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Sisters by Pauline Plummer

First, read the poem Sisters by Pauline Plummer.

Now enjoy the critique:

The poem Sisters is a poem that would touch most modern women, with echoes of Sapphic lyrical poetry. It is a poem about female identity and addresses the role of self in everyday life. The vibrant opening line Let's get drunk, my women friends is a politically charged call to arms and immediately accentuates the unity suggested by the title.

However, the celebratory atmosphere is quickly dulled with the shadows of the day in red madder. Although the women join to Tell bad jokes about the men and comfortably mock their power with laughter, the line Yes, we still sing the old blues songs portrays the delicacy of the situation. In an attempt to regain a sense of self, the women also mock our children's antics. The behaviours that they mock are a mixture of age old gripes such as This one's tantrums, that one's sloth and very modern realities: Another rescued from the park, drunk,/One in baggy cast offs, one in cloth/of gold. The descriptions conjure up very realistic images of modern motherhood.

The women in the poem are collectively showing signs of strength; yet each still craves their identity as a woman outside of their roles as mother or wife in the glare of society and its expectations. Together they murmur for a love gone wrong. The question Should we be angels or despots? Use mustard gas to quell the riots? highlights the uncertainties of how women should deal with the pressures of modern life. The instability of their situations is revealed further by placing two questions in quick succession: the poem is moving from the hilarity of the early stages of drink to the melancholic effects of alcohol.

The image of mustard gas is built upon with We need laughter to give us the nerve in the closing lines. The women are feeling trapped in a battle with their men and children, but most importantly with themselves. The initial call to celebrate is now dampened and it becomes a requirement: So drink up the glass that we deserve. Despite all outward appearances, by mocking their men and their children, they are actually mocking their own frustrations and inability to escape their predicaments. Through their solidarity the women in this poem have revealed their weaknesses.

However, the poem does not necessarily have a negative note. Through joining ranks the women also show their resilience: in the face of adversity they pull together and bond to overcome their current predicaments and walk away head held high.

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Discussed with kind permission from Pauline Plummer and Dogeater

Magnitude by Jacob Sam-La Rose (Part II)*

Magnitude

II

In a lesson on trying to make the abstract more concrete,
one of my students, a Guyanese boy, late teens,

shares a draft in which he’s counting
the breaths of his sleeping girlfriend.

He's met her father, shook his hand –
weeks later, the girl explains

that her Akan blood arrows back up to royalty,
that the boy is the son of a slave,

that there is no future for them, only a past.
I understand that the counting makes it easier,

lends a sense of a narrative, a march into the future
of something as simple as breath, in the face of something

so large it blots whatever light he’d been drawn by,
but it’s not working, and as much as I try,

I can’t suggest anything to make the poem any easier,
until he offers a resolution: a memory

of sitting on the sea wall in Georgetown, facing the Atlantic,
following the darts of sunlight riding the backs of waves,

wondering where each began, how each follows
the heels of another as they furl

towards wall or shore, how he can only understand
as much of it as his eye can drink in,

how the rest, for him, is a mystery.

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Critique

The second part of Magnitude is a continuation of a lesson on trying to make the abstract more concrete. The poet scales the theme of conflict and persecution from a global level to the viewpoint of an individual; one of my students, a Guyanese boy. Rather than looking at a grand concept, he uses a very real scenario, something as simple as breath, in the face of something/so large to continue the search for clarification. Once again, numbers are important, but this time they are scaled down to match the experience of the individual, with lots of references to singular objects, people and ideas; a resolution, a memory, in the face of something, his eye.

The main focus is a student who shares a draft in which he’s counting/the breaths of his sleeping girlfriend. The poet reveals that there is no future for them, only a past due to the fact that the boy is the son of a slave and the girl’s Akan blood arrows back up to royalty. Although they have been close and He's met her father, shook his hand, it takes only weeks later for the relationship to collapse because of a past beyond their reach. The boy is late teens, and the gap in age between him, his girlfriend, the tutor and their ancestors, further highlights the continued struggle of generation and it very real existence in modern day.

The addition of specifics such as Akan blood, a Guyanese boy, and Georgetown, facing the Atlantic position the characters and the concept initially highlighted in Part I now becomes clear; the divide that still separates African and Caribbean cultures. The poet and student are closely linked through both their experiences and struggles to make sense of the world. The poet acknowledges I understand that the counting makes it easier, and empathises when it’s not working. Part I had attempted to resolve the problem, something it could not achieve. The poet admits I can’t suggest anything to make the poem any easier as we witness their collective struggle to make sense of the situation.

