þÿ<!doctype html public "-//w3c//dtd html 4.0 transitional//en"> <html> <head> <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> <title>POETRY AND PROSE FROM IN POSSE REVIEW</title> </head> <body text="#0000CC" bgcolor="#EBFSFC" link="#0099CC" vlink="#0099CC" alink="#0099CC"> &nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <center><table BORDER=0 CELLSPACING=0 CELLPADDING=0 > <tr> <td VALIGN=TOP WIDTH="35"><img SRC="insposse.gif" height=187 width=30> <br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <p><img SRC="insposse.gif" height=187 width=30> <br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <p><img SRC="insposse.gif" height=187 width=30> <br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <p><img SRC="insposse.gif" height=187 width=30> <br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <p><img SRC="insposse.gif" height=187 width=30> </td> <td VALIGN=TOP WIDTH="25" BGCOLOR="#0000CC">&nbsp;</td> <td WIDTH="15">&nbsp;</td> <td ALIGN=LEFT VALIGN=TOP WIDTH="500"> <font face="arial" font size="+1" color="#0099CC"><b>Postcard Poems</b> </font></font></font><ul> <font face="arial" font size="-1" color="#FF0000"><B>Wyn Cooper</b></font><br></ul> <p><br> <font size=+1><b>Postcard From a Dream</b> <p> <font size="+1" color="#0000CC">N</font><font size=-1>ot even the northern star could tell us where we are.<BR> The No Trespassing sign is not in a language we know. <BR> We walk past it, into this forest that won t return us<BR> the same. New sounds grow louder as night comes on. <BR> <P> We feel where water springs from the ground, follow <BR> it down the mountain to an oval lake. Everyone <BR> is awake when we arrive, ûoating on houseboats <BR> lit by candles, whistling like birds after rain.<BR> <P> <BR> <B>Postcard from Whitingham, Vermont</B> <P > <font size="+1" color="#0000CC">F</font><font size=-1><font size="-1">amous polygamist&nbsp; Brigham Young&nbsp; came into the world here. He led the Mormons from <BR> Illinois to Utah, &nbsp;adding&nbsp; wives &nbsp;as he went, &nbsp;until he had &nbsp;27. &nbsp; When he&nbsp; got to the valley of <BR> the &nbsp;Great&nbsp; Salt&nbsp; Lake,&nbsp; he said&nbsp; This&nbsp; is the &nbsp;place,  &nbsp;and stayed.&nbsp; But &nbsp; Vermont&nbsp; has&nbsp; not <BR> forgotten him. A hundred years ago, a local farmer took a buggy ride with his wife. When <BR> they returned,&nbsp; someone had placed a large stone&nbsp; marker twenty feet from&nbsp; their&nbsp; house, <BR> which still says today: BRIGHAM &nbspYOUNG:&nbsp;BORN &nbsp;ON &nbsp;THIS&nbsp; SPOT &nbsp;1801&nbsp; A&nbsp; MAN &nbsp;OF <BR> MUCH COURAGE AND SUPERB EQUIPMENT. <P> <FONT SIZE="-1">A grand old paddleboat, combustion powered, takes tourists out on the reservoir, which <BR> winds its way a dozen miles through the mountains.&nbsp; A nude beach, next to a gay nude <BR> beach,&nbsp; neither of which are beaches but short rock cliffs that lie at an angle to the water, <BR> are the parts of the cruise the tourists remember. &nbsp;The boat goes in close, the shutters <BR> click, and no one feels right about it. &nbsp;A few years ago the nudists got together and rented <BR> the boat, then took off their clothes when they were half a mile from the dock. They made <BR> the pilot steer the boat in close to the regular beaches, the boat put-ins, and the main road <BR> that runs along one side. Never once did any of them mention Brigham Young, <BR> emancipator of sorts, whose ûrst house looked down on what is now a shimmering lake <BR> in the summer sun.<BR> <P> <BR> <B><font size="+1">Postcard from This Place</B></FONT><BR> <P> <font size="+1">T<font size="-1">his bird on the branch can t feel the season. It ûies from tree,<BR> &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; to tree, north-south, north-south.<BR> This odd little car is stuck between two buses, which take it up<BR> &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;the interstate at terrible speed.<BR> This harbor frozen over is like no harbor I know. If I can t see <BR> &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; the water it must not be there.<BR> This strange little bar is tucked between two houses, which keep <BR> &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; it from going anywhere.<BR> This message arrived today: Leave now or be sorry later. I don t <BR> &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; know which to choose.<BR> This tiny travelling circus is setting up in my ûeld. Will they ask <BR> &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; me to perform? <BR> So far down the ladder the pickings are slim, but I like slim and <BR> &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; ût in ûne.<BR> This bag full of money means nothing to me, but no you can t <BR> &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; have it.<BR> This close to the border it s best to be a bird and ûy over.<BR> <P> <BR> <B>Postcard from the Second Person</B><BR> <P> <font size="+1">W<font size="-1">orld around you whirled away <BR> by agents of dizziness, hump <BR> in the road that fools you, cop <BR> down the hill hiding between <BR> the apple orchard and the bright <BR> ûeld of corn. He and his army <BR> advancing, in oh! those uniforms.<BR> <P> The world can be painful, or dull, <BR> it can lull you into thinking <BR> you know what you don t.<BR> You want to see it eye to eye,<BR> but today the wind blows hard. <BR> <P> When the dust ûnally settles <BR> you re home mending fences, <BR> to protect the peaches you give <BR> to women whose names rhyme with <BR> fauna, quill, lavender, and ûzz. <P> <hr size="1"> <P> <font face="arial" SIZE=-1 color="#FF0000"><b>Wyn Cooper's<font size=-1 color="#0099CC"> books are <I>Secret Address,</I> (Chapiteau Press, 2002), <I>The Way Back</I> (White Pine Press, 2000), and <I>The Country of Here Below </I>(Ahsahta Press, 1987). His poems, stories, essays, and reviews have appeared in <I>Poetry, Orion, AGNI, Crazyhorse, Ploughshares,</I> and more than fifty other magazines. His poems are included in twenty anthologies of contemporary poetry. In 2003, Gaff Music released <I>Forty Words for Fear,</I> a CD of music with words by Cooper and music by the novelist Madison Smartt Bell. <p> The poems published here appeared in <I>Secret Address,</I> a chapbook of postcard poems (Chapiteau Press, 2002). BOA Editions will publish <I>Postcards from the Interior</I> in the spring of 2005. </font> <br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <p><font face="arial" color="#FF0000" size=-1><i>In Posse:</i> Potentially, might be ...&nbsp;</font><a href=""><img SRC="tedhead.gif" align=RIGHT></a> <br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <p> <hr size="1"></td></tr></table></center></body></html>