Brooklyn Copeland, Borrowed House

Well, Brooklyn Copeland's latest chapbook Borrowed House came in the mail a long time ago, and really, I meant to write brilliantly about it, to give it the sort of review it deserved.

Then I came down with the flu, which lasted--to some degree of fever, fatigue, and general malaise--a month. The little red book didn't go unread, but sickness led to falling behind in grading and planning and reading.

But enough with excuses.

First, I will tell you this: you should order yourself a copy by clicking here.

And Second, I will tell you this: Carl and his wife Aimee make such lovely chapbooks. (This is a fact that is very important to me, I must admit, since their press is publishing some of my work later this year.) But you won't find yourself disappointed with the aesthetics of the thing, with the feel of the paper, with the handmadeness of it. And if you're lucky, you'll find random things in with your order. (Mine included a 1920s era photo of some very New-England-college-looking young men.)

And Third, I will tell you this: the writing doesn't disappoint, either. Carl's bit about it on the Greying Ghost website says that BC's poems "will embrace you like a panther unto its prey." And I'm not sure exactly what that means, but he's right. In "Dear City Boy," she writes,

This house in the untended field
now keeps our blood a secret from us

and there is a careful unkempt quality in the lines, a secret that is all too clear even though it can't be spoken. There is a desperation here, a longing that is fulfilled but in its fulfillment brings loss. When we read, early in the collection,

. . . In the branches,
the ghost of a tom waits for you
to fail me.

we see that the failure is inevitable, that the failure is both desired and desire itself.

And Fourth, I will direct your browser to a sample poem from the chapbook and to Brooklyn's blog.

And Fifth, I will tell you that you should read this book.