Bo evews ok R i
I was pleased to receive a review copy of three books published by Cardiff’s newest poetry imprint, Mulfran. One of them was by past Square contributor, Lynda Nash.
Lynda’s book is a sentimental account of her childhood. The introduction, by friend, Barrie Llewelyn begins with the foreboding words, “Lynda would tell you she is not a poet.” There follows a couple of pages predictably enough trying to convince the reader that Lynda, apparently better known as a prose writer, is a poet, but the writing really was on the wall!
As an account of one’s childhood, this is reasonable enough. There is quite a cosy feel to the book, and both the familiar and unfamiliar scenes are quite effective in making you feel you “could be there”, but I didn’t find it convincing as a book of poetry. The language is too simplistic; the poems do not read as if they have been truly crafted. Having said that, there is an occasional use of unnecessarily long words, which just sound clunky, such as in the line “as if I had instigated this intrusion” in the first poem.
There are a few poems that are almost like riddles. A Day Off is one of these, which by the end, it’s clear is about the Aberfan disaster, which must have been a harrowing part of Lynda’s childhood, having lived nearby.
There is not as much humour in the book as might have been expected – perhaps looking back, Lynda realises there was not much to laugh about. The line at the end of The Epitome of… is great though – “laziness doesn’t run in our family, son. She walks”. Could this really have been the line someone had used before leaving his wife? More humour along these lines might have brought the book to life, and having seen some of Lynda’s other poems, I know she does humorous verse well.
By contrast, Maureen Jivani’s book is more poetic, more accomplished, with several extended metaphors stretching through many of the poems. For the majority of them, the writer distances herself from the poem’s subject matter, contrasting with Lynda’s, which, perhaps by necessity, are mainly written in the first person, or from her perspective at least. With Jivani’s poems, it’s as if she is sitting comfortably in the background, letting the poems take shape themselves.
We are told so often when studying GCSE English of the need for that big-impact first line in novels. It’s perhaps less the case in a book of poetry, where every line should be thoughtfully considered, but nonetheless, “Insensible Heart”’s opener, “I had a heart in my hand once” is a pretty big hitter.
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