Gary Soto

(1952 / Fresno, California)

Comments about Gary Soto

  • SECRET (12/14/2017 4:19:00 PM)


    1 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Gary Soto (12/13/2017 12:09:00 PM)

    Oh wow Lazeo, thanks for the support! : D 😋 😋

  • Lazeo Gary (7/22/2013 2:30:00 PM)

    I love gary sotos poems... -Lazeo

  • Kate Parker (3/12/2012 3:41:00 PM)

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  • Orran Ainmire (1/28/2008 10:02:00 AM)

    You're most likely the same person, or you are just as foolish to defend someone like him. I'll admit: I'm grammar challenged, but the rules of the English Language change so often that such a state differs from being illiterate.

    'Your' was a typo. You are correct in pointing that out.

    'Your kind infest the world and, like a parasite, feast on the living Word of others while producing nothing of your own' is correct because: 'feast on the living Word of others while producing nothing of your own' is not an independent clause; therefore, you should not put a comma before the 'and'.

    I capitalized 'Word' because it is the living Word and the capitalization signifies a greater meaning. Read some of Emily Dickinson's poetry and you'll understand what I was trying to imply.

    You think your remarks are witty,
    but it is you, sir, who is illiterate.

    Again, I apologize for the misuse of the comment box. This shall be the last instance that this takes place. Humbly yours- Orran Ainmire

  • I Love Whitt Bell (5/7/2007 1:29:00 PM)

    I love you, Whitt Bell. Gary Soto is horrible because he writes meaningless crap that doesn't mean anything.

    'it shows that your an illiterate twit'
    Should be 'you're'

    'Your kind infest the world and, like'
    Should be 'Your kind infest the world, and, like'

    'feast on the living Word of others'
    Should be 'feast on the living word of others'

    Who's illiterate?

  • Orran Ainmire (4/10/2007 9:16:00 PM)

    I apologize to all for the fact that i'm using this comment box as a means of delivering a personal message, but i feel it must be done. Okay first off... Why Whitt Bell why? Why do you pollute the msg boards of a website dedicated to poetry and poets alike with phrases of 'i hate this guy, i think all poetry is stupid.'
    Its obvious you don't understand the greater meaning behind written works of literature and, in turn, it shows that your an illiterate twit who is a prime example of ignorance everywhere. Your kind infest the world and, like a parasite, feast on the living Word of others while producing nothing of your own. You are a hypocrite and a louse; you should spout your words of stupidity elsewhere. Leave us in peace.

  • Whitt Bell (4/6/2007 1:36:00 PM)

    I think he should not even be considered a famous poetry person. He stinks and I don't like him because he is mexican.

  • Richard Cock III (6/26/2006 1:40:00 PM)

    i remember reading a short story by Soto in grammar school, which prompted me to see if PH had any of his stuff. im about to see if i can get my hands on any of his work at the local library, but still, please please please please post more!

  • Sarah Smith (11/8/2005 11:04:00 AM)

    Whoever your reviewer is obviously did not even read Taking Sides by Gary Soto. The reviewer's synopsis is so far off, it's offensive. Nowhere in this novel is there a mention of traveling to Japan. Ridiculous! It undermines the credibility of your website.

Best Poem of Gary Soto

Saturday At The Canal

I was hoping to be happy by seventeen.
School was a sharp check mark in the roll book,
An obnoxious tuba playing at noon because our team
Was going to win at night. The teachers were
Too close to dying to understand. The hallways
Stank of poor grades and unwashed hair. Thus,
A friend and I sat watching the water on Saturday,
Neither of us talking much, just warming ourselves
By hurling large rocks at the dusty ground
And feeling awful because San Francisco was a postcard
On a bedroom wall. We wanted to go there,
Hitchhike under the last migrating birds
And ...

Read the full of Saturday At The Canal

The Drought

The clouds shouldered a path up the mountains
East of Ocampo, and then descended,
Scraping their bellies gray on the cracked shingles of slate.

They entered the valley, and passed the roads that went
Trackless, the houses blown open, their cellars creaking
And lined with the bottles that held their breath for years.

They passed the fields where the trees dried thin as hat racks

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