Review by Vic Pickup of "Unaccomplished Cities" by Jayant Kashyap

Pushcart-prize nominee Jayant Kashyap’s second chapbook, Unaccomplished Cities, released as part of Ghost City Press’s Summer Series (available to download for free here), is an exploration of the darkness of humanity, the impact of war and destruction. 

His ten-poem sequence revisits key points of trauma in human history — from man’s expulsion from the Garden of Eden, to the ashes of Pompeii, bombed-out Düsseldorf and the bloody past of the poet’s native India.

Exploring harrowing tales of global conflict, Kashyap condenses atrocities down to single images, vividly described and highly evocative. In ‘Pompeii,’ he writes of the buried city: 

          like a body, picked from grave, bitten to cavities; 

          the city has cavities the size of women, and men, 
          bent in rituals – making love 

The juxtaposition of the entombment of people preserved in the very act of living – of passion – is horrifying and emotive. 

In ‘Death Sonnet,’ Kashyap describes a basement in Düsseldorf where the families ‘only recognised each other by voices.’ He explores the darkness ‘in which ‘deathbirds circled dark cities every night ꟷ / where even a little light meant death.’ These strong images enhance the literal and metaphorical darkness of wartime Düsseldorf in blackout. 

Life and loss are the key themes of this sequence. In ‘The Destruction of Nalanda,’ Kashyap transports us to Bihar in 1193, when The Nalanda University was burnt for the third time by Turkish Ruler Bakhtiyar Khilji. In his poem he mourns the destruction of the nine million manuscripts stored there: 

          jealousy took the toll, it was three 
          months until each page had burnt itself alive 

           — a slaughter of cultures

Kashyap describes the atrocities which occurred in his native India in ‘Aftermath of the Freedom Struggle,’ where up to two million people were slaughtered in the 1947 partition of India and Pakistan: 

          Everytime the last of the bodies comes out of the
          train, bone cracking from heat, smoke fills the sky,
          

          even in the neighbouring cities; the train cleared of 
          deathsmears, readied to take people home, again,
          

          alive from this end.

The poem ends: ‘people pray for their / loved ones: be safe. Nothing ever changes.’ The poet reflects upon the futility of life, which is echoed in the tragedy in ‘Husne Ara Parvin’ ꟷ here, Kashyap describes a mass shooting in a New Zealand mosque focusing on a woman, Pavin, who was killed whilst sheltering her wheelchair-bound husband. The poem’s final lines are deeply poignant, observing what is lost and gained:

          ... When the curfew 
          ended, the world had become both an ounce 

          more, an ounce less of love.

Despite the core themes of this sequence, Jayant’s writing is anything but bleak. To quote one of his own poems, Unaccomplished Cities retells ‘the tales all of us knew something about’ with poetry that is bold, powerful and evocative. 

About the reviewer

Vic Pickup is a previous winner of the Café Writers and Cupid's Arrow competitions, and was recently shortlisted for the National Poetry Day #speakyourtruth contest. Her debut pamphlet Lost & Found will be published by Hedgehog Press later this year. www.vicpickup.com  

Review by Victoria Pickup of "Sharp Hills" by Chrissie Gittins

Sharp Hills shows Chrissie Gittins resurrecting ghosts of the past whilst connecting with the reader through her insightful description, vivid imagery and humour.

This collection (Gittin’s third) opens with the sequence ‘Dancing in Silchar,’ inspired by the poet’s travels in India following her father’s footsteps in WWII.

Here, Gittins weaves past imaginings with transportive descriptions of what is real and present. In ‘Prayer Flag, Nainital,’ her prayer flag is first a bedsheet, then a tea towel. Armed with her ‘father in black and white’ ('Dancing in Silchar'), the poet revisits the past whilst highlighting the pitfalls and wonders of travelling in India with her observations that ‘Six boxes of Immodium may be five boxes too many,’ followed by:

          … a party of fellow passengers 
          who embark at Rudrapur will unpack a picnic 
          and present you with a serviette, spoon, and a paper plate 

          of puri, kachori, aloo subzi and jalebi.
          ('Travelling in India') 

Gittins compares her father’s experiences, real and imagined, with her own. In ‘Operations Record Book,’ her writing is spliced with his own words:

          The heat is terrific, we are not used to it, but the boys worked like tigers.

