My Reading Tour of the USA in pictures

Thank you to all my friends and colleagues for inviting me to read at these amazing venues.

First Stop Porter Square, Cambridge Mass                                          Second Stop Grolier, Cambridge Mass









Third Stop The Hudson Valley Writers’ Centre, New York                  Fourth Stop Barnard College, New York









Fifth Stop Red Bank Regional College








Sixth Stop Ann Arbor, University of Michigan



Final Stop Book Party, Ann Arbor, Michigan


Thank You Chris Kinsey for your Review in Planet

Review by Chris Kinsey, Planet

Thursday, August 3, 2017

Caroline Smith’s poems about people seeking asylum are astonishing. They’re as clear and precise as surgical scalpels. These poems, sterilised from despair and anger, do not seek to accuse or wound. They make incisions to implant empathy and compassion for refugees’ enduring loss, uncertainty and trauma and for some of the people ‘under siege from the urgency’ of administering their fate amidst a terrible backlog of applications. Smith has a remarkable talent for distilling physical experiences into imagery which resolve into unforced epiphanies about the way things are:

just as an early morning frost brings out
a previously invisible conspiracy of
white cobwebs connecting the grasses.

The changing and unexpected properties of paper recur as a powerful motif. In ‘Home Office Files’, ‘shreds of Mr Subramanian’s life, / his ten years waiting for a decision’. (He fled Vanni in a container ship lying beside his dead wife and child.) The narrator thinks of him as she feeds ‘a fist of papers to the shredder’:

They buckle rigid and erect
calcified into a frill of coral,
a corrugated shanty town roof.

These poems have the grace of non-judgmentalism and show varieties of vulnerable courage, as in ‘Asylum Interview’ where a man is interviewing a woman who was raped by soldiers:

His pen scores the paper
drawing back her cover
like a soft flap of mango skin
exposing her shame

How I did it. Essay for The Poetry School on being shortlisted for the Ted Hughes Award

How I did it.

For me poetry and art are at the heart of life – a driving force – not a commentary upon it. I did not write ‘The Immigration Handbook’ to try to change immigration policy, I knew the climate of the immigration debate needed to change and as an artist I felt compelled to write these poems.

Working as an immigration caseworker for a Member of Parliament, I get the chance to see immigration from a multiplicity of angles and perspectives. In our surgeries I hear first-hand the despair and frustration of people trapped in the system, the victims of rule changes and bureaucratic mistakes, the prey of bogus lawyers. I also speak to the decision makers in the Home Office, the politicians who make the laws. I analyse the judgements and decisions from the Courts and Tribunals. The poems in ‘The Immigration Handbook’ work together to give a whole picture that reflects this multiplicity of perspectives.

To be asked to focus on one poem, is to look from one angle only so I have chosen ‘The Scarlet Lizard’ because it deals with a theme that is constant through the whole collection.

‘The Scarlet Lizard’ is about the importance of language in immigration law and in poetry. How words matter, how they can be critical in determining someone’s fate; whether they will be allowed to stay in this country or be deported to a country in which they fear torture and death. Convincing an Immigration Judge that a story is true and credible is everything – like Scheherazade, who I have referenced at the front of my book – a persuasive story can mean the difference between life and death.

In an earlier poem ‘Selection’ I concentrate on the opacity of the way the Home Office uses language; their deliberate obfuscation to disguise the true meaning of their words. They will ‘invite’ a failed asylum seeker to a ‘Service Event’: the soft, welcoming word ‘invitation’, the unthreatening activity of ‘service’, disguise a devastating decision to refuse and to detain and to deport. In another poem, ‘Asylum Interview’ I focus on the interviewer deliberately misinterpreting the answers given by the interviewee as to why she has claimed asylum. But I also show the way in which asylum seekers too will speak in set phrases that they have been instructed to use by their lawyers, because these words fit the rules and legal precedents for being granted asylum.

In ‘The Scarlet Lizard’ an immigration judge is dealing with all these layers of meaning; a professional, but in this quiet moment, overwhelmed by the immensity of his task to discern the truth in the thousands of cases he must read and judge and decide upon. He is conscious of the enormity of refusing someone and sending them back. He must be convinced, discern the credible through the layers of stories, both those presented and those concealed. He must weigh up accounts of asylum seekers whose first language is not English, who are afraid of the authorities, who have fled with no documents and are traumatised by the events that have happened to them, such that they cannot easily put them into words. In the poem, the immigration judge uses a poetic metaphor and looks to the similarity of the tools of poetry to pick out the truth;

‘He longed to see the quick movement of a scarlet lizard weaving unexpectedly through the parched, cracked hexagons of a legal phrase’,

He needs a clinching detail that can bring a story to life, a vivid observation, an unexpected element, an unpredictable turn in the story that doesn’t chart an obvious path to the longed for outcome. He looks to the power of language to convince and illuminate, to see the authentic within the lawyers’ legal speak used to frame a story within a Geneva Convention reason for a grant of asylum.

