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i_b_anoud's review against another edition
5.0
Many thanks to Netgalley and University of Nebraska Press for providing me with this ARC in exchange for an honest review.
"It bites him hard that your life happened / like an hourglass with only a handful of sand"
I didn't think it would take me two weeks to read 110 pages of poems. I kept stalling cuz each poem was filled with so much sorrow and grief I couldn't keep going in a normal pace.
I'm not a stable vessel to withstand this much sorrow.
"His psalm is refusing to grow in his heart. The pigeons no longer come to the windowpane, just bats and dead butterflies."
"It bites him hard that your life happened / like an hourglass with only a handful of sand"
I didn't think it would take me two weeks to read 110 pages of poems. I kept stalling cuz each poem was filled with so much sorrow and grief I couldn't keep going in a normal pace.
I'm not a stable vessel to withstand this much sorrow.
"His psalm is refusing to grow in his heart. The pigeons no longer come to the windowpane, just bats and dead butterflies."
muga's review against another edition
4.0
Arc provided by netgalley
...
This collection of poems is written for the poet’s daughter who died just a few days after her first birthday and to be honest I wasn’t prepared for how heart wrenching these would be. I have always found poems to be quite personal so I rarely ever pass judgment of poetry because I think it’s the one type of writing written for oneself instead of the consumption of others and we are privileged to read them
These poems did not disappoint. The writing is vivid even for poetry, the words flow and drip with a grief so thick I felt a part of their loss I had to consume these poem with breaks because of how heartbreaking they were. The writing is complex yet there is an underlying gentility that comes from the heavy theme of the poems. There are beautiful lines that leave you empty and full at the same time:“His palm is refusing to grow in his heart; the pigeons no longer come to his windowpane, just bats and dead butterflies.”...
I cannot pinpoint why the poet used third person narration for himself but it did not take away from the poetry it’s just curiosity.
This collection was heart wrenching and intimate and I am glad the author chose to share the collection with the world
My favorite poems were; a nimble darkness, internment,palms, the gown and this web.
frida_kahlo's review against another edition
5.0
I received an eARC copy in exchange for an honest review from the University of Nebraska Press via NetGalley.
Have you ever felt so hurt that your whole body and mind suffer? Have you ever bruised so much that all your insides feel like they weigh a ton? Have you ever felt such a loss that your soul, your whole inner core cannot breathe, speak, live? These feelings are what Your Crib, My Qibla brings. These feelings are what this poetry collection carries, so deep and profound that the reader stays breathless, speechless, and in tears.
Your Crib, My Qibla is an experience of loss and suffering. A hard suffering one only feels when the beloved one is lost. And in my mind, the biggest loss one can ever experience in life is a loss of a child. My stomach was twisting and turning with each poem I read, with each line, each word. I felt a big lump in my throat and tears coming down my cheeks seeing (and feeling) so much pain, sadness, and grief in these poems. These words are so beautifully worded and painful; it must have been tremendous labour to give birth to such expressive stories and emotions while experiencing such excruciating situation (I can only imagine it).
The second part of the collection, in my opinion, bears deeper feelings and thoughts, as we get to see the imaginary conversation and exchange of impressions between the father and his lost girl.
I will share the poem that made me feel like a speck of dust in the wind:
One more painful portion:
My heart, my prayers, and my condolences to the Dzukogi family.
Have you ever felt so hurt that your whole body and mind suffer? Have you ever bruised so much that all your insides feel like they weigh a ton? Have you ever felt such a loss that your soul, your whole inner core cannot breathe, speak, live? These feelings are what Your Crib, My Qibla brings. These feelings are what this poetry collection carries, so deep and profound that the reader stays breathless, speechless, and in tears.
Your Crib, My Qibla is an experience of loss and suffering. A hard suffering one only feels when the beloved one is lost. And in my mind, the biggest loss one can ever experience in life is a loss of a child. My stomach was twisting and turning with each poem I read, with each line, each word. I felt a big lump in my throat and tears coming down my cheeks seeing (and feeling) so much pain, sadness, and grief in these poems. These words are so beautifully worded and painful; it must have been tremendous labour to give birth to such expressive stories and emotions while experiencing such excruciating situation (I can only imagine it).
The second part of the collection, in my opinion, bears deeper feelings and thoughts, as we get to see the imaginary conversation and exchange of impressions between the father and his lost girl.
I will share the poem that made me feel like a speck of dust in the wind:
The Breadth of a Butterfly
On Friday, her mother called to say Baha is ill.
Saturday, he was back in Minna, where
hospitals are places of hostilities. Hours before the doctor
came, nurses with their swollen eyes
looked for Baha's collapsed veins,
her eyes like light bulbs right after a power-cut
flicker back into darkness.
She is pale, her mother said. No madam she is not,
let us do our job.
But their job is to fail at doing their jobs.
Seated on a wooden bench in the waiting hall,
crammed with smell of blood and iodine
aging inside dumpsters, he recites all the prayers
his mother put into his mouth as a child. The cannula
after hours of looking for her veins
now hangs loosely on the side of her brow.
In his hands he transported her from lab to lab
for blood tests, until finally in a ward
they were given a bed. As her cry grew alongside the discomfort
in her body. His worries flock
in the air as he listens, wishing the pain was a pill
he could swallow on her behalf. His butterfly-
child is still colorful but unable to fly.
Because he doesn't like to drown in regrets, he pictures the flower
her mother planted into her hair.
One more painful portion:
If silence were a language prancing
out of a shadow's mouth, what will be heard
in your muffled prayers, anointed
with a thing of your ire, I know you often blame yourself,
but death wasn't in your breast milk
nor inside anything you fed me.
You wonder if God hears your voice,
Ummi, I hear you.
My heart, my prayers, and my condolences to the Dzukogi family.
hopper's review
challenging
emotional
hopeful
inspiring
reflective
sad
medium-paced
4.25
a beautiful exploration of loss, grief, and life of the living after our loved ones have moved on. beautiful use of the text and spacing. a must for all poetry-connoisseurs
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