The Claims Office
"A brilliant new voice in British poetry whose debut is rich with Welsh wit, lyricism and spirituality. A little gem, full of promise." – Dan Jones, London Evening Standard
The Claims Office is the startlingly good debut poetry collection from Dai George, a young writer originally from Cardiff. His method is mostly straightforward narrative but the textures and imagery are often elaborate and strange. This rich surface is undercut by an interesting attitude: a mix of rebellious energy and unflinching satire. His ‘nature’ poems are often anti-nature poems, for example the darkly funny ‘Narwhal’. There are lively pieces about London and New York: ‘Metroland’ and ‘New York on a Shoestring’; skewed loves poems: ‘Plans with the Unmet Wife’. 'His works about his native Wales alternate between an edgy sarcasm and the elegiac tone of the collection's title poem, placing George very much in the lineage of poets like Duncan Bush, John Ormond, Mike Jenkins, Robert Minhinnick and R.S. Thomas; they display a deep suspicion of authority and a reluctance to conform to nationalist cliché. His spiky and tender character sketch of an old Valleys boxer, points to another influence, Gwyn Thomas. The generous forms and temperament of American poet C.K. Williams is another influence on this promising young author.
Listen to Dai George perform his poem, ‘The George’:
Review from Wales Arts Review
Is it prior to, following or perhaps during, the synchronized tossing of a frisbee in a field or the ‘parties from here to China’, when we have no choice but to pause and think spiritually for a moment? In The Claims Office, the first collection from Welsh youngster Dai George, a bunch of religious poems start off, chronologically fitting, with ‘Distraction During Evensong’, inspired by the Book of Matthew, and that moment in a chapel, possibly a chapel we have visited a hundred times, during a lull in the choir, when we consider things in a different, fresh way; an epiphany, religiously or personally. Or possibly the distraction is a welcomed cure for tediousness.
Resuming voice, the choir whined beyond the lectern,
wishful voices winding through the air
like the first snore of a bedmate, a misunderstanding.
But by the second religious poem, the explicatory Lord is dead. Or is it just His explication which is dead? For in the next sentence He reappears as ‘happy God dabbing his hooves/voluntarily in our pastures’. (It is possible that God in this case represents a human, as the h in ‘his’ is in lower case, but more likely this is simply a break in tradition.) And in the next sentence He is a ‘coexistant moon’, a paganish suggestion which implies that God is different for everyone, which rules out a declaration of Christian faith. And in the third religious poem, George uses seven stanzas to echo the seven days of Creation (resting was as vital to the Creation process as it is to the narrator of this stylishly rhyming poem).
‘New Translation’ also rhymes, and the rhyming is subtle and cool, and at its skilful best:
Thanks to the hacks who still insist
on fixing the smallest glitch in Luke,
the Lord’s Prayer can be gamely glossed
at the tenth line. No more is sin a lake
we’re led to like bullocks on market-day
but rather rum misadventure
No longer does sin mean death, thus being an excuse to sin again (it would not be a surprise if George’s definition of the word rum is the less known and obsolete definition, meaning odd or peculiar, but as both images fit nicely the reader will have to make up his own mind; elsewhere in The Claims Office you will find dated English sitting comfortably with newfangled English). God pops up again in the titular poem, albeit still in an irreligious form. Modern churches might declare themselves non-religious, but God being described as ‘a steel mould into which we pour/molten yearnings’ is unlikely to make the slogan on a church website. Yet, given the fact this transformation of a God from an invisible spirit into something solid and undeniably real, and mightier still than us, not many Christians could sum up their faith any better.
If we sometimes have to think spiritually for a moment, that is quite a moment. Religious poems made up of non-religion is an enigma the reader can wrestle with himself, and there are more poems in which this puzzler crops up.
Aside from these poems, The Claims Office is thematically discordant. This common problem will catch out most poets as inexperienced as George at putting collections together, a skill in itself, but this collection is saved by the consistent good standard of individual poems. It would be naive to say that this is the principal element of poetry’s criterion, but George’s poems go from being a good standard to high standard more often than is common, and this is where rereading is spawned.
