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Superlative: Echoes of the Postmodern Condition

by Natalie Kristina Goldstraw

196 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #04-0028; ISBN 1-4120-2104-9; US$19.50, C$21.45, EUR16.00, £11.00

Superlative is a striking, innovative volume of verse. Harsh yet heartfelt, and indicative of the era, this superb collection is of wide themes and appeals to all.

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about the book     about the author     sample excerpts     catalogue info

About the Book Superlative depicts the expectations and uncertainties that are at the forefront of life at the end of the twentieth-century and into the contemporary moment. This impressive volume of verse utilises traditional ideologies and forms and yet, at the same time, it also establishes a unique, postmodern style that is cutting and opinionated - setting the poetry a league ahead of all other modern verse. There is a multitude of unparalleled themes that are confronted in this 100-plus collection of verse, alongside established forms and topics. The list, ranging from life to death and ambition to failure, is too varied and extensive to list in its entirety. Humour is a primary objective of the book and one that is recurrent; one fantastic example, The damage is already done, basks in its own self-glory and is truly postmodern in its awareness of its own aptitude and magnitude. Love poems are prevalent too within the collection, although this is not to say that all of the love poetry is traditional: The last ounce, Modern day love, and Oh don't get pissed again reject the style and content of the canonical love poem for something a little more postmodern. As well as a variation in themes, forms - both traditional and original - also vary to best depict or satirise the situation. For example, A child for the millennium uses free verse and elaborate language to parody its content (that is, the degenerate youth culture). The result is that, ironically, the uneducated youth is unable to comprehend the issues that are in fact so pertinent to their lives, as is the case in 'real' life also. This book is guaranteed to taunt you, haunt you, and leave you questioning your position in the contemporary situations that the author so ingeniously presents.

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About the Author Natalie Kristina Goldstraw was born on August 28th 1977 in Stoke-on-Trent, England, where she lives today with her husband and two children. After years of successful modelling, Natalie married in 1999 and decided to return to university after a five year break from studying 'A' levels. She successfully completed a degree in English in July 2002, obtaining first class honours, while having her two children in two academic years. She is currently completing a PhD in Irish literature at Staffordshire University, and she hopes to have her first novel completed before she emigrates to Canada in 2008. Her ambition is to become a novelist, living in relative obscurity with her family on some remote Canadian ranch.

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Sample Excerpts

Heredity

From the wind I shelter;
Enclosed in this womb of a town,
I am fed by second-hand breath.
Hidden amongst faeces and blood
My lonely heartbeat exists.
I smell the shit and alcohol
That surrounds my world.
Just like my ancestors before me,
We've all ended up in the same gutter:
Where life begins, or ends?

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Check, mate

Do not dwell on situations,
Way beyond your control.
Pondering over every move,
How to fill that little hole.
Be content in knowing,
That fate is on your side.
Don't treat life like a game of chess,
For in the shadows hide;
Our insecurities and our fears,
Though know it not we may.
They wait for you to ponder each move,
And on your vulnerability pray.
Take your time - but not too much -
That's easy for anyone.
You will pay if you are blasé;
If it means that the job's half-done.
Treating life like a board-game,
Is the downfall of men.
Once the king is gone the game's over,
And you can't play life's game again.

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Sleepless nights

Sleepless nights, tantrum tears;
Some of the pleasures over the years.
In the blink of an eye the years that passed,
To see you both grow up so fast.

After first teeth came first steps,
'You can do it!' I hold my breath.
Gathering confidence day by day,
But every step is a step away
From me: your milk, your warmth, your need,
And you: my life, my love, my seed
Have taught me more than any book
From one single smile, one loving look.

Sleepless nights, plenty a year,
Kissing away the nightmare fear
Of monsters, vampires, demons galore,
And devils lurking behind the door.

Sleepless nights, a solitary tear,
That's how I feel now you're not here.
Loneliness comes but is quashed as I hear
You whisper 'I love you mum' in my ear,
Although you're not here.

Sleepless nights, tantrum tears,
What I wouldn't give, to live again those years

With you.

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When today is gone

These precious years we share together will become
Our book of love and rite in thanks for our gift.
We shall battle together never to rift
And recall moments conquered in life's races run.

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From father to son

The fifth-line generation of Kristina,
sometimes with a 'C' but mostly 'K';
passed down with a bank of (cleaner)
than man's) knowledge, like my own mother used to say -
'the hand that rocks the cradle
rules the earth' but this is not so,
as the coarse hand of world domination
is hairy, crushing each soft, pink 'no'

Of a woman's cry - the binaries still haunt them,
even after movements and oppression fought
it still remains that, respectively, man and woman
are active and passive; teacher and taught.
Even Heaney's digging reinforced the dichotomous damage
that he supposedly tried so hard to avoid,
and as repayment this title pays homage
with a subsequent, deliberate void.

The fifth-line generation of Kristina
flexes her muscles and does sincerely say
that she comprehends political concepts, like acquiring dear
Mayfair on Monopoly, without having to pay
while her brother (slightly Oedipal),
crawls, cries, clings
to his mother's legs (to the last, unsociable),
and steers her heart by her apron strings

Yet, regardless of any 'masculine' traits,
let me give you an example - hence
a gendered version of such characteristics makes
physicality become animosity, activity become violence;
it may come as a surprise that it does not torment
her mind, that she cannot lead a nation to peace -
leaving her to care not, perhaps she will never lament
what if women ruled the earth; it would be prettier at least.

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Catalogue Information

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