Author: Casey Morris. Born and raised in Texas, Casey Morris studied literature, philosophy, and ancient Greek at St. John’s College in Annapolis, Maryland. He loves reading and writing about literature, especially poetry old and new. He is also a fan of historical fiction, documentaries, and shoegaze.

One of the pleasures of poetry is recollecting the past and giving memories their due, however faded or keen they may be. The present, in all its meandering variety, likewise offers fertile material for the poet. But is it possible to explore both? Fusing past and present into a cohesive whole is what Hollie McNish achieves in her third poetry collection, “Plum.” Published in 2017 by Picador Poetry, McNish weaves together poems about childhood through to her adolescent and young adult years. By the book’s end, we edge ever closer to the present in poems written near the cusp of middle age. In “Plum,” this chronological progression is mirrored by a thematic progression. McNish’s earliest poems celebrate the wild vagaries of childhood before evolving into reflections on teenage life, puberty, sex, and her first job. Another stylistic and topical shift occurs as McNish enters young adulthood, with poems about university life, relationships, and travel abroad. The collection’s final pieces confront the present, which for McNish is a blend of parenting, family life, the loss of loved ones, and balancing priorities. An interesting feature of the book is that McNish includes poems actually written during her formative years to complement and add context to the early sections. McNish’s primarily lyrical, free-verse style is at times unpredictable and performative, while in other poems more restrained with the use of repetition, meter, and rhyme. To unravel the many layers of “Plum,” it is best to begin with her childhood and the formation of her identity.

The collection starts with two poems juxtaposed together: “How The World Should Be” (written at age 8) and “Dandelions” (written at age 30). In the first, a young McNish reflects after a “… school litter picking trip.” She sees “meadows yellow, brown and green./ Rainbows in the sky./ No litter on the grass or fields./ Butterflies flutter by./ River water sparkly clean./ No pollution in the air.” Images here are of a pristine world, litter-free and maintained by the poet and others. Even in her childhood, McNish shows the confidence and polish needed for the use of alternating rhymes. This small detail adds both music and resonance to the piece. But it quickly ends with the lines: “That’s how the world should be. / So try to take more care.” The inclusion of this juvenile poem is then explained by the following, more mature “Dandelions.” In this second piece, McNish expands on her childhood poem with the emotional depth only age and experience bring. “Dandelions” is cited in full below:

When it all seems too much

And I wonder why we’re here

And I think about the sun

And I wonder why it’s there

And my daughter points to space

And the emptiness upsets me

And I lament my lack of god

And I wish that one would find me

And I worry what is out there

And I wonder what the point is

And I panic about death

And I panic it’s all pointless

And I wonder when space stops

And what the fuck we’re on this rock for

I think of strawberries in the summer

Firmed and ripe and juicy

And how perfectly dandelion seeds

Are made to helicopter breezes

Procreating across fields

And I remind myself

This is not all about you, hollie

To the memory of a school trip, McNish adds a range of thoughts and emotions. The poem opens with a rush of existential dread and confusion. Thoughts about worldly existence soon evolve to angst about the “emptiness” of space, a “lack of god,” and the seeming pointlessness of life and death. This spiralling train of thought is broken by the next stanza. In a return to childhood memories, the images here are an obvious counterpoint to the first: The warmth of summer, succulence of ripened fruit, and dandelion seeds “procreating across fields” all contribute to a sense of togetherness, of cosmic order and truth. Although not a resolution of the existential fears posed before, the second stanza at least offers a different perspective. This is a perspective McNish seems already familiar with, as she concludes “… I remind myself/ this is not all about you, hollie.”  It is not by asking unanswerable questions about the universe that we find order and truth. It is, perhaps, by preserving both our lives and relationships with others. By doing so, we reconcile our existence with the whole. This perspective, then, is the search and building of identity, of the unique self. It is also the balancing of the self with loved ones, friends, and everyone else. By juxtaposing poems from her childhood and adulthood, McNish shows us that discovering oneself and others is a lifelong journey and is, possibly, life itself.

This perspective is amplified in subsequent sections of “Plum,” in which McNish throws us into the foray of her teenage years and young adulthood. In “Cold” (written aged 13), McNish reflects on her experiences with a young “lad” she dated as a teen. While under the pressures of her changing body, feelings, and expectations around dating, the poet’s then-boyfriend called her an “ice queen.” Being called cold, especially in regards to displaying affection, had a lasting impact on McNish. The poem illustrates this to great effect:

I am an ice cube,

I am new lying snow,

I fall into my angel

And I’m never gonna go.

I”m winter waters,

Below the frozen lake

I’m hail and I’m sleet.

I am the first snowflake.

I am a tub of ice cream

Waiting frosty to be sold.

I am a carving chipped from ice.

Basically, I’m cold.

In the poem’s preface, she recounts how it was not until years later that she felt “… love had finally melted me.” This melting, however, seems to have been a long thaw. Moving from the self-centeredness of childhood to navigating the new social pressures of adolescence and dating takes years to happen. And, at first, it can make anyone freeze. For McNish, this freezing or coldness was initially an unease and inexperience with dating. By the time she wrote “Cold,” this feeling morphed into a self-critical response to her boyfriend’s words. In its array of metaphors (winter waters, snowflakes, ice cream, etc), the poem simultaneously implies her strong awareness of her boyfriend’s perspective, of meeting these new expectations, and of preserving herself. All of which provokes this freezing response: “I am an ice cube.” Although singular in its focus and imagery, “Cold” shows the expansion of the self-rising from childhood into the more complex social dynamics of adolescence.

