England's Green

by Zaffar Kunial

Sunday Times Poetry Book of the Year, 2022
Winner of the Ledbury Hellens Poetry Prize for Second Collections

'Zaffar Kunial’s home country as sketched in ENGLAND’S GREEN is literal and carnal, yet there’s a spiritual place rising from these elegant, unforgettable poems, an invisible realm you’re lured into. Kunial is both wise and wise-assed, and he never wastes your time. I read straight through in a bracing guzzle, then flipped back to start over till I was drunk with it. Buy this luminous book: it rewards study.'
MARY KARR author of The Liar’s Club

'England’s Green is one of the strongest contemporary poetry collections I’ve ever read ... ‘Foxglove Country’ is a heart wrenching poem; the speaker meditates on “the little Englands of my grief”, examining the complexities of communication, love, location, and absence.'
VARSITY MAGAZINE

'In whatever reading time is left over I’m picking up and rereading a little clutch of bedside books: 'England’s Green' by the beautifully inventive poet Zaffar Kunial'
ANDREW MILLER author of The Land in Winter

(from the cover)
Zaffar Kunial is a proven master of taking things apart, polishing the fugitive parts of single words, of a sound, a colour, the name of a flower, and putting them back together so that we see them in an entirely different light. In the poems of England's Green, we are invited to look at the place and the language we think we know, and we are made to think again. With everything so newly set, we are alert, as the poet is, to the 'dark missing / step in a stair', entering this new world with bated breath. By such close attention to the parts, the poems have a genius for invoking absence, whether that be a missing father, the death of a mother or a path not taken. Fully formed, they share a centre of gravity: migrations, memories, little transgressions and disturbances, summoned and contained in small gestures - a hand held, the smell of a newly bred rose or the scratch a limpet makes to mark its home.

Genres: Poetry, Nature

70 pages, Paperback

Published November 15, 2022

About the author

'Zaffar Kunial’s home country as sketched in ENGLAND’S GREEN is literal and carnal, yet there’s a spiritual place rising from these elegant, unforgettable poems, an invisible realm you’re lured into. Kunial is both wise and wise-assed, and he never wastes your time. I read straight through in a bracing guzzle, then flipped back to start over till I was drunk with it. Buy this luminous book: it rewards study.'
MARY KARR author of The Liar’s Club

'You’ve probably read from England’s Green by Zaffar Kunial without realising it. ‘Foxglove Country’, the opening poem of his second collection, was widely shared after it was published online. Though they prefer the partial shade of a hedgerow or woodland, foxgloves will grow almost anywhere in England. Kunial’s poetry is perhaps even more generous and abundant ... There's a near-perfectness to the book ... Simply brilliant,'
Review 31

'His ability to convey moments of sheer loveliness remains unmatched; his style is simple, declarative, elegant. A guarded sense of the spiritual provides another thread to bind the poems together. Ings, a long poem that braids JL Carr and a speed awareness course into a meditation on mourning, is a brilliant example of this: “There is something / locked-in about grief, but there is something / horribly unlocked about grieving.”'
The Guardian

'Kunial’s gift is to examine language in a clinically precise manner to measure belonging, distance and love.' (John Glenday)

' With an impressive clutch of techniques, Kunial is a fine teller of stories.' (Alison Brackenbury, PN Review)

'Rich in form and reverent references, Us transports the reader from the hills of Pakistan to the schoolgrounds of Stratford-upon-Avon, from George Herbert to The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.' (Maria Crawford, Financial Times, BOOKS OF THE YEAR)

'His first full book, which has come together slowly, patiently, over several years... He can do clear-eyed and tender inside a single poem, without any hint of glibness. Fun fact: he used to earn his living writing verse for Hallmark cards.'
(The 20 best poetry books of 2018, The Spinoff, New Zealand)

'Zaffar Kunial possesses that rare quality of negative capability which Keats first identified in Shakespeare (a guiding spirit in this, Kunial’s first collection); the poems hold us among mysteries and doubts, without pronouncing or attempting to resolve. Their beauty lies in their indecisiveness – their quiet refusal to settle matters or hold to a single view.' (Rebecca Watts, Times Literary Supplement)

'Highlights of the year include the Heaney-esque lyricism of British-Indian poet Zaffar Kunial's accomplished debut Us.' (Tristram Fane Saunders, Daily Telegraph, Books of the Year)

Reviews for 'Six':
'Kunial’s style is a wise vernacular that Auden would have loved . . . Six is a pamphlet to read and re-read; its words are so plain and so well put together that you won’t realise until much later how permanently they’ve marked you, like a grass stain.' (Alex Hayden-Williams, Varsity)

'Zaffar Kunial, King for a Summer of The Oval, the country’s best pace bowler of the human heart.' (John Andrews, Caught By The River)

Reviews

[Rebecca · Rating 4 out of 5]

(3.5) A collection in praise of the country's natural and cultural heritage, with poems about hedgerows and butterflies; cricket and the writings of the Brontë sisters. There are autobiographical reminiscences as well, most notably "The Crucible," which describes the meeting between his Kashmiri father and his English mother's father, who had refused to acknowledge the relationship for its first three years.

