Review: House of Bees reviewed by Grace Wells for Poetry Ireland Review 104 (October 2011)
...you’re clumsy and you’re of little use.
You’re just like your dad you deserve the abuse.
Just like your parents deserve the excuse to the neighbour the preacher and the schoolteacher.
It really was nothing at all. I just bumped into wall after wall, after wall.
Murray explores his material in a variety of different ways, some more successful than others. In ‘House of Bees’, ‘A Love Letter for The Queen of Wasps’ and ‘The Drone That Got Away’, Murray dives deep into a landscape of personal myth and bee metaphor that is quite difficult to follow. In ‘The Looking Glass’, characters from children’s literature seem to be gratuitously imprisoned within a hellish adult world, where among other things, the Mad Hatter brings Alice ‘dead flowers / then rapes her for hours’. A number of poems like ‘An Irish Thing’ and ‘A Christmas Poem for A’ help maintain a sense of menace, but rather straggle along without really pulling their weight. In ‘Chronic Anxiety Jazz Solo’, numbers one to four, Murray takes a cue straight from Dave Lordan’s ‘The Methods of the Enlightenment’ and offers up a few of those state- of-the-art, rambling stream of conscious diatribes that some people think can be published under the title of poetry.
...you’re clumsy and you’re of little use.
You’re just like your dad you deserve the abuse.
Just like your parents deserve the excuse to the neighbour the preacher and the schoolteacher.
It really was nothing at all. I just bumped into wall after wall, after wall.
There are other children in this world, children that appear in ‘Memoirs of Woman’s Aid’, children the ‘divorce courts refused / invincible, brazen and highly amused by our accents’. And children like Tammy, ‘braless and brainless and breathless and only thirteen’, (from ‘Tammy: Love in a Children’s Home’), who has no choice but to grow up to become ‘Tammy on the Footbridge’:
Missing two teeth
fishnets torn on turkey-thighs.
Limping in high heels like Bambi on ice.
Stitches in her lip
a plaster on her swollen left eye.
She tells me her second child has been taken from her
placed in a House of Bees like the one we once shared.
Though Tammy is caught in the grip of addiction, she at least has fared better than the ‘you’ addressed in ‘Adagio for Screams’ who is
...locked in some place where you are twelve again and your Mother stands dressed to the nines on the Dock Road
pimping your ten-year-old brother, dressed as a girl
to men made of whispers and spit.
Murray can’t save these children and the adults they become, but his words, his plain speech, and his gift of tongues, catch them and offer a form of appalling redemption. And Murray knows that sometimes that’s the only kind of redemption there is.
The book is held together by the excellent poem series ‘Son of a Goat...’ Parts 1-3, a distilled novel that moves through the different phases of Murray’s life, so that by Part 2, toward the centre of the collection, the narrator has ‘Pulled plastic bags over my own skull, filled them with puke and tears / Felt needles in my arms, found a treasure hunt of little brown bottles / with my very own name on them’. Towards the end of the book, in the fantastic ‘Son of a Goat... Part 3’, Murray meets a girl, takes the black bag off his head, and settles down, only to recreate his earlier nightmares. There’s such wisdom and honesty here that it’s impossible not to be entirely seduced. This is stunning poetry; it descends the dark fathoms only to pull us up airless, offering small flashes of surface grace before we’re hauled back down for more.
Murray has a dramatist’s discipline; he creates the maximum impact with the minimum words. Chiefly he employs a sparse, documentary style reminiscent of Raymond Carver and Charles Bukowski. Yet many of his poems are lit with a lyrical dynamism entirely Murray’s own. House of Bees proves Stephan Murray a writer of extraordinary powers, who, with this material off his chest, could go on to do anything – though it will be hard for him to match the impact of what is achieved here.