Oh! I know Judson! A kind, articulate, quiet man. He’s from my hometown–the same part of the town, as a matter of fact– and was friends with my cousin. My parents knew him and his family pretty well. His second novel, Sabbath Creek, is also apocryphal and full of a sort of inexorable dark remembrance. Kind of Proustian. I can see and smell and hear rural southern and central Georgia and the falling apart of those places (and of other things) so distinctly and subtly in that book. His work is really rich with paradox.
I discovered Judson’s poetry in the Georgia Review about 15 years ago and was reading a poem of his to my mother, who said, what Jack’s Creek is that? who wrote this? It was of course one of the creeks I grew up knowing. Then a couple of years later at a reading I told him how much I loved his work and added that I had loved it before I knew he was from my hometown. There’s a really deep resonance for me in reading his work, of course. One of my favorite poems is “Where We Are,” which, I think, is probably in Somewhere in Ecclesiastes. I’m so glad you found his work and posted this.