Poetry review – SKINSHIP: Sue Wallace-Shaddad examines a collection by Alexandra Corrin-Tachibana that deals with an emotional journey while also covering geographical and cultural distances
Skinship
Alexandra Corrin-Tachibana
Salt Publishing
ISBN 978-1-78463-392-9
100pp £10.99
Reading Alex Corrin-Tachibana’s recently published second collection Skinship, was a journey in more than one sense. First and foremost, the poet takes us through the journey she has undergone in relation to Japan: marriage, motherhood, managing relationships and returning to the country where she once lived. Secondly, she shares aspects of Japanese culture, its language and literature. Thirdly, she introduces the reader to a range of Japanese poetry forms, which took me, the reviewer, on my own journey to learn more.
The collection, written in five sections, fully engages the reader from the start. Corrin-Tachibana prefaces the collection with the poignant sonnet “Photos”, taken from her previous collection Sing Me Down from the Dark (also published by Salt and a best seller). The poem introduces the concept of ‘skinship’: ‘How we bathed in our nothingness. Skinship, the Japanese call it.’ However, the poem ends: ‘Yes, my stranger husband. Once, we were a fit’. Already the reader is presented with emotional undercurrents.
The first poem “Skinship: a zuihitsu” uses this fragmented and anecdotal Japanese form to explore pregnancy and the relationships with the poet’s husband and mother-in-law. The next (prose) poem “Hotel Fantasy” suggests that the marriage has broken down; ‘And now you lie on a single mattress beneath the picture of me as your bride’. “Through the Lens of a Ferrante Novel” powerfully ends: ‘But after fifteen years, with words estranged like tinnitus in both ears, I can finally say that earlier love is part of the past: The print of a hand left years ago on a wall.’
The remainder of this first section delves into childhood and young adulthood. In particular, “Becoming Big Sis” looks at the difficult relationship between the narrator and her mother. ‘Big-boned’, ‘Heavy-Handed Hannah’ and ‘such a Drama Queen!’ are the epithets given to the daughter (with contrasting comparison to a younger sister). Words matter and their sting is caught effectively. A strong feature of this collection is its uncompromising acknowledgement of discomfort and discordance, expressed with emotional honesty. The term ‘confessional poetry’ has perhaps lost some of its lustre nowadays, but the raw vulnerability in this collection has to be admired.
In the second section, the poet uses the burning haibun form to continue considering the relationship with the mother (a piece of prose, then erasure of that prose, followed by a haiku), The poem “Fishbones: A Burning Haibun” ends
I diluted her —
she spat words,
fishbones
Also relating to food, the poem “Madam Gout: a zuihitsu (after Benjamin Franklin)” was shortlisted for ‘Best Single Poem Written’ for the Forward Prizes 2026. This muses on the nature of gout, sufferers of gout from history and what comes across as a rather unsympathetic response from the husband.
The previous poem “Fishy Story” captures family life in quite a humorous way through the conversational sparring between mother and father. In “Graffiti”, written in couplets, there is real fondness for the father, who, during the pregnancy, ‘made me/ go on the inside of the pavement’. The poet writes that, during childhood,
I’d go into the wardrobe, bury my head in his
gardening jumper. […]
Motherhood is of course a journey in itself and there are some touching poems and frequent mentions of the poet’s son Ry?ma. The poet revisits memories of a beach holiday in “Haibun from Arcachon” musing towards the end ‘And I cannot tell you of course, how my heart shifts, as you stand taller than me’.
The relationship with the husband is also explored in this section. “Yesterdays” captures both past and present experience of taunts including ‘my raw flesh would spread disease’. I was struck by the anger, laced with a sense of humour, coming through several poems in the collection. In “Golf Ball Piece (after Yoko Ono)”, the poet lists instructions to create a work of art to place on top of his golf caddy:
When you have 1000 golf balls,
pierce them with a sashimi knife
until stale air is released.
