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A review by seebrandyread
Hands Washing Water by Chris Abani
5.0
Chris Abani started writing works of protest at a very young age. As a result, he was forced to flee his native Nigeria and eventually settle in the US. Hands Washing Water captures much of the refugee spirit of finding identity in many places, struggling to hold on to one's origins across time and distance, and to make peace or at least some sense of the conflicted world around them. But this is only one facet of this innovative and surprising collection. Albani kept me on my toes to adjust to his frequent changes in style and tone that make each poem a new experience.
The first section is fairly tightly centered on place. Most of these poems are titled and written about a specific location. Many of these locations have the common thread of being built with slave labor and/or still bearing the marks of racial divides. Though they may culturally diverse, this chorus of voices can distract from or drown out a seedier past (looking at you, America). Stone and brick imagery begins in this section and continues to ask what constitutes one of these building blocks and what kind of foundation do they build?
The second section had me riveted. Combining historic fact and precedence, Albani wrote an exchange of love letters in verse between Jane, a white Southern woman, and Henrietta (Henri) an emancipated slave who has disguised herself as a man to fight in the Union Army. Part of me balked a bit at the focus on menstruation in some of the poems though I could see the merit of the symbolism of blood alongside the images of battle. Plus, I read an article about how, as a child, Albani traveled with his mother around Nigeria to translate for her as she taught women about birth control. I now want a full length book about Henri and Jane (though maybe not by a straight man) as well as one about Abani's mother. (He did write a novella in verse about her called Daphne's Lot.)
The final section of the book is mainly about language (a critical building block itself). Most of these poems are for and/or about other writers, artists, etc. in conversation with their work and lives. Repetition of words and phrases, the occasional appearance of the Igbo language, and empty space, are a few markers that give the poems rhythm and a flair for the unexpected. One poem consists of a colon and a semi colon in homage to a contemporary composer. As the first section asks what we build our cities with, the third asks what we build our language with, and, once built, how do we use it?
The first section is fairly tightly centered on place. Most of these poems are titled and written about a specific location. Many of these locations have the common thread of being built with slave labor and/or still bearing the marks of racial divides. Though they may culturally diverse, this chorus of voices can distract from or drown out a seedier past (looking at you, America). Stone and brick imagery begins in this section and continues to ask what constitutes one of these building blocks and what kind of foundation do they build?
The second section had me riveted. Combining historic fact and precedence, Albani wrote an exchange of love letters in verse between Jane, a white Southern woman, and Henrietta (Henri) an emancipated slave who has disguised herself as a man to fight in the Union Army. Part of me balked a bit at the focus on menstruation in some of the poems though I could see the merit of the symbolism of blood alongside the images of battle. Plus, I read an article about how, as a child, Albani traveled with his mother around Nigeria to translate for her as she taught women about birth control. I now want a full length book about Henri and Jane (though maybe not by a straight man) as well as one about Abani's mother. (He did write a novella in verse about her called Daphne's Lot.)
The final section of the book is mainly about language (a critical building block itself). Most of these poems are for and/or about other writers, artists, etc. in conversation with their work and lives. Repetition of words and phrases, the occasional appearance of the Igbo language, and empty space, are a few markers that give the poems rhythm and a flair for the unexpected. One poem consists of a colon and a semi colon in homage to a contemporary composer. As the first section asks what we build our cities with, the third asks what we build our language with, and, once built, how do we use it?