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'The Weaklings (XL) is Dennis Cooper’s first full-length collection of poetry in almost two decades. Although best known nowadays as the author of nine celebrated and controversial novels, including the five novel sequence The George Miles Cycle (1989-2000), The Sluts (2004), and, most recently, The Marbled Swarm (2011), Cooper came to prominence as a poet in the early 1980s. His first collection, Idols (1979), is considered a classic of gay literature, and his second, Tenderness of the Wolves (1981), was nominated for The Los Angeles Times Book Prize. His most recent collection was The Dream Police: Selected Poems 1969-1993 (1994). Cooper’s poems have been widely anthologized, including in Post-Modern American Poetry: A Norton Anthology, and were featured in the PBS series The United States of Poetry. The Weaklings (XL), which expands upon a limited edition 2008 book of the same name, gathers the best of Cooper’s poetry from the last 19 years.'-- Sententia Books
Buy The Weaklings (XL) @ Sententia Books
Tangential gifs
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Poem
THE FAINT
for Paul Otchakovsky-Laurens
This is an immaterial poem about a ghost,
name of Dennis. I appear less important
to those few among you who knew me
when I was composed more realistically.
Once my empty sockets seemed like evil
eyes to you, and you had no idea their
trick wasn’t great art. Now I barely exist,
but train your sights on this nevertheless.
It’s past your bedtime. I’ve painted myself
into a corner. A ghost has been sketched
here haphazardly. I’m still myself but inspire
no illusions no matter how I’m executed.
To believe in a ghost was small potatoes
next to the fear in your eyes. I scared you.
All I was is this marked up white sheet, so
I ask you again. Read into my black holes.
Tangential videos
Kip Kinkel
I Remember: A Film About Joe Brainard - trailer
Xiu Xiu 'Blacks'
Jonathan Brandis Signing Autographs Carl Casper Auto Show
Excerpt: 'Kindertotenlieder'
Jerome Sala
Elie Hay
Elliott Smith
Words
'My poetry’s a lot less complicated and confrontational than some of the things in my novels. I think of them as separate. I’m not really very confident in my poetry; it’s not like how I am with my fiction. I feel like I understand what I’m doing as a fiction writer, but poetry’s a big experiment: I don’t feel like I really understand the form very well. And also poetry almost always comes out of some kind of emotion, and it’s just about representing emotions. My fiction is really constructed and has all these kind of complicated things I do to make it work. I guess The Weaklings could be seen as a way into the world I write about. Maybe it’s a way into the nice part of me, the tenderness in my work. Sometimes with my fiction, people don’t tend to see that so much.'-- DC, Dazed & Confused
'How’d you get into poetry? I was a dark kid and I had all of these strange fantasies, but they were really hard to talk about. I wanted to write about what I was doing—being oppressed by my parents, doing a lot of drugs, wanting to get laid all the time, being interested in weird movies and weird music. I was this strange, weird, druggy guy, and it gave me some sort of purpose.
'Many of these poems describe how emotional and volatile it is to be a teenager—why are you still interested in that time, after all of these years? I don’t know, I’ve always gone there. I may look my age but I’ve never felt adult. Most of my friends are much younger than me and always have been, and I must have an emotional life that is similar to young people’s emotional lives. I’m just someone who thinks that with getting older you lose stuff as much as you learn stuff.
'Are you nostalgic then? I’m very, very afraid of nostalgia. That’s how you get old, you know? You stop looking for really intense emotional experiences, and I don’t want to do that. I’m trying to investigate all of this in my work in a truthful kind of way—there’s a wisdom and freedom to youth, and I want to hold on to that.
'Elliott Smith pops up in one of the poems. Why? I’ve always been incredibly into music, and there’s a resemblance between poetry and lyrics. Elliott’s music was beautiful and uncompromising. It’s very rare where you find someone who does emotive music that’s so carefully modulated that he can become very deep and expressive without being cheesy, or becoming sentimental or becoming confessional. He was brilliant at it.
'Some poems mention George Miles, a friend from your youth who’s been at the center of a lot of your fiction. Who was he? I met him when he was 12 and I was 15. He took acid and he was tripping out and his brother asked me to help him down from his trip, because he knew I had taken a lot of acid in my life. And George and I bonded and became incredibly close. He developed a severe bipolar disorder and a lot of our friendship was me taking care of him—he completely depended on me because I was the only person who would put up with him. I really loved him and he really loved me, but we weren’t boyfriends or anything. We had a brief relationship in the early ’80s, when we were in our 20s, and he was the most important person in my life. And then he killed himself. Ever since, he’s been the model for pretty much all of my characters, physically, temperamentally and intellectually. He was a very complicated, very lovely boy, and it just ended very badly.
