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Poor
WINNER OF THE FORWARD PRIZE FOR BEST FIRST COLLECTIONChosen as a Book of the Year by New Statesman , Financial Times , Guardian , Observer , Rough Trade and the BBCShortlisted for the Rathbones Folio PrizeLonglisted for the Jhalak Prize'Restlessly inventive, brutally graceful, startlingly beautiful ... a landmark debut' Guardian'Oh my God, he's just stirring me. Destroying me' Michaela Coel'A poet of truth and rage, heartbreak and joy' Max Porter'Takes us into new literary territory ... impressive' Bernardine Evaristo, New Statesman (Books of the Year)'It's simply stunning. Every image is a revelation' Terrance HayesWhat is it like to grow up in a place where the same police officer who told your primary school class they were special stops and searches you at 13 because 'you fit the description of a man' - and where it is possible to walk two and a half miles through an estate of 1,444 homes without ever touching the ground?In Poor , Caleb Femi combines poetry and original photography to explore the trials, tribulations, dreams and joys of young Black boys in twenty-first century Peckham. He contemplates the ways in which they are informed by the built environment of concrete walls and gentrifying neighbourhoods that form their stage, writes a coded, near-mythical history of the personalities and sagas of his South London youth, and pays tribute to the rappers and artists who spoke to their lives.Above all, this is a tribute to the world that shaped a poet, and to the people forging difficult lives and finding magic within it. As Femi writes in one of the final poems of this 'I have never loved anything the way I love the endz.'
160 pages, Paperback
First published July 30, 2020
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 198 reviews
March 3, 2022
The poetry in this collection is raw and powerful, authentic and real. Caleb Femi takes you all the way into his world
I could tell a lot of thought and considered was put into it, with the photograph adding so much more.
‘Just ask the boy writing this poem who feels
Like death is a party all his friends were invited to but him’
I could tell a lot of thought and considered was put into it, with the photograph adding so much more.
‘Just ask the boy writing this poem who feels
Like death is a party all his friends were invited to but him’
March 17, 2022
'When hipsters take selfies
On the corners where our
Friends died, the rent goes up'
A collation of disquieting poetry and stark photography combine to produce some of the rawest and authentic material I've ever read.
Femi's reality unnerves and disconcerts. A reality in which growing up, the same police officer who told his primary school class they were 'special', stops and searches him at 13 because he 'matches a description'. A reality in which it is possible to walk two-and-a-half miles through a South London high-rise estate without foot touching ground, in which the young black boys of Peckham strive to make meaning and purpose in a world rife with violence, discrimination, abject racism and gang culture.
This collection from Femi evidences the power of words, his handling of them is effortless, provocative and poignant. No amount of adjectives do it justice, so direct and sobering - a poetical punch to the nose.
'I have nothing to offer you
But my only pair of Air Max 90s'.
On the corners where our
Friends died, the rent goes up'
A collation of disquieting poetry and stark photography combine to produce some of the rawest and authentic material I've ever read.
Femi's reality unnerves and disconcerts. A reality in which growing up, the same police officer who told his primary school class they were 'special', stops and searches him at 13 because he 'matches a description'. A reality in which it is possible to walk two-and-a-half miles through a South London high-rise estate without foot touching ground, in which the young black boys of Peckham strive to make meaning and purpose in a world rife with violence, discrimination, abject racism and gang culture.
This collection from Femi evidences the power of words, his handling of them is effortless, provocative and poignant. No amount of adjectives do it justice, so direct and sobering - a poetical punch to the nose.
'I have nothing to offer you
But my only pair of Air Max 90s'.
March 7, 2021
This incredibly poignant and powerful collation of poems and photographs focuses on the black experience for those residing in 21st Century Peckham. Violence and grief mark these pages and Femi's prose translates these experiences across to the reader in a raw, authentic, and entirely heartfelt manner. The majority of the poems read like a punch to the gut and left me reeling in the wake of their power. I didn't connect to all of the photography in quite the same way but adored the vibrancy and vigour each exhibited.
August 3, 2021
Video Review
This review is a case of tough love (see * at the end of the review), but I think I am being fair. The issues here, for me, are those typical of a young debut author — inconsistency.
