Auguries of a Minor God is a poetry collection that on a linguistic level makes you feel guilty for not realising the potential of the English language. Its first half is composed of five sections, corresponding to the five arrows of Kama with each one touching the human body – either with enchantment or ennui. The second half follows the narrative poem ‘A is for Arabs’, which dazzles us with abecedarian and Fibonacci sequences, while offering an intimate inclusivity into the lives of West fled refugees – a single father and his children. I really can’t help but migrate through every poem, in a tumultuous love affair with Nidhi Zakaria Eipe’s words.
A casual reminder of Max Porter’s linguistic experimentation in Lanny, Eipe’s collection is one that stirs up a structural revolution. I must admit, at first, flicking through the pages I was thinking, ‘not another contemporary poet selling more blank space than talent’, but Eipe surprised me. His language is economical, punching images into your face: “stains like an early bruise”, “anxiety prowled like a tigress”, “slick like newborn spawn”. His Shakespearean confidence of adding new words to the dictionary: “palettebrushwash”, “curlingsmokewisp”, “tantrumthrowntoddler” is enviable. Considering this is Eipe’s debut poetry collection, I think Shakespeare would join me from the grave in giving him a round of applause. But Eipe’s talent doesn’t end there. ‘A Myth of Horses’ is where the line is broken for line breaks. Sometimes comical, sometimes not, Eipe is masterful, each line is meticulously arranged to change the meaning: “Say a queen made love / to a dead horse”, “Say a horse is not a horse but a giant / trap”. Even if you cannot appreciate Eipe’s command on poetry, his running themes of truth, love and wounds are ones to admire.
‘A is for Arabs’ takes the form of a longer narrative poem that unravels the myth of migrant exclusivity and Western perceptions of Islam. We encounter an out of place father, trapped in a white suburbia, by the grief of his wife, by the future of his children. Eipe cleverly colours the father’s immovability with red, yellow and green – should he stay, or should he go? But this isn’t a light-hearted The Clash song. The speakers desire to leave is a light flashing at the edge of a car window. “green says go”, and I feel buckled up beside him, immobileonwheels. Eipe’s language in this poem is seductively sympathetic, fresh, but it progresses into an overplayed string of religious disharmonies that are better left unsaid, poetically speaking – to use Eipe’s words, just “stop stop stop stopstopstopSTOP”.
The love I have for Auguries of a Minor God is not without its caveats. While Eipe has brought poetry into an age of literary enlightenment, the use of line break, sandwiched words, faded words, blank space, economical language, some of the collection falls short. The ordinariness of ‘Innocent’ and ‘Fugue for young & fugitive’ and ‘The unquiet amygdala’ is hard to bare considering the genius of Eipe’s other poems. Despite my ambivalence, Nidhi Zakaria Eipe’s collection is contemporary masterpiece that every poetry lover needs to have in their collection.