A riveting, soulful collection of poetry that leaves you panting for more
"My numbed hope, my faded strength failed to lift me, abadoned in a morgue, the light eclipsed, no one heard the silent screams of my living corpse." An excerpt section.
The first thing that came to mind when I started reading this book was indescribable. It was a swift mixture of awe, confusion, surprise, and empathy, all wrapped in a shocking scene to have discovered a collection this prolific. Its been a long while since I last read poetry this evocative, beautifully written, literati, pacely moving, metaphorical, abundant in words, heavy, pathos, soulful, and many more, that words will fail me to describe.
Having read most of Terence's works in the past, I was taken aback discovering his poetry collections, and curious as to how he found a new feet in this genre, especially as someone who has written memoirs in the past. To be sincere, I never knew Terence could be this prolific with poetry. His wording, phrase, figurative expression, idioms, choice of words, use of metaphors, lines, and stanzas cause me to adjust my chair in utmost interest. I was rendered captive like a deer caught in a headlight. He's earned my respect as a talented poet through this book, shockingly enough knowing that this is his first try with poetry. I can't imagine how many more poetry wonders he is yet to unveil, one that I'm eagerly looking forward to.
Every poem in this book mattered, I took lots of notes until I got tired because, as I found lines that are overly powerful, and flipped through the pages, I keep finding new evocative ones and on and on it keeps going like an endless marathon race. It's a commendable style, one worthy of praise, how he could keep an evocative theme consistently in his writing. How one poem isn't lagging behind to the taste and emotiveness of another. When you think you've found your favorite excerpt, another line stares at you as you flipped through, leaving you in the battle of which to choose. At some point, I stopped and asked myself, "Has he been writing poetry before now? How did he come about these words?" I mused at the heaviness of each line, I contemplated the weight of each poem. If there should be a recommendable poetry award for my reading this year, this will surely stand out.
From the titular poem to the following ones. From Interlude One: The Silent Storm to Interlude Two: The Dawn of Resilence, there is something here for every reader's taste. There are lots of excerpts that I can't convey in this review. Many of which are subtly picky, quietly resonant, beautifully poetic, and impressively metaphorical in nature. The imagery they evoke are emotionally lucrative. As a lover of words, I was intrigued with phrases like, "...I was invited to accompany the angel of death in a scary ambulance." Terence words catch directly to chase, they reminds me of his experience and the loads of emotions engulfed in his previous memoir publications. This, I believe, is the driving force to the heaviness of this poetry collection. Judging from this book, I will advise him to write more poetry as I could sense there is much more depth of knowledge from where this one came from.
Some poems in this collection feels like the frustrative words of a depressive poet, one who seeks awareness of his type of misery, as evidence in lines like, "abadoned in a morgue, the light eclipsed, no one heard the silent screams of my living corpse." There is also "repetition" used as a poetry device, which, according to critics in poetry, helps to lay more emphasis on a certain subject matter that the poet perhaps wants to let last long in the heart of his readers, this I think might be Terence intentions. The collection doesn't fail at moving, lines like, "I was buried alive by my own body, my soul felt every seconds of being in the coffin, I knocked the door to find someone or something to help me get back to my normal life, but I knew desperately, it wasn't going to happen." - how evocatively depressive.
Terence style of writing feels to me like one worth studying in a literature class as it stylishly blends traditional style together with the modern style of poetry. Every portion of the book feels heavy. It is not one to be rushed. It's the one you have to read, pause, think, reflect, digest, before carrying on. It's movingly deep, thought-provoking, inviting us to the open wound in the poet's heart, one that is bleeding, wrapped with bandages, about to heal, or in its healing stage. Terence words, especially the ones in italics, are powerfully crafted. The way he place them side by side are commendable. The first section of the collection feels heavily poetic, as it blends both ancient and modern styles of poetry together, while the other sections feel more narrative in style. I can go on and on but would restrict in my attempt to keep this review a spoiler free. There is more to say about this poetry collection. It's powerfully emotional, darkly humorous, stunning, and lyrical. If you like works that leave you thinking long after you've read it, then I solely recommend you to pick up Thunderstroke, poetry memoir by Terence Ang.