She also has oodles of print and online poetry chapbooks published in a variety of sources.
In addition to being a poet, she is the editor of a one-woman indie press, Blood Pudding Press, which specializes in poetry and artsy little misfit offerings.
She also edits Blood Pudding Press's spooky little sister in the form of an online literary publication called Thirteen Myna Birds.
Great poems...and I must admit, I never really watched Twin Peaks. (I do remember the show, but I was never a regular viewer...now I'd like to check it out.) I imagine it's on DVD somewhere?
A review by Rachel Kendall, writer and editor of the literary/art magazine 'Sein Und Werden':
'Can a source of inspiration be a partner-in-creativity? Can a muse be a collaborator, when without one there is no other?
With her new chapbook 'The Laura Poems', Juliet Cook proves not only that an outside and, in effect, sleeping-partner, can be part of collaboration but that with new input, the result can be nothing short of brilliant.
Poets have often drawn inspiration from works of art, playwrights from historical figures, artists from mythology and fable. Here Ms. Cook takes a fictional character (who found physicality in a film, TV series and a book), mise-en-scene and subjective haunting atmosphere and adds a good dollop of her own sinister, secret ingredient.
I am a fan of David Lynch. I am a massive fan of David Lynch. His themes of (dis)possession, metamorphasis, disembodiment, traversing time and space, strange disappearances, unexplained occurences, endings that don't add up... his films could have come straight from Artaud's own Theatre of Cruelty.
I am also a fan, a massive fan, of Juliet Cook's poetry. The meat hooks and glass eyes, the deformed limbs and scarlet stains, the poison, the cookie cutters, the inedible evidence.
So when I discovered Juliet had published a collection of poems inspired by the tragic figure of Laura Palmer (Twin Peaks), I was so excited I nearly wet myself.
I wasn't disappointed.
This beautiful chapbook, bound with feathers, tied up in lace, sepia pages, text the colour of dried blood... is why we will always have books. E-books and journals are great but nothing can beat the organic beauty of a perfectly bound book to hold in your hands.
There are 10 poems here, all so evocative of the Lynchian mood. Each one has such a different atmosphere, an aura, or an aroma that lingers. Some of these poems are so cold, nearly frozen, as to almost be written documentation of the cold, dead flesh of Laura herself. But this collection is not an epitaph. Neither is it a eulogy. It is more than that. It is an excercise in immortality.'