Skip to main content

Featured Poet: Cori A. Winrock



Eyewear is very pleased to welcome American poet Cori A. Winrock (pictured) this Friday. Winrock is a graduate of Cornell University’s MFA program. She was selected as editor’s choice for Mid-American Review’s James Wright Poetry Award and as a finalist for The National Poetry Review’s Annie Finch Prize. Her poems have appeared in (or are waiting in the wings of) Denver Quarterly, Indiana Review, The American Poetry Journal, Shenandoah, Pool & others.

Her first manuscript, Anti-Portrait at Flashpoint, was a finalist for the 2010 Academy of American Poets’ Walt Whitman Award. This past spring she was the Emerging Writer Fellow at Kingston University in London, where I was pleased to hear her read from her deeply intelligent, witty and innovative work.

Dear Exterior, or the opposite of factory is museum

An inverse. A bright white déjà vu:
a hand inside a head unraveling the public

memory. Step into the same freezing
corridor brimming with preservation

lines of object and meant-to-be-

seen. Here they are moving
statues, filled with quick-

silver, pressed in and around—the day
shift: apiary of us women in antistatic

coats, dipping our stove-hands into the chill
& circuitry; electro-chiseled humming

as we sip from the assembling
track. There are other blank expressions hovered

and hovering in midair, an un-buzzing buttoned
up by each particle of dust & plaster.

This statuary insists it is inventor. Marble turning
to us with one and another spectacle-

eye: the carve & sway of the in-industrial.
I touch the real stone-handed woman I

cannot unpeel the years
of these faces. Dearests, we stretch

across geminate hallways: a shriveled
parts-river graying into the relics-

basement. Still, even
in the thud of a recession

the archive swells—cell by cell
honeying us back to a self.


poem by Cori A. Winrock. First appeared in Caketrain, Issue 6.

Comments

Tom said…
Fantastic. Best poem I've seen on Eyewear in a long time.
Anonymous said…
playful imagery made direct and descript, i like.
Anonymous said…
we <3 this poem!!!!

Popular posts from this blog

IQ AND THE POETS - ARE YOU SMART?

When you open your mouth to speak, are you smart?  A funny question from a great song, but also, a good one, when it comes to poets, and poetry. We tend to have a very ambiguous view of intelligence in poetry, one that I'd say is dysfunctional.  Basically, it goes like this: once you are safely dead, it no longer matters how smart you were.  For instance, Auden was smarter than Yeats , but most would still say Yeats is the finer poet; Eliot is clearly highly intelligent, but how much of Larkin 's work required a high IQ?  Meanwhile, poets while alive tend to be celebrated if they are deemed intelligent: Anne Carson, Geoffrey Hill , and Jorie Graham , are all, clearly, very intelligent people, aside from their work as poets.  But who reads Marianne Moore now, or Robert Lowell , smart poets? Or, Pound ?  How smart could Pound be with his madcap views? Less intelligent poets are often more popular.  John Betjeman was not a very smart poet, per se.  What do I mean by smart?

"I have crossed oceans of time to find you..."

In terms of great films about, and of, love, we have Vertigo, In The Mood for Love , and Casablanca , Doctor Zhivago , An Officer and a Gentleman , at the apex; as well as odder, more troubling versions, such as Sophie's Choice and  Silence of the Lambs .  I think my favourite remains Bram Stoker's Dracula , with the great immortal line "I have crossed oceans of time to find you...".

THE SWIFT REPORT 2023

I am writing this post without much enthusiasm, but with a sense of duty. This blog will be 20 years old soon, and though I rarely post here anymore, I owe it some attention. Of course in 2023, "Swift" now means one thing only, Taylor Swift, the billionaire musician. Gone are the days when I was asked if I was related to Jonathan Swift. The pre-eminent cultural Swift is now alive and TIME PERSON OF THE YEAR. There is no point in belabouring the obvious with delay: 2023 was a low-point in the low annals of human history - war, invasion, murder, in too many nations. Hate, division, the collapse of what truth is, exacerbated by advances in AI that may or may not prove apocalyptic, while global warming still seems to threaten the near-future safety of humanity. It's been deeply depressing. The world lost some wonderful poets, actors, musicians, and writers this year, as it often does. Two people I knew and admired greatly, Ian Ferrier and Kevin Higgins, poets and organise