I look along my poetry collection needing something I can’t quite define in the same way one sometimes has a desire for a taste: something different, something exotic; a drink? And then I find “The Stinking Rose”, a beautiful, exotic and highly original collection of poems by multi-award winning poet Sujata Bhatt. It was published in 1995, (can it be that long ago?), and is one of six collections published so far by Carcanet.
Now it’s on its way to my bedside table and will take up residence there for about three months. Here, for an example of that difference, are the opening few lines from the title poem:
The Stinking Rose
Everything I want to say is
in that name
for these cloves of garlic-they shine
like pearls still warm from a woman’s neck.
My fingernail nudges and nicks
the smell open, a round smell
that spirals up. Are you hungry?
Now it’s on its way to my bedside table and will take up residence there for about three months. Here, for an example of that difference, are the opening few lines from the title poem:
The Stinking Rose
Everything I want to say is
in that name
for these cloves of garlic-they shine
like pearls still warm from a woman’s neck.
My fingernail nudges and nicks
the smell open, a round smell
that spirals up. Are you hungry?
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