'Why revisit all that difficulty? I don’t know—he just really haunts me. Being young is kind of a dangerous time. People take a lot of chances. I did all kinds of stuff that I can’t believe I did. Or just that feeling where if you have a crush on someone it’s like the most intense thing ever. The longing and feeling—the connection you make with people—is so incredibly intense, and I like thinking about it.
'Even with all these dark moments, the theme that’s most pervasive in the book is the kind of friendships you develop when you’re a kid. Friendship is really important, and it’s important to keep that knowledge that it’s important, otherwise you keep not making a lot of new friends. You end up with the old friends that you’ve had forever. I love the possibility that you could meet someone tomorrow and they could be the most important person you’ve ever met in your life. Last year, I met this guy who is my soulmate and it’s the first time since George that I feel this incredibly deep connection with someone. I’m over the moon with excitement about it. I guess I’m just always looking for that incredibly intense connection—and when it happens, no matter when, it’s beautiful.'-- The Fader
'Normally this book would not merit its own entry. I found it pretty unremarkable, although a certain ghost contributor to this blog swears that the author is worthy. I seem to remember liking one of the poems, but, looking back, I can't remember which one.'-- The Medium
'Dennis Cooper's poems are the heart––the core––of his divine oeuvre. Pure genius, they are tender and deadened, breathing and stupefied. A secret formalist, he fastidiously packages and trammels consciousness, which gives his cameos an aura of total authenticity. He never fakes it. As a consequence, I idolize and internalize every word he writes.'– Wayne Koestenbaum
'“I’m so stupid, evil and lonely you/ don’t understand.” The poem breaks at “you” to throw off suspicion, like a prisoner slipping across a creek to evade the hounds. Cooper’s celebrated novels have overshadowed his skill as a poet; pity that, though I wouldn’t argue the beautiful poems of The Weaklings are any more or less distilled than his prose fiction. Yet the offhand confessions and the hidden motives of this poetry combine in a language both new and old, for he is not only Merlin but Tristan; he is creator, magician, prince regent of suffering, love, and regret.'-- Kevin Killian
Illustrations
Select drawings by Jarrod Anderson from the ltd, ed. version
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Poems
THE JPEGS
39 yr old poz Black stud wants to seed a neg ass. I’m a recent ex-con, straight, Bernie Mac-type who got pozzed sharing needles in prison. I like the idea of killing guys this way. Plus it don’t violate my parole.
Listen, Bernie. This death sentence rhetoric is from twenty years ago. You can bareback for years before anything really bad happens. Take your depressing shit elsewhere. I’m a neg bottom and Ray Romano look-alike hoping to be bred by hung poz (status and outlook) tops.
Ray, Bernie here. I like your attitude. Can I kill you?
LEAD SINGER
This is the last show we're ever going to play. We're done. We're gone. You guys just didn't believe in us enough. You didn't give enough of a shit. Thanks for nothing. It's your loss. This is our last song for all eternity. I think you know it.
Gallery
The 2008 launch event for 'The Weaklings' ltd. ed.
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Poem
A SYMPHONY OF CONFUSION ABOUT THE PEOPLE I KILLED, by Kip Kinkel
for Sue De Beer
1.
You hate me, or
I only hate you. I
can’t tell now, I’m
so complicated.
Things can’t hate
things. It’s inap-
propriate, I guess,
wanting you dead.
If you hate me, I’m
less myself, I think.
It feels real, but I’m
alone in believing
it’s you. You don’t
feel it when I do,
since you’re not me,
though I hate you
so much, past the
point of realizing
what’s you. There’s
something here, but
it’s not there. Here’s
my thing, a thing
where you hate
me, or I believe it.
You shouldn’t hate
me so much, as I
said. It makes you
too big of a thing.
Your thing isn’t me.
I’m me, and you
won’t be anything
if you don’t stop.
2.
Why do that? It’s disorganized,
and I’ve been so consistent.
It’s too painful to feel, and make
any sense whatsoever. I need
it, although you’re hopeless to help.