The complexity increases more when McNish gets her first job. “Training Day At Boots The Chemist” humorously recounts job training with three school friends. The process seems easy, as McNish and her friends first learn about “…health and safety/ canteen procedure/ warehouse refill” and “shelf stacking.” The stakes get higher, though, when McNish learns how to handle her “… reaction to customers/ who bought ‘embarrassing personal items.’” An image of McNish laughing at her friend as the manager beeps “embarrassing” items through the till is quickly eclipsed by the poem’s final image. McNish writes “revenge came my first working week” when she helped her teacher who “bought a fifty-pack of extra durables…” and “… two clearblue baby tests.” She then concludes “I’m still stunned miss didn’t go to someone else’s till instead.” Full of sharp images and enjambed lines, “Training Day At Boots The Chemist” is a fast, fun read that reaffirms the poet’s personal development. What seems like an opportunity for easy money and to laugh with friends is actually a serious responsibility. The poet’s surprise at seeing “miss” outside of school and at handling her sensitive items reveals an uncomfortable realization: teachers, managers, and everyone else have both public and personal lives. They dream, cry, fantasize, and are sexually active just like her and her friends. This realization leaves her “stunned,” a feeling emphasized by the fact that the final line stands alone. The poet’s growth here reaches a new height. She acquires responsibility and a broader lens by venturing into a more mature domain.

Adulthood is an adventure for everyone, especially for McNish as she describes it in “Because That’s What You Do.” This is one of my favourite poems in “Plum,” as it shows McNish’s masterful control over both form and content. In a blunt, succinct style and tone, this poem retells a conversation McNish had with an unidentified woman while at a wedding. By implication, this woman is likely a family member (perhaps her mother or grandmother). On the surface, the poem seems to focus on family and the ceremony of marriage. But after a few readings, it’s clear this piece is about much more. Here is “Because That’s What You Do” in its entirety:

She said

Move in

Have kids

Get married

Her face looks as resigned as

Getting porridge on a saturday

I circus-train my voice to smile

Overact excitement

Pray the tiger does not feel the flames

Leaping through the ring of fire

Still, she is giggling down the aisle

As they kiss

Make vows

I cry

We laugh

Throw little bits of paper (Biodegradable:

Won’t harm the grass)

First dance

We watch

Get drunk

Great night

Not sure they made it to the bed

Because that’s what you do, she said

Because that’s what you do, she said

An important observation here is the near-complete absence of any pause or end-stopped punctuation whatsoever. The only caesura in this poem occurs in the final two lines, both of which are identical save for the emphasis on “do” in the second. Why? The presentation of this poem as one long, enjambed recollection reflects the continuity of the conversation. But it also demonstrates a lack of closure, of certainty (particularly on the part of McNish). What does the poet feel uncertain about? And how can a wedding, the pinnacle of certitude for many, evoke such a feeling? After reading the first few lines, it is clear the unnamed woman resents her own words and life choices. When listening to her speak, McNish observes “her face as resigned as/ getting porridge on a saturday.” Her defeated tone suggests resentment towards the duties imposed upon her by tradition and social convention. To some members of society who value individual desire over traditional values, suppressing this desire for the sake of tradition, for the “greater good” can perhaps stifle a person and potentially lead to anger and regret. McNish understands this internal conflict, in which she plays her part to “… circus-train my voice to smile/ overact excitement.” The metaphor of the tiger dancing through the ring of fire tells of McNish’s awareness of the tenuous balance between the individual and convention. One wrong move and a permanent sacrifice is made. And even though genuine emotion is depicted in the poem (tears, laughter, and the first dance), the final two lines return to the sense of duty, self-sacrifice, and suppressed desire. Hence, the open, enjambed lines that resist any punctuation, any closure. The poem reads not as a condemnation of marriage or tradition, but as a tacit warning that one’s choices are not always one’s own. It is also a statement that encounters with tradition does not mean yielding to its force. Consequently, we see another major shift in McNish’s sense of self in “Because That’s What You Do.” A stubborn desire for self-determination and authenticity shows the resolve McNish preserves during her journey through adulthood.

Growing up is a distinctly unique experience. No two paths from childhood to adulthood are the same. This makes sweeping characterizations of one journey as “easy” or another as “hard” short-sighted. What can be said is that, like in a novel or a film, each of us has defining moments and experiences after which one is never quite the same. But unlike in art, we cannot fully revisit such moments. The imperfections of memory and the passage of time erode them throughout our lives. We often forget the minor details of what happened or of what was said. But we always remember how we felt. We remember a lesson learned or a new insight gained.

We cherish and protect the essence of memories and defining moments. This is what Hollie McNish accomplishes in “Plum.” In this collection, we read and experience the defining moments for McNish at each stage of her life. From a school trip to her first boyfriend and job and even to attending a wedding as an adult, these experiences vividly detail her life journey. And, more importantly, we learn their significance and how these moments have shaped McNish as a poet. The achievement of “Plum” is its ability to do this with humour, candour, and a sharp-witted tone relatable to the general reader. McNish’s lyrical style is accessible and lends itself to near-constant reinvention. With poems following a strict meter and rhyme scheme to those without any clear pattern, “Plum” may seem a hodge-podge of variation. Instead, it shows how McNish exerts masterful control over language and her subject matter: the content of each poem in “Plum” is expressed, predictably or not, through predetermined forms and stylistic choices. This results in poems that are always resonant, animate, and suited to their purpose. Memory and defining moments are given a living record in “Plum,” one that may urge the reader to ask: What are my defining moments? How will I remember them?

Sources

McNish, Hollie. “Plum.” Picador. 2017.