Territories

Donalee Moulton-Barrett was a writer and editor in Halifax.

Territories, by prairie poet Elizabeth Allen, is a finely crafted, emotive collection that powerfully bridges the span between places in the heart and places in the mind.

Allen’s poetry is firmly rooted to, and in, the prairie landscape, especially Saskatchewan. Her sense of place (literal) is the most well-defined and striking aspect of her work. In part vi of the opening poem, “territories,” Allen writes: “wind /hisses a song of changing seasons /through grainfields /an idea of gold /wheatstalks /braided into loops & knots /binds fast around your legs /spiky arms pull you down /&earth /encloses you /in its silty depth.”

Allen speaks knowingly, respectfully, and often lovingly about the rawness, the beauty, the sensualness, and the cruelty of nature. She juxtaposes these natural elements with those of human nature. From “hawk”: “the flash of talon & brown /feathers the fur of the animal /&for a moment you are that hawk /stilled in the field /before the moment of tearing /apart the quivering limbs /dripping the hooked beak into blood / &warm flesh.”

The one weak spot in Allen’s writing is her conclusions. They are too frequently predictable and too often they represent the easy way out. Allen doesn’t look deep enough inside her own landscapes, almost as if she’s afraid of what she’ll find there. Instead, she falls back on sentimentalism. In “wild horse country/calgary power,” Allen tells us about “horses /running single file /then fanning out at a gallop.” Not too surprisingly a dam is built here and, naturally, this is what happens: “below the dam the river /rushes down the tailrace /branches out over white gravel /a spider’s web dancing in sunlight /there are no horses to be seen.”

This is not Elizabeth Allen at her best. But there is much in Territories that is.