"I can't scrape out of my head the jack-hammering of Shaw's bold new volume, Scraping Away. Its yearning beat is indelible, inscribing the ether in a long wake of testimony. Shaw's been paying attention: to the grit and grease his people wear like praise, the sound of their last two nickels scraped against each other, sparking a conflagration of rev and witness. He's been punching in, and he's got the spine and will to scriven it all into words as real as concrete and rebar, shots and beers after the dead man's shift: He's got a jazzman's ear and a millwright's heart - and, more than anything, Fred Shaw reminds us that poetry is the province of light, the province of truth. I love these poems. They make me 'hunger [for] a constant moon, / one that could hover / and hold still time / before places and days like these are all gone.'"–Joseph Bathanti, author of East Liberty