There’s a strong argument that the
most universal literature is actually rooted in specifics rather than in the evocation
of abstracts. According to this theory, universality is found in an individual
set of circumstances that’s portrayed with such skill and empathy as to ramify
far beyond the limits of its immediate context, moving its readers, no matter
whether they themselves have undergone such an experience. Hilary Menos’ new
pamphlet, Human Tissue (Smith-Doorstep, 2020) provides us with an
excellent example of how to implement this idea.
As stated in the introduction by Hugo
Williams (who has suffered from kidney disease himself), this pamphlet takes a
family’s story as its point of departure. Menos’ son, who suffered from kidney
failure, received a transplant, aged 17, of one of his mother’s kidneys. Two
years later, the son had a rejection episode and the transplanted kidney had to
be removed, thus meaning he had to go back on dialysis.
The aforementioned events are moving
in themselves, of course, but would initially seem most of interest to other sufferers
of kidney disease or to their family members. The poet’s skill lies in her
ability to transcend those supposed limitations via implicit ruminations on
faith, mortality, family and love, all anchored in this concrete narrative.
The nature of faith, for instance, is explored
via the pagan figure of The Mud Man, a tree stump that lies at the bottom of
the family’s garden and is invoked from the beginning of the pamphlet, as in
these closing lines from the first poem:
…The Mud Man looks at me through
struck flint eyes
and mirrors a requiem for you, for us
all,
through broken slate teeth.
These words hint that more
conventional religion has preceded The Mud Man in the narrator’s life, as
invoked via the mention of a Christian-infused requiem, while also indicating
to the reader that the forthcoming story isn’t just about the patient but about
us all.
Love, expressed through familial
relations, is consequently a pivotal theme throughout the book, as in the
opening lines to Admission:
Lying on the hospital bed late at
night
with the cannula in my arm starting to
sting
and a bag shoving fluids into me at a
rate
that tightens my wedding ring
I write a letter to you, at home with
our son,
and bury it deep in my notebook
between special diets and test results
and plans
where only you would look
just in case anything goes wrong…
This poem offers us a tremendous
example of Hilary Menos’ gift for using physical, often everyday detail,
layering it and accumulating its effect, so as to reach out towards a vision that
reflects back on to its readers. It doesn’t just evoke the process of giving a
kidney, but speaks to anyone who’s been alone, afraid, in hospital and missing
their loved ones. In other words, while
we might not have gone through this specific experience, we are so moved by its
poetic transformation that we are invited to ruminate on our own versions and
visions of love.
Such a ravaging context, however,
never leads Menos down the path of melodrama. Instead, it enables her to delve deeply
into another of her concerns, one that runs through all her collections: the
strained yet vital relationship between the human and natural worlds, If this
theme was already present in the pamphlet’s first piece, it culminates in the
closing lines to its final poem, Sloe Gin, as follows…
…Time matures the thing. At least,
adds distance.
I sit at the kitchen table, trying to
make sense
and pouring a shot of sweet liquor
into a glass.
The filtered magenta, sharp and
unctuous,
reminds me of sour plum, of
undergrowth,
the scrub, the blackthorn and the hard
path.
In this poem, perfectly cadenced metre
is set against unsettling doubts, while the transformative quality of human
hand is present via the liquor that has been created from fruit and undeniably
changed. Nevertheless, it’s then undercut by the realisation that the darker side of
nature can never be ignored and forms an inevitable part of our journey through
life.
What’s more universal than the above
thought?! And it’s achieved through the telling of everyday incidents! Hilary
Menos’ pamphlet connects with readers, launching them into the poet’s life, then
catapulting them into another fresh vision of their own world. This is the epitome
of what poetry can grant us. Human Tissue is thoroughly
recommended.
