I was in Brooklyn on Saturday to introduce Quincy Lehr on the occasion of his new book, Obscure Classics of English Progressive Rock from Seven Towers Press. The launch party took place in St. Joseph’s College, where he teaches history. The college was formerly the home of the Pratt family and is duly ornate in a Gilded Age style. Watch videos (courtesy of Mr. Rick Mullin) of my introduction followed by Quincy reading from his new book. Enjoy! And share.

How does one begin to explain Quincy Lehr? Quincy R. Lehr. Caesar and Pompey. Elizabeth facing the Armada. Grant at the Wilderness. Nixon sweating through the small hours. It is not hard to imagine Mr. Lehr loitering in the vicinity of great historical scenes, observing, and, with a sardonic flourish, conjuring subtle, assassinating satires from the strivings and failures of great mortals. He is a man outside of time, and yet very much a man for our time. More than ever we need a poet of his prosodic skill, his deadly aim, his stinging humor. He is a worthy combatant, and I like to believe I am in league with him, though he has the strength of a legion and needs no backing. He is an antidote to the dulling sameness of the modern, professional poet. He strives, certainly. But he is not what we know as a careerist. For one, he is not tepid in his opinions, or bland in his outlook, and he never hesitates to dispatch his chosen foes, quickly and decisively, from the field. When I interviewed him, he remarked that

I like to think I’m not a careerist. Let’s face it, putting one’s self forward as an artist requires a great deal of self-belief, and if I felt my poems were derivative, I doubt I’d have the guts to shamelessly promote them hither and yon.

Mr. Lehr is not merely a satirist. He is much more. He is a fine stylist, a superb versifier. Let us take a short example, from his small comic masterpiece “Bunga-Bunga,” a term for an orgy hosted by a powerful leader, like Silvio Berlusconi.

Each woman’s in your harem.
Each man’s a catamite,
an entry in your ledger
that shouldn’t come to light.

But on the street the warriors
gather around their chiefs
to hunt for bunga-bunga.
In boxers or in briefs,

in high-rise blocks or villas,
secluded or in view,
the chieftain’s spear is waving.
He has his eye on you.

Mr. Lehr is not underestimated by the critical establishment. No one who has met him or who knows his work underestimates him. Rather, the establishment is merely ignorant of the imminent threat he poses. Their easy pieties, their smug naivety, will, at length, be their undoing. Mr. Lehr ruffles the peacock’s feathers. He strokes the cat the wrong way. He is the screech of the needle dragged from the record, announcing the party is over. He does not console. But he gives hope. And that is what we need most right now. Please welcome, Mr. Quincy R. Lehr.