          Still cold, I keep my coat wrapped around me
          as I forget to tick ‘terms and conditions’ to become a reader.

These combined perspectives connect us directly with her story.  By recognising the beauty of their shared, if removed, experiences, the poet reawakens her father’s memory and in doing so is more connected with him.

Gittins also draws upon the contrasts of their journeys. One of my personal favourites, ‘Frontiers,’ describes the poet surrendering her homemade gifts (intended for her hosts) at the airport: ‘Elsinore strawberries hung in their syrup / like air balloons in a red sky. / Seville orange slivers, marinated overnight … in gelatinous amber.’ The poet goes on to reflect upon what loss means in a very different situation:

          I hadn’t lost my clothes, I hadn’t lost

          my childhood in photographs,
          I hadn’t lost my country.
          And still it cut me to the quick.

Inevitably tied to the tracing of history is the experience of loss. Out of India, Sharp Hills remains rooted in the memory of loved ones, of the ghosts Gittins lives alongside. In ‘I Carry You With Me,’ she describes a trip to Spain, ‘through security where, despite you saying / weeks ago they would have to be packed in a separate / polythene bag, I have to search deep in my rucksack / for moisturizer.’ Gittins goes on to refer to ‘Your empty seat,’ acknowledging the absence, keenly felt. 

‘Where is Freya?’ shows the poet searching for a child: ‘on the red staircase, / under your mother’s blackcurrant bush … I stroke the surface of the trampoline / for the imprint of your sole.’ Later in the collection, ‘Satin Stitch’ remembers Gittins’ mother through her embroidery. The final glorious couplet, celebrates not only her creations, but their ‘Best love for ever’: 

         The serviettes come out for notable occasions,
         they feature in the art of deepest celebration.

There are also laments to an unknown sister and in ‘Sundays’ the poet compares her memories with a sibling (we presume): ‘We’re each other’s precious reference book,' highlighting the comfort which can be gained by keeping memories alive. 

A powerful penultimate poem in the collection, ‘Though June I Light a Fire,’ is dedicated to Helen Dunmore, the friend she didn’t manage to say goodbye to but who lives on in her every day, as portrayed in the touching final couplets:

          And yet you’re here – as I peel a browned petal
          from a rose, as a lime green caterpillar curls

          against the curve of pink,
          as the cold leaves are lifted by the wind.

Through her poems, Gittins’ takes her reader on a personal journey, reawakening figures of her past whilst also describing what adventure and wonder can be found when journeying through life with the spirit of a loved one in your heart. 


About the reviewer
Vic Pickup’s poetry has featured in a number of magazines and webzines. She is a previous winner of the Café Writers competition and was recently shortlisted for the National Poetry Day #speakyourtruth competition. In 2018, Vic co-founded the Inkpot Writer’s Group in the Hampshire village where she lives with her husband and three children.

Review by Victoria Pickup of "The Carrying" by Ada Limón

There are many things I admire about Ada Limón’s poetry – most of all her stark honesty, and the bravery required to be frank about the things that matter. 

The central themes in The Carrying, her fifth and most recent collection, are mortality, loss, infertility and self-worth. These are topics with which we associate pain, grief and sorrow … and yet Limón manages to muster so many opposites in her poems: she is at once vulnerable and defiant, sombre and strong, serious and funny – and therein lies her charm.

With opening lines like ‘The birds were being so bizarre today’ (Almost Forty) and ‘Have you ever noticed how the trees / change from state to state?’ (Of Roots & Roamers), Limón adopts a conversational style in much of her poetry. By purposefully digressing and laughing at herself at seemingly inappropriate times (‘I pretend my sunglasses hide / my whole body’ (Sacred Objects)), her reader assumes the role of friend and confidant, feels involved − finds the experience of reading her deeply personal and touching.  

