Poetry review – ONCE THERE WAS COLOUR: Pat Edwards is moved by Sue Wallace-Shaddad’s eye-witness poems about the crisis in Sudan
Once There Was Colour
Sue Wallace-Shaddad
Palewell Press
ISBN 978-1-911587-85-9
£7.50
In the thirty poems that comprise this collection, Wallace-Shaddad conjures up the days her family enjoyed in a country far away and very different from the UK. She quietly charts its demise and descent into war, and the traumatic escape of family members who were able to physically leave the conflict behind, but who still carry the emotional scars of their ordeal.
The opening poem ‘Back to Square One’ depicts a visit to Khartoum at Christmas “after so long apart/the separation of pandemic years.” Sadly, “within three months/everything will implode…family cut off again.” The next poem describes what “could be celebrations/for New Year”, but which might actually be gun fire, “a steady beat, hard/to describe.”
As we journey through the poems we learn of electricity failures and realise this is nothing unusual. Equally common are poor roads but also the call to prayer from minarets, the terracotta colours, The White Nile, even the joy of weddings when “the future seems bright.” The poet remembers old cars “that lasted/almost forty years”, and a garden once “a safe space” now dust. With the onset of unrest and eventually war, “there is shooting/in the street, the walls pockmarked by bullets. A few plants/in plastic pots have no hope of survival.”
Despite the gathering gloom, the writing has a lightness of touch. There is no reliance on heavy metaphor and fussy language, rather the use of delicate observation to capture the love of family and friends, and of Sudan itself.
In ‘Film Show’ it is Independence Day but “there’s a whiff of tear gas” along with roadblocks and a film showing “the image of a bloodied stump, no hand.” Always, the reader senses the past with its “better times”, and a country where “it does not seem/possible to live in peace.”
Some of the poems bring us back to the UK, none more so than in ‘On my return to the UK’, in which we are told it is January 2023. The contrast between the two countries is stark – “it seems very quiet”, there is no “clatter of ceiling fan”, it is “grey, misty and damp.” The poet knows that in Sudan “a fighter jet slashes the sky”, and she worries for her family still out there, “prayers on everyone’s lips.”
‘It Could Be a Party Game Except It’s Not’ is about a family trying to pack everything they think they’ll need as they are forced to escape. The poet likens this to a game in the title and I wish she had carried this through into the body of the poem. I was reminded of maybe a game of musical chairs but the poem makes no further reference to a game, only wondering which items a person might select as essential at such short notice, concluding with “there’s no going back.”
Once people have been evacuated from the country, the poet notes how “Sudan’s no longer in the news.” She also thinks that
more stories will emerge like spores
of fungi hidden in the dark
pushing up into the light.
Like so many of us, the poet is “wired to expect happy endings”. In ‘Hibiscus Dream’ she uses the very British idea that a cup of tea will solve everything –
We could share a cup or two,
picture everyone safe.
For those who have escaped, the trauma evoked by memories returns like “small aftershocks.” The poem ‘Seismic Stress’ uses gaps, so-called white space, and an absence of punctuation to suggest the shifting of “the tectonic plates” as people try to adjust to life back home. Also, the poem ‘In the middle of the night’, suggests bad dreams and, in just three couplets, we share the worry of a parent wanting to be there to offer comfort.
The final poem reminds us that those who did escape will always “fear what’s happening to those left behind.” It is surely impossible to fully imagine these events and emotions unless you or those close to you have lived through them. The act of bearing witness is very evident in these poems, each a snapshot of reminiscence, sorrow, regret, sometimes even hope. It somehow feels important that the poems have been written and shared, a tribute to the people who had “no option but to stay.”
Sep 20 2024
London Grip Poetry Review – Sue Wallace-Shaddad
Poetry review – ONCE THERE WAS COLOUR: Pat Edwards is moved by Sue Wallace-Shaddad’s eye-witness poems about the crisis in Sudan
In the thirty poems that comprise this collection, Wallace-Shaddad conjures up the days her family enjoyed in a country far away and very different from the UK. She quietly charts its demise and descent into war, and the traumatic escape of family members who were able to physically leave the conflict behind, but who still carry the emotional scars of their ordeal.
The opening poem ‘Back to Square One’ depicts a visit to Khartoum at Christmas “after so long apart/the separation of pandemic years.” Sadly, “within three months/everything will implode…family cut off again.” The next poem describes what “could be celebrations/for New Year”, but which might actually be gun fire, “a steady beat, hard/to describe.”
As we journey through the poems we learn of electricity failures and realise this is nothing unusual. Equally common are poor roads but also the call to prayer from minarets, the terracotta colours, The White Nile, even the joy of weddings when “the future seems bright.” The poet remembers old cars “that lasted/almost forty years”, and a garden once “a safe space” now dust. With the onset of unrest and eventually war, “there is shooting/in the street, the walls pockmarked by bullets. A few plants/in plastic pots have no hope of survival.”
Despite the gathering gloom, the writing has a lightness of touch. There is no reliance on heavy metaphor and fussy language, rather the use of delicate observation to capture the love of family and friends, and of Sudan itself.
In ‘Film Show’ it is Independence Day but “there’s a whiff of tear gas” along with roadblocks and a film showing “the image of a bloodied stump, no hand.” Always, the reader senses the past with its “better times”, and a country where “it does not seem/possible to live in peace.”
Some of the poems bring us back to the UK, none more so than in ‘On my return to the UK’, in which we are told it is January 2023. The contrast between the two countries is stark – “it seems very quiet”, there is no “clatter of ceiling fan”, it is “grey, misty and damp.” The poet knows that in Sudan “a fighter jet slashes the sky”, and she worries for her family still out there, “prayers on everyone’s lips.”
‘It Could Be a Party Game Except It’s Not’ is about a family trying to pack everything they think they’ll need as they are forced to escape. The poet likens this to a game in the title and I wish she had carried this through into the body of the poem. I was reminded of maybe a game of musical chairs but the poem makes no further reference to a game, only wondering which items a person might select as essential at such short notice, concluding with “there’s no going back.”
Once people have been evacuated from the country, the poet notes how “Sudan’s no longer in the news.” She also thinks that
Like so many of us, the poet is “wired to expect happy endings”. In ‘Hibiscus Dream’ she uses the very British idea that a cup of tea will solve everything –
For those who have escaped, the trauma evoked by memories returns like “small aftershocks.” The poem ‘Seismic Stress’ uses gaps, so-called white space, and an absence of punctuation to suggest the shifting of “the tectonic plates” as people try to adjust to life back home. Also, the poem ‘In the middle of the night’, suggests bad dreams and, in just three couplets, we share the worry of a parent wanting to be there to offer comfort.
The final poem reminds us that those who did escape will always “fear what’s happening to those left behind.” It is surely impossible to fully imagine these events and emotions unless you or those close to you have lived through them. The act of bearing witness is very evident in these poems, each a snapshot of reminiscence, sorrow, regret, sometimes even hope. It somehow feels important that the poems have been written and shared, a tribute to the people who had “no option but to stay.”