IF THERE is one thing that keeps us connected in some way, it’s our tendency to become ill. As a result, there’s a certain comfort that can be derived from reading about others’ experiences – for sick and healthy individuals alike. The Emma Press, an independent, Birmingham-based publisher, released its Anthology of Illness in September. The anthology is a stunning collection of thirty-three poems interspersed with abstract illustrations by the publisher’s founder, Emma Dai’an Wright.
The Emma Press Anthology of Illness
Wright’s vision for rewriting the traditional conventions of the publishing industry means that The Emma Press is attuned to a variety of backgrounds and experiences. it strives to be accessible, intersectional and feminist in its outlook, and is successful at what it does – in 2016, The Emma Press won the Michael Marks Award for Poetry Pamphlet Publishers.
Emma Dai’an Wright, founder of The Emma Press
Of course, the anthology would be sparse without its carefully considered selections by its editors, both of whom have personal ties to illness narratives. Readers might recognise Amy Mackelden’s name – she is the Weekend Editor at Harper’s Bazaar, and lives with multiple sclerosis, anxiety and polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS). Dr Dylan Jaggard has a PhD from Birkbeck College and lives with depression. Mackelden and Jaggard offer a resounding curation of poems that grapple with the many layers of illness.
Dr Dylan Jaggard, co-editor of the Anthology of Illness
The full list of contributors is as follows: Samara Bolton, Sharon Black, Jane Salmons, Cassandra Atherton, Marc Darnell, Deb Scudder, Stephanie Conn, Louisa Campbell, Paula Harris, Mollie Russell, Gillian Mellor, Sue Burge, Emily Brenchi, Helena Goddard, Sam Rose, Jane Burn, Rhiannon Grant, Mairi-Claire Traynor, Marian Fielding, Holly Magill, Lucy Fox, Constance Bourg, Charlie Fitz, Rebeka Miron, Hollie Richards, Alison Winch, Helen Seymour, Rachel Bower, Astra Bloom, Ruth Middleton and Jess Redway.
Amy Mackelden, co-editor of the Anthology of Illness
Refreshingly, most of the poets tend not to shy away from the sticky residues of sickness. For example, in her poem, Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease, Helena Goddard writes:
“3 a.m. and there are thousands of us awake, our lungs
an abacus of beads whose gummed yellow loyalty
refuses to be cast off in coughs, glutinous retches.”
Goddard’s play with bodily fluids and processes is gorgeously presented, which might surprise readers who are sceptical about finding beauty in these contexts. Yet beyond its clever and sumptuous writing, the anthology does something more: it brings awareness to sick bodies that are vulnerable to misunderstanding and even misdiagnosis. Some of the poems touch on what we might term ‘invisible’ illnesses – illnesses that might not be immediately noticeable to us but are significant and painful for the individual. In one such poem, Hollie Richards depicts the debilitating heaviness of Ehlers-Danlos syndrome:
“I don’t mean the fatigue.
That’s the sinking-sand-tug
sucking at my limbs.
That’s the heavy drapes
it’s made of my eyelids.”
In others, the complex relationship between patient and medical practitioner is addressed. Some feel comforted – and even, I must add, excited – by these practices of care, while others feel exposed and embarrassed. Overall, the anthology feels wide-reaching in its collection of poems that expose the fragile nature of human bodies at the intersection of decline and regeneration. Rebekah Miron’s poem, Checkup, pulls together the delicate edges of a waiting room, reading as an uncannily familiar experience:
“She has few memories
untouched by these meetings,
these stiff seats and clotted magazines;
she is always the youngest
and is observed with interest
as she steps carefully over
the pale sea carpet which offers
little peace really,
for she thinks it is possibly deeper
underneath than she could stand.”
These bodies are bodies that we know, bodies that we share and bodies that need to be spoken about. The anthology arrives in the post at the same time I learn that a family member has been taken to hospital. It arrives just before I spend another weekend reading COVID-19 statistics, attempting to strengthen my own constitution with vitamins and tea. It is generous, open-hearted and frank – and it thoroughly deserves to be read.
by Alice Hill-Woods
You can buy the anthology here.