BIO: AVAILABLE TO GO TO SCHOOLS TO DO READINGS AND/OR WORKSHOPS.

Cathryn Cofell's wildly published poetry and essays can be found in New York Quarterly, Oranges & Sardines, MARGIE, Nerve Cowboy, Slipstream, Main Street Rag, Women, and many others. She is the recipient of numerous awards for her work (40ish at last count), including the 2008 Wisconsin People & Ideas John Lehman Poetry Award, the Wisconsin Academy's Outstanding Poem Award for two consecutive years and the Jade Ring, but mainly excels at being honorably mentioned (a.k.a. close but no cigar-o, a.k.a. numerous Pushcart Prize nominations, runner-up for the Lorine Niedecker Poetry Award in 2008, finalist in MARGIE's 2008 Strong Medicine Contest and finalist for the Dirty Napkin's 2008 Gerald Stern Poetry Prize, just to name a few.

By day, Cathryn is a vp at a community foundation. Nights and weekends, she supplements that living doing poetry readings, writing workshops, speaking gigs, and voice-over work. She is a sucker for a good cause, the arts heading the list—having served as an advisor to the Wisconsin Governor for the investigation and creation of a state Poet Laureate post, as founding two-term Chair of the Wisconsin Poet Laureate Commission and on the board of the Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets. She currently chairs the Advisory Board of Verse Wisconsin, volunteers for the Fox Cities Bookfest, the Wisconsin Book Festival, and as publicist for the Harmony Café–Fox Valley's Poetry Reading Series.

PUBLICATIONS:
Lip – CD, poetry by Cathryn Cofell, music by Obvious Dog, 2010 - $13.00
Tiny Little Crushes (Lockout Press, 2002) AVAILABLE AGAIN; 2nd printing 2009 - $10.00
Kamikaze Commotion (Parallel Press, 2008) - $12.00
Sweet Curdle (Marsh River Editions, 2006) - $12.00
Roadkill (Neville Public Museum of Brown County, 2003) - OUT OF PRINT
Between the Sheets: collected work of The Sheets Writers Group (Perma Press, 2002) - $6.00
Her Religion (Hodge Podge Press, 1998) - OUT OF PRINT

All prices include postage. Make checks payable to Cathryn Cofell.
POEMS
LEAVES OF GRASS / SUICIDE / PSYCHIC HOTLINES

I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.
             —Walt Whitman, “Song of Myself”

The book I gave came back at me
like a boomerang
like a sling shot
like the kick of a shotgun
the kick of a bullet in a 10 x 12 room
a 10 x 12 room sixteen years ago
sixteen years ago and I turn 37
                                                             today I crack open at 37
after sixteen years I crack open
like a bad spine
like a Dionne connection
like algebra.

Dear Jim.
Dear Jim … I wrote … love Cathy …
and all the slanted words between
slanted across the inside cover of that book like a tidal wave
slanted across that open jacket like a con man’s open jacket full of cheap watches
slanted between that first moment
that first glance
that first dim moment in a dim bar
                                                             and that last day
that last late in the night minute
that last
                folded
second.

Dear Jim I wrote
I only hope you treasure this half as much as I treasure you.
You’re not supposed to get those words back
you’re supposed to give them away but

                                                             I treasure you I said and bang
the book I gave came up from the floor
Walt came up from the floor
came up from the blood
came up from the mud
tracked in on distracted shoes
came up from the outline of your body
propped against the foot of your bed
                                                             the outline of your body still
                                                             propped against the foot of a bed
as Walt came at me
like a hood in a deep alley
like a rabid dog
like a piece of glass on a dirt road
he came up from the dirt
without a map or footsteps on parchment

just your mother’s face at the door
her hand in my face Dear Jim
your mother’s hand in my face
Walt’s book in her hand
her curled hand holding his face
her curled hand
this kamikaze motion
came at me like Jesus from the dead
this kamikaze commotion
the pages of me                             I gave to you
                                                             came back from the dead
                she gave it back
as if she could give it back
as if she could take that bare moment back
she couldn’t bear
she couldn’t bear
she pushed you away                  and it all went away
and the book in my hands brings it back
the face in my hands brings you back.

—Cathryn Cofell

Sample poem from Kamikaze Commotion (Parallel Press, 2008).
Originally published in Rattle, 2001