Later in the collection, “Slug Piece, (after Yoko Ono)”, also displays a similar energy, ending: ‘Send to someone you hate.’ “Wagamama, Wild (after Fumiko Hayashi)”, equally passionate, has the line
I shall run naked across the lawn, arms outstretched from my
nakedness —
herald the storm
Self-awareness about one’s body, sex and the menopause/ageing recurs as a theme. This can be seen as strength as well as exposing vulnerability. How many women are open about their bodies, particularly as they age? In “Hotel Fantasy”, the opening lines describe ‘When we married, they gave us a Sex Box, with a vibrator and edible knickers’.
The painting on the book cover of an ‘onsen’ (bath in natural spring water) by Carl Randall could be seen as a metaphor for the cleansing of spirit or even catharsis that writing can bring. The body features in “I go to Onsen” with memories of ‘nakedness’ in a sauna when younger, but in later years, hearing the comment: ‘but Alex’s bottom/ wouldn’t fit the roller-coaster.’ “How to Enjoy Kyoto” recommends a ‘boiling yuzu bath’ (bath with citrus fruits on the winter solstice) which leads to the body being ‘as slippery as a sea cucumber’.
The third section takes us to a very different place (literally — the poems are set in Scotland) and a different relationship, focusing on nature and birds. Lapwings, oyster catchers, goldfinches, widgeon and ‘a grey heron’ are featured. It seems to mark a transition. “Haibun from East Lothian” has some striking images in a ‘mosaic of landscapes’: ‘Peffer Burn, silver and still as an upturned knife’ and godwits with their ‘gaping bills like tongs for turning meat’. It is a time of temporary escape from daily life, including ‘the stranger husband, in the spare room’.
The last two sections of the collection mainly focus on returning to Japan. This means meeting those who have not seen the poet for many years. ‘Special Guest: an Abecedarian’, describes one such encounter. Crafted with the letters of the alphabet a-z starting each line, the poem works extremely well (no mean feat). Humour is mixed with acknowledgement of change:
Language can’t evoke my rage — as a competent
not to mention their whispered disappointment in my eyelashes.
But the poet is also questioned about why her son, who is ‘h?fu’ (half-Japanese), is not with her. The poet often weaves Japanese words and expressions into the text, as in “Izakaya”. This adds colour to the poems, even if the reader cannot read, speak or understand Japanese. In one poem, “Hiroshi Sends Apologies”, Japanese lines are followed alternately by the line in English. This accentuates the somewhat formal nature of the apologies.
Readers who are interested in Japanese forms may like to know Corrin-Tachibana herself runs regular workshops on these for The Poetry Business among others. A particularly strong influence on Corrin-Tachibana has clearly been Sei Sh?nagon (see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Pillow_Book). “Pillow Book Talk” is a zuihitsu dedicated to her. This poem ranges widely, bringing in husband, son and father. It ends with a comment from the husband that (writing haiku) ‘is almost impossible for a foreigner’. It seems to this reviewer that this assertion has been disproved.
“Kyoto Egret”, a beautiful extended haibun, criss-crosses time, from marriage twenty-five years ago to memories of her son and on to the present. The poet writes about the egret: ‘Unseen, beneath silvery-grey waters, are its magnificent feet — golden slippers.’ One of the haiku conjures up her son
toddler Ryoma
in the genkan, baby feet
in my crimson heels
“The Narrator Visits Sunpu-j?, in her Husband’s Hometown”, a very reflective poem, has the words ‘a fifty-one-year-old’ introducing each musing about the passage of time and her son. The final poem, “Tadaima: I’m Home”, also reflective, describes eighty-year-old Yoriko and her husband. Yoriko says: ‘You are my daughter’ and explains the significance of her talismanic stones, one to ‘carry a dream’ and one ‘to be coloured in when it’s achieved’. This is a lovely note on which to end the collection.
Corrin- Tachibana skilfully conjures up her complex life story with openness and humour whilst honouring the cultural context of Japan. This is what distinguishes this collection and makes it memorable.
