May 22, 2011

Matthew Cooperman, Aby Kaupang, & Dan Raphael

Sunday, May 22
7:30 pm

The Waypost
3120 N. Williams Ave.

$5.00 suggested donation

Matthew Cooperman's new book Still: of the Earth as the Ark which Does Not Move will be released this month from Counterpath Press. He also authored DaZE (Salt Publishing Ltd, 2006), A Sacrificial Zinc (Pleiades/LSU, 2001), and three chapbooks, Still: (to be) Perpetual (dove | tail, 2007), Words About James (phylum press, 2005) and Surge (Kent State University Press, 1999). A founding editor of Quarter After Eight, and poetry editor of Colorado Review, he teaches at Colorado State University in Fort Collins, where he lives with Aby Kaupang and their two children. More at  

Aby Kaupang is the author of Absence is such a Transparent House which just came out from Tebot Bach this spring, and Scenic Fences | Houses Innumerable (Scantily Clad Press, 2009). Her poems have appeared in VOLT, Verse, Denver Quarterly, The Laurel Review, Parthenon West, Augabe, 14 Hills, Interim, Caketrain, lo-ball, and others. She lives in Fort Collins, Colorado, and is currently pursuing her MS in Occupational Therapy. Moe on her work is at

Dan Raphael is a Portland poet whose new book Impulse & Warp: The Selected 20th Century Poems, came out in September 2010. Impulse & Warp includes poems from his first 13 collections. In addition, Children of the Blue Supermarket, a CD of live performances with saxophonist Rich Halley and drummer Carson Halley, came out in February of this year. Current poems appear in Rattapallx, Otoliths, Calibanonline, Heavy Bear, and Skidrow Penthouse.


Still: Reality


Consider: set in stone, written in blood, burned into memory 

Consider: movement exactly, across pages and their waves, slight reverberations

          in the malleus and incus, innumerable forms mean and functioning

Consider: sampling as the additive portion of memory, a space forced open

          between vocal and instrumental culture

Consider: the fiction of memory, the faction of memoir, risible views and shades on

          the faces of flyers, genre, what the fuck, this really happened 

Consider: the flyers in the face of the screen, some distant island they are flying to

          and from, his anger and her lust, his dark secret and her nightingale 

Consider: a consumable product like a very big pill, you have been dreaming a dj

Consider: by necessity, by proclivity and by delight, consider by divining, by chelation 

          and by despair

Consider: signals, like hoisting a flag, something in the forearms (lactic Egyptian),

          and the smell of sea (her just washed hair)

Consider: a colony, what is a colony, what is a child, what is a crime, a muddied diaper,

          a soiled well, a proffered pen, a routed man 

Consider: his asceticism, which is alternating, which seems also to govern his view

          of the declining narrative

Consider: something still for someone to somehow link them together, you have

         been waiting, it doesn't speak on your behalf, you have been troubled, there

                    is no reducible bullet

Consider: the whole broad omnevolent thing, the essay and the furrier, licentious

         hundred flowering into crease and view

Consider: a clarion is a brief horn of chance, Smith was a martyr and Jones a tin horn,

        it doesn't speak, you have been troubled, this doesn't make up 'a reality'


--Matthew Cooperman



the wraithlike invitation into Nothingness


creeps in on me     fingers

slow fingering me


someone exactly placed it

on my bruised palm's doormat


I called it rhapsodic



            since then

            I'm anxious always


always the fatigue      that snatch of rapture

the one I      as part of all fleshes

suffer       it's accompanied


I accompany it everywhere


two voices call me

nescio... et excrucior


--Aby Kaupang



(from Fresh Down the Mountain)



cities are where dead things come -- salmon, beaver, timber, business, politics.

we cant all be pyramids. we live higher up with nothing to mow or feed.

where their bus died they settled on 10 acres. you dont choose a house

you reach into the bag of now, markets are the constructs of abstract money,

as if a third of my body doesn't have bones only momentum and belief

the investment of habit

   I didn't think the door would close that easily

when I fell asleep I had no idea the room would move.


its perfect here, milky way at night, with one microscopic cacophony of neon

halfway eclipsed by the petrified wind, so I know its still now in america


--Dan Raphael