In a hopeful climax, it is the student who eventually offers a resolution: a memory/of sitting on the sea wall in Georgetown, facing the Atlantic,/following the darts of sunlight riding the backs of waves. The fact that the student can still see the darts of sunlight and draw upon the backs of history and his own past experiences to understand the present lends a sense of a narrative, a march into the future. Although the boy can only understand/as much of it as his eye can drink in and the rest, for him, is a mystery he has by default helped the poet to come to his own real, fleshy equation ( Part I). The poet can take comfort in the fact that future generations understand the continued struggle and are looking to dissolve the problem of ethnic divide.

As stated in the first part of the review; the point of the poem Magnitude is the sum of its parts. The two sections look at the same theme from opposing perspectives and situations to try and address a difficult subject which mimics the very crux of ethnic division. The first part opens up the size of the problem and the second part tunnels it back into a single experience. Through the interaction of two individuals a form of resolution is found which ends the poem on a lingering sense of hope.

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*Magnitude by Jacob Sam-La Rose was commissioned by the Arts Council England. Reproduced with kind permission from Samenua Sesher, Arts Council England.

Magnitude by Jacob Sam-La Rose (Part I)

Magnitude*

I
There are a million grains in a 20 kilogram sack of rice.
Give or take. It's a hard enough number to imagine,

the kind that slips through the mind's fingers, like digging
your hands in that same sack, trying to feel

for individuals; the kind of counting that surpasses
fingers, bigger than the mind's computational eye,

like the full, unending girth of sky, like death,
the kind of threshold you concede

and take for granted. Imagine the sum
in eleven of those sacks, and I’m trying to find a way

to make that number real, like how many pots and how long
it might take to cook that much rice, and still retain the detail

of each swollen grain; a real, fleshy equation that might capture
the percentage of wastage, the amount that would fall

and be forgotten even while trying to keep count,
the appetite that might be necessary to take it all in.

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Critique

The title is integral to the poem from the outset; There are a million grains in a 20 kilogram sack of rice. The immeasurable size of the conflict the reader is about to be immersed in is conveyed within this single statement. It creates urgency and propels the reader to continue. The reference to a staple food source immediately suggests the issue is going to be on a global scale; it is evident that the poem is going to have a lot to say.

The opening statement is followed by a second, more colloquial Give or take. Its abruptness creates tension, and the conversational tone invites the reader into the poet’s internal dialogue. It also undermines the initial statement, which introduces a sense of uncertainty. This is quickly enhanced as the reader engages in the poet’s attempt to visualise the hard enough number to imagine.

The reader and poet are inextricably entwined; digging/your hands in that same sack. They journey together to try and find a way to make that number real; a number which is bigger then an unending girth of sky, so gargantuan that it is bigger than the mind's computational eye. The word computational jolts the reader, enhancing the struggle to compute the information required; emphasising the poem is about more than just facts and figures.

Human feeling and emotion are required to conceptualise the million grains of rice yet still retain the detail of each swollen grain. The reader quickly realises they are trying to feel/ for individuals rather than envision a single grand figure which is all encompassing. The reader tries to Imagine the sum and come to a real, fleshy equation, and so escape from the kind of threshold you concede / and take for granted. The point of the poem is the sum of its parts.

The themes of persecution (the amount that would fall) and genocide (the percentage of wastage) reveal themselves like the full, unending girth of sky, like death. Intermittently used figures (million grains, 20 kilogram sack of rice, eleven of those sacks) which reduce as the poem moves forward mark the inability to comprehend. Could these facts punctuate the incomprehensible, and make the cruelty of the world less real? The reader is constantly challenged by questions (like how many pots and how long/it might take to cook that much rice) and forced to remain involved.

The relationship between the poet and his heritage, history and present day, and every individual’s responsibility to mankind are in full view. The use of couplets creates an atmospheric closeness which links the reader to life’s realities, forcing them to acknowledge facts; the kind that slips through. As the poem is drawing to a close, the lines lengthen and the pace quickens to show the poet´s desperation to capture his audience before he concludes. They then shorten again and slow to finalise on a long lingering note.

The poem ends with a haunting suggestion that the points raised can be forgotten even while trying to keep count. This alerts the reader to the magnitude of the problem of becoming complacent and achieves the poem’s aim to find a way/to make that number real. The poet has focused the reader’s attention on each swollen grain and made the realities of the world forefront in their mind's computational eye. He has enabled the reader to capture/the percentage of wastage; the amount that would fall, skilfully generating within his audience an appetite that might be necessary to take it all in.

