Cora Siré is the author of two books of poetry, a chapbook, two novels, and a collection of short stories. Her poems, fiction, and essays have appeared in anthologies and magazines in Canada, the US, Mexico, and Europe. Her website can be found at www.quena.ca.
Q: How long were you in Ottawa, and what first brought you here? What took you away?
I was seventeen years old when I arrived to study at the University of Ottawa. It’s no exaggeration to claim that Ottawa lured me into writing poetry. The poets I encountered made a deep and lasting impression.
After my BA, I stayed in Ottawa for a bit, working at a deli and then in government. I was reluctant to leave, but I eventually returned to my home city of Montréal. Ever since, Ottawa continues to lure me back. I have family in the city and of course there’s a vibrant community of poets and writers with so many fine readings and events. I’ve been lucky to participate in a number of them.
Q: How did you first get involved in writing, and subsequently, the writing community here?
I experienced a pivotal moment in Ottawa that was so formative, it found its way into my hybrid memoir/story collection, Fear the Mirror (Véhicule Press, 2021.)
In “The Mark” I write about a student who spends an inordinate amount of time playing backgammon in Pigeon Bleu, the bar that was on Colonel By Drive near Pretoria Bridge. One night she attends her first poetry reading. In a packed, darkened room on campus, she witnesses a visiting poet deliver powerful verses. The experience changes her forever.
It is true that when Dorothy Livesay stood under a single spotlight and read “The Unquiet Bed,” the last stanza ripped through my heart: The woman I am / is not what you see / move over love / make room for me.
After the reading, I went back to residence and wrote a poem. Livesay’s words and courage had ignited my voice. I played less backgammon and started attending readings whenever I learned of them. I paid attention to local poets and the magazines that were publishing them. It took more than a few years, but eventually I was grateful to have my work published in local venues such as Bywords and Arc.
Q: How did being in such a community of writers shift your thinking about writing, if at all? Have there been subsequent shifts due to where you have lived since?
The Dorothy Livesay reading prompted me to take a contemporary Canadian poetry course in my last year at the University of Ottawa. It was insightful, although the canon taught consisted of largely male poets, with little diversity. But one of the assignments was to write a review of a chapbook and I was assigned The Chemistry of Instruments by Jane Jordan. From the opening poem, “Ottawa,” to the last one, “Brass Notes,” the stanzas spoke to me in truths I’d rarely encountered. Like Dorothy Livesay’s words, but even more intense. As in: gestures are the poem / you write / to tell me / the world is fragile (from “Brass Notes.”)
I felt Jane Jordan was addressing me in very precise terms. The poems I was drafting in my notebooks exposed my own fragility as a hyper-sensitive twenty-year-old trying to find her place in the world. I later learned from rob mclennan’s writings that Jane Jordan had been a legend in the Ottawa poetry community.
From the monumental shift I experienced in Ottawa (finding my voice and the courage to express my deepest feelings), I then shifted many times over. In Montréal I discovered poets such as Robyn Sarah and Carmine Starnino who led me into thinking more deeply about the language and architecture of poetry, the exciting possibilities around metaphor and compression.
After meeting my partner, who grew up in Argentina, and spending time there with him, I went on a Latin American reading spree and shifted again, influenced by Borges, Bolaño, and Parra among others. I started writing a novel set in the region that featured Delmira Agustini, the Uruguayan poet who was murdered by her ex when she was twenty-seven. Her work inspired me to compose a sequence of glosas that made their way into my first collection of poetry, Signs of Subversive Innocents (Signature Editions, 2014) and also, my second collection, Not in Vain You’ve Sent Me Light (Guernica Editions, 2021.)
All along, I took a number of workshops with poets such as Mary di Michele, a fine Montréal poet, or Jan Zwicky whose work reflects her deep connection to music. These poets prompted me to reconsider and refine my poetry. I think I’m like most writers in that we’re constantly developing as we read and learn from the works of others.
Q: What did you see happening here that you don’t see anywhere else? What did Ottawa provide, or allow?
Thinking back to my years in Ottawa, I feel there was an interesting collision of influences that fostered creative life. The population includes many students who are largely transient (like I was) so there’s a youthful influence which expresses a certain subversion or resistance to the status quo and accepts the outsider status that so many of us share. That’s important for artists, I think.
Ottawa seemed less alienating than other urban settings and offered me a relatively safe space in which my origins as the daughter of war refugees from Estonia and our family history of displacement were generally accepted, if not always fully understood. Then there’s the international representation through the embassies and government work. I met students from Africa at the University of Ottawa who exposed me to diverse cultures and poetic traditions. In Ottawa, I was also exposed to progressive ideas around social justice that resonated with me.
Q: Have any of your projects responded directly to your engagements here? How had the city and its community, if at all, changed the way you approached your work?
There’s a great spirit in the Ottawa writing community. I’ve been invited to attend events and readings over the years, and have always been made to feel welcome here. For example, I launched my first collection of poetry alongside Steven Artelle, an Ottawa poet, to a packed audience at Pressed Café thanks to the curators of the Rail Road Reading Series. Later, Frances Boyle invited me to read with her at The Lieutenant’s Pub for the launch of her novella, Tower. As part of the Sawdust Reading Series, I appeared alongside several Ottawa poets, including James K. Moran, rob mclennan, and AJ Dolman, at Bar Robo.
All these poets shared their remarkable, often innovative works in ways that seeped into my own poetics. The generosity of spirit I feel in Ottawa is extremely bolstering for poets, and the momentary emergence from obscurity gives one courage to continue exploring and creating.
I’m also aware that almost every place can have an unforgiving quality. Back when I was living in Ottawa, my mother gave me Elizabeth Smart’s By Grand Central Station I Sat Down and Wept. I think my mother wanted to warn me off falling in love with poets. Instead, the book’s fierce passion moved and inspired me.
Later I was shocked to learn that after 2,000 copies of By Grand Central Station… were first published in London in 1945, Smart’s mother had all six copies on the shelf of an Ottawa bookstore removed and burned just so her Rockcliffe friends wouldn’t be scandalized. Then she made Prime Minister Mackenzie King ban further imports to the book to Canada. This stuck with me, and wound up as a central theme in my recent chapbook, Moonlight Recipe for Disaster (Turret House Press, 2025.)
Q: What are you working on now?
I’ve just completed a novel exploring art, democracy, and how they are connected. Portraits of the Essential will be published in a year and a half or so. In the meantime, I’m polishing some poems that seem to be very political, given the state of the world. These are especially tricky to write, but I’ve always felt that outrage is a powerful creative fuel and hard to supress.
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