"The fierce utterances of spare change are anything but. In poems that dart and turn, on matters as elemental as loss and desire, surfaces are unstable, ironies often lurking at line breaks...Fearless in their desire to arrive at difficult truths, these poems are bracing, generous—and beautiful. You will not forget them." ~Boyer Rickel
spare change is a collection of poems that traverse the pitted and slippery territories of family, illness, addiction, and mothering.
"The fierce utterances of spare change are anything but. In poems that dart and turn, on matters as elemental as loss and desire, surfaces are unstable, ironies often lurking at line breaks...Fearless in their desire to arrive at difficult truths, these poems are bracing, generous—and beautiful. You will not forget them." ~Boyer Rickel
spare change is a collection of poems that traverse the pitted and slippery territories of family, illness, addiction, and mothering.
in the snapshot
we line up
by age
look sideways
but for a sister
who
at the last second
faces the camera
head on
the world
in one moment
a shudder
of photo op
two-bit cyclone
in the next
a whip
lash of childhood
underfoot
hurled
where the dead
lie uncomposed
at most
illness is
a voracious
guest memory
hops on one leg
from the snapshot
we slip
the future a look
to a certain nobody:
a pair of wingtips is not
a means to fly even if
you are not in love
with the lies of the father
the rain can be taken
for medicine a boy has
seventy-two castanets
such doors seep
light in small doses
flush his golden hands
all incisors & milk
you are unassailable, knobbing up naked, singing
the hills alive, reservoir brimming at your back
best loved & creamy
mindless of cannibals in livery
later, when every
eye is died, triumphant
blood rushes deaf to my ovation
we’re happy enough, most days
the body sere with treatment is fifteen
& yours is nine
what rules you subsumes you
though promise bursts like april dogwood
you artfully bloom,
instead, like yeast
to swell the collapsed skin of him
let sacrifice be flesh alone let the air of a body
never loved enough to be [inside]
wait inert for a late parade
ascending holy
linoleum stairs
you shadow
me like i’m
on my knees
before kiss
before i have
the next adonis
in my lip
line my dark
my breathless
doe eyed brother
i find you wanting
a faithless mouth
always racing
always slipping
a wet fish
to the slap
come a day
i’ll lay
my idolatry
to rest
but the price
of monotheism
is empty rise
r is this passion
play of dumb
Irene Cooper uses free-verse style poetry to create a dark and beautiful collection. Spare Change is like watching a car wreck: shocking to the core, but you can't look away. I was fascinated with each poem. Strange and fascinating, Cooper's poetry will captivate you.
"sometimes, in my perversity, i see our dead brother as a priest..."
Morbidity and sexuality are intertwined in many of the poems. The combination of the two is shadowy and unnerving and yet, Cooper laces the two together in perfect harmony. Fans of Edgar Allan Poe will enjoy the macabre nature of this collection.
"she now seems different in the light bathed of morning dew dried gold no flat florescence of hospital no glow of casino human moonless and lonesome by the slots in the ward..."
Irene Cooper's honesty about life, death, addiction and more can trigger some. However, the poems are worth reading, even if you are sensitive to such jarring material. The topics are not exploited but rather respected.
"i guess before your body turns to stone tragedy comes wrapped in other colors ash & smoky azure on the bridge end to end with feet..."
Read "spare change" slowly and carefully, soaking in the murky side of life. Irene Cooper is a unique, haunting poet with an old soul. Her words will stab you like a knife but be grateful for the experience. I highly recommend this collection.