Teaching My Mother How to Give Birth (Mouthmark): 10

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in his bedroom?Again, Warsan just finds the perfect words to make this scene come to life. She tells the woman: "Your daughter's face is a small riot, / her hands are a civil war, / a refugee camp behind each ear, / a body littered with ugly things." Her history and the history of her people can be traced on the daughter's skin. The poem ends with the beautiful sentiment: "But God, / doesn't she wear / the world well?" This is a slim debut chapbook of vivid, visceral, violent poems by a U.K.-based writer of Somali heritage who has already achieved widespread fame despite her young age (you may have seen her work featured in Beyonce's Lemonade). I was first drawn to her work some months ago after reading her poem "the birth name", which advises readers to "give your daughters difficult names.... my name doesn’t allow me to trust anyone that cannot pronounce it right." (that poem is not included in this chapbook, however). The poetry I read is a bit of a mixed bag. I have collections by Rabbie Burns, Edgar Allen Poe, Banjo Patterson and e.e.cummings. I like what I like but there is poetry which I know is great that really doesn't do anything for me...Allen Ginsberg for example. Shire was born in Kenya in 1988 to Somali parents who migrated to the UK and settled in London the following year after fleeing from the civil war in Somalia. Her upbringing and schooling took place in Britain.

All of these issues are woven into this very slim book of poetry. And somehow, Warsan makes it work. The collection doesn't feel overburdened by its themes. Rather, it feels urgent and crucial. Like I said before, some of the poems were extremely hard to read and elicited very visceral emotions from me. I had to shut my eyes, I felt like vomiting. It made me angry at all of the injustices and horrors that the women in Warsan's life had to face. What elevates ‘teaching my mother how to give birth’, what gives the poems their disturbing brilliance, is Warsan Shire’s ability to give simple, beautiful eloquence to the veiled world where sensuality lives in the dominant narrative of Islam; reclaiming the more nuanced truths of earlier times – as in Tayeb Salih’s work – and translating to the realm of lyric the work of the likes of Nawal El Saadawi. As Rumi said, “Love will find its way through all languages on its own”. I tore up and ate my own passport in an airport hotel. I'm bloated with language I can't afford to forget."

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In the poem "Ugly", she speaks to a mother (maybe her mother?) who has a daughter who is considered ugly because she "reminded them of war." In the poem, Warsan reprimands the mother: You are her mother. Sad people have the gift of time, while the world dizzies everyone else; they remain stagnant, their bodies refusing to follow pace with the universe. With these kind of people everything aches for too long, everything moves without rush, wounds are always wet.” Silvia Mazzau: currently teaches English at a high school in Verona. She lived in Cambridge (UK) during her youth, worked as an interpreter and copywriter, and has 30 years of experience as a teacher in Italy. Together with her musical family, Missing Link, she created show-lessons which turned into a project, English or… Nothing!, born to involve students as musicians, actors, scenographers and dancers, using English as a means to learn while having fun.

These poems hit hard. I could only read one or two poems at the time because I had to stop and think about it, to let the feelings sink in. Here you can think of all the hurtful names you can call cancer, and it wouldn't stop killing. It wouldn't stop taking. What your mother told you after your father left -- Your mother's first kiss -- Things we had lost in the summer -- Maymuun's mouth -- Grandfather's hands -- Bone -- Snow -- Birds -- Beauty -- The kitchen -- Fire -- When we last saw your father -- You were conceived -- Trying to swim with God -- Questions for Miriam -- Conversations about home -- Old Spice -- My foreign wife is dying and does not want to be touched -- Ugly -- Tea with our grandmothers -- In love and in war Mother’s Day is often depicted as a joyous celebration; images of doting daughters and caring mothers wearing matching silk pyjamas and drinking coffee in bed often visualise the event.

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This poetry collection is perfect for those that have experienced these events, but it raises enough questions for those that have not and simply wish to know what others have had the misfortune to experience. For those worried they will feel like aliens when reading about events unknown to them, this will not do such a thing, it will instead draw the reader in, verse by verse. Poetry is difficult, almost impossible to review. It's actually tempting to not review this collection of poems, to not rate it.