The poetry in “England's Green” describes not only the natural world in this country but the personal and national history embedded in its flora and language. Kunial is so attentive to the construction of words as well as their sounds. In several poems he takes certain words apart to give the reader a unique three dimensional view of them demonstrating how “Words have pockets. Small, deep pockets that go on for ages. We put words on a page and they preserve infinitely more than we mean or guess”. Through this attention to linguistics the author delves into his family's past and converses with writers from Chaucer to Shakespeare to the Brontës. As many authors do, several poems begin with an epigraph however Kunial adds a touching personal resonance when quoting from Iris Murdoch's “Flight from the Enchanter” as he notes the underlinings were made by his mother in her copy of the book. This imaginative and playful collection is awash with emotional resonance which shines through in each carefully constructed and beautiful line.
I also enjoy how alongside the actual past Kunial considers potential alternative paths in life and spaces in time when things could have gone differently. He states “We all have lives that go on without us. Unwritten... a realm between weathers, where losses and times fold, at the crease – clueless as to what it was. Or for whom.” This so wonderfully encapsulates the influence of chance upon our lives as well as the ambiguity of different possible outcomes. Through our ability to recall and reimagine amidst our individual linear narratives he posits how “Life is wider than its page. And days are a cut field, clipped and made to run on.” The resonance of these larger themes coupled with the metaphorical force in these poems makes them utterly arresting to read. I especially enjoyed the way he incorporates nature and at one point describes “the snow drops – tiny tongueless bells – the quietness is still ringing”. With great intelligence Kunial allows us to re-view words and the world around us. This book also has one of the best endings I've ever read in any poetry collection: “The very last thing poetry is is a poem.”
