"What Thou Lovest Well": Introduction to Moonlight Rose in Blue
by David Cope
The muse has been kind to me, even in the initial stages of
this journey when my parents' marriage crashed,
friends died horribly in
Yet I persisted, and the poems found music in their
voices—all my nights reciting Old English & Chaucer, Villon and Dante,
Whitman and Williams, Federico Garcia Lorca and the great Pablo Neruda grew in
the syllables of the poems that followed.
It was also the period of my children's births, nuclear plant disasters,
union busting, the malaise that lay over the Reagan years even as we sought to
find calm and vision. Here it was, in
the moonlight, "Finally Naked," learning at last that "the
breath / is a wind that / stirs up all the
world." I saw Suzy's and my love
become legendary, mourned the loss of Allen and so many others & turned at
last to the ghazals, funky sonnets and knitted tercets of my later years, returning to the objectivist
center with the elegies for my mother even as I found a visionary strain in my
"Dream of Jerusalem."
I think my poems have been in large part out of step with
the shifting vogues of post-modern poetry, but I believe it has been more a
matter of the individual journey and idiosyncrasy of vision than any
fundamental disagreements about how the art should develop. My work is acutely tuned to the lives of
plain blue-collar folk, it is a decades-long love story with Suzy, a pleasure
in not repeating the modes of my earlier incarnations, and it is the graph of a
passage with many friends in the art. I
should in memory thank Allen Ginsberg for his twenty-two year friendship and
belief in my poems, my former publisher Tom Lanigan,
who believed in my work through six volumes and returned the rights to me as he
was dying, Jim Cohn for his endless brotherly love and kindness, Kathryn Beam,
friend and curator of my archive at the
February
2009