When You Wake, You’ll Think You’re a Theatre Critic by Aaron Kent

The title of Aaron Kent’s second collection, The Working Classic, hints at both wordplay and politics. The term “class-ic” suggests an exploration of working-class identity, while “classic” denotes significant work. A “working classic” could signify an ongoing project or a classic that steps outside conventional norms. Kent’s work defies stereotypes, offering a more nuanced take on working-class poetry.

In a recent interview, Kent discussed his opposition to the “gentrification” of poetry. He resists aligning “truth” and “beauty” in ways that cater to a middle-class lifestyle. His poetry questions these traditions, aiming to offer something more authentic.

One of Kent’s unique strategies involves creating fictional poetry collections and citing them in his epigraphs. Examples include titles like Nature Poetry as a Prize Plea (2020) and Port Talbot Parkway Train Station Toilets (2022). This week’s poem, When you Wake you’ll Believe you are a Theatre Critic, originates from the apocryphal collection, The One and Only Tony Lonely. This imaginary title sounds like a 1950s crooner’s introduction, embodying a sense of male self-pity. Interestingly, Kent himself has experience as a theatre critic, which adds layers to his work.

The first verse dives into what seems like profundity, using imagery of acrobatic vaudeville performers. This sets up a definition of “concentricity” that is both vivid and ironic. The idea of subverting the reader’s expectations is highlighted in a witty note-to-self: “stick a line / like that in a poem and you’ve subverted / any expectation the reader had.”

The second stanza shifts to a more introspective tone, exploring the mental effects of insomnia. The “phantasmagorical museum” serves as a metaphor for the brain’s struggle with sleeplessness, filled with memories and dream-like experiences. This creates a resonant picture of the mind’s restlessness.

The third stanza carries an edgier tone, touching on the desire for “eight or so / millimetres of mercury.” This could be interpreted as a reference to self-harm, given mercury’s various medical applications, including blood pressure testing and skin-whitening.

Kent has expressed admiration for Jeremy Prynne, appreciating poetry that can be enjoyed without full comprehension. In such multivalent poems, pleasure comes from sound, rhythm, syntax, and tone. In this work, the genial and self-quizzical tone balances the complexity of the themes, making the reading experience both challenging and enjoyable.

The final stanza adopts a more confessional tone. The speaker’s contemplation of consuming money to gauge self-loathing turns philosophical, challenging perceptions of wealth as neutral. This introspection is vivid, using specific, sensory language: “humid August drug- / sticky, sweet like liquorice.” The image evokes a visceral reaction, making the theme of self-loathing tangible.

Previously, Kent’s prose poem in the same collection intensifies this feeling with its imagery: “The bridge hangs from the laburnum, their drops a sweet, deadly liquorice.” The laburnum plant, containing the toxin cytisine, introduces an element of danger, contrasting with the sweetness of liquorice. This mix of sensations and implications adds depth to Kent’s subversive exploration of self and society.

In the end, this poem unfolds as a theatrical experience, mirroring a dream state mixed with inertia. The speaker discovers that the energy he feels might actually be his own. Through imagery, irony, and introspection, the divided self is laid bare, inviting readers to engage with its complexity.

Source: The Guardian, Reuters