Kunial clearly delights in language, with wordplay and differing pronunciations fuelling "Foregrounds" et al. I particularly liked "Foxgloves" ("Sometimes I like to hide in the word / foxgloves - in the middle of foxgloves. The xgl is hard to say") and "The Wind in the Willows," where he wonders if the book title appeals to him just for its sound.

Some favourite lines: "Prayer is not the words / but having none and staying" (from "Empty Words") and "Life // is wider than its page. And days are a cut field, clipped and made to run on" (from "The Groundsman").

This wasn't as immediately cohesive and impressive as his first book, Us, but still well worth reading.

[Caspar "moved to storygraph" Bryant]

!reread today on the plane & I'm delighted. It's one that stays with me


---09/22
yeah this is The Good Shit ZK's plays at that phonemic level are becoming his own they're so productive I'm thinking new. Probably the most important thing about England's Green so far as I'm concerned is that it seems to have entirely shaken off the tired 2000s cycles of what is ingerlish and so on that we saw all up and down the poetry board. Zaffar, with this collection, takes us firmly beyond and onto the cutting edge

[Natália Papšová]

“We all have lives that go on
without us. Unwritten. I have history on ground I’ve not played on.”

[Tousser]

sometimes poetry is ~☆poetry~☆ and other times it's just poetry.

[Fieke]

I don't have the brain for this

[Anna · Rating 5 out of 5]

Perfect book to read during an Ashes summer when the English cricketing world is forced to consider it's baked-in racism, sexism and classism. Some of these poems just wove around that dichotomy so well for me. I also loved the inclusion of so much family history, it gave a lovely depth to some poems. So many great poems overall and incredible attention to wordplay. Loved it.

[Alycia · Rating 5 out of 5]

Every poem has memorable lines, and these lines make me rethink, relearn, and revel in the way sound, syntax, language, form, and narrative interact. So many poems struck me. The opening poem, 'Foxglove Country' is, to me, a perfect poem. Also these –

For a wide-winged moment, the bird is still, as if nested in the eaves of the wind or pushing

against the edge of an unseeable force that stops things

short or holds things

in. Life, within life, continuing (from 'Ings')


The rhythm of memory
puts time ahead of itself and we're pulled to miss
a coast that is not yet home. The tide. It's an
oxygen machine, still going. Its constant hum. (from 'Scarborough')


If I could go back to that first garden
and if it were still there, that leafy planet,
my old staring seat, its matted mound
in the shade of the fence, the funnel-hearted
violet-blue stars, I would take it as proof of a holding on -
in the heaviest sense - and I know that I would lose it (from 'ANOTHER?')

[Carmijn Gerritsen · Rating 3 out of 5]

This melodic poetry collection plays around with language and form in a multitude of ways. Centring around the theme of England's landscape, it traces the nature, literally and figuratively, of human beings in relation to the idyllic image of Britain. I enjoyed the tone of many of poems and their thematic explorations, however it didn't capture my interests the entire way through.

[Dr. des. Siobhán · Rating 3 out of 5]

These poems are very well crafted, yet I found it quite hard to get into them and to find joy. This is totally a me problem and some of the poems were absolutely amazing but sometimes the density, length and linguistic intricacies were beyond my PhD fuddled, tired brain. Sorry

[Athiene · Rating 4 out of 5]

i need my own copy asap this was rlly brill

[Grae · Rating 5 out of 5]

Kunial’s warm poems seem to break and crack like chestnuts in the hand to reveal sweet fruit. Full of carefully placed sounds, it’s a delight to read these poems aloud. Candid memories of being immersed and forcibly removed from nature by governments and make the collection bittersweet. Love and grief for the speaker’s mother is twined into the rows hedges and stored in the snouts of foxgloves he scans as he learns to understand her version England. I felt a child and alive at times, and and an adult and disillusioned at other times. Deeply humane and intelligent, Kunial is spectacular.

[nilab · Rating 4 out of 5]

I didn’t understand most of these poems, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t love and enjoy them. The poet’s writing style is a bit confusing, but so is mine, and that’s why I think I connected to this so much. I know that each and every word, every sentence, every comma, every lack-of-comma, makes sense to the poet, and that’s what matters the most.

