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August 2024
HP Poet: Guy Scutellaro
Country: USA


Question 1: A warm welcome to the HP Spotlight, Guy. Please tell us about your background?

Guy Scutellaro: "I'm an adult basic education specialist at a local college, "a teacher". You have to be part psychologist, part coach and I especially enjoy working with students from other cultures and countries (Egypt, Greenland, Palestine, Kashmir) it's enlightening."


Question 2: How long have you been writing poetry, and for how long have you been a member of Hello Poetry?

Guy Scutellaro: "I been writing poems and stories off and on for years. since HP I've been writing consistently. I guess I've been on HP 6, 7 years. I use to send the poems out, had some poems in the small presses. recently, I sent some poems to one small press. the editor sent them back because the pages weren't numbered. I won't send anymore."


Question 3: What inspires you? (In other words, how does poetry happen for you).

Guy Scutellaro: "I go back and reread my poems. I amazed at some of the **** I come up with. Sometimes I have just a word or phrase I'd love to use and I begin with that. The poems, stories are 80 percent fiction. Words fascinate me...simple words. there's a difference, for example, "a" house, and "the" house, a completely different connotation."


Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?

Guy Scutellaro: "At one phase of writing I eschewed capitalization. no one word is more important than another work. Punctuation, I thought was unnecessary. the same thing can be accomplished using line breaks and spacing. But now, I see the creative value of using capitalization and punctuation."


Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?

Guy Scutellaro: "The poets I love and are most grateful too are the poets on HP. There's a gentle kindness that permeates the poets that comment on my scribblings. Their words are greatly appreciated. I recommend reading the "Latest" poems. there's a desperate and endearing beauty that appears on those pages at times. Perhaps it's the desperate, heartfelt honesty that attracts me to the poets I read and admire: Sylvia Plath, Shane McGowan, Robinson Jeffers, Anne Sexton. desperate, heartfelt, honesty is something I'm shooting for in what I write. but I'm not reluctant to throw in "*******"."


Question 6: What other interests do you have?

Guy Scutellaro: "I enjoy listening to music. lately, I'm into big head Todd and the monsters, cowboy junkies. Other interests are the outdoors, backpacking, mountaineering. Although now it's unaffordable as I m paying back my kids college loans."



Carlo C. Gomez: “Thank you so much for giving us this opportunity to get to know the man behind the poet, Guy! We are honored to include you in this ongoing series!”




Thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed coming to know Guy Scutellaro a little bit better. I most certainly did. It is our wish that these spotlights are helping everyone to further discover and appreciate their fellow poets. – Carlo C. Gomez

We will post Spotlight #19 in September!
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~dedicated and gifted to Alyssa Homes Underwood,
in perpetuity~
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this one, like so many others, is
for my inestimable~faithful friend
who asks, listens and never sings
out of tune,
always lending me his ears…

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the 7:42 am train is pulling in…
the tracks run by the soundless waters,
directly through the spaces
called my mind

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sun begging come out & play,
“c’mon baby, you know need warmth,”

(even if mine ain’t the kind that realizes
real dreams, the kind that exhale healing,
but come out anyway, take what you can get,
put off the pains of haunting curses, sins that cannot be erased, random emerging like jacks-in-the-box that were cranked, but just waiting for the right moment to fk you up…try putting them bastids, back in the can with  aplomb & composure but you know it’s way too late..)

Van Morrison serenades
“These are the days
(of the endless summer),”
it is a hymnal
in / of the church of blue sky,
birch  white pews, voices choral…
the caucus of birds who are crazy flitting, cawing, cracking,
making an unholiness mess unsuitable to the moment’s serenity,

the rabbits, seeing if this idiot threw out some
baby carrots (he did), Van singing of love of the one magician, who would turn my blood into wine…

the whistle blows, a one-minute-warning, train
a-leaving,  so is this poem, and the randomness herein is not a poem, but a cry of the mind,
”un cri de l’esprit,”
may it, it may resonant or fall, face~flat to the ground, the sound of the mind,
the train whistle, the symphony of mother morning nature, the quiet lapping waves,
all acknowledge their “failure to soothe,” them, relentless, will return later, on the morrow, same station, them, who
will never concede that they can be beaten,
to superimpose, a mental purity in the recesses
of where the screams crawl out of the mind’s
cemetery, them unmarked graves, of babies that
did not survive to be named, and yes, that’s a
real thing…shhhhhh, them say the triumvirate of the natural forces state with equanimity
”write, let it out, let it go,”
you
hope no one reads this…but it’s far too late
it is
for~formed, created,
on this the seventh day of the week,
when the Maker rested from his
creation~work, and you think maybe a day of rest, not a bad idea, smiling cause, someone is playing Joe Cocker singing,
“Have a Little Faith in Me”
and then,
“(Try) With a Little Help From My Friends”
confirming, in the governing firmament of this world there are no coincidences…*

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8:10 by the sky, and
checking out the sky holes and the holy,
seeing the sight lines to souls gone but always,
well remembered…they too shushing me with
loving kindness…and the next stop is
Nazareth