Uneasy Pieces, Nancy CampbellThe jacket is pale greeny blue. Text is white, in a small box outlined in white top right, about two inches down. First the title is in caps, with larger caps starting each word. Immediately below this, and with hardly any space before it, is the author's name in lower case italics. So you don't see this immediately but it is certainly visible and becomes clearer with a little attention. There are three white circles on the jacket, more like white blobs, or filled bubbles. One is left of the title. Two others are much lower down, left of centre. The third bubble is about half the size of the other two.

Guillemot Press, 2022    £8.00

Variations in prose

The title gives a clue: these prose poems are not tidy or settled. Instead they have a fragmentary quality, suited to the restlessness, sickness and travels explored in the poems — the ‘unease’.

There are twelve numbered poems, plus a prelude and coda. Because each one is fully justified in format, it’s too easy to assume all are presented in the same way. What caught my eye on second reading — first as curiosity and then as closer consideration — was precisely how each poem was presented and how Campbell made subtle variations in punctuation.

The opening poem (‘prelude: Somnus’) uses slash indicators ( / and //) in the three prose paragraphs to show — what, exactly? Pauses for breath? Or would these be line breaks if the poem were given a more conventional layout? [The illustrative quotation below should appear fully justified, but depending on your viewing device, probably won’t.]

I was speeding across Europe I was coming to sit on the
blue chair / as you lay sleeping on the blue bed / lay there
behind a curtain with no freedom to rise / unable to speak

The following poem, ‘i | orchard’, a prose poem in traditional format — i.e. just one conventionally punctuated sentence following another, no gaps — suggests a pattern of alternate styles, and is repeated. This is pleasing. The mind seeks out pattern and order.

Then in ‘ Ribbands and Threds’, (an appreciation of Anna Maria van Schurman, a seventeenth-century bibliophile, linguist, and maker of beautiful ribboned bookmarks) there is a further variation. Here the prose is divided by use of a pilcrow (). Yet when I look closely these symbols don’t seem to be, quite, where new paragraphs would start.

Now I notice that each of the four ‘pilcrow’ poems also has a pilcrow at the start of the title. These poems fall outside the numbered sequence; is this part of the ‘unease’ of the title? Or do the pilcrows reflect subtle shifts in the poems — voice, perhaps, or aspect — that have eluded me? There is no Contents list, no other clues.

These poems are a compelling web of complex connections. If this is a code that will take me closer to the heart of what is happening in this uncomfortable yet absorbing world, then I hope to decrypt it.

D. A. Prince