Alex Josephy finds authentic voices in Deborah Tyler-Bennettâs poems of theatrical nostalgia
Mr Bowlly Regrets
Deborah Tyler-Bennett
The Kingâs England Press
ISBN 978 1 909548 69 5
ÂŁ7.95
I was very glad to come upon Deborah Tyler-Bennettâs collection. The slightly eccentric typefaces and layout caught my eye immediately; thereâs something unusually approachable about the look of the book, something jaunty and refusing to take itself too seriously. Then thereâs the way one poem follows another, occasionally sharing a page as though they need to keep coming without too much of a pause. I was perhaps sceptical, yet ready to accept the first poemâs invitation to âtune in todayâ.
Derived from and revelling unashamedly in images and textures of the past, paradoxically these poems are a breath of fresh air. The Kingâs England Press seems an appropriate publishing house for poems located so firmly in England and versions of Englishness. A central strength is Tyler-Bennettâs powerful and precise sense of place and time. Clothes and appearances are meticulously described; at times the experience of reading the book is like opening a very well-stocked dressing-up box. Images that have stayed with me include a womanâs skin âa make-up manâs milk-white, almost blue as blackbird eggs; a male sea of moustaches, brilliantineâ; and lace made by the calloused hands of Mansfield workers:
delicacy free-
falling, a spiderâs thread of imitation lily,
wide-mouthed peony, moss; or beaded-
vermicelliâs lugworm casts.
The surprise in all this enjoyable retro sartorial detail is the way in which human vulnerabilities are revealed, as in these lines from âIce Creamâ:
Fondant-centred Arthur Seaton, bird-boned
through Ted jacket as we hugged goodbye
for what might be the last time, but it wasnâtâŚ
The poetâs elliptical expression is striking right from the start; a kind of skipping gait composed of partial sentences and words left unsaid, as though she is constantly wanting to cut to the chase or to pursue a fast flow of treasured stories and observations. It carries us into a world of remembered narratives and often exuberant characters,. In the first poem in the collection we encounter the âlemon-drop perfectionâ of Mr Bowllyâs crooning, and are conveyed rapidly to his unfortunate wartime demise:
Fateful decision, returning to his flat,
slaughtered by a falling door.
As in other poems here, the tone hovers between elegy and comedy. I very much liked the way this poet is not afraid to record the sentimental gestures that often express or accompany genuine emotion. Never condescending, she mourns a world that is passing, but is always ready to surprise the reader with a chuckle or a choice moment of absurdity: the found poetry of a bingo holiday blurb, naff publicity churned out for the heritage industry.
In âImpossible Journeysâ, Tyler-Bennettâs happy ear for local vernacular combines to good effect with her avoidance of the âlittle wordsâ, adding to the witty tone and allowing for a swift journey into the changing experience of life in the East Midlands, where many of the poems are set.
âNot what it were,â Granâs com-plaint, till-door shut,
hardware shop now Takeaway Chinese,
(pungent putty to menuâs number three).
Tyler-Bennett excels at portraiture. She pays homage to, among others, lace workers, miners and World War 1 soldiers, often deftly contrasting their workaday lives with starry aspirations and longings. I particularly enjoyed the woman who âought to be in picturesâ, the âsilk scarfâs shift around the neckâ suggesting a whole world of feminine detail. The poem ends with a touching vignette of her âsmall parentsâ in their âstippled wren house, not for peacocksâ, described as âchestnut-faced deer surprised – producing a gazelleâ.
These are affectionate poems, bearing witness and paying tribute to the histories of âordinaryâ working people, their lives and their icons. In many of them itâs the accretion of specifics â names, places â that moves the poem into a wider sphere of meaning. They speak of a disappearing culture. There are closed-down factories, graveyards, the known and unknown dead (âDoris Brown. Neat stone could be encircled with both handsâ). Many of the characters are recalled larger-than-life, through a childâs eyes, as in âMansfieldâs Mae Westâ, a portrait of a landlady who
ruled her pub
bare-knuckle fist in violet velvet glove,
or more poignantly in âBiggerâ:
Tommy Atkins, silhouette at ceme-tery gates seems jockey
sized. Was once, we knew the bigger man.
