An Amorous Discourse in the Suburbs of Hell - Deborah Levy

Not my usual discourse at all, after exclusively reading and reviewing over sixty-six works in translation since the start of the year when I reviewed the non-fiction “I Saw a Strange Land” by Arthur Groom first published in 1950, and exclusively reviewing the non-fiction form, I’m putting up a short review of the latest poetry work from Deborah Levy, “An Amorous Discourse in the Suburbs of Hell”. The reason for my diversion? This work I assisted (in my small way) getting into print, so I thought I best read it, then I thought I best make my thoughts public. And do not think that my opinion would be swayed by the fact that I helped fund this work - I'm as honest as...??? Days are too short so I don't know what to write there.....

Deborah Levy was shortlisted for the 2012 Man Booker Prize for her work “Swimming Home”  her bleak work visiting depression, mental illness and broken relationships. Her independently published work, “Black Vodka” a collection of ten short stories addressing the usual human fears as well as…broken relationships.

Her latest publication “An Amorous Discourse in the Suburbs of Hell” is short, running to only 72 pages of poetry, and given some pages contain three lines of poetry, it is one you can easily read in a single sitting.

Containing two sections we have alternating poems by “He”, an unsure accountant, and “She” an angel sent to save him from the suburbs of hell.

He

Let me massage you with flower essence

Let me fry you sardines

Let me kiss your cuts and scratches better

Let me plait your saffron hair

Wings stretched East

To West and West to

East, I welcome the

Gift of your arrival

I think I have been

Waiting all my life

To try out the best

Parts of myself

Touch me.

she

my wings are tinged

with blush

beware

when I weep

there’s no stopping

this stuff

pouring

from the circles

of my soul

and i observe

that my cheeks

now itch with bumps

and welts

                i think

                                it’s

                                                pollution

One of the first obvious themes is that “He” uses capitalisation, “she” all in lower case. He is dominant, purposeful in his delivery, she melancholy and out of place in this earthly mess we have created. “she” is nature, “He” everything we have destroyed, including ourselves. “He” is domineering, “she” assured

He

I need a woman

To live for

Play the piano to

Cook and have babies with

Share a bed

An Address

To measure the sum of my self against

I’m getting on you know

I wake up in the morning

There’s a little pile of hair

On the pillow

A deciduous

I’ll drop my leaves

For you any day

I am here

In all my shedding glory

For you to

Love.

she

you want a woman

to complete

your plan but

it’s not my plan

it’s not my plan to be completed by you

i keep falling

in and out

of myself

just as i fell out of paradise

i like it that way

sometimes i don’t like it that way

for better

or worse

it’s the only way

A rescue from the “Suburbs of Hell” turns into an understanding of male/female relationships, the hell is within, a fall from paradise, does it really exist? Levy deftly gives us two distinct voices which read convincingly as male and female, something I’ve commented on numerous times here as poor examples of women writing as men and men writing as women abound. Here in a small volume we have convincing sketches of male and female, material gain and nature, ownership and freedom, shackled and flying away, trite and celebratory.

Yes a small work, which gives us humour, angst and frustration all within a short page or two. Another master work from a writer who can say so much by saying so little, one of her greatest skills, another publication where the human psyche is consolidated within a few simple words and structures. Thanks to the independent publisher & Other Stories for republishing this enjoyable revised work from 1990.