Sep 20 2026
London Grip Poetry Review – Alexandra Corrin-Tachibana
Poetry review – SKINSHIP: Sue Wallace-Shaddad examines a collection by Alexandra Corrin-Tachibana that deals with an emotional journey while also covering geographical and cultural distances
Skinship
Alexandra Corrin-Tachibana
Salt Publishing
ISBN 978-1-78463-392-9
100pp £10.99
Reading Alex Corrin-Tachibana’s recently published second collection Skinship, was a journey in more than one sense. First and foremost, the poet takes us through the journey she has undergone in relation to Japan: marriage, motherhood, managing relationships and returning to the country where she once lived. Secondly, she shares aspects of Japanese culture, its language and literature. Thirdly, she introduces the reader to a range of Japanese poetry forms, which took me, the reviewer, on my own journey to learn more.
The collection, written in five sections, fully engages the reader from the start. Corrin-Tachibana prefaces the collection with the poignant sonnet “Photos”, taken from her previous collection Sing Me Down from the Dark (also published by Salt and a best seller). The poem introduces the concept of ‘skinship’: ‘How we bathed in our nothingness. Skinship, the Japanese call it.’ However, the poem ends: ‘Yes, my stranger husband. Once, we were a fit’. Already the reader is presented with emotional undercurrents.
The first poem “Skinship: a zuihitsu” uses this fragmented and anecdotal Japanese form to explore pregnancy and the relationships with the poet’s husband and mother-in-law. The next (prose) poem “Hotel Fantasy” suggests that the marriage has broken down; ‘And now you lie on a single mattress beneath the picture of me as your bride’. “Through the Lens of a Ferrante Novel” powerfully ends: ‘But after fifteen years, with words estranged like tinnitus in both ears, I can finally say that earlier love is part of the past: The print of a hand left years ago on a wall.’
The remainder of this first section delves into childhood and young adulthood. In particular, “Becoming Big Sis” looks at the difficult relationship between the narrator and her mother. ‘Big-boned’, ‘Heavy-Handed Hannah’ and ‘such a Drama Queen!’ are the epithets given to the daughter (with contrasting comparison to a younger sister). Words matter and their sting is caught effectively. A strong feature of this collection is its uncompromising acknowledgement of discomfort and discordance, expressed with emotional honesty. The term ‘confessional poetry’ has perhaps lost some of its lustre nowadays, but the raw vulnerability in this collection has to be admired.
In the second section, the poet uses the burning haibun form to continue considering the relationship with the mother (a piece of prose, then erasure of that prose, followed by a haiku), The poem “Fishbones: A Burning Haibun” ends
I diluted her —
she spat words,
fishbones
Also relating to food, the poem “Madam Gout: a zuihitsu (after Benjamin Franklin)” was shortlisted for ‘Best Single Poem Written’ for the Forward Prizes 2026. This muses on the nature of gout, sufferers of gout from history and what comes across as a rather unsympathetic response from the husband.
The previous poem “Fishy Story” captures family life in quite a humorous way through the conversational sparring between mother and father. In “Graffiti”, written in couplets, there is real fondness for the father, who, during the pregnancy, ‘made me/ go on the inside of the pavement’. The poet writes that, during childhood,
I’d go into the wardrobe, bury my head in his
gardening jumper. […]
Motherhood is of course a journey in itself and there are some touching poems and frequent mentions of the poet’s son Ry?ma. The poet revisits memories of a beach holiday in “Haibun from Arcachon” musing towards the end ‘And I cannot tell you of course, how my heart shifts, as you stand taller than me’.
The relationship with the husband is also explored in this section. “Yesterdays” captures both past and present experience of taunts including ‘my raw flesh would spread disease’. I was struck by the anger, laced with a sense of humour, coming through several poems in the collection. In “Golf Ball Piece (after Yoko Ono)”, the poet lists instructions to create a work of art to place on top of his golf caddy:
When you have 1000 golf balls,
pierce them with a sashimi knife
until stale air is released.
