- Publisher: Smith/Doorstop
- Available in: paperback
- ISBN: 9781912196784
- Published: 1st February 2020
Human Tissue was a first stage winner of the Poetry Business International Book and Pamphlet Competition 2019-2020
“There is a genuine pressure of content in the best of these skilfully managed and imaginatively engaged poems. The evidently real life story as it unfolds is quietly told and affecting. We all found it easy to agree that this was an outstanding collection, because of its material, but also because of its openness and artistry. It is a worthy winner and one that many people will engage with and appreciate.” — Neil Astley, Michael Schmidt and Amy Wack
” … a life and death thriller of a poetry book. A gifted poet, Menos writes the kind of English that operates like a surgeon’s knife on its material, with the difference that it has a sure grasp of the metaphorical implications and potential of its subject matter. Her readers will surely be impressed by the eloquence and beauty of her insight.” — Hugo Williams
HUMAN TISSUE because that’s what’s written on the white insulated bags they use to transport organs for transplant. Sometimes HUMAN ORGAN, or ORGAN FOR TRANSPLANT, but mostly HUMAN TISSUE. In blue caps on white. And that’s what this pamphlet is about. When Menos’s son Linus was sixteen he was told he needed a kidney transplant and when he was seventeen, she gave him one of hers.
But this pamphlet is not just about a kidney transplant. It’s also about what we do when bad things happen that we can’t fix, and we really want someone, or something, to swoop in and save the day. It’s about bargaining, and the search for some authority in which to place trust, and it’s about how it is when all available authorities come to seem flimsy and unconvincing.
Linus has an arm cat. It purrs day and night
without stroking. When I cup my hand
over the snaked bulge in his forearm
I feel it hum like a turbine.
Linus’s arm cat has nine lives
of indeterminate length. Its name is turbulence.
We know about turbulence, me and Linus,
we know interruptions to flow, what it is to be
roistered by breakers in a mad sea,
the strange quiet of the eye of the storm,
standing in a hospital corridor, not knowing
where you are, or where you’re going.
And we know reversals, and rejection,
that silent slipping away.
And we know about grief. There are many kinds
and it’s not always a person that dies.
What else do we know? How things pass.
We are both learning about acceptance.