All The Killers Gathered

From his very first poem in 1990, D. Alexander Holiday has engaged in an intense form of poetry that might be called Reality Writing. He has dealt with issues both personal (the abandonment and loss of never knowing his own parents), and universal (racism, genocide, imperialism). Now he returns with more poignant poems in which he continues a tradition he began long ago: putting people on trial in the public arena. In this case, the defendants include those who have united against him to prevent him from gaining custody of the granddaughter he was never informed he had – until the death of his own daughter, the little girl’s mother. Together with assorted letters and documents, this body of work tells the often horrifying story of Mr. Holiday’s run-ins with the human race: with the abusive and sadistic foster parents with whom he spent his first 18 years of life, having been abandoned by his mother and father (“Somehow Mama Knew”); with his daughter’s mother (“Ashes to Ashes,” “All the Killers Gathered”); and with co-workers (“Please Tell Massuh,” “How I Am Perceived”). But they also offer a few moments of gentle respite in the form of salutes to comedians whose work got him through the worst of times (“Stop Laughing at Me” and “Final Curtain”). As you read these poems, you will gradually learn of the insidious pattern of betrayal and deceit to which Mr. Holiday has been subjected to since his daughter’s mother packed up their child and moved her back down to New York City when she was still an infant. You will learn why he had no contact with his daughter, whom he loved deeply, for over 10 years – until he learned of her death in a most bizarre manner. And as you read of his conflicts with the human race - the years spent in abusive foster homes, repeated betrayals at the hands of family members, acquaintances, and others - you will marvel at the amazing story of a man who faced utter abandonment and turned to reading and writing instead of drugs, alcohol, or even more destructive forms of catharsis and escape which he might have (understandably) chosen.