Later in the collection, “Slug Piece, (after Yoko Ono)”, also displays a similar energy, ending: ‘Send to someone you hate.’ “Wagamama, Wild (after Fumiko Hayashi)”, equally passionate, has the line
I shall run naked across the lawn, arms outstretched from my
nakedness —
herald the storm
Self-awareness about one’s body, sex and the menopause/ageing recurs as a theme. This can be seen as strength as well as exposing vulnerability. How many women are open about their bodies, particularly as they age? In “Hotel Fantasy”, the opening lines describe ‘When we married, they gave us a Sex Box, with a vibrator and edible knickers’.
The painting on the book cover of an ‘onsen’ (bath in natural spring water) by Carl Randall could be seen as a metaphor for the cleansing of spirit or even catharsis that writing can bring. The body features in “I go to Onsen” with memories of ‘nakedness’ in a sauna when younger, but in later years, hearing the comment: ‘but Alex’s bottom/ wouldn’t fit the roller-coaster.’ “How to Enjoy Kyoto” recommends a ‘boiling yuzu bath’ (bath with citrus fruits on the winter solstice) which leads to the body being ‘as slippery as a sea cucumber’.
The third section takes us to a very different place (literally — the poems are set in Scotland) and a different relationship, focusing on nature and birds. Lapwings, oyster catchers, goldfinches, widgeon and ‘a grey heron’ are featured. It seems to mark a transition. “Haibun from East Lothian” has some striking images in a ‘mosaic of landscapes’: ‘Peffer Burn, silver and still as an upturned knife’ and godwits with their ‘gaping bills like tongs for turning meat’. It is a time of temporary escape from daily life, including ‘the stranger husband, in the spare room’.
The last two sections of the collection mainly focus on returning to Japan. This means meeting those who have not seen the poet for many years. ‘Special Guest: an Abecedarian’, describes one such encounter. Crafted with the letters of the alphabet a-z starting each line, the poem works extremely well (no mean feat). Humour is mixed with acknowledgement of change:
Language can’t evoke my rage — as a competent
not to mention their whispered disappointment in my eyelashes.
But the poet is also questioned about why her son, who is ‘h?fu’ (half-Japanese), is not with her. The poet often weaves Japanese words and expressions into the text, as in “Izakaya”. This adds colour to the poems, even if the reader cannot read, speak or understand Japanese. In one poem, “Hiroshi Sends Apologies”, Japanese lines are followed alternately by the line in English. This accentuates the somewhat formal nature of the apologies.
Readers who are interested in Japanese forms may like to know Corrin-Tachibana herself runs regular workshops on these for The Poetry Business among others. A particularly strong influence on Corrin-Tachibana has clearly been Sei Sh?nagon (see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Pillow_Book). “Pillow Book Talk” is a zuihitsu dedicated to her. This poem ranges widely, bringing in husband, son and father. It ends with a comment from the husband that (writing haiku) ‘is almost impossible for a foreigner’. It seems to this reviewer that this assertion has been disproved.
“Kyoto Egret”, a beautiful extended haibun, criss-crosses time, from marriage twenty-five years ago to memories of her son and on to the present. The poet writes about the egret: ‘Unseen, beneath silvery-grey waters, are its magnificent feet — golden slippers.’ One of the haiku conjures up her son
toddler Ryoma
in the genkan, baby feet
in my crimson heels
“The Narrator Visits Sunpu-j?, in her Husband’s Hometown”, a very reflective poem, has the words ‘a fifty-one-year-old’ introducing each musing about the passage of time and her son. The final poem, “Tadaima: I’m Home”, also reflective, describes eighty-year-old Yoriko and her husband. Yoriko says: ‘You are my daughter’ and explains the significance of her talismanic stones, one to ‘carry a dream’ and one ‘to be coloured in when it’s achieved’. This is a lovely note on which to end the collection.
Corrin- Tachibana skilfully conjures up her complex life story with openness and humour whilst honouring the cultural context of Japan. This is what distinguishes this collection and makes it memorable.