Aoife Lyall’s second anthology, ‘The Day Before’ (Bloodaxe, 64pp, £12), carries with it an undercurrent of torment. The collection is bound by the disconcerting days of lockdown, its peculiar traditions, boundaries and an approaching aura of administrative fear.
Words such as ‘penance’ and ‘martyr’ appear frequently, often in surprising and supposedly harmless contexts: “A single Dairy Milk, with its promising purple wrapper, signifies penance, offering”; “I grind idle amethysts into dust, martyr the front door”. The poems seem polite on the surface, but underneath a theme of bodily deterioration runs throughout, depicting the decline and decay of the being.
An appreciation for the grotesque is established early on, particularly in ‘The Early Shift’, “pork fat curls blossoming in the morning sun – /the rosy lilies of an insatiable lover” whereas a walk down a mirrored hallway results in further self-mortification: “each one seizes//a part of me for itself”. At times, it appears as though Lyall’s sackcloth and ash vocabulary slightly opposes the structure of the poems themselves; it strives for intensity without letting the dark undercurrent naturally emerge.
‘Going in circles’ forces the image of a rotating washing line into something, yet again, unnervingly sacrificial: “I pace around it as if a mule at a millstone” however, this aligns with the poem’s final sentiment: “all of us are weeping and none of us comprehend why”. The work carries an elegiac tone at times, where the use of symbolic actions and denial, of sensing through absence, proves more impactful, notably in ‘Day Return’. What isn’t spoken reveals the essence: “I give them a task. So I purchase them/a keychain teddy bear and say it’s for you”.”
The compilation “Of Shards and Tatters” by Eamon Grennan (Gallery, 56pp, €11.95/ €18.50), largely exists within the context of the pandemic era, though its ambiance significantly differs from any feelings of imposed penitence. On the contrary, Grennan persistently maintains a positive outlook, with the pieces included serving as a chronicle of “hope in these otherwise somber times.”
Grennan’s poetry tends to involve long, detailed sentences, weaving out thoughts across multiple lines and even entire poems at times. Although this approach aids in articulating his introspective banter, it can sometimes steer him toward rambling. At moments, there’s a strained positivity, a mantra of “good enough…to carry on,” which could run the risk of becoming overly sentimental but largely avoids it due to Grennan’s zest and unassuming nature.
Grennan courageously attempts to portray everyday domestic joy, referencing “the contented chilly group of us” and bearing it with a grin. This tactic faces its greatest challenge in the pieces mourning his brother, particularly “On Mourning.” These pieces demonstrate the level of mental exertion Grennan exerts to sustain his cheery tone.
Grennan frequently turns his gaze to nature, echoing life’s call for “More life! More life!” The intent is to capture the beauty of the everyday miracles of the world. As he sets to commemorate the “pestilence-laden era,” he suggests that one poem “flows into every other”. This approach, used in several memory-related and childhood-derived poems, imparts a sense of fluidity to time in this kindly, attentive anthology.
K Patrick has launched their first piece, Three Births (Granta, 96pp, £12.99), an ode to pleasure predominantly. This inclination towards delight brings forth compelling prose, particularly in the leading verse, Pickup-Truck Sex where “Delight never ceases/to fold our beings together”, suggesting a robust undertone, besides depicting a strong and passionate scenario: “Two potent individuals in white t-shirts make love across the hood/of a vintage pickup truck.” There’s a strong streak of self-obsession – intentional and unapologetic as it may be – that can tend to feel burdensome over time. In a poem titled David Attenborough, Patrick conveys their sentiment “I find my essence everywhere” – hardly original. The intention behind this work is overtly political, beyond the depicted persona or façade; Patrick identifies with ‘they/them’ pronouns and the book is as concerned with “finding desire in everything” as it is about “acknowledging queerness” and “Absurd miniature deities”. However, it can get tiresome feeling compelled to affirm the beauty of Patrick’s life frequently.
To keep this aspect of the work interesting, Patrick expertly uses cheeky irony and witty commentary; “Self-importance is a family trait!”
A piece such as EB, a dialogue with Elizabeth Bishop, often displays the glaring differences between the outlook of these two authors towards prosody, their environment and a lot more: “I don’t feign any connections with nature. Nothing that lives is/only a narrative”; this seems to resonate with the rather controversial and carefree statement “A blackbird is dull./Observing nature provokes a nauseating British sensation” in Morning.
Patrick skilfully keeps the work intriguing with their witty, tongue-in-cheek commentary; proclaiming: “Narcissism is inherited, you see!” and “Self-love is akin to sky-writing,/I am the theme to blush for”. The writing here is vibrant, with sparks of brilliance, as seen in the one-line verse Summer that presents “a grand compendium of desires!”
The Palace of Forty Pillars, the first book by Armen Davoudian, signifies the emergence of a highly talented new poet. Born in Iran and raised in America, Davoudian’s work leans strongly toward classical styles, with his collection boasting well-executed sonnets, ghazals, and a myriad of thoughtful, rhythmically-rhymed verses.
He occasionally confronts political themes directly, intertwining memories from a German language camp with the emergence of Trump’s border policies, concluding with a powerful crescendo: “Distinct paths persist./A new trend unfolds./In the streets, a loveless fire ignites once more”.
Fourty Pillars has moments where it recalls W. H. Auden, and James Merrill, evident in the poignant poem Coming out of the Shower. There, the author reveals his struggle with discomfort or displacement prompted by his blossoming homosexuality: “Reflections dance on each diligently cleaned crack/you’d excuse the mess or disregard./What else about me will you continue to love?”.
The theme of displacement dominates, a dilemma that is two-fold: “Each day I chose my wayward path anew”. Battling with the desire to return after leaving, the author always contemplates the idea of going back. Although he displays a strong emotional attachment to his native Iran, a key theme in the title’s sequence about Isfahan, he seems most compelled towards expressing himself in “anguish-laden English”. He carries a tangled sense of unfulfilled longing, saying: “Above belief in God, I place faith in Lot’s unnamed wife,/who chose death over life outside Sodom”.
Rich in historic and symbolic allusions, this collection of poetry that has “opted/for the challenging path” and achieved a beautiful harmony in making hardships tuneful.