Lydia Unsworth's chapbook, Yield, is described as 'mashed together', 'a call-and-response with the Tao Te Ching' and 'a stretch back and forth between, across, and within the texts' written over a period of one month. To me, they felt like streams of consciousness at times, arguments and counter-arguments, whilst also exploring and redefining meaning.
There was a strong call of nature in the pieces, especially in relation to how humans interact with it. For instance, I loved lines such as, 'I want to trample over 7000 hectares of your crops, take what I need,' and 'When I die, leave me in a sun-roofed sinkhole, fondue to your foundations.' The poems are full of need, fervent passion and melancholy. Nature is sometimes 'Up to no good,' or wistful through the eyes of art: 'Stars like gasps of not.' I loved the deep embedded feel of nature amidst the strange pull to city life, and a constant cycle of being drawn back to nature in one way or another: 'Take me to a field of weeds, so that I, too, can untether.'
Relationships were also closely linked with the natural world, mirroring its unyielding power. For instance, in Therefore, Look, she writes, 'Come on, let us foot it out of here together, real as crops, tall grass in our eyes and sails.' There are also darker images linked with the earth and water: 'Drown me in your middle-ground, and, 'I grasp the formless form, that is, the gulf (gulp), that lies (dare I?) between us, and what I want is thick and fast and full of guts and lust and anything congealed enough to be called stuff.' This last line is almost medical and embedded, which brings me onto another thread in Yield: motherhood.
Thoughts on what it means to be a mother seem peppered throughout this pamphlet. From discussing a child in relation to 'Raw leaves... all worryingly wild,' to how Unsworth is 'mud and gory splattered' but gathers up 'her offspring.' In these parts, the very real and difficult aspects of parenting seem to be emphasized. I also felt at points that some of it was a mother talking to her child, almost like a fable on life in poetry form, which gave Yield a tender thread.
The form of writing and Unsworth's style also gave way to the examination of meaning and words. A big concern was focused on being misinterpreted, either intentionally using absurdity and humour, or misunderstood due to others’ interpretations. For example,
'I said it... but I did not say it well,' in relation to legislation, alluding to the mistakes that can be made by those taking your words in the wrong way. Unsworth even offers a summary of herself in one poem: 'I am just a girl who says what she feels, who picks up indiscriminate after-objects on the beach, who still turns her head a touch too quickly if somebody calls her (a) name.'
Amidst all the jarring and fantastic images, the art and nature, the comments on everyday life, one of my favourite lines is, 'Shine a line in every corner of my heart,' which was simple but I think a good reflection of these poems. Underneath and in-between all the words, even the absurd commentary, was a strong sense of heart binding it all together.
To read more and buy a copy of Yield, visit the KFS website
Follow Lydia on Twitter: @lydiowanie