My personal favourites were ‘Hawthorn’ and ‘Snowdrop’.

[dulcie · Rating 5 out of 5]

Such a fluid collection, its digressions are so sensibly and humanely crafted that it doesn’t actually feel jumpy. With the accompaniment of a nostalgic rural framing each poem becomes super accessible, and completely understands how synonymous our environment and memorable sentiments are. Interesting given obvious tangible differences.

[Phoebe Meikle · Rating 4 out of 5]

4.5

‘Foxglove Country’ and ‘Ings’ were my favourites.
Very clever. Beautiful nostalgic observations on nature, heritage, identity, and butterflies. He also does a lot of charming wordplay. Loved!

[Hamish Critchley · Rating 4 out of 5]

Weird weird man. very odd. I think i'm in love with him

[Kelly Furniss · Rating 4 out of 5]

A lovely modern collection of poetry. My favourites were the ones that focussed on nature, my enthusiasm wained a little with the cricket ones. I enjoyed the heritage/country references.

[Evelyn · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5 stars

[Goodreeds User · Rating 5 out of 5]

Wall-to-wall bangers - absolutely fantastic - glad I took my time with this one

[Elizabeth Payne · Rating 3 out of 5]

some lovely moments of a non traditional kind of english pastoral poetry (“a warm breeze filled emptily / with blackbird songs, a robin / twisting its invisible screw / and a more piercing song”), alongside a lot of autobiographical poems about family and belonging…

but also a strange and esoteric almost? obsession with letters and words and deconstruction that made some of the poems just feel a bit obtuse (eg the poem “Foxglove Country” is mostly a reflection on “xgl” …)

[Alarie]

Confession. I enjoy many types of poetry from formalist to free verse, from heart wrenching to amusing, but this wasn't my cup of tea. I know that the big poetry prizes often go to esoteric poets, so I'm not going to insult the author with a low rating just because I didn't enjoy it. My date finished is actually the date I gave up after skimming over half the book.

[Zoe Forbdshsh]

Very good, comforting extension of the British canon without the bullshit that usually comes with it

[Ed · Rating 2 out of 5]

There were some congealing moments of the english pastoral beauty I was looking for, but mostly I feel he was too caught up in dismantling and looking at the words and lost sight of what was being built with them.

Though I did love the foray into how the immigrant experience meets the traditions of an english summer.

[Peter Graarup Westergaard · Rating 5 out of 5]

Really great poetry collection. Many beautiful images and a new way to experiment with language.

[Hannah Thuraisingam Robbins · Rating 4 out of 5]

4.5* for me. A beautiful poetry collection. I love his turn of phrase especially in the shorter form poems. For some reason, I found myself disconnect from the number of ties to cricket because they don’t resonate with me personally but I will definitely buy more by Kunial. These are lyrical, beautiful, pastoral, and playfully sad.

[Sarah · Rating 4 out of 5]

Read this volume two or three poems a night and in the end gave it four stars for the delight the language and involvement gave me. Broke down for me towards the end when first the Brontes and then the cricket put me off.

Skimming back through the poems they engaged me less - needed the undivided attention that I gave them the first time through and the cricket theme had made me sensitive to words like 'ball'. Some of my favourites are Ings, Unland, 'O', Scarborough and Hawthorn.

[David · Rating 2 out of 5]

Although I found moments of poetic insight and expression in these poems which were exciting, new ways of evoking feeling and meaning, too much of this book was, for me, pretentious and gratuitously opaque. The author's pet themes of language, his upbringing and cricket recur somewhat relentlessly. A bold willingness to experiment with and examine letters and words and their pronunciation and meaning is a characteristic of this book, but it didn't hit the mark often enough for me.

[S P · Rating 5 out of 5]

'Foxglove Country' (p3)

Sometimes I like to hide in the word
foxgloves - in the middle of foxgloves.
The xgl is hard to say, out of the England
of its harbouring word.
Alone it becomes a small tangle,
a witch’s thimble, hard-to-toll bell,
elvish door to a door. Xgl
a place with a locked beginning
then a snag, a gl
like the little Englands of my grief,
a knotted dark that locks light
in glisten, glow, glint, gleam
and Oberon’s banks of eglantine
which closes in on the opening
of Gulliver whose shrunken gul
says ‘rose’ in my fatherland.
Meanwhile, in the motherland, the xg
is almost the thumb of a lost mitten,
an impossible interior, deeper than forests
and further in. And deeper inland
is the gulp, the gulf, the gap, the grip
that goes before love.

