I love the lyricism and imagery in Peter’s poetry, the way he uses nature to not only render beauty, but to ask higher questions with spiritual connotations that ponder our place in the world. Peter isn’t afraid to address themes of loss and grief, yet his handling of these topics never overwhelms the reader but guides them to a greater understanding.   

To me, Darrell always executes the true purpose of poetry with honesty and sensitivity.  His poems are studied, often poignant examinations that probe then personally correlate to who and where we are.  He connects us to what we inhabit, where meaning and understanding ultimately arrive through epiphanies.   

 It was an honor and joy to read and reflect on their poetry.  Darrell and Peter are treasures.  I am so glad they are being recognized in 64 Parishes.   

—Gina Ferrara 

Peter Cooley 

METAMORPHOSES, UNFINISHED  

Gregor Sampsa woke up to discover 

He was a gigantic cockroach. 

I wake to find out I’m not “I” but “Me”. 

Now the adventures to follow 

Parallel to his, my body a shell, 

My wings appendages I  can’t find to fly. 

In Kafka, the protagonist dies 

But, since this is one of my resurrection poems, 

I died to get death over with before the first line.  

I’m going to dispose of yesterday-Peter 

Just as the charwoman disposed of Gregor. 

I’m going to walk out, right now, 

Leaving this poem unfinished, 

Telling myself my body’s a new one. 

I’ll skip a little, touch my shoulders— 

And here they are, all I have to say is…   

THE YEARS 

Our golden hour,  children playing in the street 

For a few more minutes, just a few more 

Minutes, Mother, please, before dinner— 

And then that gold light gilting trees 

To plunge them into dark 

Past our 20’s, 30;s, 60’s, 70’s, 

Giving up memory of this moment until now. 

This is my childhood and yours, 

You who read this, by my invitation, 

These minutes we’re re-entering a few seconds, 

My, our, long calling to some beyond  

Before the light falls, look, it’s failing now,  

Let’s hold on tight to what we can’t. 

Darrell Bourque  

THE WATERY SADNESS THAT NEVER GOES AWAY 

Did you find the petunias? 

Countably infinite are the ways grief will quarter

The same is true of rage, and of love. Water

fills the ponds and lakes and marshes for birds 

that will come to us in the flyovers. I love water 

coming in slanting sheets, the storms that clean 

the air. I live with this persistent did you water  

the petunias in my head. In urns near doorways 

petunias are wilting. In the wilt is need of water 

we must be mindful to bring to them. My friend 

in his evening hours in his garden carries water 

to his roses and Clementines and Chinese oranges. 

They are his lights in darker times he says. Water 

and petunias, and migrating pelicans and grebes,  

Stork-filled ponds and those sweet dancing water  

birds skittering here and there, and grief finding 

its place in me again, diving in me like I’m water.  

THE COMPANY OF HORSES 

—Why did you leave the horse alone? 

—To keep the house company, my son. 

~MAHMOUD DARWISH 

Left alone they will follow tree lines or fence lines, or any courses 

keeping them from whatever’s on the other side. I live by horses  

in the nearby fields. I run past them everyday on my morning run. 

My wife takes pictures of her favorite ones and talks to the horses 

knowing they know something we’re not sure they know. Not  

verbs or nouns, or syntax, but something of the timbre horses  

know of company, something of the tone of company. I hear them  

when other horses pass by in trailers off to some place the horses  

in these pastures will not travel to. I do not know of the language 

of whinny but i do not doubt that there is something in horses 

pitch being said need and love and kinship and wanting 

company. Cows, goats, crows, geese, lambs living with horses, 

and chickens, pigeons and doves and bees know more than  

we think they do. Chagall knew lambs. Picasso knew horses. 

Look at the village dreams of the one and terror of bombings  

in the other. In all the places you live in, look for the horses.  

Peter Cooley is Director of Creative Writing, Professor of English, and Senior Mellon Professor in the Humanities at Tulane University. He has published nine books of poetry, and was named Louisiana Poet Laureate in 2015.  

Darrell Bourque is professor emeritus in English (University of Louisiana at Lafayette), a former Louisiana Poet Laureate, and recipient of the 2014 Louisiana Book Festival Writer Award and the ULL Center for Louisiana Studies James Rivers Award.