Recovering in hospital after a burst appendix, plagued by hallucinations and poisonous mistrust, Dennis Cooley retreats to memories of ancestors and of his rural Saskatchewan roots, in departures, his 20th book of poetry.
So it begins.
The moon migrates, seasons cycle, and the body ebbs and flows. Drawing together the skeins of existence and his family’s nearness, Cooley joyously intermingles poetry and science. In the end, faced with his own mortality, Cooley fights back with great, big clods of earthy humour and humility.
Deftly he plucks at the strands of our DNA like a four-chord-fugue. Hold the collection close and feel the thrum of wordplay upon the page.