Robin
Richardson’s collection Knife throwing
through self-hypnosis is a marvel to read.
Packed full of mystery and half detectable narratives, one could spend
hours trying to unpack poems such as ‘Thora the pilgrim’ or ‘Mike pooh’s
palliative unit’ in an attempt to find the source of the work. But one rarely
does, such is the brilliance of this book, Richardson is an adept trickster who
very acutely conjures up allusions to wider stories in her work that may not
even exist outside the context of footnotes (I’m referring to the so-called
“The life and times of Dzovits the volcano dweller”, the attributed source for
‘Thora the Pilgrime’ and ‘Thora at thirteen’ in particular).
‘Polanski’s
muse, Rosemary’s second son, or something worse like nursery ghosts come back
to haunt the mom that let them teethe on Chinese lead’.
'I’d scratch my calves through the bone if left too long to my own devices’.
Williams is a poet; and a graduate of Durham University.
One
particular aspect of ‘hypnosis’ I found revealing for this work, is ‘hypnosis’
as therapy ‘to recover suppressed
memories’ OED. And this is exactly
the quintessential nature of these poems. Richardson’s ‘found poems’ “The pilot
of 146’, ‘overheard in New York’ aren’t as solid as any others in the book, but
they exemplify Richardson’s stripped down narration (cutting out the BS as is said in the business). The liquid nature of the allusions in
character backstories such as ‘Mercutio – a family history’ represent
Richardson’s intriguing and sprawling approach to memory (it is no coincidence
that one possible etymological source for the name of Shakespeare’s character
is ‘mercurial’).
Richardson
doesn’t compromise her approach over substance when tackling pop culture either
(unlike some writers I’ve reviewed recently); one of the great delights of this
book is ‘Princess Leia to a lovesick Stormtrooper’ which doesn’t at all fold under its cry to the
heart for those of others a little too ready to ignite our lightsabers. There are even sexual readings of Peter Pan;
Wendy is frequented by the fantasy of the boy wonder ‘A thimble-worth of semen spotting the chin. Again she let him in. Again
he left his shadow loitering’.
Richardson
knows how to pull a punch without cramming her narrative full of poetry-words.
‘Jerry Springer: colour chart’ is a fine character assassination without
sententious or bitter taste ‘When he
takes his hand out to flash the middle finger there’s a rainbow’. ‘The second-coming: I’m afraid of everything’ is
terrifying in its flirtations with banality;
The
same effect occurs in ‘Portrait in Translucent Ink’;
'I’d scratch my calves through the bone if left too long to my own devices’.
One might sound appropriation alarms, but I’m
still as unsure to where the offense would lay, Richardson is elusive in both
tongue and touch.
My
conclusion is that this is a very refreshing collection of work. Richardson’s
poems are full of sprawling allusions though contained in tight lines; never
allowing for excessiveness. I will be
returning to all of the poems in this book as I feel I’ve only just scrapped
the surface in my first few reads. Yet this is already one of my favourite books
of the year.
Williams is a poet; and a graduate of Durham University.
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