![\"Patina\"](\"http:\/\/www.thewindinthetrees.com\/book-imgs\/patina.jpg\")
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\u2018It was just lying here<\/p>\n
the poem, the dream<\/p>\n
by the window sill\u2019<\/p>\n
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These verses, from \u2018After The Recital\u2019, illustrate \u2018Patina\u2019s\u2019 atmosphere: life is contingent, magical. Poetry tries to catch that, but is itself strange and hard to find. The poet must be ready –<\/p>\n
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\u2018if we don\u2019t write it this minute<\/p>\n
we will never write it\u2019 (\u2018Ellipsing, Elapsing\u2019).<\/p>\n
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The poems address a core of concerns, expressed in concise language, using what we can see and feel to suggest what may be impossible to state. In, \u2018It was in May ..\u2019, a narrative of loss and sorrow is contained in two lines:<\/p>\n
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\u2018The day the gutters overflowed<\/p>\n
I left Kotapuram Port\u2019.<\/p>\n
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Employing images to express emotion the poem indicates what happened, (\u2018The long brown train awaited the flutter\/ of the guard\u2019s green flag\u2019) and ends by accepting that our needs will not be noticed by time and change:<\/p>\n
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\u2018It was in May. The sky poured. The gutters overflowed.<\/p>\n
I left Kotapuram behind. The trains ran on time.\u2019<\/p>\n
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This shows why Kavita is a prize-winning author of short fiction as well as a poet. Reflections on leaving and departure are also the subject of other poems: in \u2018Kabariwala\u2019\u00a0 a young man, who makes a living collecting materials for recycling says he is, \u2018Going foreign\u2019, where there is, \u2018free love .. probably England\u2019. He is happy to escape, but in \u2018Where Home Was\u2019 another aspect of emigration is considered: a ceiling fan becomes a metaphor for how leaving home and community is an irrevocable separation, \u2018nomads have freedom, if no home .. because the voyage is endless\u2019:<\/p>\n
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\u2018In the whirring blades of this fan<\/p>\n
My future was glimpsed; sliced ..<\/p>\n
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.. I saw clearly that I would leave<\/p>\n
The past would be segmented; diced\u2019<\/p>\n
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Elsewhere it is not only the \u00e9migr\u00e9 who has no home: all of us are only here briefly, something we must defy and embrace \u2013<\/p>\n
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\u2018 .. our world will drown you<\/p>\n
burn you, bury you ..<\/p>\n
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.. when you bow your head the earth<\/p>\n
won\u2019t grant you forgiveness ..<\/p>\n
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.. The nomads of the desert remember<\/p>\n
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and they kiss the ground ..<\/p>\n
before stamping hard on it to dance.\u2019<\/p>\n
(From \u2018Such a thing as a cloud ..\u2019)<\/p>\n
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And \u2018Capilano Bridge\u2019 describes the terrifying, exciting experience of crossing a swaying suspension bridge, showing we must face the chasm of death, \u2018The wintry canyon below waited for us to fall\u2019 .<\/p>\n
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Several poems consider women\u2019s experience. The poet uses wry observation in \u2018Beach Apparel\u2019, and in \u2018Piccadilly Line Salon\u2019 three women doing their make-up on the tube, \u2018 .. peer, pout, slick, flick\/ they are good; they are quick\u2019, prompt the narrator to worry about her own, post-breakfast appearance. \u2018Faucet\u2019 also starts humorously, \u2018A woman\/ may buy a tool-kit and know how to use it\u2019, but is then indignant at how women are treated in Saudi Arabia and the Punjab. (See also, \u2018For You Who Wave \u2018Women For Trump\u2019 Placards\u2019!)<\/p>\n
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The tone in \u2018Faucet\u2019 remains ironic and cynical but becomes enraged in \u2018Katra\u2019, about two sisters murdered by being hung \u2018from the mango tree\u2019.<\/p>\n
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\u2018My sisters<\/p>\n
don\u2019t forgive<\/p>\n
bequeath your souls to the breeze<\/p>\n
so the perpetrators hear you<\/p>\n
carrying with them always<\/p>\n
your unforgiveness.\u2019<\/p>\n
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There is something of Shelley and Plath here\u00a0 \u2013 vengeful, righteous fury.<\/p>\n
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Great care is taken over structure: a variety of stanza forms, using blank space, rhyme and half-rhyme and as few and precise words as possible, make a fine collection of elegant, forceful lyrics.<\/p>\n
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One of the most moving poems is \u2018My Birth Telegram\u2019, in which the writer\u2019s father learns about his daughter\u2019s birth, expressed in a code agreed with his wife:<\/p>\n
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\u2018If it\u2019s a girl she\u2019ll be a poem, a white bloom ..<\/p>\n
At sea, he received the news on board.<\/p>\n
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THE WHITE ROSE ARRIVES STOP
\nPOETRY THRIVES STOP\u2019<\/p>\n
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A note explains, \u2018Kavita\u2019 means \u2018Poem\u2019 in several Indian languages\u2019. And poetry does arrive in the world with \u2018Patina\u2019.<\/p>\n
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Chris Hardy<\/strong>‘s poems have been published widely, some have won prizes. His fourth collection is ‘Sunshine at the end of the world’ (Indigo Dreams). He is in LiTTLe MACHiNe. \u201cA guitarist as well as a poet Chris Hardy consistently hits the right note\u201d. Roger McGough.
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