Book Review: ‘No Walk in the Park’ by Jemma Chawla
Written by Sophia-Maria Nicolopoulos
On a rainy January morning, I came across Jemma’s writing prompts on Instagram, and we instantly connected by a shared love for poetry that is honest, emotional and tackles heavily controversial social issues like depression, grief, and motherhood in crisis. Because of her, I have written one of my most favourite poems which Rebecca has chosen for the 2022 Autumn anthology too (you can ask me later, and I’ll tell you about it, but that’s not the point of this introduction, the point is to show you just how much respect and appreciation I have for Jemma’s bright mind and spirit.)
Her first poetry chapbook, No Walk in the park, consists of a series of poems flirting with prose. It’s an unapologetic ode to being a young mom in the 21st century—often you get to leave behind your own self for the sake of your children, to meet new obligations and to forget your past priorities, setting new ones, bolder ones, things you might never expect of you. Truth is, people grow, we grow, and it’s an ugly truth that most of us tend to avoid thinking about. Jemma has written 100 pages of poetry that hits the nerve, right where it hurts, reminding women that when they’re mothers, they’re mothers in crisis, always, irrevocably, and this is also why you fall in love with the M-shoes you have to fill in.
She confesses in ‘Guilt,’
It’s Mother’s Day I tell them
So I sip fresh coffee alone
Swallowing guilt again
Just today it’s piping hot
When she earlier says in ‘Of All the Things I Left Behind’ that:
Of course, I expected change, we couldn’t do it all
could we… could we? The call to sacrifice things that we loved was willingly accepted, so we made space, we changed pace, I smiled and cried with this same face,
yet I just struggled to recognise myself, and, even now,
I still search for who I left behind,
I’m awed by how the poet combines the elegant spontaneity and the deep conflicted feelings of shame, guilt, remorse, and glorious acceptance of this new life. A life which a woman is called to change thoroughly to accommodate the needs of those around her.
One of my favourite poems is ‘Unearthed,’
My priorities were left somewhere, maybe they’re
piled up high in the barely-touched book pile […]
I will prioritise the gardening again, I’ll dig deeper,
plant more seeds, nurture, care for and unearth what’s blooming within me…”
The profound reality of setting someone else’s priorities above yours, it hurts, but it’s the ultimate proof of unselfish love, right?
At the same time, Chawla actively self-questions and doubts the practicality of the role mothers must fill. This is further discussed in ‘One Day at a Time.’ She writes,
Trapped in a perpetual countdown,
internal noise screams beneath
an external silence that smiles politely
One day at a time
they said
Torture, with no end in sight
I left unsaid
and she takes it a step further by addressing the strength of the family unity bond in ‘Correlation,’
The us that would be tested, but not divided.
Our unit grew, now sharing love between two tiny amalgamations of you and I.
We’re not trying to calculate or prove the unique
formula; we just know it equates to what matters.
This is high-quality sensible poetry, meaning that the poet is actively wondering what is it that truly matters, being the perfect mom, companion, wife, friend or just being there to support, console, help, take forward and flourish? And then, she takes it a step further by actively trying to find ways to fix the gaps, mend the holes a sudden change of life can live to you.
Chawla’s sensitive disposition towards motherhood and the family unit is extremely heartfelt and touching, especially when she talks about the nature of love for one’s children and even, love for the family values per se. She praises fatherhood and the ability to watch your child grow, even if things constantly evolve, and you’ll never get used to it—this chapbook is proof that motherhood is multidimensional, exciting but equally awe-inspiring.
In ‘Tides Turn’ she writes,
Your birth --
autumn’s welcomed
fall, descended into
unknown waters, sinking in red
rivers
I wake
helpless tides turn with bobbling hope
finally submerged in
calms seas as I
hold you
And in ‘Mother’s love In Metaphors’ she’s disarmingly sweet and caring,
Invisible. It birthed alongside you, an extra placenta […]
Fluid. Riding the ever-changing waves, clinging on […]
Stretched. But just before it tears, folded back up […]
Bittersweet. Bite into a peach, not knowing how to handle both sweet and sour […]
Shared. Hand-me-down jumper, worn with love [..]
All those everyday metaphors, mixed with references to the physical condition of labour and birth, unashamedly feminine, defiantly poetic—Jemma Chawla delivers the type of poetry that children would love to have as a gift by their mothers, the type of poetry that shares the values of compassion, connection, and companionship among mothers worldwide.
She has a comedic steak too, especially when she recounts her daily experiences as a mom sending her children to school. In ‘Hallway Show’ she concludes, water bottles at the ready/ face mask, bags, let’s go!/ Wait… I think I need the loo/My school-run morning woe.
Jemma Chawla has managed to sow the seeds to a bright writing journey of truths and dares, of sensibility and compassion in poetry, as not many contemporary poets have. Her poetry makes you turn pages, feel more, and laugh too when needed. She can elevate motherhood into something higher, then question it, then elevate it again to an even higher position, if that could ever be. She’s a new, truthful, and lovable voice that has many more to say, many more to share, and we’re keen to listen.
SOPHIA-MARIA NICOLOPOULOS is a Content and Publishing Editor from Greece. She's also an aspiring writer and poet. She chooses to see her writing as the kind Ophelia would write had she navigated a world of boundless horror. She’s currently writing and editing a series of folklore horror short stories and her first chapbook. In her free time, she removes cat hair from her clothes.
We buy all the books we review because we believe poets need to be paid for their works.