In Closing Distances, Paul Martin keeps alive for a little longer the people who lived in the working class town where he grew up. Here are the old Slovak women, husbands, parents, and grandparents, brothers, the racy butcher. Here is the Slovak language that is slowly being forgotten. And here are beauty and sorrow, humor, tenderness and wisdom. In the aptly named "The Fading Photograph," a poem about his paternal grandfather, we read, "Proud old man, forgive me for thinking I understand." Thing is, Paul Martin does understand, and to read these wonderful, often heartbreaking poems is to share in that understanding and to be uplifted. We are much richer for these poems.
Harry Humes