— Trauma Is a Warm Bath, Poor (IV)
From my reading, here are the poems I really enjoyed (that I'd be thinking of at least 4* material):
-Put Them in the Room of Spirit & Slow Time
-Thirteen
-Concrete(I)
-A Slow History of a Quick Death
-Trauma Is a Warm Bath
-On Magic/Violence
-The First Time You Hold A Gun
The problem is, most of the remaining poems were not as compelling to me (1-2*). It's strange to 'rate' a lived experience and a cultural history, but at one point we must, and for me it comes down to whether the language or ideas conveyed are gripping and thoughtful.
To be really direct, my problem is that I don't think all the poems should be here. The collection is too long, these poems cancel and mute each other out. There's no sense to the quality, order, or style in this collection. It's not chaotic enough to be chaotic, or orderly enough to be orderly, it's just this intermediate mix of poems about the Peckham estate but with no clear patterns. There are 7 parts, and no themes to each of the parts. The fact that 'Concrete' and 'A Designer Talks of a Home' parts were spread out so far through the collection makes it hard to remember them and see them as one work. For example, I thought the structure and development of poems like 'Community' or 'Ingredients & Properties of Concrete' were uninteresting. I found 'Ode to South Ldn Gyaldem' memorable only in how incongruous in (its formal) style it was to all other poems. It's hard to know who or what the narrator represents in some poems like 'Honeytrap & Likkle Bwoi'.
There's no clear narrative interlinking anything here, within or between sections. There's not enough sense of time or space to the scenario, it could be a summer in the estate or an entire childhood. We don't grow with anyone or anything — I just wish there were poems really introducing the Peckham estate slowly but progressively. It's just odd that the book didn't open with 'The Book of the Generation of Peckham Boys' and then try insert the characters into the narratives of the other poems, it could've turned into this great interwoven poetic narrative. There was the beginning of an epic story here but it somehow seemed to get jumbled in the process. And also, a story would require time and growth as themes, but most of the poems here seem to center on death and nothing else. Maybe that was the center of the theme or the estate the author wants to narrate about, but then I just don't see what dynamism or direction there was to the telling of it?
I do like that this kind of poetry does exist. England for a long time has had this issue of making poetry interesting to younger generations by making it clearer and more direct in tone about the lives of real people. We don't mind Shakespeare, but we see the gap between it and us that hasn't been filled. Also, the experience of black boys and black men is particularly hard to find in literature in general. There's a small heart of us in England that think that spoken word poetry has a future, and Caleb's writing style would really work well with that as there is a lyricism and frankness to it, telling childhood histories as they happened without descriptive disguises. In my late teens I loved watching poetry at The Roundhouse in London, and figures like Polarbear and Mark Grist really showed me there can be a future for poetry in England. All this to say, I don't doubt that Caleb's got great future potential, but I'm calling 'Poor' out for what I personally see it as — a prematurely arranged collection of early experiments on a theme. There are some hits here, the future will tell if Caleb will see these and build a narrative with his strongest words.
*At the time of writing this review I am in the 1% of GoodReads readers who have given this less than a 3* rating. So as a preface for this review it's worth keeping in mind my views are probably not reflective of the typical readership. However, in my defense, I do really enjoy reading poetry and lived in London for a few years, so I really did come to this thinking I'd enjoy it.
------------
This review is a case of tough love (see * at the end of the review), but I think I am being fair. The issues here, for me, are those typical of a young debut author — inconsistency.
Just ask the paramedic at the scene :
he knew the body was shoebox empty
but all his training didn’t tell him what to do
when a boy gets shot at a funeral, and the crowd
are unwilling to ration bowed heads
between the two dead bodies.
How bizarre it is to give CPR to a vacant body
for 30 minutes ; his sorriest apology.
— Trauma Is a Warm Bath, Poor (IV)
From my reading, here are the poems I really enjoyed (that I'd be thinking of at least 4* material):
-Put Them in the Room of Spirit & Slow Time
-Thirteen
-Concrete(I)
-A Slow History of a Quick Death
-Trauma Is a Warm Bath
-On Magic/Violence
-The First Time You Hold A Gun
The problem is, most of the remaining poems were not as compelling to me (1-2*). It's strange to 'rate' a lived experience and a cultural history, but at one point we must, and for me it comes down to whether the language or ideas conveyed are gripping and thoughtful.
