    actually in infinity war spodermen doesnt die peter perker does! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! .....

  • pastacat (10/1/2018 7:41:00 PM)

    He also wrote Oranges btww.

Read all 44 comments »
Best Poem of Gary Soto

A Red Palm

You're in this dream of cotton plants.
You raise a hoe, swing, and the first weeds
Fall with a sigh. You take another step,
Chop, and the sigh comes again,
Until you yourself are breathing that way
With each step, a sigh that will follow you into town.

That's hours later. The sun is a red blister
Coming up in your palm. Your back is strong,
Young, not yet the broken chair
In an abandoned school of dry spiders.
Dust settles on your forehead, dirt
Smiles under each fingernail.
You chop, step, and by the end of the first row,
You can buy one splendid ...

Read the full of A Red Palm
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