Copperdome Chapbooks
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Character Readings An excerpt from "Cleaning Up" I fill boxesuntil I'm out of boxes and I lie on the floor waiting for my brother to come, waiting for more boxes. My wife was thorough. There's nothing of theirs, not a toy, not a sock, not a hair. Later, I may admire her efficiency, how after ten years, she could move so easily, removing excess with a surgeon's skill, until I am left, must pack my stuff, must leave our home by tomorrow.
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Cover forthcoming
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Always After Our Fall
An excerpt from "As If the Body Could Forget" It began slowly, with her asking What day is it again? forgetting where she put her house key, occasionally getting that confused look when spoken to. So it seems easy to understand why no one noticed the times my grandmother put her heart medication with the cheese, or wore her slippers to work, chalking it all up to exhaustion or comfort.
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What Has Not Yet Left An excerpt taken from the poem "The Arsonist's Wife Has Not Yet Left Him" Nothing left to live for, the man told the reporters and all of us, his neighbors, gathered around him. He brushed ash from his face and looked back at the bare, wet-black rafters of his new house still smoking. You never forget this, he said, wiping at the lines dragging soot down both cheeks.
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Chapbook,
$6
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In the Little House "There are books that leave us, once we
have turned the last page, with a soft, clear tone that overrides ideas
or emotional impressions. It is the music of grief and desire, when
grief and desire have become indistinguishably joined. Jenn Habel's
In the Little House is such a collection. 'No one told me it would
be so impersonal . . .' says its speaker, 'my charge/ to be her globe,
then station, / then something in a warm wind. . .' How beautiful a book
that so embodies its subject matter, an emptiness from which children
are born and poems imagined. How difficult a resolution to release a
child in small increments, a world whose loveliness can only move
continuously away. Habel's poems are the little houses of that world: in
which first memories and first words are right now being made."
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Chapbook,
$6
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Published January 2009 |
Back of the Envelope From Okinawa to Vietnam to the marital bed, these poems pack a punch—and a caress. Military and domestic battlegrounds are viewed close up, through the unsparing eye of a photographer. And yet these poems fairly bristle with restrained emotion. These are decent, honorable poems, and under them all is a fine music that makes the grief more bearable." —Barbara Goldberg
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Chapbook,
$6
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"With 'dark swollen words and shifting air,' Matthew Nienow builds poems as if building boats, 'each strip like a tree's growth,' and 'asking the question rivers are always asking: why?' From Nienow I am grateful to have learned that poetry 'is movement with one desire: to pull at whatever it touches.' There is much talk these days of the importance of a poet's voice. But here we have proof that a poet's ear…for music, for complexity, for 'the prodigal aria returning home'…is just as important." —Todd Boss |
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Chapbook, $6 |
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An excerpt from Section 3: My Father Dressing Me as Zorro, taken from the poem "Listening to Coltrane on the 4th of July": Now
I've lowered a mask over my face |
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Chapbook, $5 |
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"Inquisitive and insightful, the poems of Michael Meyerhofer aren't afraid to go to those weird places other poets fear or dismiss. There's equal parts humor and pathos in this poet, and he brings us poems that regard the world with a certain lyric skepticism that, nonetheless, wants to believe in all those old-fashioned ancient truths—beauty, harmony, peace. Meyerhofer's poems are much more durable than the 'Cardboard Urn' of this collection's title poem—they are resilent, incisive, and ultimately, redemptive." —Allison Joseph, poet |
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Chapbook, $5 |
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