By David Cope
Acclaimed poet David Cope's 5th assortment, flip the Wheel, opens with a lean sunrise, farewell to outdated loves and demanding situations to new, prior sorrows and tenderness filling the older poet's desires, delicate petals for calm crossing. the following too is flooring 0 fight for compassion, misplaced worlds within the valley of the solar, finale a damaged observe, herons lower than the jetliner's blast course close to the shaking educate filled with its shipment of lifeless desires.
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Additional info for Turn the Wheel (Vox Humana)
No, she would not be coming. qxd 4/15/03 11:46 AM Page 25 tomorrow would be a new story. he took a breath, thanked friends for coming, & walked them to the door, where the doorman swung the doors open, ushering them into the cool & windless night. qxd 4/15/03 11:46 AM Page 26 Yeah, an’ here he was, leaning down on me with his one eye still full of tears, the other now gone blind, singing an old yiddish ballad in my ear like some long-gone yenta come back to find me a boyfriend—I’d been dreaming in this mile-wide field of headstones, the glassed pillars in haze beyond, & distant rush hour thunder, wealthy slaves still quoting stocks & haggling in their hopped-up SUVs whistling while they race to work—& above them, the raging torrent of dead souls screaming upward like roman candles into the mild sky toward the emptiness beyond pole star & lost sailor alike.
Qxd 4/15/03 11:46 AM Page 48 The dharma at last longdead in his dream the boys leap one by one over the cliff into the wild splash & the singing current—the tow pulling them down into green dark & silt where the sunken trees fell & were pinned as well, great black branches looming up in the murk, fish tearing the guts of whitened & bloated corpses as their eyes stared, marbled spheres like moons glowing in the dark. by night, the water clears, the shadow moon reflects off the pale carcasses— & he is awake, panting, the moon shining thru his midnight window.
The heart’s no longer heavy with the grief of loss; there are light moments when one may sing with long-dead friends, watch dreams walk lightly from the living tomb. qxd 4/15/03 11:46 AM Page 28 “La Goulue” Considers His Lines O, I could wow ‘em when I had the stage— I had those boys singing in the aisles calling out my name with roses— O those hip shakes, O let go! ) of fat, & saw I’d not be what I was yet O the hap of it, to be in my chartreuse gown & my feathers again, to sing & leap again—if only once—& feel my legs carry me up in my fishnet stockings & slippers, to turn again & sing again— so I dream, alone on my bed, & peer into that mirror & see that sweet-faced boy now valiantly—is it age?
Turn the Wheel (Vox Humana) by David Cope