To be really direct, my problem is that I don't think all the poems should be here. The collection is too long, these poems cancel and mute each other out. There's no sense to the quality, order, or style in this collection. It's not chaotic enough to be chaotic, or orderly enough to be orderly, it's just this intermediate mix of poems about the Peckham estate but with no clear patterns. There are 7 parts, and no themes to each of the parts. The fact that 'Concrete' and 'A Designer Talks of a Home' parts were spread out so far through the collection makes it hard to remember them and see them as one work. For example, I thought the structure and development of poems like 'Community' or 'Ingredients & Properties of Concrete' were uninteresting. I found 'Ode to South Ldn Gyaldem' memorable only in how incongruous in (its formal) style it was to all other poems. It's hard to know who or what the narrator represents in some poems like 'Honeytrap & Likkle Bwoi'.
There's no clear narrative interlinking anything here, within or between sections. There's not enough sense of time or space to the scenario, it could be a summer in the estate or an entire childhood. We don't grow with anyone or anything — I just wish there were poems really introducing the Peckham estate slowly but progressively. It's just odd that the book didn't open with 'The Book of the Generation of Peckham Boys' and then try insert the characters into the narratives of the other poems, it could've turned into this great interwoven poetic narrative. There was the beginning of an epic story here but it somehow seemed to get jumbled in the process. And also, a story would require time and growth as themes, but most of the poems here seem to center on death and nothing else. Maybe that was the center of the theme or the estate the author wants to narrate about, but then I just don't see what dynamism or direction there was to the telling of it?
I do like that this kind of poetry does exist. England for a long time has had this issue of making poetry interesting to younger generations by making it clearer and more direct in tone about the lives of real people. We don't mind Shakespeare, but we see the gap between it and us that hasn't been filled. Also, the experience of black boys and black men is particularly hard to find in literature in general. There's a small heart of us in England that think that spoken word poetry has a future, and Caleb's writing style would really work well with that as there is a lyricism and frankness to it, telling childhood histories as they happened without descriptive disguises. In my late teens I loved watching poetry at The Roundhouse in London, and figures like Polarbear and Mark Grist really showed me there can be a future for poetry in England. All this to say, I don't doubt that Caleb's got great future potential, but I'm calling 'Poor' out for what I personally see it as — a prematurely arranged collection of early experiments on a theme. There are some hits here, the future will tell if Caleb will see these and build a narrative with his strongest words.
*At the time of writing this review I am in the 1% of GoodReads readers who have given this less than a 3* rating. So as a preface for this review it's worth keeping in mind my views are probably not reflective of the typical readership. However, in my defense, I do really enjoy reading poetry and lived in London for a few years, so I really did come to this thinking I'd enjoy it.
------------
This is my 9th advanced reader copy (ARC) review. This means I received this ebook for free, in exchange for this review by Netgalley. I'm not financially motivated, as I read library books, so I only read ARCs I actually think will be good enough for me to rate and review honestly.
November 13, 2022
What a talent.
Reading this book drove it home that, being from such a different background, I could never fully understand the violence, racism or gang culture that Caleb Femi has lived through. And yet, this highly evocative work, full of experience, emotion and humanity does an incredible job of bringing us into his world with both words and images.
A cohesive and moving work. Gritty. Authentic. Poignant.
If poetry speaks to you, this is one to read.
Reading this book drove it home that, being from such a different background, I could never fully understand the violence, racism or gang culture that Caleb Femi has lived through. And yet, this highly evocative work, full of experience, emotion and humanity does an incredible job of bringing us into his world with both words and images.
A cohesive and moving work. Gritty. Authentic. Poignant.
If poetry speaks to you, this is one to read.