It likes you a lot, but you don’t care
because you don’t even know. I
can’t let you see it, or else I’ll say
it’s for somebody else. If you knew
it was yours, it would scare you off,
like it scares me. You wish. You
didn’t do anything to deserve it, I
swear. It’s me. I can’t keep it inside
with you there. Why do anything
at all? Because you’re so happy.
I’m so stupid, evil, and lonely you
don’t understand. It’s always cold,
and gets colder everywhere when I
feel it. It’s such bullshit, but so real.
How can you do that to me? You
don’t realize it exists, do you? I
won’t let you find out, though I can’t
explain why. Call me shit, and leave
me here where nobody knows I’m
alive. By the time you find out, if
you care, you will never believe it
was yours. Until then, it has no
point, which makes everything so
unbelievably hard. I mean in every
way. Why is that a problem?
I can’t tell you. How did you do it?
Why confuse me? It’s directionless.
3.
I just want to hang out
with you guys like any
person would do but
you put this idea of me
shooting at you in my
head and when you’re
shot maybe you’ll say
you’re sorry we never
hung out but you won’t.
4.
How sad that
if I acted like
someone else,
we’d be friends.
That if I had you
as friends, I might
accidentally cause
you to like me.
That being friends
might make you
feel what I feel
now without you.
That you’re every-
thing good I’ve ever
imagined I’d like
more than anyone.
That you are like
you are, being ev-
erything I’ve ever
wanted to be like.
That I wish you
weren’t into the
guys of the type
you hang out with.
That the one thing
that keeps us apart
is a thing we can’t
talk about changing.
That I think you’d
agree if I asked,
but if I asked, it
would scare me.
That what I feel
would scare me
when I feel very
kindly toward you.
That I suffer so much
about something
as stupid as you
when I like you.
That to like you
without hanging out
is not to like you,
or even myself.
That because I will
never hang out
with you guys, I can’t
like you, I hope.
That if this isn’t
true, then I’ve
never liked anyone
else in my life.
5.
I’ve figured it out,
I swear. It’s our
words, or maybe
mine fueling yours
that you hate, a
pure coincidence.
You say you hate
talking to me, that’s
all. So I thought,
That’s the way they
put things, and
hating words is to
hate their creator.
But words only
know other words,
when you’re not
a psycho. I thought
yours were signals,
like mine. That’s
my mistake. It was-
n’t hate. That word
is just one of the
syllables you like
to say. It has no
real weight for you,
whereas it’s all I’ve
been saying to you
all along. It’s clear
to me now, but it’s
so hard to feel. I
say nothing. Or
I just talk to myself.
This poem is me,
and it’s nothing but
words about you.
I hope you like it.
6.
To say it, which can’t
be. It’s under my words,
and hangs out in
a secret headquarter
I can’t find to clean.
Why you? It’s stupid.
Why not me? It’s too
pathetic to talk about,
I feel. How can this
be fake? ‘Cos it’s not.
To deserve you, it’s
so idiotic. I know you
know I wish it were
true, high. Or that you
you were down here.
It keeps coming back,
so rough. I’m not built
well enough to withstand
you. Or you and it, to-
gether at last. Wrong.
Or right. It doesn’t
matter, I know. Please
stop, but don’t ever
actually stop, I can’t
decide. It just isn’t.
