Reviews - Zegen de dochter

1.43k reviews for:

Zegen de dochter

Warsan Shire

4.19 AVERAGE

allie_diana's review against another edition

4.0

emotional fast-paced

macknz_p's review against another edition

4.25

emotional reflective fast-paced

dougawells's review against another edition

4.0

Hard to put words to Shire's poetry - intensely beautiful, and devastating.

thecolourblue's review against another edition

4.0

Immigration and refugee status are major themes in this collection from Warsan Shire, along with mother-daughter relationships, sexuality, and sexual assault. The language is straightforward — Shire doesn't hide behind metaphors or flourishes but speaks directly and often viciously (From time to time / mothers in the wild / devour their young, / an appetite. born of / pure, bright need. / Occasionally, / mothers from ordinary / homes, much like our / own, feed on the viscid / shame their daughters / are forced to secrete / from glands formed / in the favor of men.)

But some poems are very very short, and I find these shorter pieces tend to pass me by without much weight.

One thing I did appreciate is that there’s a lot of repetition of key phrases and refrains, which sounds like it would be a bad thing, but I think works quite effectively to tie the book together as one work, rather than a disparate collection of poems.

She knows loss intimately.
A child. relatives avoided,
felt like splintered wood, smelt
of sea water, she reminded them
of thirst, of war.
[...]
Your daughter's face is a small riot,
her hands are a civil war,
she has a refugee camp tucked
behind each ear, her body is a body littered
with ugly things
but God,
doesn't she wear
the world well.

Some favourites from the collection:

Assimiliation
Bless the Qumayo
Filial Cannibalism
Bless Your Ugly Daughter
Midnight at the foreign food aisle (heartbreaking: “Love is not haram but after years of fucking women who are unable to pronouce your name you find yourself totally alone, in the foreign food aisle, beside the tumeric and saffron, remembering your mother's warm, dark hands, prostrating in from of the halal meat, praying in a language you haven't used in years.”)
Hooyo Full of Grace
My Father, The Astronaut
Trichotillomania
Earth of Yosra
Bless the Gun Tossed into a River