Paul Liam
Toyin writes with the gusto of Elvis Presley’s steps on a fog lit stage; throbbing the wind, armed with the promise of fire, fun and fierce some baritone nasal volley streaks like thunderstorms in his most pristine element; straddling between high tempo songs matched with Coltrane voices to render an epoch-making artistry to his ever faithful fans. Toyin in this compendium of poems, like clear keen flames, took us in her gondola of anecdotes across hills of metaphors, streams of litotes and searing plains of outbursts to instruct, inspire and give a temperate treatment to the prevailing narratives in our clime. We see our stories in every lacerating page and the motif of consciousness and holding individuals to accountability and introspection.
The overarching emotion in the poem, flints across blue waters, is culture-shock, where, with the blare of a town crier, Toyin spills “the butternut squash grinds me far /the chug of morning trains in my lolling ears/ vertical erect like a constable’s pistol/ the road with long strips into the cerulean sky.” Toyin empathizes with the struggles of immigrants who find it hard adjusting to their new territory but meanders the lonesome calmness with blatant calls to those at home; relaying the ordeals across the verticals.
She also shares the sadness of those whose loved ones were slaughtered by bandits, in the poem “The fire you watered”, where she discourses the deceased in strokes like “a lone body on tarred roads/eyes ripped in the storm of ire/you all were the lamb for slaughter in the abattoir of bigotry /these parvenu holds no requiem for you/ you sit as nodules in our lungs/ grubbing for our collective grunt, stirring discomfort for reminisce. The liabilities of single mothers are captured in “Plantlet in a naked coven”, she gently admonishes those on the path of single motherhood in these lines
…when once four eyes turn two
the light dims
along the curve in the brambles
the glints of mirrors jump at your back
the mute bed is the confidant
tears assailing pink pillows
the cock crows past its curfew
moon dust pales your dreams
in the silhouette rears an error
behind the shadows is hope
grubbing for your chin.
In the title poem, like clear keen flames, Toyin ponders with a huge sense of wistfulness, but still threw some spears of excoriation at the rule for maladministration and impervious disposition to the plight of the people in the poem, Palava, where she opens a register to lodge the transgressions of those stirring the ship of the state to nowhere.
Toyin echoes on mental illnesses and youth disenchantment in “Puff”, and enthuses in these lines : stub your feet against time/ classes are a jaded routine/ the government invests in our idleness/ we lot are on the cusp of rebellion/ against the runts/ but mother thinks otherwise/ the pen is thinner/ the eggs are soaring/ my friend passed out with blunts in his throat/ and the underserved keep building castles by seashores/ but those of patrician air do not care if like cigars/ they burn to the nub now and in the hereafter. The persona in the poem, on love street, bares her feelings in a foretaste of love in the lines, I was your inglenook/waiting to keep you warm/ you do not knock to come in/ I am bright and rasping/ brazen but soothing/ you sit and let me lick you/ till you are refined / in the lush of my glow/but this inglenook is pastel in the snow of your callous eyes/smouldering at the behest of the storm that towed your evaporation.
An upsetting representation of domestic abuse is espoused in the poem, knocked out, the persona in the poem surrenders the pain she felt in the hands of her abuser in these lines: drop me by the bedsteads, fling my nails across the dining/ shear my skin with blade/ cut yourself some more/ steal more funds for your booze/ blame your indiscipline on biology/ arouse yourself with my portraits/ spill to my disgust/ wipe hands on my face/ say the prayers of infidels/ last night was the last straw/ body bags on an ashtray/ the waters are calm tonight/the stars are agile/ beaming coins of rest to this broken scalp.
Toyin affirmed her faith in the sovereign of the universe in the poem, Immortal, where she extolled the graciousness of God and deftly employed metaphors to show gratitude to the maker of the Universe.
In this collection of poems, like clear keen flames, Toyin luminously explores the gradations of migration, the magnitudes of loss, and the coated angles that supplement the notion of dislodgement. We await her next collection in no distant time.