Poetry review – BATHING ON THE ROOF: Pat Edwards considers how Tracey Rhys looks at feminist issues through the medium of water
Bathing on the Roof
Tracey Rhys
Parthian
ISBN 978-1-917140-48-5
£10
This fine collection is divided into two sections, ‘Bathsheba’ and ‘Flood’. Not familiar with the Biblical story of Bathsheba and King David, I looked her up – as indeed any reader might do. (There are, however, also helpful notes at the back of the book.) At first, I’ll be honest, I wasn’t especially looking forward to a re-telling of the story. Did Bathsheba deliberately bathe naked on the roof to attract King David, or was she raped?
Of course, bathing is associated with cleansing following a period or after sex. However, Rhys offers a refreshing take on this territory, the whole feminist dialogue around puberty, becoming, childbearing, motherhood, and ageing. Yes, it’s been done before and surely will be again, but I much admired the poet’s ambition to be original in her approach and found myself drawn in by the unexpected language and modern settings for familiar situations. I mean, can’t a girl simply take a bath where no one can see her, in the mist, “and all the world is sleeping”?
Women are imbued with secrets at every turn, our natures and our bodies deemed to be mysterious and it’s simply not our fault. In ‘First Spell’, a modern sonnet about puberty, Rhys recalls “the diagrams we brought home/ the afternoon we got the talk” about periods. Prior to this, the poem ‘Bathsheba in Eden’ harks back to the total innocence of wearing no make-up, being naked, wearing “nothing /on her cheeks but down”.
Women often go on to “walk in the shadow of ultrasounds”, perhaps to face miscarriage where “somewhere in the clots is the little body”, or maybe after three attempts to keep a pregnancy when they get to feel “the flipping of butterflies/in the house of the abdomen”. These common experiences may be a woman’s fate but they are nonetheless excruciating and emotionally draining. Childbirth holds the awfulness of “first the head with its unbearable agonies” and is often followed by the midwife who “comes to sew me up”. The life of the new mother can be one of chaos and chasing her tail, “pram wheels whirring to the baby’s screams”.
Rhys asks whether a modern-day Bathsheba would be immune to any of this. She imagines her on the streets, in Beverly Hills, in the Welsh chapel amongst the Mari Lwyds and even visualises her getting old. These poems are us, all of us women, in our ordinary, extraordinary lives, being normal yet “being a goddess”.
The second part of this collection, ‘Flood’, extends the metaphor around bathing, bleeding and being carried on waves. Flood is a person, a being, even a celebrity. Flood has “an entourage” and wonders where she would be “without the heroics of clouds”. But she is essentially made of water as epitomised in the poem ‘Flood believes’, a wonderful evocation of everything water can influence – even “drowned rats and sinking claws and rotten planks”. Flood understands the dangers she can pose. In ‘Home Game’ she is a deluge which “made an island of the goal post” and stops the away team’s bus as “she dampened the spark plugs,/silenced the engine”. I really enjoyed the symbolism and surrealism of this and the poet’s ability to conjure such vivid images. She even recognises that, “if Flood had a vice, it was sand”.
In ‘Interview with an Act of God’ Rhys explores what it is to be such a threat, asking “how long will this continue?” and “what will become of us?” Rhys clearly acknowledges her Welsh roots remembering the flooding of the village of Tryweryn in order to create a reservoir to serve Liverpool. There is shame,
her vast stupidities –
how she once boasted
to the moon that
she had the biggest tides
and Flood dreams that maybe next year she “could be reborn as Otter”.
This collection makes for a powerful and compelling read. There are complex layers of debate and conjecture, all skilfully explored and voiced with confidence. Ready to settle down for a good read? Go run yourself a modest bath, pour in some nice bath products, but whatever you do, lock the door and be sure to pull down the blinds.
Mar 26 2025
London Grip Poetry Review – Tracey Rhys
Poetry review – BATHING ON THE ROOF: Pat Edwards considers how Tracey Rhys looks at feminist issues through the medium of water
This fine collection is divided into two sections, ‘Bathsheba’ and ‘Flood’. Not familiar with the Biblical story of Bathsheba and King David, I looked her up – as indeed any reader might do. (There are, however, also helpful notes at the back of the book.) At first, I’ll be honest, I wasn’t especially looking forward to a re-telling of the story. Did Bathsheba deliberately bathe naked on the roof to attract King David, or was she raped?
Of course, bathing is associated with cleansing following a period or after sex. However, Rhys offers a refreshing take on this territory, the whole feminist dialogue around puberty, becoming, childbearing, motherhood, and ageing. Yes, it’s been done before and surely will be again, but I much admired the poet’s ambition to be original in her approach and found myself drawn in by the unexpected language and modern settings for familiar situations. I mean, can’t a girl simply take a bath where no one can see her, in the mist, “and all the world is sleeping”?
Women are imbued with secrets at every turn, our natures and our bodies deemed to be mysterious and it’s simply not our fault. In ‘First Spell’, a modern sonnet about puberty, Rhys recalls “the diagrams we brought home/ the afternoon we got the talk” about periods. Prior to this, the poem ‘Bathsheba in Eden’ harks back to the total innocence of wearing no make-up, being naked, wearing “nothing /on her cheeks but down”.
Women often go on to “walk in the shadow of ultrasounds”, perhaps to face miscarriage where “somewhere in the clots is the little body”, or maybe after three attempts to keep a pregnancy when they get to feel “the flipping of butterflies/in the house of the abdomen”. These common experiences may be a woman’s fate but they are nonetheless excruciating and emotionally draining. Childbirth holds the awfulness of “first the head with its unbearable agonies” and is often followed by the midwife who “comes to sew me up”. The life of the new mother can be one of chaos and chasing her tail, “pram wheels whirring to the baby’s screams”.
Rhys asks whether a modern-day Bathsheba would be immune to any of this. She imagines her on the streets, in Beverly Hills, in the Welsh chapel amongst the Mari Lwyds and even visualises her getting old. These poems are us, all of us women, in our ordinary, extraordinary lives, being normal yet “being a goddess”.
The second part of this collection, ‘Flood’, extends the metaphor around bathing, bleeding and being carried on waves. Flood is a person, a being, even a celebrity. Flood has “an entourage” and wonders where she would be “without the heroics of clouds”. But she is essentially made of water as epitomised in the poem ‘Flood believes’, a wonderful evocation of everything water can influence – even “drowned rats and sinking claws and rotten planks”. Flood understands the dangers she can pose. In ‘Home Game’ she is a deluge which “made an island of the goal post” and stops the away team’s bus as “she dampened the spark plugs,/silenced the engine”. I really enjoyed the symbolism and surrealism of this and the poet’s ability to conjure such vivid images. She even recognises that, “if Flood had a vice, it was sand”.
In ‘Interview with an Act of God’ Rhys explores what it is to be such a threat, asking “how long will this continue?” and “what will become of us?” Rhys clearly acknowledges her Welsh roots remembering the flooding of the village of Tryweryn in order to create a reservoir to serve Liverpool. There is shame,
and Flood dreams that maybe next year she “could be reborn as Otter”.
This collection makes for a powerful and compelling read. There are complex layers of debate and conjecture, all skilfully explored and voiced with confidence. Ready to settle down for a good read? Go run yourself a modest bath, pour in some nice bath products, but whatever you do, lock the door and be sure to pull down the blinds.