Let Me Tell You This E-Book

Nadine Aisha Jassat

• Herausgeber: 404 Ink
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Seitenzahl: 47

Beschreibung

Let Me Tell You This is a vital exploration of racism, gender-based violence, and the sustaining, restorative bonds between women, told with searing precision and intelligent lyricism. Nadine takes you on a journey exploring heritage, connection, and speaking out. These poems demonstrate the power of heart and voice, and will stay with readers long after the last page.

Leseprobe

Praise for Let Me Tell You This & Nadine Aisha Jassat

‘A punchy, powerful debut collection that investigates what it means to be of dual heritage. The poems capture with real panache the secret lives of women, and they’re poignant, too.’ – Jackie Kay (The Adoption Papers, Trumpet, Fiere)

‘Nadine is a writer of extraordinary talent whose graceful, honest words somehow hit you with all the force of a sucker punch. I felt read by this collection. Nadine excavates a certain trauma and pain that lies latent in the experiences of so many women with breathtaking precision and care, lifting our voices and tenderly giving weight to our buried truths. If you read one poetry collection this year, let it be this.’

– Sabeena Akhtar (Cut from the Same Cloth)

‘I adore the wise yet searching words of Nadine Aisha Jassat, she masterfully evokes the often beautiful, sometimes painful specificity of her mixed heritage whilst invoking the universality of being a woman looking for answers to questions that shouldn’t need to be asked.’

– Sabrina Mahfouz (How You Might Know Me)

‘I really like Nadine’s poetry. A joy both live and on the page. I love the way Nadine plays with voice and layering in her poetry. Super.’ – Hollie McNish (Plum)

‘Jassat’s poems crackle with anger and joy, unafraid to take on complex subjects or to revel in the raw simplicity of emotion. It’s rare that a debut poetry collection feels this assured.’

– DIVA magazine

‘Nadine Aisha Jassat captures the nuances and complexities of mother/daughter relationships so beautifully in this collection. Her poetry is a vivid exploration of what it means to be somewhere in the inbetween, and how we make homes in the stories that anchor us. Her voice is extraordinary and fearless and compelling, a must read.’

– Shagufta K Iqbal ( Jam is for Girls)

‘A dazzling and deft debut collection that will carousel around the psyche for many moons. These poems ooze into you, into readers of every ilk, asking worthy questions of themselves and the world beyond – here be words lighting fuses.’

– Michael Pedersen (Oyster)

‘An important collection of poems, incisive, delicate and precise, as it interrogates the trauma of systemic and every day racism. Jassat is unflinching as she delivers lyrical gut punches that stay with you for days.’

– Nikesh Shukla (The One Who Wrote Destiny)

‘There is so much beauty and truth in these verses … The book itself is a journey, an exploration, an invitation even, to reflect on the way we navigate this patriarchal, racist, postcolonial world.’

– Zeba Talkhani (My Past is a Foreign Country)

‘Have you read Nadine Aisha? If not, you’re seriously missing out. She kicks serious arse.’

– Kirsty Logan (The Gracekeepers)

Let Me Tell You This

NADINE AISHA JASSAT

Contents

Let Me Tell You This

Life in the UK

Third Generation

The Old Codgers

My Three Earliest Memories of My Father

Paki Hands

Holiday Snaps

Committee Meeting

Built to Last

Conversations As Girls

Things I Will Tell My Daughter

I’m Not Racist, I’ve Got a Mixed Race Kid

Or,

Scot-Mid

Mother

Mother’s Day

Inheritance

Threads

After

Auntie

The Gift

Girl Time

Braids

Embroideries

Sam

Hopscotch

Coin Toss

Sophie

Bite

Inbetween Tales

Established 1978

The Archivist

The Years

Let Me Tell You

29

Chorus

Glossary

Notes

Acknowledgements

About the Author

About the Publisher

Copyright

‘I will have my voice... I will overcome...’

Gloria Anzaldúa, How to Tame a Wild Tongue

hands

Life in the UK

with thanks to Talat Yaqoob

You keep your head down, frown

and don’t say anything

while the man on the tube

places his gaze on you

like stones:

your hands, your child, your language,

your clothes

mustn’t grumble

as your colleagues joke,

their mouths laughing fake accents

(which keep yours shut) they boast

about their Indian on a Friday night,

drink from yellow and purple mugs, and you

keep out of sight

when the country is reeling,

and you, too, are grieving

yet asked to apologise

by politicians in suits who tighten their ties

with one hand, the other

gripping a pen which hovers and signs

an X over your headscarf, over your mother

tongue, and you

don’t say anything,

you know if you try, they’ll only Prevent you

yet, when you step outside,

the kids

at the back of the bus,

street corner, shop door and school

call you Paki cunt, Muslim bitch, terrorist, cruel

tea is served, pale brown and well brewed

steam rising up to heaven

whether thrown down your back

or steeping, gently,

beside your prayer mat.

Third Generation

After Langston Hughes’ ‘Cross’

My old man’s a brown old man,

and my old mother’s white.

When they ask if he’s from Pakistan,

I’m told to be polite.

When they say she’s not my Mother,

I say to me we look the same,

and when they tell me to be ashamed of them,

I say I have two worlds to gain.

My Bali wants a suburban house

to prove himself to you,

and if my Ma ever left that house

you’d condemn him for that too.

I grew myself from both of them

each bone, each nail, each tooth.

I wonder how my children will grow,

under the shadow of this roof?

The Old Codgers

My parents’ mouths pull at the corners of my mine,

a tug I’ll share with yours if I try sing to their tune.

My father’s is a dance;

of Hindi-meets-Shona-meets-Gujarati-meets-Afrikaans,

where a woman is a honey, a child a lytie

and heaven help you if you hear voetsak, cutri, or woe.