It took me about five years to write ‘The Immigration Handbook’ and I was still including poems up until the day before the proofs were being sent to print, driving my patient editor to distraction! I had however, been thinking about it for many years. The subject is so huge I found it hard to find a way in. I knew I didn’t want to write a polemic, I wanted it to be centred around the impact of the system on the people trapped in it and to create an emotional response in the reader in this way. Like the Immigration Judge in ‘The Scarlet Lizard’ to see the human beings behind the statistics and legal speak.

I finally found the key to writing ‘The Immigration Handbook’ through theatre. I happened to see a series of Shakespeare plays. I realised Shakespeare presents whole characters in dramatic tension with difficult decisions to make, in the most extreme and challenging situations. He presents boundary moments in people’s lives, the consequences of action and inaction, actors caught up in the ebb and flow of social currents and the contingencies of fate. But above all he does not judge his characters.

I originally trained as a sculptor and as soon as I began to see the poems as three dimensional and to withdraw myself, at the narrator from the poems, I felt they began to work. I remember when this first happened with one of the poems – I realised I had began to think as the character, to use metaphors that could be part of the character’s unconscious instead of my commentary on them.  I then saw how two dimensional some of my first poems had been and went back to them and rewrote them from within the character’s own perspective.

Although I don’t write in a conventional form. The structure of a poem is very important to me. My technique was honed by the discipline of writing thousands of letters to the Home Office over the past fifteen years. A turn of phrase, a report, situations of injustice and poignancy would jump out at me in my day to day work and gave me sparks of ideas. These fragments would sit in the background until there was something else to juxtapose against them. Being so immersed in the subject and carrying so many stories and incidents and letters around in my head – a portable and abstract version of my sculpture studio – meant unexpected images would come into my mind naturally because they were already part of my daily life.

In ‘The Immigration Handbook’ I have no interest in revealing the sensational; to record the horrific stories I hear and read on a daily basis. I wanted to use stripped back language, focus on the subtle and human detail, the different angle, contrast the official language of a report with the lyrical moment, like the immigration judge – look to the tools of poetry to convince the reader.

2016 Ted Hughes Award shortlist

Delighted that ‘The Immigration Handbook’ has been shortlisted for the  2016 Ted Hughes Award for New Work in Poetry.

Caroline Smith – The Immigration Handbook

From the judges:
“An important and unsentimental collection which humanises and individualises refugees without inappropriate occupation of another voice. Caroline Smith uses a range of forms and close attention to detail which forces the reader to engage.”

“I felt anxiously underqualified at being asked to judge the Ted Hughes Award for New Work in Poetry. It soon became a mass undertaking of carrying books from tour to studio. But the wealth of joy and excitement in these worlds, as well as the sheer variety and beauty, was like having new lives poured into me. I feel very proud of the scope of the shortlist, which came after joyous discussions with the other judges about what hit us hardest and why. I am so honoured to be part of this process and thankful for all the new work that I have read that sits inside me now.”
Kathryn Williams

Review by Clare Pollard in Poetry London

Many thanks for your review in Poetry London

February, 2017

Caroline Smith’s The Immigration Handbook is a large-scale project, an attempt to tell the individual stories of people she has encountered as an asylum caseworker for an MP. It is attentive to others, and the specifics of their realities. Smith herself is largely invisible, to the point where some poems are ‘found’ (a legal apology, an adjudicator’s verdict, a letter from the Home Office printed with details blacked out: ‘I apologise for the delay in progressing your client’s application. // Due to the length of time that has elapsed since your client submitted her application the form is now out of date’.) Others feel verbatim, like one in the voice of ‘Ali’:

I have worked
maybe sixty hours this week
in a kitchen in Wembley.
I’ll be paid for five.
There is no one to complain to.

But this is generous poetry, and Smith is present in each careful, interested detail. Mint leaves twist in a tea glass ‘like fur caterpillars’. Mahmood ‘posts cigarette butts / into an empty Sprite bottle’. A carer is seen emptying a catheter and ‘blurting out the wet-nosed tube of his cream’. An answering machine’s messages ‘brim like the water butt / spilling over with black water’. A baby snores:

through its cleft palate,
dummy balanced on its lip,
thin sky-blue hood
pulled over its eyes.

The bureaucracy emerges as a black joke, and Smith manages to find humour, as in the misspellings of ‘Letters’:

I would like to express my filling
I love your cuntry
I have applied for neutralisation

Ultimately though, this is a book that makes us face our own unkindness. It does the important work of witnessing those whose pain we would rather not see.

Clare Pollard