‘Oran-Bati’, a contribution to a crypto-zoology project, will bring back the sense of rum misadventure, and ‘The George’, a contribution to a surname project, will doubtless have you thinking about your own family tree (if the absurd number of television programmes relating to this subject have not already doused the passionate flames everyone must, at some point, burn with for this once-fascinating pastime). In ‘Narwhal’, we’re treated to stunning description:
a farce: hoar flukes blotched like moss,
camouflage for her liquid copse where sighting
means predation. She breached, as though kiting
with a sack of spuds; gulped, then a fey flop,
oxygenated, back into the deep.
alongside conversation humour which, unless you are of the type being described, will lighten the mood in time for a potentially overdramatic flourish:
Never trust someone who claims to prefer
animals to humans. You know the type,
some frazzled, cat-kissing petitioner,
whose beaten dogs, like readers’ wives,
pout above her stall.
The final poem takes place in a plane. The narrator is travelling home after a long, long time away. The book, like the impressively mature Dai George’s mind, travels long distances. Here we are reminded of the slow whitening of the narwhal’s ocean and, no doubt, the heat which has made our yearnings molten; though this heat comes in a slightly different shape for each one of us. And then this:
Life-size homes and lakes appear
and with them, ever larger, our paradigm
for future years: a white morning; a terminal
steadying into work, where soon we’ll kiss,
as the ground hunches its back to meet us.
It doesn’t matter whether this is a first collection or not. Many poets will struggle to produce work as exciting as this, no matter what number collection they are on. But the fact that there is certainly more to come from this highly talented poet is the most exciting thing of all. Dai George has got a big part to play in the future of poetry, and well beyond Wales. The Claims Office is where this all starts.
Carl Griffin - Wales arts Review
full review: http://www.walesartsreview.org/the-claims-office-by-dai-george/
Review from Poetry London
The last of these debuts, Dai George’s The Claims Office, is harder to sum up. George is a good image-maker- cicadas hammering ‘like tills’’; a kestrel’s ‘lofty mooch’- and uses a lot of subtle end-rhyme, but doesn’t have such an overt ‘voice’ as the other three. In terms of subject matter, first impressions suggest it will be zeitgeisty too- the blurb makes much of George’s study in the US and we are told the collection is ‘rebellious’ and ‘edgy’, whilst he has appeared in many of the same anthologies and magazines as Amy Key. However, the back cover also holds a clue to George’s essential difference – whilst Key has managed to get a quote from TV presenter Lauren Laverne, George’s is from Rowan Williams. This is, at its heart, a deeply Christian book.
The poet’s Christianity flavours the whole collection – from poems framed as hymns, to love poems that go, via ‘The Lord’s Prayer’, to an interest in Latinate language. In the middle of the book there is also a run of poems explicitly about faith. The best of these is ‘Oran-Bati’, a disturbing poem about doubt that is haunted by ‘the inscrutable rumour of a beast/halfway between monkey and bar’ that ‘baffles love’. It tells us that ‘The Word was not written to accommodate/machines, vaccines’. Though an agnostic tending towards atheism myself, I have always been drawn to poetry that struggles with the big questions of why we are here, what makes us human, Good and Evil. Here George approaches that territory, as he does in ‘Towards the Palatability of Contemporary Faith’, which laughs at attempts to make God safe – to figure Him:
dabbing his hooves
voluntarily in our pastures.
Or God as mild, coexistent moon,
Suggestive of our better moments,
Not a cranky, jealous child king.
Elsewhere ‘Different Shoulders’, about sex outside marriage, fears that God is ‘the peasant who’d see us burn’, and figures flesh as a ‘rogue apocrypha I can’t/ renounce.’ I also loved the sonnet sequence ‘Squander’ – perhaps nodding to Donne’s ‘Holy Sonnets’ or Hopkins’s ‘Terrible Sonnets’ – which looks at the ‘human rat’ and tells us to:
Point it out then, the particular moment
When ingenuity spoiled and our digging,
belching, progress, and breeding went over
to the bad. Whose was the first emission?
Tackling this subject matter means George’s poems have an intriguing tension. There is something weirdly old-fashioned about this book, from the opening poem with its graveyard and lambs, through a disrupted evensong and meditations on monogamy, but at the same time we keep being reminded we’re in the twenty-first century – there are poems about surveillance and even one i.m. Jade Goody. I found the book uneven in places – the latter poem doesn’t quite work, intruding in its own way as much as those it calls ‘jackals’ with its wish to ‘bathe her waning body/in mountain pools’. My attention also drifted during the longer poems of place such as ‘A Clifton Postcode’, ‘Queen’s Lane Approximately’ or ‘New York on a Shoestring’, which seemed overstuffed with description. But if all debuts deserve to be taken seriously these days, this one repays such attention with the seriousness of its own ambition.