It helps that Limón’s work is so unaffected. She doesn’t try to be mystical or illusive, nor embody more fashionable trends of contemporary poetry: her writing exists on its own merit. It flows naturally, speaks plainly, is tightly formatted − yet the beauty, detail and composition are such that it’s perfectly clear The Carrying was not rushed off in a flurry of mindfulness exercises. 

Limón’s sense of place is masterful. Each scene is portrayed with such beauty and tenderness, even amidst turbulent emotion. After the poet has invited us in and painted the picture, she then sets about delivering her message, incorporating twists and turns so that until the final line, we aren’t sure where we’re headed. Indeed, Limón has a knack of bringing her poems to a close in such a way that each lingers on − and despite the frequently difficult subject matter, it is rare for her to conclude on a negative note. 

While Limón uses poetry to express her troubles, she doesn’t indulge in pain-worship. Instead she acknowledges the hardships of life whilst finding a way to be positive, grateful. A good example of this is seen in ‘Wonder Woman,’ where we begin the poem with an urgent care doctor saying ‘Well, / sometimes shit happens’ and concludes with a girl dressed as a superhero bowing and posing ‘like she knew I needed a myth − / a woman, by a river, indestructible.’

Ada Limón’s poetry is wise, intuitive, powerful - but above all, it’s accessible. There’s not an ounce of pretension in her work; you could underestimate the skill and craft hidden behind such seemingly simple lines. She bestows such wisdom – in ‘Prey,’ we are instructed ‘Don’t be the mouse’ and given important advice to learn from the trees in ‘Instructions on not giving up’.

Like the trees she describes, ‘a green skin / growing over whatever winter did to us,’ Limón’s poetry stands strong. It would be demeaning to label this collection as ultimately uplifting – these poems are much so more: fortifying, exuberant and full of life. 



About the reviewer
Vic Pickup’s poetry has featured in a number of magazines and webzines. She is a previous winner of the Café Writers competition and was recently shortlisted for the National Poetry Day #speakyourtruth competition. In 2018, Vic co-founded the Inkpot Writer’s Group in the Hampshire village where she lives with her husband and three children.

Review by Victoria Pickup of "Rough Waking: For Those Confined and Homeless (Including You)" by Julian Daizan Skinner, Lazlo Mihaly, Kazuaki Okazaki

Rough Waking is a collaborative collection of poetry, photography and artwork on the themes of homelessness, incarceration and a quest for spiritual enlightenment through the study and practice of "Zen life." Presenting the accounts of three very different men, each having undertaken a unique and personal journey, this book reflects upon the idea that we are all, in our own way, both confined and homeless. Each story portrays a pathway to self-discovery through some of the darkest, most difficult times a human could experience.

The first part of Rough Waking shows the photography of Laszlo Mihaly (Lazz), including his prize-winning picture of a homeless man meditating on the street. His images are rough, stark and sobering, and rightly placed first in the book alongside Lazz’s frank thoughts about his experience of being homeless:

           I felt I wasn’t a man any more.
           I was in pieces.  At that point, you
           Stop being a man or woman.
           You’re just wreckage.

We next come to the poetry of Julian Daizan Skinner, the first Englishman to become a Zen master in the Rinzai tradition, who spent many years in a monastery before undertaking a period of "Zen homelessness." Having founded London-based Zenways, Skinner now works with St Giles’ Trust, providing support in prisons and to the homeless.

His collection, "Autumn in the Monastery and Other Poems" is a deeply personal account of his own spiritual journey and features many beautiful moments. The imagery is striking, there is a sharpness to Skinner’s focus and a lucidity in his words, perhaps owing to his mind being cleared of distraction whilst living in monastic confinement at the time of writing.