The book is organised thematically, with sections on Mansfield, a writing residency focussed on a First World War project, a Brighton section, and finally âBooks, Films and Telly.â Iâm not sure that this always works to best advantage; the last part in particular might have come across more interestingly if integrated into the book as a whole. As it is, the themes of successive poems in this section start to seem a little predictable, which is a pity as there are amusing and touching pieces, for instance a found poem on Charles Dickens tourism, reflections on the pretension of a pet cemetery (âinscriptions craftsmen-carved from local rockâ) as opposed to the injustice of other human deaths treated without respect (âbaby in home-made box placed/in the grave of someone better-offâ), and an update of âAn Inspector Callsâ with reference to austerity Britain.
This book is by no means just an enjoyable retro ride; Tyler-Bennett also turns her attention toward contemporary injustices. In âFaultyâ, a poignant, ragged sonnet, she juxtaposes a homeless âgently-spoken boyâ with a theatrical comedy poster; âcrazy worlds turned upside-downâ.
The Brighton poems are written with a particular sense of brio; of the Hydro Hotel:
I could pen this place love notes for still existing
with unapolagetic Tudorbethan heartbeat.
A sonnet celebrating âBrightonâs Music Hallâ sparkles with the fun of rhyme; I was won over by the camp surface glamour: âglit-tery/chattery/latterly/skitterâ. And Dusty (Springfield, of course) providing the âsobbing vocalsâ to mourn and memorialise lives and life-styles lost.
Clearly, the poems from the World War One residency (âBooks of the Villageâ) belong together. I thought some of these more achieved than others, but admired the way the poet has found fresh ways to convey âthe pity of warâ. Again it was the relationship between people and place â and the displacements caused by war â that moved me the most, for instance the devastating ending to âNo Relationâ, an elegy to a farm hand killed right at the end of the war:
death ringing in a week before peace bells sounded
across changed fields his boy, Sid, had sewn,
Diseworth to Kegworth, Bleak House to Finger Farm.
In âThemâ, the narrator, trying to describe her great grandparents as portrayed in the sepia photo, comments:
Wish I was in the business of restoring voices.
Actually, I think she is. This is a collection Iâll return to, and Tyler-Bennett is a poet I would love to hear on stage. The poems are full of authentic voices pleading to be read aloud.
by Michael Bartholomew-Biggs • books, poetry reviews, year 2017 • Tags: Alex Josephy, books, poetry • 0 Comments
Alex Josephy finds authentic voices in Deborah Tyler-Bennettâs poems of theatrical nostalgia
I was very glad to come upon Deborah Tyler-Bennettâs collection. The slightly eccentric typefaces and layout caught my eye immediately; thereâs something unusually approachable about the look of the book, something jaunty and refusing to take itself too seriously. Then thereâs the way one poem follows another, occasionally sharing a page as though they need to keep coming without too much of a pause. I was perhaps sceptical, yet ready to accept the first poemâs invitation to âtune in todayâ.
Derived from and revelling unashamedly in images and textures of the past, paradoxically these poems are a breath of fresh air. The Kingâs England Press seems an appropriate publishing house for poems located so firmly in England and versions of Englishness. A central strength is Tyler-Bennettâs powerful and precise sense of place and time. Clothes and appearances are meticulously described; at times the experience of reading the book is like opening a very well-stocked dressing-up box. Images that have stayed with me include a womanâs skin âa make-up manâs milk-white, almost blue as blackbird eggs; a male sea of moustaches, brilliantineâ; and lace made by the calloused hands of Mansfield workers:
The surprise in all this enjoyable retro sartorial detail is the way in which human vulnerabilities are revealed, as in these lines from âIce Creamâ:
The poetâs elliptical expression is striking right from the start; a kind of skipping gait composed of partial sentences and words left unsaid, as though she is constantly wanting to cut to the chase or to pursue a fast flow of treasured stories and observations. It carries us into a world of remembered narratives and often exuberant characters,. In the first poem in the collection we encounter the âlemon-drop perfectionâ of Mr Bowllyâs crooning, and are conveyed rapidly to his unfortunate wartime demise:
As in other poems here, the tone hovers between elegy and comedy. I very much liked the way this poet is not afraid to record the sentimental gestures that often express or accompany genuine emotion. Never condescending, she mourns a world that is passing, but is always ready to surprise the reader with a chuckle or a choice moment of absurdity: the found poetry of a bingo holiday blurb, naff publicity churned out for the heritage industry.
