Poetry & Prose – 210 pages – my copy (paperback) bought from Oxfam Bookshop in Brighton during June 2012
#54 of 2011-12 / #175 of All Time
- 2 nods out of 5 -
Every once in a while in a book buyer’s life they will come across a golden title. Avid readers will browse the shelves of many book shops, pointing out names to one another that set off the funny bone; but rarely are book titles so instantly eye catching to propel the reader to open the chequebook. This book – Once I Was a Washing Machine – is one such instance when it had to be bought, no matter the content, the reading journey, or the final nod.
So, what is this book all about? As suggested by the heavy wording of the book’s editors – the Federation of Workers Writers – it is a collection of poetry and prose based on the real life experiences of those in the working class in Thatcher’s Britain. And is to be expected by a book published during the 1980s, much are complaints against the Tory government and inequality between the haves and the have nots.
The difference between the working class and other sections of society are continually referred to, in poems such as ‘Class’, and – of course – ‘Mrs Thatcher’. Here are a few sample first lines from poems: ‘I signed on the other day’ (from ‘Tweet Tweet’); ‘It’s all deserted now, redundant empty space. No welcome for the workers here – No welcome for them anywhere. Sold down the line to a giro’ (from ‘Turning the Tide’); ‘Sign on the dole, the queue as long as Sundays’ (from ‘Sign on the Dole’); ‘I am jobless, I am worthless, I am homeless. And you are not’ (from ‘Meat Sandwich’); and the rather gloomy: ‘Mother, you gave me life and rooted me, in the suffocation of a class system’ (from ‘Groping in the Dark’).
All of this – as can be expected – is rather depressing. Even when the class divide is not discussed, we have tales of broken love and families (as seen in the three line poem ‘Wedding Ring’: ‘Our love is like a circle / I turn to you / You turn away’). Much of the poetry is one dimensional; whilst many of the composers appear to be trying too hard with lines of pomposity, as can be found in ‘Our Precious Planet’ and in the words of ‘Tree’: ‘Listen to the whispering source / It spins dialectical cobwebs / Resilient as hawsers / It weaves re-creation / Listen!’
The prose on display (recollections from the past and stories) fare slightly better than the poems. The Worm enjoyed reading ‘Pub Ritual’ and ‘Where do we go from here?’, which notes the experiences of an illiterate man. But the Northern tint – as seen in poem titles such as ‘Barnsley 1984’ – repelled the Worm, rather than welcomed him. The Worm is no “southern fairy”, rather hailing from the westcountry, and therefore finds much of the north-south dialogue/argument rather tedious and tiring. However, there is enough on display to keep the reader interested, especially in a title like ‘An Unemployed Steelworker in the Middle of a Zebra Crossing Stealing A Diamond’ (surely, a contender to become title of the collection!).
As the Worm learnt – much to everyone’s annoyance – the reading aloud of these poems does little to gain applause. Many have not dated well (despite the clear links with today’s government and its blatant lie about us “all being in it together”). This was the Worm’s last read of his third book reading season; the content hardly justified this place as the last book before starting afresh once again. But as earlier noted, the title alone justifies its very presence on this blog and on the shelves of the Worm’s book collection.
Buy it here:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Once-Was-Washing-Machine-Experience/dp/0906411025