November 6, 2020
Poor is a collection of both poetry and imagery exploring what life was like growing up as a black boy on a council estate in Peckham, South London. The gorgeous prose is filled with raw and powerful emotion and it couldn't be more timely or necessary. Femi pours all of his feelings and emotions into his words and touches on themes of class, race, wealth, gentrification, family and abject poverty and really doesn't hold back.
The collection as a whole is incredibly impactful as it is written straight from the heart. His use of language is simply sublime and kept me engaged throughout. If this is his debut then I can't wait to see what he publishes next. With a potent mix of wit, heartbreak, anger, despair and brutal honesty, Caleb invites us to step into his world and see things from his perspective. Superb. Highly recommended. Many thanks to Penguin for an ARC.
The collection as a whole is incredibly impactful as it is written straight from the heart. His use of language is simply sublime and kept me engaged throughout. If this is his debut then I can't wait to see what he publishes next. With a potent mix of wit, heartbreak, anger, despair and brutal honesty, Caleb invites us to step into his world and see things from his perspective. Superb. Highly recommended. Many thanks to Penguin for an ARC.
March 17, 2022
best poetry collection I've read this year
February 14, 2021
This is utterly phenomenal. It blew my mind.
April 21, 2021
"concrete is the lining of the womb
that holds boys with their mothers
when Edvin took a blade to the gut –
bled out like a stream running back to its Brook –
concrete held him soft as a meadow might a lamb
so his death looked like a birthing
we who did not know how to weep
raged into the night like the ambulance
that came to lift the empty body
(his mother asked for the sirens to be turned off
lest they disturb her resting boy)
that night we went to chew on the pitchfork of war
so that our grief as if it were a rotting tooth
would be plucked out"
// Concrete (III)
In the endz where Femi is from, council houses and estates of South London, particularly North Peckham, lines of chalk can mark both body outlines and hopscotch boxes: defined by callous systemic racism, hopeful class aspirations, and inescapable vicious circles. It's an incredible exploration of 21st Century living in South London for young Black boys. Closed in by concrete, they are forced to emulate it even if they want to be like the flowers stubbornly springing out of it. Events are always just one step away from conflagration: from bullets or knives, while out on errands or hanging with the mandem, or the slow deterioration of gentrification. In the end(z), they must make something out of nothing or vanish.
Born in Nigeria (Kano), Femi was initially brought up by his grandmother till he was seven before joining his parents in London. The poems in the collection are interspersed with his own photographs and they both together paint a vibrant portrait of the world/s he inhabits, a lush tribute to a place where magic mixes with the mundane and the extraordinary become possible. His language is imbued with street slang and urban lingo, adding layers as he highlights beauty and tragedy, free will and inevitability, all of life's inconstancies.
that holds boys with their mothers
when Edvin took a blade to the gut –
bled out like a stream running back to its Brook –
concrete held him soft as a meadow might a lamb
so his death looked like a birthing
we who did not know how to weep
raged into the night like the ambulance
that came to lift the empty body
(his mother asked for the sirens to be turned off
lest they disturb her resting boy)
that night we went to chew on the pitchfork of war
so that our grief as if it were a rotting tooth
would be plucked out"
// Concrete (III)
In the endz where Femi is from, council houses and estates of South London, particularly North Peckham, lines of chalk can mark both body outlines and hopscotch boxes: defined by callous systemic racism, hopeful class aspirations, and inescapable vicious circles. It's an incredible exploration of 21st Century living in South London for young Black boys. Closed in by concrete, they are forced to emulate it even if they want to be like the flowers stubbornly springing out of it. Events are always just one step away from conflagration: from bullets or knives, while out on errands or hanging with the mandem, or the slow deterioration of gentrification. In the end(z), they must make something out of nothing or vanish.
Born in Nigeria (Kano), Femi was initially brought up by his grandmother till he was seven before joining his parents in London. The poems in the collection are interspersed with his own photographs and they both together paint a vibrant portrait of the world/s he inhabits, a lush tribute to a place where magic mixes with the mundane and the extraordinary become possible. His language is imbued with street slang and urban lingo, adding layers as he highlights beauty and tragedy, free will and inevitability, all of life's inconstancies.
March 20, 2021
A powerful book of poetry. Words matter and have an amazing ability to show us things, evoke emotion and point out the world around us, something Femi does with skill in this collection.
