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I am drawing a map of distances. The swimmer. The sleeper. The dreamer. Another afternoon traipsing the incomprehensiblecorridors of the brain. Nothing uttered. Alia Kobuszko's poetry is as immediate as it is mysterious. She is unafraid of detonating form or trusting a quiet phrase, and saturates these poems with surreal and sensuous aspects. In this enchanting and piercing debut, strange horses gallop - embodying metamorphic freedom and power. The speaker becomes the rider, the horse itself and even the field, enacting how the poet inhabits and unanchors their subject so that 'girl and horse / stand still- / field runs through them.'
I am drawing a map of distances. The swimmer. The sleeper. The dreamer. Another afternoon traipsing the incomprehensiblecorridors of the brain. Nothing uttered. Alia Kobuszko's poetry is as immediate as it is mysterious. She is unafraid of detonating form or trusting a quiet phrase, and saturates these poems with surreal and sensuous aspects. In this enchanting and piercing debut, strange horses gallop - embodying metamorphic freedom and power. The speaker becomes the rider, the horse itself and even the field, enacting how the poet inhabits and unanchors their subject so that 'girl and horse / stand still- / field runs through them.'