Changeling

by Clare Pollard

Poetry Book Society Recommendation. Clare Pollard's fourth collection is steeped in folktale and ballads, and looks at the stories we tell about ourselves. From the Pendle witch-trials in 17th-century Lancashire to the gangs of modern-day east London, Changeling takes on our myths and monsters. These are poems of place that journey from Zennor to Whitby, Broadstairs to Brick Lane. Whether relocating the traditional ballad 'The Twa Corbies' to war-torn Iraq, introducing us to the bearded lady Miss Lupin, or giving us a glimpse of the 'beast of Bolton', Changeling is a book about our relationship with the fear and trust, force and freedom. 'Her work really is emphatically of our time, capturing the world in its beauties and horrors in writing that's technically superb, but which also has what, if I was a sentimental chap, I'd call heart' -Ian McMillan, The Verb. 'The themes are ancient -guilt, grief, the almost unbearable com-mingling of beauty and suffering -but shown through contemporary globalised life in all its grossness and glory…Pollard's wit, honesty and recklessness' -Frances Leviston, Yorkshire Post. 'Clare Pollard has so much youthful talent that it's alarming. The poems are raw and sexy, exotic and compelling, their insights at once intimate and universal. There's a cruel precision of observation too, coupled with a real opulence, about these pieces… I loved the headlong rush of it all' -Catherine Czerkawska, Mslexia. 'Pollard's poems are like shards of glass, brittle, dangerous things that work their way under your skin…Pollard is a poet of the 21st century, a witness of the present and a shaper of its voice' -John Sears, PopMatters.

Genres: Poetry

79 pages, Kindle Edition

First published June 23, 2011

Reviews

[Tony · Rating 5 out of 5]

"Now I'm free of you I'm free to love you -"
from Waiting for the Kettle to Boil, Lancashire

I love this collection. I mean utterly adored it. The mixture of mythological and modern. The way she uses language is magical. There are mermaids, vampires, flowers and woods but there's cities, fear and capitalism too. Sometimes they combine, as in The Language of Flowers, or The Primerose:

"and now the names are lost,
and now I need those blossoms back.
Without the right words, I can't think clearly.
Whoever cared for the nameless." (p51)

But there's so many good poems in here it's hard for me to do anything but gush. Reviewing things you really like is much harder than reviewing things you hate. Hate is easy to express and easy to twist into memorable phrases. It's why people normally remember the vicious reviews of critics more than they ever remember the good reviews. It's why people think critics are cruel. Because no one remembers the positive reviews, which I suppose are as big a threat to an artist as the bad ones.

I think my favourite poem in the collection was the longest - The Wood. But I also liked The Two Ravens, Zennor, The Skulls of Dalston, Amtssprache, Babylon, Cassandra in Mycenae, Whitby, Guinevere, The Fairy Feller's Master-Stroke, Waiting for the Kettle to Boil, Lancashire and Tam Lin's Wife.

The Wood I liked because it reminds of the primitive myths (and fears) of getting lost in the woods. It reminded me a little of the novel Mythago Wood by Robert Holdstock. Both deal with what happens as we go deeper and deeper in the woods. Both are contemplations on losing oneself to the power of nature and the hold that power has on us.

Anyway. Read it. It's great.

[Tia]

Started off well but as the poems went on I steadily lost interest:( did love that there were a few Yorkshire focused poems though!


🧚‍♀️ I tell myself that you are still my love
although I’m wet with blood, and you’re a lynx
filthy with fingerprints, clean pink mouth snapping teeth
near heart, my throat.

🧚‍♀️ Dear husband, all those things I prize in you –
your beauty, kindness, laugh –
are stripped off one by one
but even with them gone
my boy stares out from stricken shapes,
and love has no conditions. None.

🧚‍♀️ And you ask me, do I feel shame?
Well no, sir, that’s what creatures do.
It was the moment of my life
to hurt things too.

🧚‍♀️ and I yell at everyone who cares. I hurt them
because I need something to fucking happen.

[Steven Godin · Rating 3 out of 5]

Dinner for two

The CCTV’s globed eye stares me down
as in the supermarket’s blinding maze
I pick spice from the Indies, Asian prawns,
and blueberries dark as Incan skies,
New Zealand lamb and Guatamalan peas.
A girl tuts: ‘No – the airmiles –‘ at mange tout,
and I too feel that bland guilt nag at me,
but words of worlds are nothing next to you.

I take my plunder home, prepare a feast
to show I care, to counter your day’s stress.
I pour Sancerre, like perfume on your feet –
the spoils of sea and sky; the East, the West.
The Earth contracts. Our room is everywhere.
In love one kiss, and any trade seems fair.

[Hayley · Rating 3 out of 5]

A handful of poems I really liked, one or two I liked with a lot of uncertainty (not knowing enough about the author to figure out context around some perspectives and communities written as or about), but a lot more I really disliked. It's always going to be a mixed bag but with poetry but it felt like there was such a stark contrast in styles at times, and some of the social commentary felt a bit on the nose.

[Cooch · Rating 4 out of 5]

A mixed bag

There are some very good poems, some good poems and some ok poems. I would read more of her work.

[Moushumi Ghosh · Rating 5 out of 5]

A mythic collection of poems from the bad girl of English poetry. It swoops among nature and swarms with ancient tales. Pollard is a joy to read. Again.

[Benjamin · Rating 1 out of 5]

The poem "Adventures in Capitalism" is one of the worst things I have ever read. I became stupider as a result of reading this collection.