Sensorium: Poetry

by Emily Corwin

Emily Corwin's sensorium is a gurlesque party, is lush and anxious and blossoming with rot. In her second collection, Corwin investigates the textures of physical and psychic pain—the celluloid of classic horror films, greasy computer screens and text messages, ballrooms and hallways and pig blood, surgical instruments, lipsticks, medication, teenage romance and demons. Sensorium considers the beauty in body horror, the viscera boiling under a pretty crust.

Genres: Poetry

62 pages, Kindle Edition

First published April 7, 2020

Reviews

[Allie Marini · Rating 5 out of 5]

You know that one book that knocks the air out of your lungs? The one that teaches you all sorts of things on a craft level, & makes you grind your jaw in utter admiration & (respectful) envy because you wish you'd written it? The one that makes you determined that the next thing you write is going to be *on their level*? You know that book?

Yeah. This is THAT book.

Half of the collection are persona poems that zero in on horror movie heroines & tragic victims without judgement.

The other half are a thorough examination of body horror. Poems that make the squeaky bits of the body, things that make us squeamish -- look positively glamorous & tragically, uncomfortably beautiful.

It's inventive, using predictive text to construct poetry, or writing poetry in the syntax, in the caesura & emdashes & spacing between line breaks to tell a whole different story than the one the words are telling you.

This collection is the ultimate unreliable narrator.
This collection is uncomfortably honest.
It will not choose & it's kinda mad you asked it to.

Fans of Tenderling won't be disappointed. Or if you're new to the Sensorium, welcome.
You'll like it here.

[Lindsay · Rating 5 out of 5]

Corwin's blending of persona poems featuring our favorite horror movie heroines with lyric dives into anxiety and depression disorders is flawless. Each persona--from Rosemary Woodhouse to Sidney Prescott--is a beautifully rendered "outburst." Poet and persona bursting out of the neat borders of the TV screen, pulling the reader into the quietly, ominous atmosphere of the horror we hold close, and asking: is anxiety the thing that kills us or keeps us running?

[Ace · Rating 5 out of 5]

As the nights grow longer and daylight grows dim, my spirit is itching for more of the macabre, for more of those twisted, darker tales. And somehow, without my even trying, I found "Sensorium."

What a fantastic collection this is! From the poems which are direct perspectives of horror film leading ladies to the persistent, subtle repetitions of the dreary world of the narrator-

Absolutely extraordinary, and I hope the next collection to find its way to me is just as worthwhile.



Fave entry: residence in a time of horror

it was something gloomy out there—
in the gloaming,
in the ground that gives,
ground that takes.

yes, it is a brutal planet we have,
it says: danger, do not enter.
and what direction are you running, love?
did it hurt to be outside?

under the local meadow,
blood invades,
the virus moaning delicious into wilder life.

what is there to do but tremble,
become a softer element,
supple, foraging for antidote—
a small, ardent berry to reside here, to resist.

(Apologies if the breaks are wrong; I copied this from my notes.)

[Joe Sacksteder · Rating 5 out of 5]

After hearing Emily read some of these poems at AWP, I was excited to buy "Sensorium." The "Outburst As" poems—monologues from female horror film protagonists (often final girls)—became a really great way to teach my high schoolers about ekphrasis. In preparation for their live film narration assignment, I read "Outburst as Mary Henry" in front of a projected clip of "Carnival of Souls," and I didn't have a lot of time to prep and wasn't sure how it would land, but I looked up from my book and their mouths were hanging open. We did an "Outburst As" prompt (with the necessary words about etiquette when working with another poet's form), and the results were delightful, especially "Outburst as Michael Scott," which included the lines "Dwight, you ignorant slut," and, of course, "That's what she said." My favorite poem in the collection is "dark webs," especially, "low / battery always. convinced I am dying always" and "a pale / kinderwhore dress." Also loved the n+7 poem, especially the phrase "the nightfall spiteful."

[Nicole Clarkson · Rating 3 out of 5]

This book was highly recommended to me and yet I did not enjoy it as much as I wanted to. I think the biggest problem is that I am purposely ignorant of even classic horror films. I haven't seen any of them. I have severe enough anxiety that mild, even cheesy horror movies render me terrified and subject me to a few nights of bad dreams. No thank you. So while I admire Corwin for weaving poems based on or in conjunction with these films - and thank her immensely for annotating each with what movie they are from - I did not garner much enjoyment or inspiration from them. The other poems had a little more reliability because of the mental illness component but still felt distant and somewhat incomprehensible. Compared to the other poetry books I've read even in the past 24 hours, it did not meet the bar they set. Which is a shame, because I really wanted to like this book.

[belly · Rating 5 out of 5]

this is by far one of the most disgusting poetry books I've ever read. needless to say, I'm enamored.

I love gurlesque. Yes, yes, and yes! Horror poetry? Intensely visceral gross imagery? I'm hooked.

I could ramble about this collection for hours but I just want everyone to know that this is by far one of the best poetry collections of the decade and my favorite that I have maybe ever encountered.

[Anna · Rating 5 out of 5]

Disclaimer: I went to an MFA with Emily and we are good friends!

That being said, I loved this collection, the glittery, gory precision of the language, the way it so elegantly captures trauma, fear, the body, and the way the Internet/social media/film/pop culture distorts our vision, even making askew the way we see ourselves and our bodies.