Cori Martin

How can I eulogize a sister, or sum up a lifetime in words? Memory doesn’t live in letters on a page, or in faded pictures in photo albums. It’s a sketchy patchwork – flashes of feelings, recollections of food and fragrance, snatches of action from decades of living and learning. To unravel the complexities of the Cori Martin who lived here on earth for 64 years is quite impossible in a blog.

But here it is.

Girls and women who have an older sister will understand it’s a very good thing. We have had someone to pave the way, to sample forbidden things, to make mistakes first, to stand as a model for good things and things not so good. From miniskirts, ‘tulip stompers’, tattered ponchos and granny glasses, to the first Beatles records in the house, the first date with a boy, the first rum and coke, Cori was the über rebel in a restless family.

Cori Martin lived her life with passion. Whether it was her creative writing, singing, cooking or housekeeping, teaching, learning, politics, or poetry, she never undertook things by halves, and she did not suffer fools. If you wanted to enter into a discussion with her, you had to take a side and defend it. It was not enough to speculate. You must have an opinion!

My sister unlocked the puzzle of poetry for me, taking the time to explain the meaning hidden behind the sound and rhythm of words, the secrets behind the text. She saved several of my bad attempts at high school essays and helped me understand the power of carefully chosen words. Her mature poetry served as inspiration for my music, and I believe she was usually pleased with the results.

Cor was a risk-averse adventurer. She worried obsessively over the safety of those around her, but she herself often chose the untried path. She studied in the United States, volunteered in a third-world country, worked as a journalist, and managed some of the world’s most difficult classical musicians. She found Hanno, a life partner in every way, and though in her later years her health plagued her, it did not deter the two of them from travelling together to far corners of the world.

She and I walked the Canterbury pilgrim trail together in 2013. The journey began badly, with us being separated on opposite sides of the sliding glass doors of a London Underground train. But communicating without cellphones, in a language of frantic gestures only sisters could possibly de-code, we reunited at the following station with substantial relief. Although I know the week-long walk required a great effort on her part, with her aching knees that would undergo surgery in the years to come, she never complained along the way.

Now Cori Martin undertakes the final adventure, treading an unknown country. And we who are left without her, walk alongside with her memory.

In memoriam Cori Martin (1959-2023)