TIM CUMMING: THE RUMOUR
4b Tremayne Close
UK ISBN 1 900152 95 9
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This page last updated: 11th December 2007.
|TIM CUMMING: THE RUMOUR|
Tim Cumming's collection contains some 50 poems, many of a personal and intimate nature. The language is fast moving, sometimes hard to pin down and often the poems have a surreal flavour. The imagery also often has an unusual impact. In DAYS for example we have
Days that resembled the back of a clock or a man smoking cigarettes with a milky eyeand
Days that glowed like the end of a cigarette, that hung like a favourite jacket across your shoulders, down your arms.In some poems the images appear to be somewhat unrelated and elusive with apparently disconnected lines giving the poem as a whole the quality of renga.
Poems often show disenchantment and alienation as in ALMOST HUMAN or THE LONG SPIN:
He rang to say he'd be late, then never, the sound of his voice not like his, but almost human like a tarnished mirror with a face in it, its gaze clear but not cold, more like a feeling that's been there too long, like too much silence.HOME TRUTHS, about the break up of a relationship is more concrete than many poems. In SEPTEMBER SONNETS, a sequence of eight, the narrative stops and starts life puff of smoke blowing in the wind and throughout there is again an undercurrent of alienation, a world filled with a bleak uncertainty. This is an excerpt from the last of the sequence:
... At the corner of Stamford Street on the steps of the Schiller International University A pigeon fell dead at my feet, the events of the day returned to their houses, the unthinkable in confession, the crowded trains, postcards from abroad, raised armies, fear of attack the endless distances in small spaces, the high altitude at ground zero.A poem I have more empathy with is PUNCTUATION, about the experience of parenthood. This is written in a more conventional style, it begins
It was the month her teeth came through, the first words sinking their foundations. I'd wake in the night, dream images billowing like air bags, the brass plate of a hangover bolted against my temple.with the concluding lines:
... The need for sleep twisted through us like weather extremes and broke off the hands of the clocks. Who knows how long I spent gazing into her fiery eye, the pin point of the turning worldThis is a collection I did not feel entirely comfortable with, but is certainly interesting and thought provoking and Tim Cumming's use of language is impressive.
|reviewer: Ron Woollard.|