This second full collection has been eagerly awaited after the success of Clueless Dogs (Seren, 2012) which won Rhian Edwards the 2013 Wales Book of the Year award and was also shortlisted for the Forward first collection prize in 2012.

Edwards is a poet whose work falls into the category of ‘confessional’. Having said that, however, not all of the poems are necessarily personal accounts. As is often the case, it is hard to discern whether some of the characters and stories are purely fictional or based on real individuals known by the author. The absence of notes at the end make this task especially difficult, unless the reader is simply not meant to know. Maybe it is none of our business to know.

The title poem that opens the book begins with the poet associating herself with a house that is on the market. This slightly surrealistic stance is not altogether convincing because the comparison, though witty, is by definition somewhat strained. Edwards “is sold as seen, semi-detached”, and comes with “all mod cons” and an “eye level oven (rarely used)”. She describes herself as “unsuitable for first-time buyers” and adds that there is “no ongoing chain”. There is, however, a serious side to this insofar as Edwards is drawing attention to the absurdity of the ridiculous notion that a woman is a man’s property, a status symbol, to be described by her physical attributes, a commodity that can be bought and sold at whim. The telling line, “the master bedroom needs updating” is a call for a rethink on the nature of human relationships.

Continuing with the estate agent theme, ‘Counting Boards’ is a portrayal of a daughter learning about her father’s profession but it also hints at a difficult relationship in its final stanza:

 

     … we drove

     to your take-ons in silence. I dragged

     the ribbon of the tape measure

     to the corner of each room,

     where you doubted my precision.

     You confided more words to your dictaphone

      than I could receive in a single tax year.

 

A series of ‘magpie poems’ which play on the nursery rhyme associated with the magpie, are written more in sorrow than in joy as they explore the dynamics of a relationship leading through engagement to marriage, domesticity and childbirth.

In ‘The Birds of Rhiannon’ Edwards swaps the magpies for three magical birds straight out of the Mabinogion whose song can wake the dead and lull the living to sleep.  The first part concludes with a return to the Mabinogion and a modern take on the Blodeuwedd myth where a woman made from the flowers of broom, meadowsweet and oak by the magicians Math and Gwydion becomes a “primeval catalogue bride”.

In the second part, we meet work colleagues, family members and other characters, fictional or otherwise, in poetic portraits that are drawn from sharp observation. Among these poems I would single out a moving sequence that documents the experience of living with the pain of arthritis. In ‘The Art of Fastening’ Edwards writes:

 

     These fingers are chopsticks, decrypting

     the riddle of buttoning your school blouse.

     My fumbles fall down the ladder of your shirt,

     trying to remaster the trick of twisting,

     flipping four-eyed moons through a hole.

 

The stand-out poem in this section is ‘Prodigal Audience’, which commemorates the passing of the Embassy cinema, Bridgend (1939-2010) - a brilliant piece of well-researched writing full of sharp observation that hones in on the plight of a building that has lapsed into decay. I also very much enjoyed the poem that opened this part which bears the title ‘It Is’ – a curious celebration in eight couplets of all things mundane such as “the thrill of the toilet effervescing / in a flood of royal blues” and then the final couplet that is, of course, anything but mundane: “the twelve-week scan that testifies / to proof of life.”  Like ‘Prodigal Audience’, this is Edwards at her very best.

The final section explores another series of relationships, some of which are not always complimentary and, at times, close to the bone. To her credit, Edwards tackles difficult, often painful, subjects unflinchingly. She tells it how it is without seeking our sympathy. She challenges the conventional and does so in a way that is by turn full of humour but also loss.    

 

Rhian Edwards, The Estate Agent’s Daughter, Seren, £9.99