“Dawn is peeling from dusk. And my mama / is teaching me how to depart from that / which does not love us.” — Yalie Saweda Kamara, “Aubade for Every Room in Which My Mother Sings”
Besaydoo is an absolute feast of a poetry collection and more than worthy of the Ohio Book Award. Yalie writes with such tenderness toward every subject, with a clear love for language and lush imagery with particular attention to taste (lumpia, malombo fruit, string cheese). In “A Brief Biography of My Name,” the author says, “I am made from the obsession of detail,” and that rings true across every poem.
Many of these poems explore family mythology, the ways childhood memories and the stories we’re told—and that we tell ourselves—become woven into the fabric of our identities. There are also odes to Black women across time, to Nia Wilson, Nina Simone, and Gabby Douglas. The author’s multifaceted background as a Sierra Leonean American who grew up in Oakland feeds the rich storytelling about place across the collection (arguably, one of the most powerful poems is about finding religion in Bloomington, Indiana—“What doesn’t surprise me is that neo-Nazis sell fresh produce at the farmers market” and “This is where I found my God, nodding me awake”).
Yalie also demonstrates incredible skill with the tonal shift, moving from funny to serious, light to heavy, in poems like “Grab Bag (May 1998),” where her childhood self’s questions about sex become questions of how women’s bodies are taken from their control (“a voice to fight the fear of all the flowers sprouting within me, / words to battle any hands trying to uproot me before my season”).
Like many contemporary poets, Yalie experiments with form and structure, including a list of her mother’s rules, a two-step, and an obverse (a new form for me that is a palindrome poem that can be read both forward and backward, featured in “A Poem for My Uncle”).
I discussed this collection at a poetry book club, and everyone had a different favorite poem, which speaks to the strength and variety of the collection as a whole. Poems that stood out to me, in addition to those previously mentioned:
+ “Space” (“Me and my broken name, less heavy than before / began to float away to somewhere else”)
+ “Eating Malombo Fruit in Freetown, 1989” (I keep rereading this one)
+ “Repast in the Diversity Center” (a poem of bitter contrasts, of artificially created spaces for grieving)
+ “Ulotrichous” (the use of blank space allows the reader to project both bias and experience—I haven’t seen this approach before)
+ “Aunty X’s Dream Door Has” and “Aunty X Becomes a Unit of Light” (a gut-punch of a narrative poem: “While looking in the mirror, my Aunty X surveys her head, wondering if her alopecia has been a lifelong exercise in losing parts of herself.”)
I’m excited to see what this author creates next, and I highly recommend this collection for all poetry appreciators!