Because it is a beautiful evocation of the land/Palestine’s grief
‘Homeland’ by Rachael Clyne powerfully pinpoints the current horrors of the world, particularly the genocide in Gaza, but also speaks to the general sorrow of displacement and loss of home. It’s shape – a broken-up form’ – it’s repetitiveness, elements of personification and how the poem leaves us ‘hanging’ all speak to that displacement and solidified it, against a very strong shortlist, in voters’ minds as the IS&T Pick of the Month for June 2025.
Rachael, from Glastonbury, is widely published in journals. Her latest collection You’ll Never Be Anyone Else (Seren) covers themes of identity and otherness including migrant heritage and LGBTQ relationships. @rachaelclyne.bsky.social
Rachael has asked that her £25 ‘prize be donated to Medical Aid for Palestine. Her reading is below and includes her very moving personal commentary.
Homeland
And if a land loses its people and they
are exiled will a land feel their absence
will it dream of their calloused feet
on its warm skin will it grieve the touch
of hands familiar with the ways of its vines
when to pluck its fruits how to shape its earth
and stones into homes will it miss the sounds
of its language on their tongues
will the land remember them or cherish
their blood and bones that fed its soil
will the land resent the tread
of different feet or refuse to bear fruit
under new hands or will it flourish
and if the people keep the key to their homes
even if the doors they unlocked are now
a car park or the street demolished
will the keys sing them back despite bombs
or famine and if a people are uprooted
will they wander and yearn until longing
becomes their dwelling place will they
find shelter in other lands or will they flee
because people of other lands do not want them
and if after all the fleeing and wandering
the urge to return is unstoppable
will the land rejoice and welcome them back
will it cleave itself in two for the sake of all
will the people belong at last
will the land find peace
will the story
Voters comments included:
I thought the final line was so powerful, its possible ambiguity as connected to the previous line, or an unfinished/unanswered question (with resonance of who is asking this question, and who is answering it.) I liked how the layout created a winding path that mirrored themes in the poem.
the shape is arresting – the text held me to the end
Shape, grace, makes me think.
In at its birth and it speaks to the time
Whilst it speaks to contemporary losses, it is powerful enough to speak of any land where groups of people are displaced. The pov, the language, and the broken up form work so successfully.
So few poems can turn current humanitarian anxieties and grief into a longer focus, general meditation. This poem is split down the middle, but refuses the binary — refuses to name the peoples.
‘Homeland’ is an intense yet understated poem; its power emanating from the precisely placed ‘if’. It charts precisely the tragic inevitability of loss without descending into mawkish sentiments. The visual shaping of the poem reinforces the central message elegantly. It is an utterly compelling poem which affected me profoundly..
This poem tackles an immensely difficult subject with grace and strength. The ‘cleave’ form is perfect and handled in a masterful way. I found the poem to be very moving indeed!
It evokes something of the experience of longing for a home, reminds us that we are privileged to have a stable home, suggests hope
Thought provoking. A rich, reflective poem that carries itself well.
The way the land responds to human tragedy
I find myself still thinking about this poem, weeks after reading it. It gets me thinking about what will be required to wage peace in Palestine / Israel, the importance of land to culture but also the cost of fighting for land. Form is perfect and the last line too.
The form is clever, and the theme moving and appropriate. It says so much of what needs to be said without picking sides or getting angry. At least three other poems attracted me but the marriage of form and content gave this the edge.
The poem feels very much ‘of now’ and at the same time eternally fundamental.
Beautifully constructed and with such a perfectly held understanding shared with the reader but so carefully.
Diaspora dialogue; the place and the displaced
it is am eloquent evocation of the things that matter most to me, especially at the moment.
The form beautifully reinforces the powerful content of this poem.
It tugs on my roots and my ancestors, is both current and ageless, handles language deftly and somehow also soothes.
The form really speaks to me, which side do I read? What is the conversation between the two ? Poignant
Moving words. I liked the repetitive sound. Loved the layout. And I thought not just of contemporary issues, but of those through history, the resolution of one which has led to the present horror.
I like the visual impact of the poem and the way the poem leaves us hanging at the end with the question ‘will the story’
I love the elements of personification in the poem…the land resenting, the keys singing.
I found this poem very moving and the repetition gave the poem momentum which stirred me to do something to help, no matter how small
On shortlisting Helen Ivory wrote:
Rachael Clyne’s powerful ‘Homeland’ speaks both widely and specifically of notions of home. It asks us to consider what makes home, what makes community as nations are dismantled through conflict and whole nations of humans are uprooted. The poem is cleaved in two and ends with an unanswerable and incomplete question to this story without a full stop.
