Biography of Gary Soto
Gary Anthony Soto (born April 12, 1952) is an American author and poet.
Soto was born to Mexican-American parents Manuel (1910–1957) and Angie Soto (1924-). In his youth, he worked in the fields of the San Joaquin Valley. Soto's father died in 1957, when he was five years old. As his family had to struggle to find work, he had little time or encouragement in his studies, hence, he was not a good student. Soto notes that in spite of his early academic record, while at high school he found an interest in poetry through writers such as Ernest Hemingway, John Steinbeck, Jules Verne, Robert Frost and Thornton Wilder.
Soto attended Fresno City College and California State University, Fresno, where he earned his B.A. degree in English in 1974, studying with poet Philip Levine. He did graduate work in poetry writing at the University of California, Irvine, where he was the first Mexican-American to earn a M.F.A. in 1976. He states that he wanted to become a writer in college after discovering the novelist Gabriel García Márquez and the contemporary poets Edward Field, W. S. Merwin, Charles Simic, James Wright and Pablo Neruda, whom he calls "the master of them all.
Soto taught at University of California, Berkeley and at University of California, Riverside, where he was a Distinguished Professor.
Soto was a 'Young People's Ambassador' for the United Farm Workers of America, introducing young people to the organization's work and goals. Soto became the sponsor for the Pattonville High School Spanish National Honor Society in 2009.
Soto lives in northern California, dividing his time between Berkeley and Fresno, but is no longer teaching.
- Teaching English from an Old Composition... -new-
- The Tale of Sunlight -new-
- Self-Inquiry before the Job Interview -new-
- The Map -new-
- Making Money: Drought Year in Minkler, C... -new-
- Late Confession -new-
- The Jungle Café -new-
- Graciela -new-
- The Elements of San Joaquin -new-
- Chiapas -new-
- After Tonight -new-
Gary Soto Poems
A Red Palm
You're in this dream of cotton plants. You raise a hoe, swing, and the first weeds Fall with a sigh. You take another step, Chop, and the sigh comes again,
Saturday At The Canal
I was hoping to be happy by seventeen. School was a sharp check mark in the roll book, An obnoxious tuba playing at noon because our team Was going to win at night. The teachers were
Mission Tire Factory, 1969
All through lunch Peter pinched at his crotch, And Jesús talked about his tattoos, And I let the flies crawl my arm, undisturbed, Thinking it was wrong, a buck sixty five,
How Things Work
Today it's going to cost us twenty dollars To live. Five for a softball. Four for a book, A handful of ones for coffee and two sweet rolls, Bus fare, rosin for your mother's violin.
The clouds shouldered a path up the mountains East of Ocampo, and then descended, Scraping their bellies gray on the cracked shingles of slate.
The Tale of Sunlight -new-
Listen, nephew. When I opened the cantina At noon A triangle of sunlight
Self-Inquiry before the Job Interview -new-
Did you sneeze? Yes, I rid myself of the imposter inside me. Did you iron your shirt? Yes, I used the steam of mother's hate.
The Map -new-
When the sun's whiteness closes around us Like a noose, It is noon, and Molina squats In the uneven shade of an oleander.
Making Money: Drought Year in Minkler, C... -new-
"It's a '49," Rhinehardt said, and slammed The screen door, then worked his way around The dog turds in the yard To the Buick gutted from firethe gears
Late Confession -new-
Monsignor, I believed Jesus followed me With his eyes, and when I slept, An angel peeled an orange And waited for me to wake up.
The Jungle Café -new-
We could wipe away a fly, Drink, and order that yellow Thing behind the glass, peach Or sweet bread. Sunlight
Wedding night Graciela bled lightly But enough to stain his thighs And left an alphabet Of teeth marks on his arm.
The Elements of San Joaquin -new-
for César Chávez Field The wind sprays pale dirt into my mouth The small, almost invisible scars On my hands.
There is the one who turns A spoon over like a letter, Reading the teeth-marks Older than his own;
A Red Palm
You're in this dream of cotton plants.
You raise a hoe, swing, and the first weeds
Fall with a sigh. You take another step,
Chop, and the sigh comes again,
Until you yourself are breathing that way
With each step, a sigh that will follow you into town.
That's hours later. The sun is a red blister
Coming up in your palm. Your back is strong,