Collection of poems a searing examination of life

There and Here,

by Maureen Korp
Hidden Brook Press, 2021

Review by JC Sulzenko

Do not be fooled by the choice of ordinary words for the title of this debut poetry collection by Ottawa-based Maureen Korp. There and Here is no ordinary collection of poems but a singular and searing examination of life through the lens of loss, violence and longing, illuminated with glimpses of wonder and hope. I wish I knew the full backstory for the “Aviator Cinquains,” which make up Part I of the book. But it’s not my practice as a reviewer to interview a writer as I compose a review. Instead, I let the poems speak for themselves. Which these cinquains do, eloquently, elegantly, with a terse and tense simplicity that belies the complexity and poignancy of the emotions, experiences, and observations at play.

Part 1 carries a dedication to four men, including the poet’s father, a soldier and aviator, identified as EMK. While individual cinquains remain untitled, these spare poems are grouped into five sections, “Pre-flight Checks,” “Lift-off,” “Off Radar,” “Pilot Error” and “There and Here.” I read them through, start to finish, without pause, because the ‘narrative,’ evident from these subheadings, compelled me to do so.

I, too, write cinquains, which makes me appreciate how much can be conveyed in a few lines and few words. Richard M. Grove, the book’s designer, exploits this power by positioning each piece on each page surrounded by white space to let the reader, if not pause because the ‘storyline’ is so compelling, then consider each offering fully, without distraction.

Korp has mastered conveying the essential without any extras, as in this poignant sample, using a child’s point of view:

so I waved
because I
believed the pilot could
tell grandma   he’d seen me here in
Texas

These cinquains imagine flight, whether in a formation of fighter jets or of geese, and then the fall, the destruction, the end of existence. There is some ambiguity in the intimate moments of longing and loss Korp describes, since, apart from the context and sequence of poems, it’s difficult to discern whether they capture the mourning of a daughter for a father or a woman for her lover. Perhaps that distinction doesn’t matter, since the loss remains visceral, palpable, personal but also with universal resonance. Here are two examples:

gentle
as a fool, I
sit on the floor beside
the bed, knees draw up to my chin
can’t sleep

and

I want
to eat olives
by moon light, and have a
place to come and go from…I want
him there

The last part of this section entitled “There and Here” offers the collection its title and a dozen poems somewhat at a remove from the sequence captured in the first four sets of cinquains. These are musings arising from memory, more philosophical in tone and subject, though still grounded in highly personal reflection.

the light
is beautiful
through the trees…soft evenings,
leaves scattering…someone’s come home
next door

The 21 poems in Part II of There and Here, “Heresies,” are dedicated “to all those trying to get from one place to another.” I found this construct to unify the whole collection didn’t help me make an easy transition from cinquains linked thematically in Part I to free-verse poems occasioned by responses to a range of events, from “warzones,” to memory, destruction and the fragility of life.

Even with this caveat, there is much richness in savouring Korp’s takes on Remembrance Day and Tiananmen Square, in her observations “by the side of the road” – whether waiting for a pair of deer to cross or bearing witness to a lioness dying in the mountains of Pakistan – and in her honesty about who and what she still longs for and how she wishes to be remembered.

Arizona Cactus
In the desert, saguaro stand big-armed,

hard along the road.

Half are dead,

Half will be

in fifty years. Don’t cry.

Keep moving.

No one cries in the desert.

Dehydration kills, Keep moving.

The dead stand still. Keep moving.

Remember me.

I have two remaining thoughts to conclude this commentary. I didn’t really need the fine illustrations in the book. The poems were more than sufficient for me. I also would have appreciated a preface (or afterword) with more information on this nomadic and intriguing poet, though to leave a reader with questions and an interest in learning more is, admittedly, a fine place to leave them.

JC Sulzenko curates the Glebe Report’s “Poetry Quarter.” Her 2021 collection of centos, Bricolage, published by Aeolus House under her pseudonym A. Garnett Weiss, is available at Octopus Books and from bricolage.weiss@gmail.com.