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Author<\/h2>\nCooper Dozier<\/p>\n
Cooper Dozier was born near Los Angeles in 1984, but grew up in Huntsville, Alabama. He became very educated about psychotropics in high school and did well in high school. He was voted most likely to become a political prisoner by his high school class (and also elected SGA vice president). After a brief sojourn in Massachusetts in 2003-2004 (Hampshire College) in which he had a mystical and transpersonal experience, he returned to Huntsville, made some new friends and in January of 2005 started college at UAH. His life centered around a coffeehouse that functioned as a computer and a bar and arts center that worked similarly. After becoming depressed, he moved to Nashville and worked in IT for a couple years, but never put down roots. Moving to Louisville near his parents, he pursued art for a year before returning to the job market, and began school at Bellarmine University in August 2011 for Design, Arts and Technology but withdrew in October 2013. He began writing a lot of poetry in late 2012 and writing intensively in December 2014. He is now engaged in a project to send 1000 postcards for climate change and poetry among other things, such as generalized activism, and has returned to Bellarmine for one final semester to complete a degree in Liberal Studies. He has finally begun to put down roots in Louisville. He is very active on WordPress (lostinmist.wordpress.com) and Twitter (@tribalephemeral). He has a cat called Crowley and lives alone. His favorite book is “The Schroedingers Cat Trilogy.”<\/p>\n
“The Driftwood of Our Lives Washed Up on Some Foreign Shore” is Cooper Dozier’s first published ebook, the 2nd edition coming out October 15th 2015. It is a chapbook length collection that touches on a range of topics although sometimes obliquely. From the more direct approaches to politics to the indirectness of alluding to the disaappearance of children, from activism to mental health, it is a selective tour of the psychological landscape of modern America with some windows into the author’s life, although there may be glare or drawn blinds on some of those windows… Many of the short poems are untitled (although numbered) and the book contains a couple of multi-page poems (“People of the Moon, and, particularly, “Menagerie”). Some brushes with anarchist leanings will be noticed, some brushes only with activism, as the line blurs between them. Drugs are a topic that comes up also. People get lost in the world and their minds in this text, but they are also found, or find themselves, as in the postscript or
\n“The Energy Pours Through Your Spine,” or in “Victory (Non-Linear Poem).” Two Non-Linear Poems are included, where the lines were written all out of order on the page, then some light editing was done and some lines removed, but very few if any moved around on the pages. It is a method I have had some delightful results with, although certainly its share of failures too, but even then it is a useful exercise to get the juices flowing, and there’s always something delightful and useful to be gleaned from it even when the poem as a whole fails. The book is ambivalent about, or even in places hostile to the idea that life and the universe are friendly, but it also contains its share of successes and loves… War is touched on at least once (“Untitled 5”) as are the refugees in and near and from Syria (“Curfew,” although that could also be interpreted to refer to other things). As “Untitled 14” says, “It Rankles Suburbia to Know These Things,” particularly parents trying to mold their childrens’ minds into their
\nown dictated shapes, I imagine. This could apply to much of the book depending on the family. The author recommends the second edition and recommends against the first, but you can still find it if you look.<\/p>\n
Book excerpt<\/p>\n
[Note: excerpt is out of order and disjointed compared to the book]
\n~~~~~~~ 14
\nit rankles suburbia to know these things
\nno one drifts into the silence of dreams
\nsome people go their whole lives without
\na jumble of sensoria tumbles from the closet
\n~~~~~~~
\nSTOLEN
\nA silent humanity for all
\nEasier to write it down, and put a stop to it
\nA hopeful sign arises in the East
\nScrutiny is not done quite so precisely
\nIn stolen moments
\nAt the day\u2019s interstices
\nThese little things drop out
\n~~~~~~~ 8
\nThe cleverness of imitation
\nIs a little like
\nThe pixelation of your anime
\nIt doesn\u2019t talk into the silences
\nIt doesn\u2019t walk into the desert
\nIt only works when you make it partly real
\nBut doom is your reward
\nIf you do not take it seriously
\n~~~~~~~
\nLOVE WAS BOUNDLESS
\nYour love is mine
\nAnd mine is yours
\nWe grow together like twining vines
\nIt is truth we seek
\nOur love was boundless
\nBut missing it is true
\nOur love was boundless
\nBut binding it is true
\nOur love is boundless
\nAnd singing it is true
\nAnd as I do this
\nNothing else comes up
\nMy mind is the picture of the one-track
\nMy love is boundless
\nAnd enacting it is true
\nYour love is infinite
\nAnd my seeing it is true
\nThe death of circumstances surrounding me
\nEndings and beginnings
\nWe grow up together, you and I
\nAn ending to my dependence
\nA beginning of our political careers
\nYou treat with the opposition
\nI organize the community
\nTheir love was boundless
\nWe saw it and we knew it
\nTheir love was boundless
\nWe reached for it and permeated
\nTheir love was infinite
\nWe helped it become a force of power
\nThe community reformed itself
\nInto a fierce force to be reckoned with
\nIt grew its links stronger
\nIts love ever greater
\nIts conflicts ever resolving
\nIts acting as a union
\nIn the West
\nWe acted as the progenitors
\nAnd then watched the life we sparked
\nCome into it\u2019s own
\n~~~~~~~ 2
\nTrickster spirits come dancing
\nThe symbol of a sticky situation
\nUnmentionable
\nCategories of things sift into conspiracies
\nEverything is a symbol of something else
\n~~~~~~~
\nCURFEW
\nA broken door signifies
\nYet all our entreaties do nothing
\nTo our aid our neighbors are deaf
\nBut to their enforcement of curfew they are not
\nA trial at rest slips into motion
\nA broken tool sits on the smith\u2019s bench
\nIn need of a handle and a mending forge
\nBut the smith is forever departed
\nThe elevated cleric gives no more solace
\nDawn prayers for the faithful are called
\nINTERLUDE 1
\n~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
\nbut there wasn\u2019t any error, all the lies
\ncame together, no one questioned them
\nall alerting others to the weather
\nsingularly absent of demagogues
\na spectacle was joined ever nightly
\ninside, the notes were compiling upon a desk
\n~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
\nREMEMBER THESE THINGS
\nThe tangled flow of lives
\nIn your workings, remember three things:
\nOne, never look down on mushrooms
\nTwo, do not insult your customers
\nThree, bring your lives to fruition
\nIn your direct actions, remember these four:
\nThe situation is not normal
\nThe collected dreams of the people are at a place of power
\nRefrain from rudeness
\nChant loudly, raucously, and bawdily
\nIn your home, three again
\nBring ever peace unto it
\nStand on the threshold a moment before going through
\nCook with consciousness<\/p>\n
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