In Conversation with Sue Sinclair
I push open the door of the café , my glasses fog briefly , and Sue Sinclair materializes at a nearby table. It strikes me that each time I've met her--at a reading, a festival, in a café , at home--it's like this. There's the space, and then she's there in the space. SUSAN GILLIS: You work in several modes: lyric, academic, and an exploratory kind of critical writing—and I think it’s fair to include dance in this list. What first brought you to poetry? SUE SINCLAIR: I have many possible answers to that question, but one is contained in your second question: a craving for lyric intensity. Not all moments in life can be experienced as lyrically intense—it would be exhausting, at least for me. But moments of lyric intensity are so enriching! How enriching, what do I mean? I mean that such moments reveal the preciousness of particulars and the place of those particulars in the resonant structure that is the world--this is to pick up on Jan Zwicky’s