GOOD LUCK WITH THE MOON & STARS & STUFF, by Beyza Ozer

GOOD LUCK WITH THE MOON & STARS & STUFF, by Beyza Ozer

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GOOD LUCK WITH THE MOON & STARS & STUFF is a product of something small turning into something a little bigger, but it's still pretty small. it's lonely but it's also the first person you call after a hard day at work or school. these poems & tiny stories were written during a very messy year and they are trying to fix themselves up.

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"Motherfuckers, i'm ill," Beyza Ozer writes, & motherfuckers, it's true: Beyza Ozer is ill. It would be unfair to compare these poems to another American Poet or make some metaphorical comparison to hungry animals or some shit like that. Good Luck With The Moon & Stars & Stuff contains the hyperbole of stand-up, wit of the writer's room, & a sincere adoration of human relationships--we could call that love. Ozer's poems unpack what we've come to expect from contemporary poetry & asks for more, asks us to put our faith in humanity. This is not post-confessional or new sincerity or whatever the kids are calling love poems these days. This is the poetry of the emo revival. Eat your heart out, American Football. - Joshua Young, The Holy Ghost People 

Good Luck With The Moon & Stars & Stuff might be called a chapbook but I’m calling it ‘getting to know my soul mate.’ Beyza Ozer reminds us that we are all missing some necessary parts. The trick is finding someone to buy them on eBay for you. There’s a generosity in these poems that redefines joy: fear and brutality, romance and injury, all the realities of life. What I mean is Ozer’s “I want to grow you the bluest ocean” is the only way to say & mean I love you in all its infinite, unknowable parts. Ozer’s poems are the items we find buried under our skin, the specific intimacies of being alive. “A lifetime is not long enough” but here we are, fighting to live & planning for death. –Alexis Pope, Soft Threat

beyza ozer’s GOOD LUCK WITH THE MOON & STARS & STUFF is a spirit-collage made out purple tenderness. it’s a tiny heart attack spelunking in the back pocket of Anxiety’s jeans. it’s a mystical portal to a cave you heard about. the one that shouldn't have wildflowers inside of it but it does and it tickles. it’s that awkward moment when we realize the mortality of human feeling is both visceral and adorable and that’s a l r i g h t. trust me. i know things. --john mortara, SMALL CREATURES / WIDE FIELD and SOME PLANET

 

Excerpts:

I Have Very Old Hands (Voicemail Poems)

(A Lack Of) Original Thought (Electric Cereal)