April 13, 2022
"You can't say CRACK here
You'll f- up the house prices
What you say is craquè" (122)
A pretty good debut from Femi here. This isn't the type of book that I would typically pick up, but being somebody who was brought up on and still loves British urban music, I can say that this really will absolutely reach a certain audience. It's the type of audience who know what "skeng" "drillin'" and "bookie" means, and understand the importance of Dizzee Rascal's 'Boy in Da Corner' to British culture.
I would definitely like to see more of Femi's work, but I did find some of the poetry to be a little uneven. However, that being said, Femi is paving the way for poets in London who want to take their art and culture into a direction that isn't just music and video, and to produce art that goes a little deeper than much of the art centred around Black British culture
You'll f- up the house prices
What you say is craquè" (122)
A pretty good debut from Femi here. This isn't the type of book that I would typically pick up, but being somebody who was brought up on and still loves British urban music, I can say that this really will absolutely reach a certain audience. It's the type of audience who know what "skeng" "drillin'" and "bookie" means, and understand the importance of Dizzee Rascal's 'Boy in Da Corner' to British culture.
I would definitely like to see more of Femi's work, but I did find some of the poetry to be a little uneven. However, that being said, Femi is paving the way for poets in London who want to take their art and culture into a direction that isn't just music and video, and to produce art that goes a little deeper than much of the art centred around Black British culture
March 7, 2021
This is a stirring, inspiring collection of work from Caleb Femi.
It is bleak, yes, but dispersed with moments of joy and community. And that bleakness is so vital, political, that it gets your mind whirring. I raced through this work and have already re-read so many poems. The Ode to South London Gyaldem is gorgeous, smart, visceral (I wanna be privy to these dreams!). Hats off to Caleb Femi - this is a book that has made its mark in British poetry, and made its mark on me, and no doubt this is just the start.
It is bleak, yes, but dispersed with moments of joy and community. And that bleakness is so vital, political, that it gets your mind whirring. I raced through this work and have already re-read so many poems. The Ode to South London Gyaldem is gorgeous, smart, visceral (I wanna be privy to these dreams!). Hats off to Caleb Femi - this is a book that has made its mark in British poetry, and made its mark on me, and no doubt this is just the start.
February 28, 2021
I don't have the skill with words to do it justice. Superbly read by the author, this poetry is alive. It breathes and lives truth.
It speaks to a different life than I know, but it puts me there, shares it with me. Makes it vibrant and full of feeling and longing and understanding.
It speaks to a different life than I know, but it puts me there, shares it with me. Makes it vibrant and full of feeling and longing and understanding.
November 9, 2020
This book, this set of poems was moving, you could feel the emotions in the words, the rawness just came through, unlike a lot of poetry I’ve read lately, this was really emotive. Emotional reading, hard at times and there were definitely tears from me, these poems show the poets wealth of like experience, although that’s not probably the best wording for this. Truly powerful words
Thanks to netgalley and the publisher for a free copy for an honest opinion
Thanks to netgalley and the publisher for a free copy for an honest opinion
May 2, 2024
This is the first poetry collection I’ve given 5⭐️ ever. Thank you to the girl at Foyles LDN who recommended this to me
Favourite poems (though realistically it’s the entire book as one big one):
- barter
- thirteen
- things I have stolen
- gentle youth
- two bodies caught in one cell
- survivor’s guilt, or anikulapo
- [spirit dancing]
- hallelujah money
- concrete (III)
- how to pronounce: peckham
- a designer talks of a home / a resident talks of a home (II)
- yard
- east dulwich road
- the six
- exerpts from journal entries, 2017
Favourite poems (though realistically it’s the entire book as one big one):
- barter
- thirteen
- things I have stolen
- gentle youth
- two bodies caught in one cell
- survivor’s guilt, or anikulapo
- [spirit dancing]
- hallelujah money
- concrete (III)
- how to pronounce: peckham
- a designer talks of a home / a resident talks of a home (II)
- yard
- east dulwich road
- the six
- exerpts from journal entries, 2017
September 5, 2020
Poor is a collection of poetry and photography exploring a Peckham estate and what it is like to grow up as Black boy surrounded by concrete. It is a powerful, fast-paced collection split into sections and broken up with photographs taken by Femi to illustrate the estate and the people found throughout the poems.
