Stench by Trish Bennett

‘Stench is an ebullient celebration of the human, the domestic and the natural world, and an invitation to breathe in the myriad and diverse flavours of the poet's richly lived life, close to the border between Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland. Her poems combine an astute attention to structure and form, with an often hilarious and daring sense of inventiveness, are chockful of vivid images and turns of phrase, often magical in their originality and conception.’

Poetry

A couple of disclaimers before I begin - this is my first attempt at reviewing a poetry collection. Of course I have read poetry before, Seamus Heaney’s collected volumes are on my shelf as well other classics such as ‘Rattle Bag’ and ‘Staying Alive’; I have always enjoyed it as an art form but just don’t read enough of it. What I’m saying is that I’m probably not the best person to be sharing my views on poetry (doesn’t stop you with fiction or non-fiction though, does it? I hear my faithful subscribers say).

Saying that, I’ve always been open to giving it a go, and don’t have rules as to what I review. I have another couple of collections on on my shelf, so perhaps I’ll see how this goes and get to them. One of my refrains at the turn of the year when I’m surmising my year in books is to read more poetry.

For some reason, I wasn’t sure how to approach this volume. I don’t know enough about the intricacies of poetry as an art form, what to look for, what to compare it to etc. In the end I decided I’d take my time and just tune into it, notice my reactions, how it made me feel, highlight any lines I liked and go from there.

Trish

Disclaimer No. 2 - Trish Bennett is an old friend of mine. We go back to the mid to late nineties when we house shared in Belfast. I’ve kept an eye on her blossoming career as a poet over the years, and couldn’t be happier to see her winning awards and hearing her on the wireless.

So there’s a wee bit of trepidation when it comes to reviewing a friends work. The likes of Stephen King doesn’t give a flying feck as to what I write about his latest release, but it’s different when it comes to someone you know. I couldn’t help but hear a lot of this volume in Trish’s voice - she’s a great performance poet and I will include some links in the review.

But ultimately Trish would want me to be honest and I can hear her saying ‘would ya ever just F**king get on with it Aidy’ so with all that rambling nonsense out of the way, lets go.

Three Sections

Trish says in the notes at the end that the collection is themed into three sections, based around the first verse of the Irving Berlin song ‘Let’s face the music and dance’. So starting off we have:

‘Trouble Ahead’

This section really resonated with me. Just like Trish I was also brought up on the border, a few miles to the east in South Armagh. The likes of ‘Border child’

‘I come from patrols, searches, red strobes

under cover of night, suspiscion

of cars parked on lonely roads.

I come from adults being polite

to the flashlight in their faces, for fear

of bogeymen in the ditches.’

awoke memories that have been happily dormant. The hush descending on the car, four of us wee ones huddled in the back, as we slowly approached a couple of figures blocking the road. Dreading some accents or insignias more than others, camouflaged faces staring from ditches with guns pointed at us. A stern voice asking for identification sir, and where are you going to and coming from sir? The odd time asking to look in the boot.

Some of those times we’d be on our way back from across the border, away for a spin down through Monaghan or Louth, when you’d feel the tension easing the further you got away from the invisible line. I have idyllic memories of eating ice cream in places like Carrickmacross or Ardee as the words of Micheal O’ Muircheartaigh on the radio weaved through a sunny Sunday afternoon. As usual with memories, I’ve probably idealised that a bit much, but those days had such a feel of escapism.

These poems are very much rooted in the borderlands around Leitrim, ‘hills choked by Sitka Spruce’, and I enjoyed reading about characters in poems such as ‘The Quiet man’. There’s a mood of nostalgia to some of them, the love of a place and especially memories of childhood play, and ‘cackles of priests’ and a ‘scrum of nuns’ reminding me how much of a part religion played in our lives.

I love how Trish uses the vernacular of the borderlands - it gives the words a real vigour and authenticity, as well as humour.

‘Slices’ , written for her da, pulled at something in me,

‘You caught me today at the turn

of that tight hill before the home

when the sun dissected the trees

a slice of the past shone’

and later

‘The memory fades

replaced by the last sigh from your lungs

as the grip tightens

around my heart.’

Moonlight, Music, Love and Romance

Having lived with Trish it’s no surprise that there’s lots of humour throughout as well, and I really enjoyed ‘Cupids Arrow’ which is naturally in the form of a ‘Six inched honed hacksaw blade’ which

‘lodged deep into the dry lined wall

to the right of biker boys ear.

When he looked across and said, Wow!

I knew I’d nailed my target.’

I do love a poem with a happy ending.

Another one to catch me was ‘the gift’, as the poet releases the muse and

‘to chisel into that place

where hearts break,

face pain, again and again.’

I was hiking in Wicklow recently, down around Brockagh mountain, when I spotted an insect in front of me and thought, look at that hoverfly, masquerading as a bee in a bid to scare. Re-reading again, I realised this was a line that had wormed it’s way into my skull from ‘The Road less travelled at Annaghmakerrig.’ To give you a break from all my words, here’s the woman herself reading it

Facing the Music

This is a mighty section, full of fuckery and bees in the wilds of Fermanagh. ‘Where the wild things grow’ is an ode to untamed ways, where

‘Bumblebees moon fuzzy bums

from the depths of rhododendrons’

and

‘wasps eat greenflies on leaves,

while ladybirds have orgies on the verge.’

The aforementioned ‘Fuckery’ had me in bits, whilst ‘Innisfree, me arse!’ apologises to WB with an alternate take on the famous poem. I’ll include it at the end of the review, and just to say be careful what you wish for.

It’s only on the last page where we discover where the the title of the collection has come from, as inspiration strikes the poet as she crosses the Erne bridge with her daughter, when she spots a man who looks like a certain famous Dutch painter and

‘There’s a poem in this’ I say,

but herself doesn’t miss a tap,

‘There’ll be no poetry in the car.

We’ll never get rid of the smell.’

Summary

So there ye go, that’s my first attempt at a poetry review and I’m happy I was able to start with ‘Stench.’ There’s plenty of light and shade to it, and as much as I laughed at some of the lines and shenanigans about nature, pets and winged things, there’s grief and love there too and I definitely was caught by a couple of well placed lines in some of the more poignant pieces.

It did take me a bit longer to review this. I’d forgotten how reading poetry is a lot different from how I usually approach books, ploughing through from start to finish. Many times I’d lift this, read a poem and have to put it down, sometimes for a day. Like I wrote earlier, it would nudge memories awake and I’d let my mind wander a bit.

I found I had to let the poems settle and linger, and even when I started the book again I’d find myself returning to something I’d earlier read. It’s a different sort of reading, sometimes deeper and more leisurely, and I enjoyed it.

A fine collection from a fierce woman, I’m happy to add this to my small poetry collection. No doubt I’ll reach for it again.

Available to buy from Trish at TrishBennettwriter.com