Emily Osborne : part five

Why is poetry important?

Poetry is one of the oldest and most widespread of human traditions and creations. Before writing, oral verse was a means of storing data, of communicating value, of bringing people together, of recreating the known world and imagining it better or worse. Children instinctively respond to poetry and yet I know many adults who say they cannot stand to read poetry. To include poetry in one’s life seems to me almost an essential part of being human and recognizing how humanity has (or has not) evolved.

Emily Osborne : part four

How important is music to your poetry?

Poetry without rhythm and sonic appeal is like food without flavour – something I would rather not make or consume. Poetry so often used to be sung, but now songs-with-lyrics and poetry are generally approached as two different art forms. I think something has been lost in this separation. Perhaps this feeling comes from a background studying music (piano, flute and cello) and dance (ballet). I often compose lines while walking, to feel the beats throughout my body. I vocalize lines with different rhythms and intonations to feel their true hearts. Although I never willingly play music while writing, background music from a coffee shop or within the house has frequently altered the sound and sense of what I am writing, from the frenetic energy of dance music driving forward lines to the predictable lull of a nursery song reminding me of the power of brevity and familiarity. 

Emily Osborne : part three

What are you working on?

After a two-year hiatus in writing (due to parenting a 3yo and 1yo without childcare during the pandemic), I have just begun to write again while my baby naps and my 3yo attends preschool. My question the past few weeks has been what I can effectively work on given time constraints. Before my children were born I was working on a volume of Norse verse translations. The unpredictability of baby naps has made it nearly impossible to return to this. What surprised me was having inspiration for a fantasy novel and actually being able to write chapter drafts. Holding scenes and characters in my mind until I can work on them again has proven easier than holding the intricately-woven webs that are skaldic poems, with all their linguistic and historical threads. 

Emily Osborne : part two

What poets changed the way you thought about writing?

So many for so many different reasons… this insufficient list is baroque! Tomas Transtromer, for unexpected images that haunt with their use of familiarity and alterity. Egill Skallagrimsson, for boldness in wrestling with death and the gods in poetry. Amy Clampitt, for writing with a kaleidoscope of references and sonic effects and still making it all work and build to that perfect pitch. Lucille Clifton, for how she combines directness and nuance with such economy and effect. Marosa di Giorgio, for crafting a world in verse both fantastical and mundane. John Donne, for showing how a conceit can express a thing and then turn on itself again and again.

Emily Osborne : part one

Emily Osborne’s poetry, fiction and Old Norse-to-English verse translations have appeared in journals such as Vallum, CV2, Canthius, The Polyglot, The Literary Review of Canada, and Barren Magazine. Her debut book of poetry, Safety Razor, is forthcoming from Gordon Hill Press (Spring 2023). She is the author of the chapbook Biometrical (Anstruther Press) and winner of The Malahat Review’s Far Horizons Award for Poetry. Emily has a PhD in Old Norse Literature from the University of Cambridge. She lives on Bowen Island, BC, with her husband and two young sons.

How did you first engage with poetry?

My childhood home was filled with poetry books, thanks to my mother who had done graduate degrees in modern American poetry and Sylvia Plath. I remember being six and trying to muddle my way through verse that was totally abstruse and yet which seemed desperately important for me to understand. And yet, the first times I concretely remember writing poetry began in emotional responses to aesthetic experiences that seemed inexplicable in language. How could these feelings be communicated? I think many people first create visual or verbal art because of this instinct that a feeling, thought or experience requires an altered form of language or visualization in which to exist and be given to others, even if this instinct is unconscious. I was also lucky to have early experiences with literary criticism, which came from the late Fred Cogswell, who was a close family friend. I would send my poems to him and he would write back with annotated comments and suggestions. As an adult I look back and think of his phenomenal kindness in doing this, considering how busy he was with The Fiddlehead and teaching and everything else life throws at us. His legacy inspires me.