From "My Father’s Hands" ("My father had hands of power, / lightening and thunder lived there … When we walked, his hand swallowed mine / in its hard, dry mouth") to "Nigredo," when he focuses upon how the world’s violence breaks an individual down, which only pushes them further to freedom - the ultimate idea behind achieving Zen - Skinner’s observations are often simple and powerful, such as his description of "The Maintenance Monk":

            He’d much rather
            be fixing the wheelbarrow …
            than stand talking to you,
            all knobbly fingers
            and awkward pauses.

 There’s hope and light in his words, such as in "A Meditator’s Forecast" where the poem culminates in "hundreds of rainbows." One of the final poems in this collection, "Freedom Song," reinforces the positivity with strong imagery:

            This tongue can’t justify the prison
            when the jailer’s asleep and the door swung open.
            It’s time to tumble in the shining ocean,
            To loose my heart like a balloon in a storm,
            Let the hammering blood play freedom songs.

The final section of the book features beautiful ink drawings by Kazuaki Okazaki, a former member of the "murderous" cult Aum Shinrikyo, who released sarin gas onto the Tokyo subway in 1995. Following many years of guidance by Zen master Shinzan Miyamae, Okazaki repented of his past and spent many years attempting to atone for his crimes, which include the horrific home invasion and brutal killings of an anti-cult lawyer, his wife and baby son.

Okazaki was himself executed last summer but we are told he was "delighted" to know that his artworks would help other prisoners. Undoubtedly, his sequence of ink drawings entitled "Unsui’s Journey" is of the highest standard: thoughtful, contemplative and beautiful. Having lived up to the Zen saying: "The lotus blooms in the middle of the fire," how one begins to find harmony in such traumatic circumstances is beyond comprehension, but there is much to be gained in studying these pictures to gain an insight into the artist’s quest for peace. 

Rough Waking is an original combination of artworks, combining seemingly disparate accounts, but coming together in a creative and unique collaboration which explores humanity and delivers an interesting and hopeful message from which we can all learn.


About the reviewer
Victoria Pickup studied a BA in English and MA in Creative Writing at Loughborough University. A freelance writer for seven years, she continued to write creatively and in 2008 won the Café Writer’s Award with a poem inspired by travels in Bosnia: "The Chicken that Saved my Children." She was shortlisted for the Poetic Republic (MAG) poetry award in 2009 & 2010. Victoria now lives in Hampshire with her husband, three children and, of course, a pet chicken. 

Review by Victoria Pickup of "At the Kinnegad Home for the Bewildered" by Jeffrey Levine

At the start of this collection, Levine’s third book of poetry, Ilya Kaminsky’s foreword focuses upon writing which keeps its secrets, evading comprehension, in order to transcend language, to explore the spaces between words and their meanings. He asks, ‘What is clarity?’ Upon reading At the Kinnegad Home for the Bewildered, the question itself becomes elusive.

Let me indulge in a metaphor of my own to explain: I began reading Levine’s poetry like walking a river. Following it with my eyes, not really understanding the course or predicting the direction it would go. In order to appreciate the poetry, I realised I had to lie down in the water, to let it flow over me. In doing so, I captured phrases I found evocative, words strung together in abstract ways, the sounds they made, the images which they created, the moments of absolute clarity washing over me and then vanished, gone. This may sound awfully la-de-dah, but Levine seems to encourage the reader to let go of the instinctive need to fully comprehend in order to enjoy, to disassociate from obvious signage and accept the lack of direction; to be open to interpretation. 

At the Kinnegad Home for the Bewildered is a mystical, cosmic, effervescent collection of verse. There is much music and romance within its poetry, from the sounds in 'Low-Hanging Orb, Smudged Green' ('With ice-cold spoon, / snap the world open to the pulp'), and the musicality of 'soft water - soft as the light, white breath of horses' in 'Egg of the Universe' - to the words of love in 'He Delivers Unto Her His Blessings': 'There is much to celebrate. She invites moments of unaccountable happiness.' 

