When I first came across Ruth Beddow’s
poetry on Wild Court, I was especially struck by the natural flow of its
language, a quality that makes her work immediately stand out among her
contemporaries (Beddow is still in her twenties). I was thus keen to get hold
of a copy of her first pamphlet, The Thought Sits With Me (Nine Pens,
2022), and a close reading confirmed my initial impression, as in the closing
stanza to ‘Birmingham
Central Library, 1973’:
…and later, a year since I had left
the place
for good – a decade after my parents
dismantled our home – the rubble piled
high
on Paradise and said, as I stood
watching,
there’s a grace in being forgotten.
The above extract demonstrates an
acute sense of the delicate, tense relationship between line and sentence, employing
enjambment judiciously, harnessing language to musical effect without ever
falling into the trap of artificial fireworks. And then there’s Beddow’s
ability to root her poems in the everyday as a point of departure before
lifting them into their own world far beyond mere anecdote. In this case, that
transformation takes off as soon as the reader realises the rubble is speaking.
Moreover, in thematic terms, this poem
is a perfect example of Beddow’s deeply felt awareness of the passing of time.
Her invocation of changing generations, also referenced in other poems
in this pamphlet, implicitly invites us to think about our own personal
histories. And along those same lines, the following extract from ‘Ode to a Reuterweg Bedsit’ also stands out:
…My bag was already packed upstairs
in the matchbox room I had thought
Neolithic
but which, in time, as with all the
walls we love
and leave, had softened all around me…
This quote again flows easily while
also packing an emotional punch. Furthermore, in its reaching out for the first
person plural, it again demonstrates Beddow’s ability to carry her poems beyond
day-to-day experiences, encouraging us to explore the significance that objects
and places acquire in our lives.
In the context of contemporary trends,
Ruth Beddow’s The Thought Sits With Me is consequently a remarkable
first pamphlet. It defies fashions to present us an idiosyncratic poetic
aesthetic that ploughs its own furrow. Of course, the intriguing issue now is
where she’ll take her poems from here. I’ll be following Beddow’s progress with
interest.
DISPLACED They called her aloof, impractical, clumsy, plain. It was, they
say, difficult for her not to fall in love.In spite, that is, of the first
coughs...
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