So many of the poems have really memorable lines and turns of phrase, witty and cutting deep to the truth of reality on topics like class, race, and gentrification. The ongoing theme of the impact of concrete and the design of estates is really interesting, whether in found poetry or through a clever look at the make up of concrete.
Reading Poor, you get a real sense of the importance of the world you grow up in, the good, the bad, and the mythologising. It is a brilliantly written collection that feels immediate and emotional and explores how where you live can live and breathe too.
So many of the poems have really memorable lines and turns of phrase, witty and cutting deep to the truth of reality on topics like class, race, and gentrification. The ongoing theme of the impact of concrete and the design of estates is really interesting, whether in found poetry or through a clever look at the make up of concrete.
Reading Poor, you get a real sense of the importance of the world you grow up in, the good, the bad, and the mythologising. It is a brilliantly written collection that feels immediate and emotional and explores how where you live can live and breathe too.
April 21, 2025
Gritty and powerful, evocative, thought-provoking and eye opening, Poor is a stunning collection of modern poetry. Loved it.
October 12, 2021
Absolutely stunning
January 19, 2025
Spectacular and poignant storytelling. Never have I come across such original and raw poetry - probably some of the best I’ve read in a long time. This collection is a phenomenal example of conveying authenticity compellingly without any bravado—hats off to Caleb for unparalleled and beautiful creativity.
April 15, 2025
"on the nineteenth floor you can see everything but the future"
February 5, 2021
I want to give this 10 stars. Never read anything like it
Read
September 15, 2025This book holds so much pain & violence in its dark lines. It’s a beautifully written account of growing up as a Black boy in the UK’s apartment complexes, surrounded by cement, racism, police persecution, knives and guns. I read it on the road, gulping each poem down like a stone, each one so hard & heavy. This one is for the “Boys who felt grief and its economies of scale / in the budget of burial” (Put them in the room of Spirit & Slow Time), the boys who are “supernovas” (Thirteen). An echo “when you get tired of running from danger / you become the danger”. Accompanied by photographs, often portraits of Black people, the collection gives voice & visibility & life-force to those who are often looked upon from the elite chambers.
-
“When everyone called me son of a shadow
it was concrete that called me proof of light.”
(Concrete IV)
-
“When everyone called me son of a shadow
it was concrete that called me proof of light.”
(Concrete IV)
January 9, 2021
A very strong collection of poetry - accompanied by the author's own photography - focusing on the lives and experiences of the young residents of a Peckham estate.
The word "raw" springs to mind when describing Femi's poetry, but using this word belies the beauty and skill in his writing. Poetry can be quite subjective, but I'd venture that many readers would find Poor to be moving, insightful and accessible.
(If this sounds of interest I'd also recommend searching out videos of Femi performing his work -- well worth a watch.)
Thank you Netgalley and Penguin Press UK for the advance copy, which was provided in exchange for an honest review.
The word "raw" springs to mind when describing Femi's poetry, but using this word belies the beauty and skill in his writing. Poetry can be quite subjective, but I'd venture that many readers would find Poor to be moving, insightful and accessible.
(If this sounds of interest I'd also recommend searching out videos of Femi performing his work -- well worth a watch.)
Thank you Netgalley and Penguin Press UK for the advance copy, which was provided in exchange for an honest review.
January 1, 2022
An incredible collection of poetry and photographs focusing on Black boyhood and growing up in North Peckham, London. So much was moving - the imagery was stunning as it took brutality, death, and violence into the hands of poetry. The entries about the Grenfell fire were particularly powerful too.
April 28, 2025
So beautiful
January 24, 2021
This is a juggernaut of a collection, and for me Femi stands alongside Voung as one of the titans of modern poetry
Read
May 5, 2024wonderful x
April 29, 2021
You must read this.
March 31, 2021
A powerful collection of words and images, so raw and necessary, a gut punch, pure truth, full of life and grief and death, beautiful and terrible.