There are many beautiful, almost hypnotic lines and a central theme of light running throughout the writings, such as in 'Other Effects': 'No light I know as light, but winter sky on ice stealing the sky’s milky hue.' The collection is heavy with prose poems like this. Emotive, imaginative, like incantations, they create a dream-world, where the reader emerges not quite sure of what made sense or how it all fit together, but left within a kind of whirlwind made up of spools of film, with each image capturing another vivid image, all rushing past and evading capture. 

In 'Although Madame Did It on the Grill,' the poet writes: 'Raking coals, straddles amid licks of flame, sparks rose up / from the earth, arced across the sky turning overhead in bright pinwheels,' and later in the same poem, 'and all that night, throughout the world, a terrible noise of sheep bleating and of bells from the church towers, of wooden houses cracking, and the cries of men and the cries of women.' It’s artistic, vivid, nightmarish - like hopping out of a Monet and into Edvard Munch. 

Indeed, Levine is often inspired by works of art. His subjects are abstract, but beauty and meaning find their way through the language. In the final poem in the book, 'Getting It Right,' Levine concludes with a lasting, entrancing couplet: 'I move the camera and your life comes out of you in colors, / I move it again, it goes back in.' It’s a beautiful image, fully in focus. 

Returning to the initial question asked by Kaminsky: 'What is clarity?,' the richness and translucence of Levine’s writing makes me wonder: Does such ambiguity make poetry more accessible? If we are not busy trying to understand it, are we liberated – free to take the words, phrases or parts which resonate with our own minds - leaving the rest for another reader to find meaning? By throwing off obvious meaning, could this create a more impactful poetry? It’s a good question. And I’m sure the answer is here … somewhere.  


About the reviewer
Victoria Pickup studied a BA in English and MA in Creative Writing at Loughborough University. A freelance writer for seven years, she continued to write creatively and in 2008 won the Café Writer’s Award with a poem inspired by travels in Bosnia: ‘The Chicken that Saved my Children.’ She was shortlisted for the Poetic Republic (MAG) poetry award in 2009 & 2010. Victoria now lives in Hampshire with her husband, three children and, of course, a pet chicken. 

Review by Victoria Pickup of "The Dragon Lady" by Louisa Treger

Opening with the shooting of the mysterious Dragon Lady in 1950s Rhodesia, as seen through the bewildered eyes of a young girl, the reader’s curiosity is immediately piqued - and Louisa Treger does not disappoint. 

The story unravels the life of Lady Virginia (Genie) Courtauld; her personal dramas and progression from an insecure social climber to a woman of fortitude and power, whose compassion and quest for equality both captivate and appal in equal measure. Indeed, she evokes the same reaction as her namesake, the snake tattoo coiled about her leg: ‘A savage thing … its head rearing up, jaws open, ready to strike. People whispered that it went from her ankle right the way up her thigh.’  

The story spans several decades and locations, focusing upon periods of dramatic social and cultural change, from the Italian Riviera in the early 20th century, through two World Wars and eventually settling in a politically and racially heated Rhodesia. The journey is vivid, rich and exciting. The author paints each scene with great detail, including descriptions both horrific and exotic in Genie’s Rhodesia, working to build atmosphere, all of which results in parts of the book being utterly transportive and immersive. The exquisite decadence of Genie and her second husband Stephen’s home, La Rochelle, is captured beautifully, with its elaborate furnishings and tropical garden, itself steeped in beauty and melancholia. 

The way Treger builds her characters is equally detailed and complex with constant reveals and shifts in perspective. Unfolding each individual and relationship like a bouquet of delicate flowers, the unfurling of petals teases and entices the reader, with each character becoming more raw and more real as the story unwinds. One of the highlights of the book is Treger’s portrayal of Genie’s delightful lemur Jongy, who is beautifully brought to life, and the depth of feeling that exists between monkey and master becomes crucial to both characterisation and plot.

It is particularly fascinating how Treger portrays the famed individuals in her story: Edward VIII and Wallis Simpson feature during Genie and Stephen’s time at Eltham Palace in London. Herself a controversial figure whose role as the foreign divorcee bore parallels with Genie, this book touches on a lesser explored avenue amongst the publicity received by Mrs Simpson. We also meet a young Robert Mugabe, a strong but silent minor character with a powerful presence, albeit aided by what we know of his impact on the future of Zimbabwe.   

