About
Bob Hart is a joker, a trickster, a gambler. He plays with life for the highest stakes, nothing less than immortality, fullness, significance. Not for him the solemn approach to these ponderous subjects, but the sleight-of-hand to match, and trump, chance, emptiness, and transience. A pun, an accident of language, may be endowed by poetry with meaning. In Bob’s hands, a stone may be “a well of things well felt.”
Bob Hart grew up in Harlem, on 145th Street, 142nd Street, and 158th Street. He served in the army from 1952 to 1954, and was stationed in Germany during the Korean War. Now he works for a mail sorting company in Midtown West, and lives in Brooklyn. He has a previous small book of poems titled Acrobat. This is his second book.