Biography of Nathan Coppedge
[POEMS AND QUOTES BY NATHAN COPPEDGE]
I was raised in a family which attended a non-denominational Unitarian Universalist church, one of two sons of divorced parents, in New Haven, CT. My father is an academic, and my mother has been a housewife and a nurse after earning a history degree.
I'm a philosopher, artist, inventor, and poet in some capacity. I have a website on perpetual motion machines- -perhaps my biggest claim to fame. I also write books on philosophy, in particular objective and coherent knowledge systems. Poetry has been one of my hobbies since I took classes on poetry in high school.
I'm influenced by Roethke's theory of stressed syllables, Dickinson's energetic abstraction, Coleridge's 'sense' for sentences, and Blake's imagery. I have published a variety of books, including the poetry books listed below. I also have been quoted in Book Forum and the Hartford Courant in relation to philosophy, and I am a member of the International Honor Society for Philosophy.
I have high-quality poems, so please READ instead of just viewing my profile. I also have a wide variety of quotes I have written over the years, so one option is just to view the quotes page.
Nathan Coppedge's Works:
The Old Incantations (2014)
Poems by God (2014)
Creeping Cadence and Cadence Continues (2013)
Inverse Threads (2004,2005)
Nathan Coppedge Poems
God In The Box
The only problem is, we don't know. Everything else can be determined. Good things in life = good god. Bad things = bad god.
I stopped calling things eachother long before I knew I’d found a way between the walls where I could always go—
There's Only A Handful of Forms (Song/ P...
There’s only a handful of forms In the moonlight kept all in tether The people laugh and they shake their heads They ask me about the weather
Under the preponderant clouds wishing mist on the outskirts of cities The crowd roves and raves Speaking with the hearts of dead men
crooked finger, stalling star light of bottoms, branching bear the fullest approbation of the far where yet it hurries on the near
A song for every avenue? A desert where the rain-cloud comes A parched land where no needle hides A harsh land where seeds are buried
I’ve known lust since I was born for pangs that carry on the air— droplet notes and woman-song— deeply sugars for the just-begun.
Do Not Follow In The Footsteps
Do not follow in the footsteps of the master, master His garden is no humble pasture-
Grudge of the Universe
A box of tissues is soaked through A pink hand written, unbesmirched by any deeply blue
He Assesses This, A Work of War
Planches of starlight, creases of fear Worry the lost, teach the year Press the cost, preach the air Formula lost, year to year
To humans, things fall in pairs This supplies an order to the world Supplanting what we most desired Supplanting God’s symmetrical absurd
A Cubic Wood (A Longer Poem)
... Suffice a cubic wood a step beyond less real the moment all itself
I. Shadows are wide but my eyes are closed
Where No Crow Flies
Like a lark in a cage —Like a shot Between the eyes— Where an old woman dies
Under the preponderant clouds
wishing mist on the outskirts of cities
The crowd roves and raves
Speaking with the hearts of dead men
Wheezy with their instruments,
the black satin leaves them standing on
besmirched with a sticky forgetfulness