*
p.s. Hey. So, my thing is being born, and I thought I would mark the occasion, and ... yeah. ** Statictick, Hi, N. Good, good about the changed meds making a seemingly positive change. And about the watchful roomie. And about his upcoming replacement. Some light in the tunnel and hopefully at its end as well. Okay, I'll go watch the new Odd Hours video today. Curious and cool sounding. Thanks a lot for the alert. ** les mots dans le nom, Hi. Oh, I was just saying yesterday that the link you posted led to an entrance that had to be 'joined' before I could see the card, but you fixed that in your email, and the new card is gorgeous, and I'm thrilled to see/have it, and you're so very kind. Thank you, thank you! ** David Ehrenstein, I typed that in a rush, and, yeah, it reads non-sensibly. I just meant that it made sense in some way that he had had acting experience and training prior to his Warhol performances is all. His confidence therein maybe. Yes, Kate Barry was a close friend of a couple of friends of mine, and they're very devastated. It's a terrible and very, very sad thing. ** Memoirs of a Heroinhead, Shane! Awesome that you were lured in here. So sweet to see you, man. Oh, quietness is totally okay, you know. I peep over at your site to see how you are and what you're doing regularly, so I knew you were being well. Still, it's really nice to have this place be on your radar. Is there any video or anything of the London event that punters like me could watch? Aw, thanks for speaking kindly of me in your intro. You rule, sir, and, yeah, hang out here whenever you can and would find such an activity interesting. The warmest open arms are yours eternally. ** Sypha, Hi, James. What's up? ** Rewritedept, Hi. I'm not against Black Lips, they just don't do much for me. Very cool that you're listening to Rhys Chatham. He's great! And he lives here in Paris, although I've never run into him. My week is going very well, thank you. Very productive and warm despite the cold outside. That printing process sounds curious. I don't think I know of it. How/what was lunch? ** Martin Bladh, Beginning of next year? Okay, wow, I'll do my best on my end. ** _Black_Acrylic, Ben! So great! Thank you again so much! The Skinny is doing something too? Very cool! Sounds like it's going to be a hell of a send off. ** Steevee, Yeah, I figured it was technical issues or something like that. Ha ha, actually, if I had actually listened to the Body/Head album, which I haven't yet for no good reason other than busyness, that could well have been the share, but no. It's ... Nah, I'll just wait and let you find out. I know about 'People's Park', meaning I've read a thing or two about it, but that's all. I sounds potentially like quite a technical rush if nothing else. ** Paul Curran, Hi, Paul! Thank you a lot about the scrapbook page. Means a ton. I'm good, very good, and I hope you are too. Oh, have you and your kiddo been to 'Kidmania'? Do you know it? ** MANCY, Hey, man, really great to see you! And thank you about the scrapbook page. I'm great, thanks, and how are you? Great? ** Keaton, Proud of your gnat-like attention span, are you? Ha ha. I'm freezing too. Or I am every time I go downstairs and outside to smoke a cigarette without remembering to put my shoes and jacket on, which is quite frequently. I think vodka tastes better cold too. I think rape in snow might create related technical problems. However, there is a 'snow''rape' in our 'porn' film, so I guess I or the performers will find out if my theory is correct. ** Misanthrope, I'm right? Cool. Thanks for saying that. LS has a youtube channel? Why did I either not know that or forget that? What's its addy? Tell me. I must see these things he has made. I promise I'll subscribe. ** Chilly Jay Chill, It is seriously hard to keep your head screwed on straight when you have a book coming out or recently out. I've been going through that crazy-making phase for years and years, and I still get freaked out and worried and depressed and etc. I read Ken's new novel too, and I agree. It's fantastic. Mm, I'm determining my music list almost as we 'speak', and ... well, you'll see in several days. I don't think anything has blown me away since the Death Grips, but I might be forgetting. You have any particularly good new playlist adds to recommend? ** Etc etc etc, Hi, man. Yeah, I guess I should listen to that BEE/MM podcast. Maybe today. I don't know, it's so confusing to me that these guys who are younger than me like Bret and Franzen and so on feel so challenged and defensive and clueless about 'bit and youtube culture'. How does that happen? Why is it that smart, creative people reach a point where culture and its means and ways outdistance them and create a recessive nostalgia in them for the culture that they and their works were born into? Why do they get so locked into what meaning should consist of and what language it should be spoken through and represented in, etc.? So fucking weird. I agree with your prediction: 'I think @DavidEhrenstein there'll probably be a post-Pynchon/Gaddis/Wallace who makes something long form of the bit, or clip, or punchline.' Simple logic says so if nothing else. ** Bill Porter, Hi, Bill. Beautiful reaction. ** Torn porter, Gosh, I think I went to Disneyland at least 3 times a year from the age of, I don't know, 4 or 5 until I was in my 30s at least. The original So. Cal. Disneyland is a great, great work of art. It's Disney's masterpiece. All of the other parks were mediated into existence without Disney's touch and supervision, and they all manifest trace elements of Disneyland's genius at best. That said, the Paris park is not bad at all. You're moving? That's exciting. That place where you're moving sounds ripe for, gee, all sorts of things. I only saw 'AI' once, and I don't have a very complex memory of it other than thinking it was pretty fascinating and that the last fifteen or so minutes were a blah Spielberg-ian cop out. The link would be great if and when you have the time. Hope the move goes as smoothly as moves can go, and I'll talk to you soon! ** Right. So, yeah, my thing's birth. It's weird to make something to celebrate something of my own, and I think the post is probably kind of scattery or something, but ... See you tomorrow.