{"id":12142,"date":"2025-02-03T11:26:07","date_gmt":"2025-02-03T11:26:07","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.therialto.co.uk\/pages\/?p=12142"},"modified":"2025-09-01T09:11:27","modified_gmt":"2025-09-01T09:11:27","slug":"rialto-102-esther-morgan-thoughts-on-midsummer","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.therialto.co.uk\/pages\/2025\/02\/03\/rialto-102-esther-morgan-thoughts-on-midsummer\/","title":{"rendered":"Rialto 102: Esther Morgan Thoughts on \u2018Midsummer\u2019"},"content":{"rendered":"

MIDSUMMER<\/strong><\/p>\n

my boyfriend calls me a clock-watching fuck<\/em>
\nwhat can I say, I learn to love my jailers<\/p>\n

he comes over, we eat: fries, chicken, paratha
\ndrink cokes, too tired to mark the day
\nbesides living through it. he leaves around ten<\/p>\n

I go to the window, yes
\neverything is alive again<\/p>\n

I could read by natural light
\nuntil midnight, if I wanted \u2013<\/p>\n

a dog barks
\nand it sounds like a person, a person calls out hei<\/em>
\nand it sounds like a friend of mine,
\nsomeone plays music like Abba but in Finnish
\nsounds like all of their friends are enjoying it with them<\/p>\n

a sly breeze creaks the door
\nrecalls the pain in my ankle
\nlife\u2019s symptom<\/p>\n

then a pale streak of cloud
\nthat resembles my favourite grandparent drifts by
\nthen a biplane trailing a banner which states:
\nnothing is certain except this!<\/em><\/p>\n

someone in my building is cooking
\nwindows open, sugar wafts upwards
\nI inhale<\/p>\n

perhaps pancakes, waffles or French toast
\nperhaps something delicious and unknown to me<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Iona Carmine Roisin<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

What struck me about this poem on my initial encounter was a kind of first-draft freshness, a sense that the poet is catching the moment as it happens. There is an immediacy and intimacy to the voice of the poem which made me feel I was in the presence of someone talking directly to me.<\/p>\n

If that were the end of its appeal, however, I wouldn\u2019t have kept going back to the poem to re-read it, or each time I did, found myself moved by a last line not accidentally poignant. It reminded me of the times I\u2019ve brought a poem like this to a class to look at together, only to have it dismissed as \u2018chopped up prose\u2019 or \u2018just a notebook entry\u2019. So I wanted to take a closer look at how this poem is working to see if closer scrutiny bore out my instinct that the poem, while informal, is more skilful than it might first appear.<\/p>\n

For starters there is the title \u2018Midsummer\u2019 with its heightened sense of significance suggestive of ancient ritual, magic even. This is immediately undercut by the boyfriend\u2019s casual insult in the first line that the narrator is \u2018a clock-watching fuck\u2019. This jolts us out of any mystical mood the title might have put us in. This is followed by the word \u2018jailers\u2019 compounding the sense in the first two stanzas of a depressed existence \u2013 the list of the food they consume together is listless \u2013 a prosaic, no-frills repast. No celebration of the solstice here. The couple are tired, not experiencing the day but merely \u2018living through it.\u2019<\/p>\n

In the third stanza, the form shifts with the indented lines, and so too does the mood. Where there were \u2018jailers\u2019 there is now a window, and significantly a \u2018yes\u2019 at the end of the first line. This shift to a more positive view continues in the following lines where possibilities open up. Another list is presented in the fourth stanza, but how different this one is \u2013 instead of the single word flatness of \u2018fries, chicken, paratha\u2026cokes\u2019 this list is generative and generous. Three similes follow in quick succession as one sound leads to another, triggering associations and memories. The opening of the mind and the mood is mirrored by the creative opening of the language.<\/p>\n

The good times don\u2019t last long \u2013 in stanza six the mood shifts again with a reminder of the reality of pain which is described as \u2018life\u2019s symptom\u2019. A window might let the world in but a door can also allow a cold wind to cut through. As with the third and fourth stanzas, the use of indentation helps to signal the shift in tone.<\/p>\n

However, this restless poem then changes tack again when the positive reasserts itself \u2013 there\u2019s the lovely image of a cloud evoking the comforting presence of a \u2018favourite grandparent\u2019 and then that bi-plane trailing a message which seems sent from another existence; \u2018nothing is certain except this\u2019. I confess this is the one moment which took me slightly outside the world of the poem as I wondered whether any bi-plane has ever been the bearer of such a philosophical message but on balance I go with it, its unlikeliness perhaps a deliberate playfulness on the poet\u2019s part.<\/p>\n

In any case I\u2019m soon swept up in the last and loveliest list of the poem when the open window brings in the smell of sweetness, very different from the meal of the first few lines. We\u2019re now in the realm of the possible, the speculative \u2013 \u2018perhaps\u2019, \u2018perhaps\u2019. When the last line lands, its lyricism feels earned to me. It affirms the poem\u2019s sense of possibility that, despite the best efforts of casually abusive partners and dodgy ankles, life can offer things that are \u2018delicious and unknown\u2019. It is a bittersweet ending to a bittersweet poem poised between the dark and the light in life. The poet\u2019s use of form, imagery and light control of material has performed a similarly delicate balance throughout \u2013 which is not as easy as it looks.<\/p>\n

Esther Morgan<\/em><\/p>\n

\n

IONA CARMINE ROISIN<\/strong> is a British visual artist and poet based in Helsinki.Video works have been screened at festivals internationally and poems have been published in Propel Magazine, Fourteen Poems, Tuli&Savu, Stone of Madness, Iona<\/em> is a member of the Trans publishing collective Almanac Press and a co-founder of Trans Library Helsinki.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

MIDSUMMER my boyfriend calls me a clock-watching fuck what can I say, I learn to love my jailers he comes over, we eat: fries, chicken, paratha drink cokes, too tired to mark the day besides living through it. he leaves around ten I go to the window, yes everything is alive again I could read […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":6,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[204],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-12142","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.therialto.co.uk\/pages\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12142","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.therialto.co.uk\/pages\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.therialto.co.uk\/pages\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.therialto.co.uk\/pages\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/6"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.therialto.co.uk\/pages\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=12142"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.therialto.co.uk\/pages\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12142\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":12143,"href":"https:\/\/www.therialto.co.uk\/pages\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12142\/revisions\/12143"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.therialto.co.uk\/pages\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=12142"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.therialto.co.uk\/pages\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=12142"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.therialto.co.uk\/pages\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=12142"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}