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Eh? You want bodies, blood, sex, gore, damning gods, raw uppercuts? Why, yes. Pooja Mittal Biswas welcomes you into the ring of identity and the hunt for an honest and rapier self. Glove up. 'Confessional poetry can deteriorate into fetishism, in Biswas's hands the first person narrative soars - detailed, raw, palpable, her poems have a sense of immediacy. The collection ends with a transported long poem titled 'madness' that more than hints at the poet's mental state and therapy. Stunned, I found myself anxious for the poet - so human is this book, her hunger and predation included.' - Mani Rao |
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