It comes as no surprise to find that this novel has its roots firmly set in fact. The reality versus the fictional element of this story takes us on a jolting ride, as we soak in the glamour and fantastical description, then find ourselves brought back to reality with an uncomfortable bump – particularly when the lens is focused upon the conflicts arising between the white farming community and Africa’s repressed natives. 

Treger delicately entwines these truths with the vines of her imagination, explorative and stretching out to bring to life the very real tale of this extraordinary couple, and their life in Africa. Highly evocative and ultimately haunting, The Dragon Lady is a story of fascinating people and places in the most testing of times and situations. The shift of change underfoot and the knowledge the reader has in their pocket of what is to come lend a sinister edge to this heart-rending and captivating story. 


About the reviewer

Victoria Pickup studied a BA in English and MA in Creative Writing at Loughborough University. A freelance writer for seven years, she continued to write creatively and in 2008 won the Café Writer’s Award with a poem inspired by travels in Bosnia: ‘The Chicken that Saved my Children.’ She was shortlisted for the Poetic Republic (MAG) poetry award in 2009 & 2010. Victoria now lives in Hampshire with her husband, three children and, of course, a pet chicken. 

Review by Victoria Pickup of "sometime we are heroes" by Reuben Woolley

Reuben Woolley’s some time we are heroes invites and almost forces a new way of reading. His style breaks rules and defies convention, not as an act of rebellion but with intent and conviction at its core. Just as the continuing theme of water ebbs and flows throughout this collection, the reader is encouraged to forego the need to explain or even entirely comprehend the verse, instead letting the poetry wash over them with its beauty, eloquence and dramatic form. In '& mary is the name of her today,' the poet skilfully lays out the lines to complement their meaning: ‘where she walks / on wet sand / & all the fury / waits /a wave / a sliding land’, as the poem itself takes the form of a lapping tide. 

A powerful ambience runs throughout Woolley’s poetry, with many dazzling phrases - ‘we look for small / whispers / they’re darkly gold & almost / shining’ ('exits & hiding places') -  amidst the stutters and stops of the line breaks and apparently disordered poetic form ('taking stock/the old gallows'):

listen

leaves crackle
                        in cold
                        ground & winter’s
a place to sleep in

As shown here, Woolley’s poetry gives us a fractured moment created from the deliberately haphazard presentation. This style adds life and spontaneity to the verse, whilst also using the line breaks and scattered format to present the reader with multiple ways of reading or relating to each poem. Without the clutter of punctuation and confinements of grammar, arguably, experimental verse results in a deeper, more profound meaning being exposed. 

I felt that Woolley’s style requires me to enter a state of poetic mindfulness, letting go of convention to savour and share in the immediate moment with the main characters in this collection, John and Mary: their love, their sadness, their bitterness, and ultimately, their longing – for each other and for a distant past.  

The couple’s romance is beautifully depicted in this stanza from '& once again.no one': ‘two step / quick / & a kiss in the dark.i’ll / blow the flame and leave / just the glow / of old/ coals / to light a breast’. There is much to lament too; the broken verses hinting at a lapse in memory and loss of time, as in 'old bows breaking over': ‘Fold up time / & pack it away’.

Amidst these lingering, soulful verses come embittered and sinister poems, which arise out of the ashes of what is often portrayed as a tired and at times resentful relationship. In 'storms are not lead.they stink': ‘I learnt to keep my mouth / closed / said mary / breathe / through my nose.sometimes / he’s minnows/sometimes the shark’. The fear Mary feels is palpable in the darkly atmospheric 'behind the trees are shadows': ‘it’s wild / this wood / we’re walking through / john / I’m catching on briars.they’re / scratching my eyes / red / liquor / to fill a cup’. 

