The Barrens

Karen Solie

North Atlantic wind triesto tear the roof off the hill,throws all the sea’s abrasives at it,but the tuckamore grew upin this house, body shapedby the timeless occupationof a back bent low, handsin the dirt, workingat the fasteners.It’s hard to think of anythingmore modestly and completelysuccessful. A forestof white spruce and balsam fircenturies old and three feet tall,its villages of cubbyhole, attic,and lean-to are hometo the vulnerable thrush,to the vole who bounceson its bedsprings, rabbitslose their keys in its alleys,even sheep find a navein which to saytheir panicked rosariesin a storm; it is youwho are most definitelynot to scale.All around in the low hallshurricane lamps are being lit.To look in the windowsyou will have to crawl.

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Headshot of Karen Solie
Photo:
David Seymour

Karen Solie grew up in southwest Saskatchewan. Her five previous collections of poetry—Short Haul Engine, Modern and Normal, Pigeon, The Road In Is Not the Same Road Out, and The Caiplie Caves—have won the Dorothy Livesay Poetry Prize, the Pat Lowther Award, the Trillium Book Award, and the Griffin Poetry Prize, and have been short-listed for the Derek Walcott Prize and the T. S. Eliot Prize. In 2025, Wellwater was awarded the Forward Prize for Best Collection, the Governor General’s Award for Poetry, and shortlisted for the PEN Heaney Prize and T.S. Eliot Prize. A 2023 Guggenheim Fellow, she teaches half-time for the University of St. Andrews in Scotland and lives the rest of the year in Canada.

The poems in Wellwater, Karen Solie’s sixth collection, explore the intersection of cultural, economic, and personal ideas of “value,” addressing housing, economic and environmental crisis, and aging and its incumbent losses. In an era of accelerating inequality, places many of us thought of as home have become unaffordable. In “Basement Suite,” the faux-utopian economy of Airbnb suggests people with property “share” it with us and, presumably, we should be grateful. In “Parables of the Rat” the speaker feels affinity with scavengers while also wanting the rats gone.

Having grown up in Saskatchewan on a small family farm, Solie sees the economic and environmental crises as inseparable. Climate change has made small farming increasingly untenable, allowing overbearing corporate control of food production. But hope, Solie argues, is as necessary to addressing the crises of our time as bearing witness, in poems that celebrate wonder and persistence in the non-human world. Tamarack forests in Newfoundland that grow inches over hundreds of years, the suddenly thriving pronghorn antelope, or a new, unidentified and ineradicable climbing vine, all hint at renewal, and a way to move forward.

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