Poetry. & CALLING IT HOME seems to me a kind of complex & various daybook, written from the center of being, a constantly shifting brilliance that suffers itself with an exquisite sense of music & measure. How numinous the yearning nature of the self is, how wise & helpless & brave. This is a deeply felt & painfully accurate journey; I read it at one sitting & was transformed by it–Jon Anderson. Cooper begins by invoking Jack Spicer and Gertrude Stein before making her way into the nerve-center of language: These walls/ Alone are my peers, calling instead of/ Old or rough fixes, old keyholes, / Old emotion. An absolute void, dreaming/ Like a fresh thorn./ There is not even a north or south