Even though poetry is something I’ve not
attempted to review in the past, I read it regularly and know what I like, and
what I don’t like. I found there was much to like in the poems in Susan
Austin’s Undertow.
Austin’s poetry is frank, honest and
accessible. Perhaps I’m a lazy reader, but I’ve never been a fan of the vague,
the intellectual; the type of poetry that must be read and reread, and read yet
again in the hopes of discerning just an inking of what the poet is writing about;
the kind of poetry that leaves me with a headache and the uncomfortable feeling
that I am more than a little stupid.
Austin’s poetry is anything but the
brain-bending kind, and yet that doesn’t mean it is all too obvious and boring.
In fact there is much subtlety here. The subject and content of the poems
varies, but all are created from the details – big and small – of everyday life;
of love and loss and sadness; universal themes that we can all relate to as
emotional human beings. Poetry’s power lies in its ability to get under our
skin, to touch something deep within us, to remind us that we are all connected
through our experiences.
Anyone who has suffered from depression or
debilitating inertia would feel an immediate connection with Austin’s poem Couched (pg7).
I am testing my
body-to-couch solubility / I join those
with schizophrenia and others on soporific drugs / scores
of thoughts about what I could do / should do / oscillate in
my dizzy head / only my internal systems move / slowly /
clogged with toxins / lethargy / negatives /
with schizophrenia and others on soporific drugs / scores
of thoughts about what I could do / should do / oscillate in
my dizzy head / only my internal systems move / slowly /
clogged with toxins / lethargy / negatives /
I could do that
/ should do that / not doing that / an hour
has passed / still not doing that / with effort I put the
washing on / but not out / the machine guards its sodden
inmates / the clock watches me / I don’t have the energy to
take the batteries out or turn it to the wall / damn clock /
has passed / still not doing that / with effort I put the
washing on / but not out / the machine guards its sodden
inmates / the clock watches me / I don’t have the energy to
take the batteries out or turn it to the wall / damn clock /
If, like me, you prefer poetry to be a warm
and welcoming embrace, rather than something that keeps you at arms length,
then you could do a lot worse than to pick up a copy of Susan Austin’s Undertow.
These poems don’t wear gaudy colours or
shout from the rooftops to be noticed. Nor do they attempt to confuse, or
baffle. These poems hold the door wide and welcome you in. There is something
for everyone in this collection.
