Editor’s note: We have asked Bruce Covey, editor of Coconut, to post a poem here from his virtual pages every Sunday from now through the end of October. Bruce, who teaches at Emory University in Atlanta, is the only son of two chemists. He has written three books of poetry, most recently Elapsing Speedway Organism (No Tell Books, 2006) and Ten Pins, Ten Frames (Front Room, 2007). A fourth book, Glass Is Really a Liquid, is on the way from No Tell Books in 2009.At 6’7, 265 lbs, Bruce bestrides the world like a colossus.
Earlier today we posted two of Bruce's poems. Here's his forecast for what you can expect in this space for the next thirteen Sundays. -- DL
Beginning this moment and continuing weekly through the end of October you will find here, on this very same BAP site, some of the weirdest, dreamiest, funkiest, melancholickest, and revelatoryest poems ever to skid their wheels on the Coconut runway. In case you're out of the know, Coconut Poetry (found HERE) is a web-based, poetry magazine and print book maker that has published, well, many of my favorite poets, from Armantrout to Zawacki, Hejinian to Heath-Wlaz. It was founded by me in 2005, shortly after Robert Creeley died, when I still hadn't even recovered from Kenneth Koch's untimely untimely. When great poets leave, it's a reminder that the many remaining need to be recorded. & no time to lose!
Rather than espousing any particular poetic trajectory or canon, Coconut rolls along, gathering the moistiest mossy poems it can find, whether nutty or hairy or creamy or just plain delicious. Poems that are a little bit flaky and not all that good for you. Poems that surprise.
When David Lehman asked me to suggest some of Coconut's best, little did I realize how difficult the task would be, for I love all of the poems nestled within its virtual space. What will follow throughout this fall, however, is a broad selective of the lauric-acid-filled milky goodness that only a Coconut can produce. Alongside each poem will fall some luscious little tidbit from me —— an introductory remark about the poem, perhaps, or fun facts about your favorite fruit, or possibly meaningless, incoherent ramblings. I make no promises other than this: The poems you read will either knock your socks off or make you run out of the room to pee!
-- Bruce Covey