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*Magnitude by Jacob Sam-La Rose was commissioned by the Arts Council England. Reproduced with kind permission from Samenua Sesher, Arts Council England.

Part II coming soon...

Mario Petrucci´s response to critique

Mario Petrucci kindly offered the following response:

"I was worried when you said "...the internet has limitations and a style of its own" - partly because, if that's so, maybe we shouldn't use it for such things, and partly because the old pseudo-socialist in me senses 'well, isn't that precisely why it's being used... to dumb everything down?'... but you subverted both counts with your analysis, which I really enjoyed.

Of course, critiques like this are as much about the reader as the poet/ poem: you could probably see a penguin mating with a giraffe in there if you tried hard enough. But there are some really sharp observations here... I particularly thought the 'beast of two backs' and the Petronius 'recoil' were good.

You also picked up some 'negative' nuances like' suspicion' and 'hybrid gas' and 'warp' (you might have added 'cling' or 'spawn') which - together - prove that a writer is often as surprised by the content of what they've written as their reader: i.e. I was sensing an edginess there when I wrote it, but didn't quite realise it was so strong. And I really didn't see, at all, how the poem's tense shifts…which proves, again, writers need reflective, sensitive readers.

The one thing - perhaps the only thing - I think you could've raised is that this is - at its heart - an Eco-love poem... it uses, like the metaphysical poets, an extended conceit. The extended conceit here is that bacteria etc. from one body get transferred to another (through love-making, kissing, touching) and change the ecology, as it were, of those lovers' skins.

So, you can't ever disentangle from your previous actions: there's your metaphor for environmentalism, right there, in what appears (on its surface, its skin?) to be a straightly-quirky love poem. It's an important point because almost all my poems have some larger picture at their edges. Ecology, environment and the consequences of connection/disconnection are all here.

We can't escape Gaia just as much as we can't escape love. The blanket Gaia provides can also smother us."

In Touch by Mario Petrucci

In Touch*

That ocean divides. Yet the yeasts on my toes

have stowed away on yours – at the heel

of a day crammed with doings, shoe-snug,

they waft up to you our distinctive tang.

There’s a suspicion in the breath I catch

single-handed, just after brushing my teeth,

of that must my tongue first muscled in on

when our kissing strayed across the Channel

and a hybrid gas hibernates in my warp

of sheets, in my nightclothes – a smell that’s

somewhere between us, nuzzling to my body

warmth, or nosing the weft of denim that

spanned four shoulders of our lumbering

golem through hugger-mugger November nights.

Those secret hordes make us a common host:

cling, spawn, multiply in and under these skins –

our bodies soft continents.

From: Flowers of Sulphur (Enitharmon Press, 2007)
by Mario Petrucci

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Critique

In Touch reads as a modern rhetoric on the ancient idea of eros. The title suggests that although a lover can be aware of their own feelings, there is an outside force which cannot be controlled; a force creates uncertainty and separatism.

From the opening line of That ocean divides the reader is immediately flung into the paranoid and bitter recesses of passionate love;

That ocean divides. Yet the yeasts on my toes

Have stowed away on yours – at the heel

of a day crammed with doings, shoe snug

They waft up to you our distinctive tang.

Their union is looked upon with familiarity (our and shoe snug) yet repulsion (distinctive tang) hope (Yet the yeast...) and insecurity (that, on yours, at the heel). Like the satire of Petronius, Petrucci uses a private subject to catapult us into the situation with a tinge of recoil and disgust which echo the emotions of the speaker.

The conflicting emotions of eros are clear, with guilt linked to act of intercourse with the warp of sheets. The use of four shoulders is reminiscent of the derogatory term a beast with two backs, and yet he looks fondly upon nuzzling to my body warmth and their past lumbering golem. The word golem increases the sense of displacement and artificiality.

The speaker’s position in the relationship is uncertain; there’s a suspicion in the breath I catch. Initially in control (that must my tongue first muscled in on) the speaker feels that he is now trapped in a love that is crammed like a hybrid gas, dominated by his lover and his feelings;

Those secret hordes make us a common host:

Cling, spawn, multiply in and under these skins –

The speaker’s journey is clearly depicted; the poem begins with a statement of separateness (That ocean divides, I catch single handed), but as the poem flows past remembrances of hugger mugger November nights, the speaker comes to the realisation that love still exists somewhere between us in our bodies soft continents.

As the tenses change from past to present to future, the simple two line stanzas reflect the movement of the relationship and hope for its future, whilst the broken and disjointed sentence structure further depict the laws governing the common host of erotic love.

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*Reproduced with kind permission from Mario Petrucci