A unique dilemma arises
while reading a book of poems. Is poetry a work of fiction? Should it receive the same handling and
treatment as prose and drama? This dilemma hits me when I looked at the blurb of
Mariya Sidi’s Theories of Me after finishing the book. The dilemma, though, mine not as critical, is
compounded by the fact that poetry is seen more as a recollection of personal
experiences than as fictional creation. Why people like to look at it this way
is a question that you, the reader, have to answer.
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| Dr Mariya Sidi |
Because I know her, and
I don’t want that knowledge to influence my reading in any way, I told my mind
to never assume I know Mariya at all. To blur the line further, I read the book
backward to defamiliarize and form a bulwark against any possible emergence of
linear meaning. But as poem after poem
flew by, each one confirmed my hunches or washed away my doubts.
Theories of Me is a
fiction work of non-fiction. With clarity and eloquence, the book came as clean
and elegant as possible. This work is not a work inspired by studied reading of
poems bearing thee and thou. It is pure outpouring of personal experiences. Halfway
through I was grappling with what not to say not what to say.
Divided into four parts,
the book contains different but related poems united at the level of texture,
theme and mood. It is characterized in entirety by innocence, human isolation,
emotional pain and nostalgia.
Sidi’s poems invite the
reader into the journey of her growth, from the naïve idealist, trusting and
credulous, to where she came full circle as a matured individual.
 |
| Theories of Me, published 2019 |
The first section of
the collection named Loving contains poems that depict undying love that was
never reciprocated. Throughout the book, there is a constant gap between the
poet and her desire, each episode painfully fuelling her affection. You call it
pain – and what is true love other than pain?
Trying
to stop my heart
From
straying to you
Is
trying to stop my compass from pointing North
I’m
damaging my batteries (p.3)
Lovesick and betrayed,
she fawned and drooled for the love. But the object of her affection remains
unruffled. She is the martyr of love who enters into martyrdom aware of her own
choice; or let’s call it helplessness, because “If I never place my heart in
your hands/I’ll never know what you’ll do with it”. What “he” will do with it
is to test her or break her and he chose the latter.
In awe of her crush, she
is unsure and uncertain. But what she fails to verbalize face-to-face to her
lover she scribbles in verse for the world to see.
At this stage, Sidi is
not only struggling with love but with the uncertainty of her craft. The early
poems are sprinkled with occasional allusions to her doubts. In the meantime the pain of the unrequited
love fueled her creativity. After-all, every cloud has a silver lining.
It’s heartwarming that
each section’s title sits well with the emotion of the content. The Crumbling
stage is the stage that leads to her break and finally realization. She used to
look away at the disappointments her lover caused but here she says it as it is:
I
tried to be honest
You
saw only tactics
I
lowered my defenses,
You
saw a wrong move
I
was giving up
You
smelled defeat (p.36)
She has already lost
trust of the world and did a comeback, coming out wiser and stronger. Clarity
is the arbiter of sophisticated mind. The clarity of her thoughts is just unbelievable.
In Rebirth, Mariya’s
poems deal with self-worth and independence and lost memories. But the
overriding theme permeating the book is human vulnerabilities and the duality of
self. She is one person in private and another in public domain. She takes us
into many private scenes that we never had known, though we are aware of their
existence even within us. She takes us to the sanctorum of her bedtime
loneliness where we meet a lady curling up into her own anguish.
Sidi’s book tugs at the
delicate strings of the heart, gentle pain, uncomfortable pleasure. Pain that
could not hurt. Pleasure that couldn’t console. As a bedtime music addict I
suggest while reading the book you play Dafin So by Nura M Inuwa, Safe by
Westlife, Fall into My Arms by Johan Gloss and Zurfin Ciki by Isa Ayagi.
Mariya comes across as
calm and unassuming but who we meet in these pages is a woman of restless
spirit, calm demeanor sitting atop raging battles.
She
drifts through the walls and doors
Creaking
no floors
Squeaking
no doors
If
she was any more quite
She
would fade into silence
She
was pain
She
was loneliness (p.47)
Loneliness is what happens
when the people around you fail to understand you. Sidi is probably one of
those people who talk to themselves. She is a free spirit trapped in her own
body and circumstances. To realize your own bondage and the attendant
helplessness either troubles the mind or sets it free.
Sidi takes to writing poems
as an outlet to relieve her mind. But poetry only approximates her feelings. The
anguish of unspoken pain can make you but a walking shadow. Speaking up has a
magical healing power. So, you can imagine what would have happened if she did
not write these poems.
Loved/Whole section is
the final stage of her self-discovery. After a long journey, she realized she
didn’t have enough of herself for everyone. I tried as much as possible not to think
of her but I couldn’t help asking “Oh dear Papa God what happens to Mariya”
when I read “Self-Love”.
Enough
strangers have
Found
their way to me
I’m
done with this love charity
I’m
burning these petals…(p.74)
“Please don’t,” I was
about to say this when I realized growth is the fork where you part way with trust
and gullibility. Poems at this stage deal with bits and pieces that make up the
human body complemented with neuroses that drive the motion.
Through the power of
imagery and uncanny revelatory method, the poet shows her resilience and
strength and owns up her flaws and vulnerabilities. We feel for her and relate
with her experience. Pain is the tapestry of our existence. But despite this pain there is lightness in Mariya’s
work. You read the poems and feel refreshed and light. I tried to hate even one
poem. It is heartwarming I failed. Not a single poem is punctuated. Which
suggests unending possibilities… Mariya the medical doctor is different from
Mariya the poet. I am pleasantly disappointed she did not allow the work to get
choked off with medical jargons. Please greet her for me if you see her, shake
her hand for me and buy her drink before we meet.
