London Grip Poetry Review – Jessica Mookherjee
Jessica Mookherjeeâs collection Flood contains poems so fiercely inventive that âRiptideâ might even be a fitting title observes Brian Docherty
Flood Jessica Mookherjee Cultured Llama Publishing, 2018 ISBN 9 780995 738119 ÂŁ10
This is a book of ferocious imaginings, which builds on two earlier pamphlet collections. Good to see that so-called smaller presses are continuing the valuable work of bringing newer voices to the attention of the reading public. Many first full collections are, in effect, a Selected Earlier Poems, and the range and variety of work offered here suggests that Flood is no different.
The book is in four sections, Churn, Flow, Break, and Surge, with the title poem closing the book, although the word âfloodâ occurs in the opening poem, âThe Flesh Leavesâ. We then move on to â1967â a short poem about an arranged marriage, presumably between Mookherjeeâs parents. It starts
Here is a girl out of place
shows us the iconography of Indian sub-continent weddings, and finishes
How quickly the shame sets in.
This is a book of strong emotions and troubled relationships. âThe Milkâ appears to show the poetâs childhood and schooling in Wales, starting
My Bengali mother had no idea why I wore a daffodil. So the ladies fed me welshcakes and told me why I wore a black hat on St. Davidâs Day.
Given that we may yet again be in the company of the Unreliable Narrator, these poems of a bi-cultural heritage, upbringing in Wales, and later life in north London, may well be the poetâs own personal experiences, but we read them as powerful and informative pieces without treating them as Confessional. In âThe English Girlâ we are taken on a trip to a family or ancestral home in Bangla Desh, where the first stanza reads
An old woman grabs my hair, calls me memsahib, forces rice into my mouth with dark hands, says Iâm not in England now.
In the last stanza we learn that her Grandmother
says my mother has made me British.
So this child, who was born in Wales, is called both English and British. I suppose from a Welsh viewpoint, British, or Brythonic, is at least partly right. âThe Childâ is one of a number of poems that move away from the purely personal, and appears to be a version of the Little Red Riding Hood story, since it is done in the persona of someone with a âbig hairy handâ. âGoat-Father is an exchange between a young person who asks âWell what about Pan? to be told
Jesus Christ kid, whatâs got into you? There are only elephants, tigers and monkey gods, noble beasts . . . .
Hardly surprising then, that âScarsâ relates what I hope was a teenage experience of a first cigarette, and possibly first sexual encounter.
I donât know why I giggled when he told me men brought girls here, and we kissed as I touched scars carved on the cave wall.
In âDawn Chorusâ, the narrator is seventeen, while in âHungry Ghostsâ we are introduced to someone who might be the same character, self-harming.
In the next section, Flow, we find Middle Eastern mythology in âDesert Godsâ, then in âWalkabout. a sixteen year old hitchhiking to Somewhere, or running away from home, and being left at the A66 junction in, I believe, Yorkshire. By the time we reach âWildlifeâ we are in north London, in South Tottenham, Manor House and Finsbury Park, among other locations. This poem features characters enjoying this lifestyle
Half-Asleep Roger sold them marijuana in the yard. She and Wide-Awake Dave sat up all night, shaved ends off blotting paper. They cast them like I-Ching. He told her she was a shape-shifter like him.
This poem, which could be an excerpt from a contemporary crime novel, does not, of course, have a happy ending. Other poems such as âGrowing Up in Nightclubsâ , âFull Moon Over Finsbury Park â and âHouse on Fireâ also evoke a certain lifestyle prevalent in north London in the early 1990s.
In section three, Break, we are back in mythological territory with âThe River Godâ where the Thames is apostrophised as âTamas / the dark manâ and the poem finishes
Your tide turns to the sound of bells, gulls, applause and mobile phone ring tones. You still have that dirty tongue and a strong-man swell.
In âYour Lost Motherâ, we have moved on, to
You call her to untangle your hair, tell you stories from the mouths of whales, disentangle your days of office work, listen to your list of moans and ready-meals.
Our narrator â assuming it is the same person as in other poems â now has a new life and a proper job. âSederâ might show us part of this life, where a healthcare professional learns about the lives of Holocaust survivors, while âThe Safe Houseâ appears to deal with someone from the past,
He asks me to stay for a weekend in November, and Iâm still watching for all signs of him to fade.
âHaving My Sister for Dinnerâ is a title that recalls Hannibal Lectorâs comment that he is having a friend for dinner, but the poem is, I think, an attempt at reconciliation between siblings who are estranged, or have just lost contact with each other â something hardly surprising if we look back to âWildlifeâ!
In section four, Surge, we start with âBefore the Rutâ, a piece that could almost be a parody of Jilly Cooper, while âBauâ footnoted as the Sumerian Dog Goddess of Fertility, is a powerful piece of writing that turns the notion of âlove poem â inside out, and finishes
She calls to him to return to what she tore apart in a burning house, to what might have been.
âThe Returnâ appears to be in two voices, one âIâ and the other âSheâ inset slightly, perhaps two sides of a contested narrative,
I arrived at your door, defeated, prodigal, dressed in sheepâs clothes, skin primed â made an effort that day. She saw the signs, a face changed with time, unable to see, what heâd become, what heâd done.
In âReunionâ we are taken back to the Minerâs Strike of 1984, and two people recalling a shared history,
We laughed in our conspiracy of closeness that faded like tapestry. I was talking about the end of secured tenancies in 1989, he was shouting things about socialism from the next room
Oh indeed. While this review is being written, the 2018 Labour Party Conference is debating which version of their brave new world to offer to the British public, while the Tories argue among themselves about which version of Brexit to offer Brussels (and the British public). âBurning Towerâ brings back to another reality, and may refer to the Grenfell disaster,
All I thought was how their washing machines and fridges exploded â and their children died.
The book closes, as mentioned earlier, with the title poem, âFloodâ, which I would say, deals with music, language and creativity, and starts
Inside this cage lives a wave, shaped like a man, singing inside a box - the smallest i have ever seen.
and finishes
The cage, broken, the box carried away, and the surrounding flood sounds magnificent.
Now that is certainly a note on which to finish your first book. Whether Mookherjeeâs cage owes anything Platoâs cave, an allegory of how knowledge leads to freedom, I cannot say; but the trope of a broken cage, and the flood of music and creativity being released is powerful.
As usual, a note on the bookâs production values is appropriate; the typeface is large enough to be easily readable, although one poem, âThe Thirstâ was printed sideways to accommodate the longer line employed in this poem. There were however eight or so typos which should have been corrected before the book went to print, and it is to be hoped that these will be amended if the book is reprinted. If this seems an ungracious note to end on, it is only because your reviewer enjoyed reading this book, and having heard the poet read and discuss her poems, she does not seem the sort of person to tolerate sloppy work.
Flood by Jessica Mookherjee - a book of ferocious imaginings - Cultured Llama Cultured Llama
October 31, 2018 @ 10:41 am
[…] debut poetry collection, continues to garner praise in reviews by Brian Docherty, on London Grip, and Abigail Ardelle Zammit, in The Ofi Press. Brian Docherty […]