In âImpossible Journeysâ, Tyler-Bennettâs happy ear for local vernacular combines to good effect with her avoidance of the âlittle wordsâ, adding to the witty tone and allowing for a swift journey into the changing experience of life in the East Midlands, where many of the poems are set.
Tyler-Bennett excels at portraiture. She pays homage to, among others, lace workers, miners and World War 1 soldiers, often deftly contrasting their workaday lives with starry aspirations and longings. I particularly enjoyed the woman who âought to be in picturesâ, the âsilk scarfâs shift around the neckâ suggesting a whole world of feminine detail. The poem ends with a touching vignette of her âsmall parentsâ in their âstippled wren house, not for peacocksâ, described as âchestnut-faced deer surprised – producing a gazelleâ.
These are affectionate poems, bearing witness and paying tribute to the histories of âordinaryâ working people, their lives and their icons. In many of them itâs the accretion of specifics â names, places â that moves the poem into a wider sphere of meaning. They speak of a disappearing culture. There are closed-down factories, graveyards, the known and unknown dead (âDoris Brown. Neat stone could be encircled with both handsâ). Many of the characters are recalled larger-than-life, through a childâs eyes, as in âMansfieldâs Mae Westâ, a portrait of a landlady who
or more poignantly in âBiggerâ:
The book is organised thematically, with sections on Mansfield, a writing residency focussed on a First World War project, a Brighton section, and finally âBooks, Films and Telly.â Iâm not sure that this always works to best advantage; the last part in particular might have come across more interestingly if integrated into the book as a whole. As it is, the themes of successive poems in this section start to seem a little predictable, which is a pity as there are amusing and touching pieces, for instance a found poem on Charles Dickens tourism, reflections on the pretension of a pet cemetery (âinscriptions craftsmen-carved from local rockâ) as opposed to the injustice of other human deaths treated without respect (âbaby in home-made box placed/in the grave of someone better-offâ), and an update of âAn Inspector Callsâ with reference to austerity Britain.
This book is by no means just an enjoyable retro ride; Tyler-Bennett also turns her attention toward contemporary injustices. In âFaultyâ, a poignant, ragged sonnet, she juxtaposes a homeless âgently-spoken boyâ with a theatrical comedy poster; âcrazy worlds turned upside-downâ.
The Brighton poems are written with a particular sense of brio; of the Hydro Hotel:
A sonnet celebrating âBrightonâs Music Hallâ sparkles with the fun of rhyme; I was won over by the camp surface glamour: âglit-tery/chattery/latterly/skitterâ. And Dusty (Springfield, of course) providing the âsobbing vocalsâ to mourn and memorialise lives and life-styles lost.
Clearly, the poems from the World War One residency (âBooks of the Villageâ) belong together. I thought some of these more achieved than others, but admired the way the poet has found fresh ways to convey âthe pity of warâ. Again it was the relationship between people and place â and the displacements caused by war â that moved me the most, for instance the devastating ending to âNo Relationâ, an elegy to a farm hand killed right at the end of the war:
In âThemâ, the narrator, trying to describe her great grandparents as portrayed in the sepia photo, comments:
Actually, I think she is. This is a collection Iâll return to, and Tyler-Bennett is a poet I would love to hear on stage. The poems are full of authentic voices pleading to be read aloud.