October 21, 2021
As I was reading this brilliant debut collection I found myself thinking of Anna Akhmatova, which may be a surprise to everyone who has read this collection. But I was thinking particularly of those famous lines in Requiem:
“And can you describe this?”
And I answered:
“Yes, I can.”
She is talking about Stalinist terror, but Caleb Femi's collection is talking about the black London experience. The collection even ends with an echo of Akhmatova:
"...& if you wish me to speak
I will." (Concrete V (Second Anniversary), p131
I had an advantage here of both having a paperback and audiobook of this collection, which I think is a fantastic way to sink into a poetry collection. The audiobook is fantastic. Indeed, they do interesting things with the sound engineering with the audiobook in the same way that the paperback is a little different to most poetry collections, including as it does photographs. It's also interesting to note the slight differences between the written versions and the audiobook. The words, the photographs and the audiobook when combined together create something interesting and immersive. I recommend that if you can afford it.
These are powerful poems of modern London. A London that I don't experience myself. Indeed, part of the collection's theme seems to be how life of black Londoners is viewed by the press, the police, and other Londoners. You find yourself - as a comfortable middle-class white man - questioning your own thinking. I can't live the experience of black Londoners and to pretend I can would be an insult. And I don't think that Caleb Femi's objective is to make us understand it. That might be a side effect of what he's doing. I think this is a book of elegiac witness. It is saying "this is our experience and I bear witness to it and now I have done that you cannot pretend you do not know."
I can't know for sure. Should Caleb Femi read this he might just think I've missed the point in an obvious way but I do think this collection is here to give a voice to people whose voices are silenced or distorted - an good example is Schrodinger's Black, which is about Mark Duggan.
I can't emphasise enough how good this collection is. There were so many moments where I found myself stopping to think about what I'd just read because it had got under my skin. It's a collection that makes you feel as well as think though.
I've already mentioned one other poet, Anna Akhmatova, but this collection also reminded of something Ilya Kaminsky wrote in Deaf Republic:
“At the trial of God, we will ask: why did you allow all this?
And the answer will be an echo: why did you allow all this?”
I think this is an essential read and I look forward to seeing what Caleb Femi does next.
“And can you describe this?”
And I answered:
“Yes, I can.”
She is talking about Stalinist terror, but Caleb Femi's collection is talking about the black London experience. The collection even ends with an echo of Akhmatova:
"...& if you wish me to speak
I will." (Concrete V (Second Anniversary), p131
I had an advantage here of both having a paperback and audiobook of this collection, which I think is a fantastic way to sink into a poetry collection. The audiobook is fantastic. Indeed, they do interesting things with the sound engineering with the audiobook in the same way that the paperback is a little different to most poetry collections, including as it does photographs. It's also interesting to note the slight differences between the written versions and the audiobook. The words, the photographs and the audiobook when combined together create something interesting and immersive. I recommend that if you can afford it.
These are powerful poems of modern London. A London that I don't experience myself. Indeed, part of the collection's theme seems to be how life of black Londoners is viewed by the press, the police, and other Londoners. You find yourself - as a comfortable middle-class white man - questioning your own thinking. I can't live the experience of black Londoners and to pretend I can would be an insult. And I don't think that Caleb Femi's objective is to make us understand it. That might be a side effect of what he's doing. I think this is a book of elegiac witness. It is saying "this is our experience and I bear witness to it and now I have done that you cannot pretend you do not know."
I can't know for sure. Should Caleb Femi read this he might just think I've missed the point in an obvious way but I do think this collection is here to give a voice to people whose voices are silenced or distorted - an good example is Schrodinger's Black, which is about Mark Duggan.
I can't emphasise enough how good this collection is. There were so many moments where I found myself stopping to think about what I'd just read because it had got under my skin. It's a collection that makes you feel as well as think though.
I've already mentioned one other poet, Anna Akhmatova, but this collection also reminded of something Ilya Kaminsky wrote in Deaf Republic:
“At the trial of God, we will ask: why did you allow all this?
And the answer will be an echo: why did you allow all this?”
I think this is an essential read and I look forward to seeing what Caleb Femi does next.
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