Editing Intern Elontra Hall noted: This excellent contrapuntal piece works on all three levels, and the ‘river that runs through it is a great visual reminder of the things that can both nourish and wound. Its open ending drive it home all the more.
THE REST OF THE JUNE 2025 PICK OF THE MONTH SHORTLIST
Horticulture for the Transcendental Age
It’s the ghost of my mother again, glow-handed, and draped
in the hair she cut off before I was born. She is cradling an
aspidistra, or what could, indeed, should be and aspidistra,
because of course I have no idea what kind of plant it is, but
I have always liked the name aspidistra, be it in an Orwell
novel or a music hall melody my grandmother used to sing.
The ghost of my mother knows the names of everything, but
she can’t tell me, because ghosts, whatever you have heard
to the contrary, can’t speak. So, although her lips open and
close, nothing emerges but stars. One day, when she plants
the aspidistra on one of these stars, it will grow into a new
planet, which is just like ours but a little bit brighter and
more hopeful. She will tell me the names of everything then
because, naturally, she won’t be a ghost.
Oz Hardwick is a prize-winning prose poet, whose most recent collection is the chapbook Retrofuturism for the Dispossessed (Hedgehog, 2024). At time of writing, he is Professor of Creative Writing at Leeds Trinity University. www.ozhardwick.co.uk.
*
A woman is scrubbing a grave
A woman is scrubbing a grave
but the blood remains
a woman dreams of a brown beast
driven mad and knows it is herself
a woman believes the voice in her mind
nurses the splinter of glass in her heart
a woman may defend herself
and lay herself open in the same breath
a woman’s rage cannot raise the dead
but it may split stone like lightning
Pippa Little‘s last collection Time Begins to Hurt came out from Arc in 2022. She’s working on her next book and teaching poetry for the Faber Academy in Newcastle.
*
Tag
He arrived with a Christian name stitched
in place, forwards and backwards down each folded-back
end. On the first day the other boys
and girls tore it off, taking the surrounding cloth along.
No way would they let him keep that tag. They saw
a boy they must rename, must mark
from them, a boy whose limbs folded far too gently, hung
all sissy, who ran from balls, read poufy books.
All sorts poured into the gash at first, nice words
said in some nice place, like Butterfly or Flower, but not
said by those hardened kids, entitled to hurt, who
sharpened their hate to turn Stephen
to Stephanie. That label stuck, glued over the hole
for good. Or bad? Either way Steph kept it.
Steph Morris’ poems have been published in his pamphlet Please don’t trample us; we are trying to grow! (Fair Acre Press), in the anthologies Joy//Us – Poems of Queer Joy and Becoming, from the Poetry Pharmacy, and in magazines and gardens.
*
everything i love is out to sea
glass-tooth morning.
salt mouth.
i left the stove on just to feel wanted.
the sea wrote back once—
in lowercase.
smudged.
untranslated.
i drank it anyway.
//
the sun fell behind me like
a dog you didn’t name.
didn’t stay.
i speak in splinters now.
no full words.
just
kitchen tile
cracks in the paint
the hum of things unplugged.
the mug is chipped.
the coffee’s been cold since ’06.
conversations curdle at the rim.
nobody drinks.
everybody talks.
//
i laughed at the funeral /
no one was there /
not even me
what i mean is—
i’ve been alive too long
in the wrong tense
& no one noticed
when i folded
my joy
like laundry
& forgot it
in someone else’s drawer.
//
i saw her—
knees to her chest,
eating a poem
like stale bread
with no butter.
still said thank you.
they call it healing
when you leave the wound open
& just name it sky.
//
everything i love is out to sea.
no letters.
no flares.
just
float.
drift.
unclench.
(i keep setting the table anyway.)
Sreeja Naskar is a poet from West Bengal, India. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Poems India, Modern Literature, Gone Lawn, Eunoia Review, ONE ART, among other literary journals. She believes in the quiet power of language to unearth what lingers beneath silence.
*
Fugue at 2:17 a.m.
The fridge clicks its cold heart.
Outside, foxes yowl
like their throats are made of gravel
and old songs.
This hour does not require
a name. It is known
by its absences:
no text reply,
no sleep deep enough
to soften the inner stammer.
I walk the flat barefoot,
step over old dreams
still curled like cats
in the corners.
They open one eye,
then close it again.
McLord Selasi is a Ghanaian writer, poet, public health researcher, and performing artist. His work explores identity, memory, and our deep connections to the world around us. Connect with him on X (@MclordSela64222).