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A review by zahiryn
Falling Through Love by Akif Kichloo
4.0
*I received an ARC of this book through NetGalley in exchange for an honest review*
I came into this book not knowing Akif Kichloo or his work, and I was pleasantly surprised by a volume of haunting poetry, accompanied by a handful of beautiful, black and white illustrations. The drawings are truly as gorgeous as the verses, and they fully capture the spirit of “Falling Through Love”.
The book is divided into three sections, but a cohesive tone unifies the whole work. Each poem seemed to explore a different version of love —familiar love, romantic love, self-love, love for God, a god, some god— and its intricate relationship with the sadder, nastier emotions humans are capable of. It made me think of a Venn Diagram: Love and Grief, or Love and Anger, or Love and Something Else, and every poem took form right in the middle, where both things tangled into a jumbled amalgamation of feelings and thoughts, falling through and dragging the reader with. The product, overall, is powerful.
There were moments when I thought Kichloo was too clever for his own good. Some allegories were crafted with such care, the artifice became obvious. Like the trick reveled before the illusion, this thought cooled my enjoyment of some sections. This, however, was a minor, personal grip. Too-experimental pieces tend to lose me, but I know there’s a giant audience for them.
Fans of Kichloo will adore this collection, and newcomers like me will find plenty to like and ponder over. After all, perhaps poetry is just a “proper” name for the arrangements of words that make us feel. Kichloo achieves this with tantalizing ease.
-
“I never see approval in my father’s aging face. And I write a poem.
I never spot peace in my mother’s beautiful eyes. And I write a poem.
My brother keeps forgetting my name. And. I write a poem.”
“All that scares me makes me lighter.
Will you float away with me? To a
town where the sun’s slow exile doesn’t
threaten our days. Where the counting of
hours is simply an exercise in futility.
Where wasting away years is the norm of
the place…”
"...there is this tender place
between something & everything.
now that's where I see myself.
someone's something
in the everything of their world."
-
I believe all books are voyages to new lands; poetry, in particular, becomes a window into the machinations of someone else’s heart. Kichloo’s culture —so different from mine, born in a tiny Caribbean island— was a joy to discover. I adored the bits of Arabic, Persian and other languages used throughout the book; that the words were sometimes explained and sometimes not. The chance to weight and consider our differences, to find our similarities are always heavier, is one of the reasons I love reading. I thank Kichloo for the opportunity.
I came into this book not knowing Akif Kichloo or his work, and I was pleasantly surprised by a volume of haunting poetry, accompanied by a handful of beautiful, black and white illustrations. The drawings are truly as gorgeous as the verses, and they fully capture the spirit of “Falling Through Love”.
The book is divided into three sections, but a cohesive tone unifies the whole work. Each poem seemed to explore a different version of love —familiar love, romantic love, self-love, love for God, a god, some god— and its intricate relationship with the sadder, nastier emotions humans are capable of. It made me think of a Venn Diagram: Love and Grief, or Love and Anger, or Love and Something Else, and every poem took form right in the middle, where both things tangled into a jumbled amalgamation of feelings and thoughts, falling through and dragging the reader with. The product, overall, is powerful.
There were moments when I thought Kichloo was too clever for his own good. Some allegories were crafted with such care, the artifice became obvious. Like the trick reveled before the illusion, this thought cooled my enjoyment of some sections. This, however, was a minor, personal grip. Too-experimental pieces tend to lose me, but I know there’s a giant audience for them.
Fans of Kichloo will adore this collection, and newcomers like me will find plenty to like and ponder over. After all, perhaps poetry is just a “proper” name for the arrangements of words that make us feel. Kichloo achieves this with tantalizing ease.
-
“I never see approval in my father’s aging face. And I write a poem.
I never spot peace in my mother’s beautiful eyes. And I write a poem.
My brother keeps forgetting my name. And. I write a poem.”
“All that scares me makes me lighter.
Will you float away with me? To a
town where the sun’s slow exile doesn’t
threaten our days. Where the counting of
hours is simply an exercise in futility.
Where wasting away years is the norm of
the place…”
"...there is this tender place
between something & everything.
now that's where I see myself.
someone's something
in the everything of their world."
-
I believe all books are voyages to new lands; poetry, in particular, becomes a window into the machinations of someone else’s heart. Kichloo’s culture —so different from mine, born in a tiny Caribbean island— was a joy to discover. I adored the bits of Arabic, Persian and other languages used throughout the book; that the words were sometimes explained and sometimes not. The chance to weight and consider our differences, to find our similarities are always heavier, is one of the reasons I love reading. I thank Kichloo for the opportunity.