The threat turns to violence in 'no fine butchery no': ‘between / your nerve & nerve / I cut / thin / & twist / am no / ordinary / torturer / I’ll stay & / dig / further’. There are many references to bleeding, although Woolley also touches on pain as a symbol of humanity in 'cutting out & sewing': ‘i wear my cuts / with pride / she says … touch me here / & here my love / pain / is just a reminder / i bear / a daughter / john’. 

The brutality is frequently juxtaposed with slow, reflective verses in this collection. The bitterness is washed away by the frequent references to water, which seems to provide soothing qualities as well representing surrender. In 'shadows of whales.passing', which is itself a beautiful title, ‘& / he said / come mary … it is my water / memory / where rain takes / everything … we’re here in simple confusion’. Comfort is found in the metaphor, and again in stories of dry water: ‘john says she steps / in silence / keeps me in seas / I only sail inside.’ Although whether John feels comfort or claustrophobia is subject to the reader’s interpretation.

As a relative newcomer to experimental poetry such as Woolley’s, I leave this collection with my thoughts fully outside of the box. Playing with the rules is a risky business, but with reflective, concentrated reading, there is so much to be gained, and indeed, so much to admire.

About the reviewer

Victoria Pickup studied a BA in English and MA in Creative Writing at Loughborough University. A freelance writer for seven years, she continued to write creatively and in 2008 won the Café Writer’s Award with a poem inspired by travels in Bosnia: ‘The Chicken that Saved my Children.’ She was shortlisted for the Poetic Republic (MAG) poetry award in 2009 & 2010. Victoria now lives in Hampshire with her husband, three children and, of course, a pet chicken. 

Review by Victoria Pickup of "The Goldsmith's Apprentice" by Keith Chandler

Keith Chandler’s The Goldsmith’s Apprentice is a fascinating collection of poems which explores humanity with great empathy and skill. Chandler’s style is insightful and accessible, initially probing the working lives of people and revealing the details which make each job, and each subject, extraordinary. 

Chandler goes on to examine subjects in a variety of abstract situations, from a bigamist ('My Other Wife') to a brutal observation of an 'Old Man at the Gym,' whilst 'For a Day or Two' ponders what life might be like as a woman.

The collection broadens further with ‘Upper Slaughter: a “thankful village,”’ an original war poem shining a light on areas fortunate enough to see all their men return from the ravages of The Great War, as well as a confessional account from a survivor of Pol Pot’s regime in ‘The Witness.’ Chandler includes poems inspired by issues raised in the media, considering the lives of immigrants in ‘At the Car Wash,’ as well as the touching ‘Lullaby,’ a devastating reaction to the picture which caused a press frenzy of a refugee toddler washed up on the shores of Turkey in 2015.

Chandler draws his collection to a close with an array of personal poems which turn the lens inwards. ‘Mac, 4F, My Teaching Career’ looks into what we presume is Chandler’s own role as he laments subjects of his own past, before going on write several beautiful poems from the perspective of a new grandparent. 

This collection provides many moments of comedy (his description of using the M6 Toll services and purchasing a ‘superior cup a soup’ rang true) which only serve to enhance the more poignant moments in his poetry; displaying fragments of people's lives and focusing upon one or two tiny observations designed to simultaneously draw us in and pull us apart (usually with a impactful concluding line). It’s powerful and emotive writing about the everyday stuff we could so easily choose to walk past and ignore.

The Goldsmith’s Apprentice is a triumph; an absorbing and impactful collection of heartfelt poems which should be on the wishlists of glass-eye fitters, fishermen, politicians - and everybody in between.


About the reviewer
Victoria Pickup studied a BA in English and MA in Creative Writing at Loughborough University. A freelance writer for seven years, she continued to write creatively and in 2008 won the Café Writer’s Award with a poem inspired by travels in Bosnia: ‘The Chicken that Saved my Children.’ She was shortlisted for the Poetic Republic (MAG) poetry award in 2009 & 2010. Victoria now lives in Hampshire with her husband, three children and, of course, a pet chicken.