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A review by balancinghistorybooks
Bantam by Jackie Kay
3.0
Bantam is Jackie Kay's newest poetry collection, and the first taste which I have had of her work. It is about grief, and love, and whilst some of the poems here are powerful, thoughtful, and memorable, I was not as struck by the collection as I expected to be. It is undoubtedly creative, and tackles a lot of themes, but it did not quite feel like a coherent collection to me. I do, however, want to read more of her work to see how it compares.
From 'Small':
'The gift of a bluebell, an embrace,
Oh - the yellow gorse,
the small brown foals,
the crows lined up
from the main window.
Beauty, riches close to sorrow.'
From 'Is It Christmas?':
'The moons came and the suns slid.
The names for things came, then hid.'
From 'Silver Moon':
'Black and white striped spires, tiny irons, Viragos, Shebas,
The distinct spiral on the cover of your old Bell Jar
Your skin's pages, your heart's ink, your brain's Word Power.'
From 'Beech Road Park':
'You lost your winter scarf, my love.
And the trees lost their auburn hair.
I lost a single rust-red glove.
I thought I saw - but you were not there.'
From 'Smith Myth' (dedicated to Ali Smith):
'There is somebody who has the gift of nobody.
In the beautiful black night at the edge of the old canal,
I could just vanish; or I could choose to live.
There is nobody who is not a somebody -
Whose heart is not open like a road.'
From 'Mr Bronte's Fear of Fire':
'Maybe Mr Bronte had no word for it but fire
So - a man should fear it, the thing that runs ahead,
Consuming everything he loves, until it dawns too late:
There is no fire curtain to draw in any store room
Between the living and the dead.'
From 'Small':
'The gift of a bluebell, an embrace,
Oh - the yellow gorse,
the small brown foals,
the crows lined up
from the main window.
Beauty, riches close to sorrow.'
From 'Is It Christmas?':
'The moons came and the suns slid.
The names for things came, then hid.'
From 'Silver Moon':
'Black and white striped spires, tiny irons, Viragos, Shebas,
The distinct spiral on the cover of your old Bell Jar
Your skin's pages, your heart's ink, your brain's Word Power.'
From 'Beech Road Park':
'You lost your winter scarf, my love.
And the trees lost their auburn hair.
I lost a single rust-red glove.
I thought I saw - but you were not there.'
From 'Smith Myth' (dedicated to Ali Smith):
'There is somebody who has the gift of nobody.
In the beautiful black night at the edge of the old canal,
I could just vanish; or I could choose to live.
There is nobody who is not a somebody -
Whose heart is not open like a road.'
From 'Mr Bronte's Fear of Fire':
'Maybe Mr Bronte had no word for it but fire
So - a man should fear it, the thing that runs ahead,
Consuming everything he loves, until it dawns too late:
There is no fire curtain to draw in any store room
Between the living and the dead.'