***

from 'England' (p8)

We all have lives that go on
without us. Unwritten. I have history on grounds

I've not played on. Grace Road. The Oval. Eden
Gardens. We all have lives that go on without
us. It matters where the line breaks. I knew
I should pursue this future - that was almost
behind me, at the woods' edge, a realm between
weathers, where losses and times fold, at the crease -

clueless as to what it was. Or for whom.

***

from 'Pressings' (p21)

I've arrived at the station, thinking how birth
is the A-side to death's B-side, and how fast
we travel, these days - dematerialised - gone -
reshaped elsewhere. A cloud of cosmic dust
or butterfly soup, not winged nor crawling -
indefinite, unpressurised atoms, going in
and out of spheres. Each scattered bit of me
reprised to act one - that big act - as one.
The act you've known for all these years.

***

from 'Ex Nihilo' (p37)

An impulse in the night snow
draws her like a nail to the evergreen oak -
the armoured, angular holly -

***

'Snowdrop' (p68)

The dead remember. Who said that?
I said that, said the dead. There is an
usness to everything. Every inanimate
who doesn't remember. You are merely
the muffled voice pushing. A berried yew
must crown me. Do not let the tide wash
the inner keep. This island is not dead.
What's the point of a dead bell? I am.

***

from 'The Wind in the Willows' (p70)

And speaking of poetry, I had this initiating thought: in

the flax-smelling grain of the first bat I was gifted
wind was contained. Old power locked. A gravity well
beyond mine. Light enough, slight arms could lift it. Wind
in willow, this percussive wood a gathered strength. A mutual
bind. Though I was far from writing - or this book -

that sense, I suppose in spirit, was poetry and early.

The very last thing poetry is

is a poem.

[Alexander Donnan · Rating 5 out of 5]

I’ve been digesting the experience of reading England’s Green for over a week now, and I keep circling the same questions: where to begin, what to say? I’ve been very lucky this year, every new collection I’ve picked up has been exceptional, this book is no different. At this point, I’m not even sure there’s much value in ranking collections from “best” to “worst”; maybe that’s a job for critics and prize panels. What I can say, with absolute conviction, is that there isn’t a single poem in this book I would change. In album terms, this is a no-skips, all-killer-no-filler record.

I’ve been in countless workshops where established poets warn beginners against “-ing” words, as if they’re inherently prosaic or somehow the enemy of poetry. Well, Zaffar Kunial either never got that memo or is deliberately proving how misguided that advice can be. The “-ing” becomes a sonic anchor throughout the centre of the collection, especially in poems like Thinnings:

Make off, small mother.

Mute sunbird. Living
Gerund. Stemless flower-
Ing. Soul thing. Thinning.

We even get an entire poem named after the town of Ings:

There is something
Locked-in about grief, but there is something
Horribly unlocked about grieving.

This is part of the joy of reading England’s Green: Kunial uses poetry to navigate themes that straddle memoir, nature writing, grief, and, surprisingly, cricket. His love of language and his precision with it shine throughout, as in his homage to Haworth in Bronte Taxis:

A forked hawthorn at the end
Of border-country—where wind
And earth, vowel and consonant
Aren’t continents apart.

Truly, an exceptional collection. On the strength of this book alone, I’m one hundred percent going to read Us, and whatever Kunial publishes in the future. I’m very grateful to have poetry like this in my life right now.

[Eric Anderson · Rating 5 out of 5]

The poetry in “England's Green” describes not only the natural world in this country but the personal and national history embedded in its flora and language. Kunial is so attentive to the construction of words as well as their sounds. In several poems he takes certain words apart to give the reader a unique three dimensional view of them demonstrating how “Words have pockets. Small, deep pockets that go on for ages. We put words on a page and they preserve infinitely more than we mean or guess”. Through this attention to linguistics the author delves into his family's past and converses with writers from Chaucer to Shakespeare to the Brontës. As many authors do, several poems begin with an epigraph however Kunial adds a touching personal resonance when quoting from Iris Murdoch's “Flight from the Enchanter” as he notes the underlinings were made by his mother in her copy of the book. This imaginative and playful collection is awash with emotional resonance which shines through in each carefully constructed and beautiful line.

Read my full review of England's Green by Zaffar Kunial at LonesomeReader

[Bohemian Book Lover · Rating 3 out of 5]

*Ending on what I felt was a high
*Note with two
*Great
*Lines ('The very last thing poetry is / is
*A poem'), this collection
*Nudged me
*Delightfully on. I hadn't read Zaffar Kunial
*'S poetry before, so I actually entered as

*Green as the book's cover & title. The poems are deeply
*Reflective; retrospective; autobiographical; oftentimes
*Elusive,
*Entering liminal &
*Noetic spaces of language & experience.