Dichotomy - A Poetry Collection
- Halle Mills
- Jan 25
- 5 min read
Updated: Jan 27
Dichotomy is an in- progress collection of confessional poems, revolving around my life, perspective of the world, and the unique set of circumstances that led me to where I am. Read it below:
With some poems recent and some calling back to my earlier adulthood, it is very much a record of the transitional period into my adult life- one of perseverance in spite of years of internal struggle.
Confessional poetry has always existed in some way, shape, or form since the beginning of time- following thousands of years of human beings using writing or song to discuss personal tragedy, love, and loss. As a movement however, confessional poetry emerged in America in the 1950s-1960s, using “I” and “You” to explore private experiences such as mental health, sexuality, family, and trauma. The movement is often thought to be a reaction to modernist art forms at the time, which often hinged on impersonality, surrealism, or the abstraction of ideas that often meant that potentially raw topics were lost between the lines, or held at an arms length from the writer.
Through autobiographical honesty and personal confession, confessional poetry broke taboos and discarded the regular rhyming schemes and romantic tone still clinging to the medium from the Victorian period.
Thus, there is very little process that can be discussed surrounding confessional poetry; and even if there were, with the collection sitting well above the fifty page mark, it feels unfitting to delve into each and every one.
Instead, I have decided to discuss the themes and backstory behind a few of my favourites:
Starman
I wrote Starman on a train journey back to Canterbury after a day spent with my grandparents, knowing it would be the last time I would see either of them for a couple of months. The poem centers around my relationship with my Grandfather, which, while incredibly close, previously rarely discussed his past.
Following an unexpectedly honest conversation, I spent time reflecting on the underlying meaning to what we had spoken about: the shared weight of unspoken hardship, and acknowledgement of our “family dance”, prompted me to write the poem. It relates to the sacrifices we make in the name of the people we love, the weight of realising that you are better off away from home, and the acknowledgement that it is rare for something that is right or good for you to be easy.
The poem begins with the narrator discussing someone else’s reflection on their life, and their unachieved aspirations to go to space: all because of commitment, background, and time. Unfairly too early to achieve them, to leave the planet and experience it from above. The narrator appears confused by this, discussing all the creature comforts that they know they both enjoy, and struggling to understand why on earth someone would aspire to be so far away from them. Despite this, the main bulk of the poem concludes with the somber realisation that while the narrator cannot empathise with such physical applications of daydreaming, they can certainly relate to longing for something better than what they have.
The last verse brings a new clarity to the ideas presented in the poems, and a new relatability between the narrator and their subject that previously hadn’t been fully digested.
It ends with the hope that the subject’s sacrifices will not be in vain, and that the narrator’s path will repay the emotional debt of a reluctant relinquishment of a life much closer to home, much like that of a spaceman being sent to the great above for the better of those on solid ground.
Long Since Married
Long Since Married was one of the first pieces within the collection- and was inspired on a quiet early summer’s day once the world had seemingly slowed after submissions were completed. I recall sitting in my kitchen with a close friend, chatting aimlessly as we often did, sprawled over leather settees until her boyfriend arrived; and he joined us to chat about his own day, what they had done previously, and conversations they had shared in my absence. Halfway through, the phrase “long since married” arose, a sickly sweet passing comment within the conversation, or about one previously held (I can’t recall), and suddenly my entire perspective changed on how simple love could be.
Within the poem, the narrator recalls all the ways in which they hoped to be loved- and while Hollywood portrays love as major expressions of love, our narrator speaks far more softly about love. Love, to them, is quiet acts of service, the simple act of being known, and domesticity.
At points, the narrator even mentions objects of annoyance: forgotten but previously begged for plants, the woe of repeated stories, and the ache of an empty shared bed before their return home; but the tone of their mention is clearly playful, accepting, and almost glad of their existence, showing how love of such long standing is built on the best and worst of all of us.
The poem concludes with a quiet acknowledgement of what love can do to us- how the act of being known can not only bring joy, but also make us as individuals feel safe. When the common dance becomes so synchronised that someone can identify how you feel by a small change of expression, a new level of trust emerges. The final line “You must have taught me how”, pinpoints the positive change the narrator has gone through during their time together, and leaves room to assume that the reason their demands for love are so domestic and menial is that they simply no longer have to concern themself with the bigger worries love could bring.
While certainly not the best written in the collection, it definitely has a special place in my heart thanks to its origin, and the emotions it provoked in the pair that originally inspired it.
Theseus
As opposed to the other two breakdowns in this list, Theseus takes on a much darker, hopeless tone. The poem begins in media res; seemingly halfway through a conversation with the reader that had led to recounting the brutal demise of someone, as the narrator proclaims in his first line, that “they” had named Theseus.
With ties to body horror, philosophy, and religion, the poem tells the tale of a man we only know as “Theseus”, a crude nod to the Ship of Theseus- a paradox which questions whether or not something is truly the same if all of its original parts are missing.
The narrator recalls a physical upheaval of the man’s personhood- clearly done in some vague attempt to find a god they previously hadn’t in the stars, or below ground. They aimed to make him an angel, a true being that could be whatever they needed in this apparently godless time they found themselves within.
Throughout the poem, Theseus remains determined to retain that very personhood that they were attempting to remove through the literal replacement of his limbs with synthetic copies; though as the poem's conclusion draws closer, we find the ironic answer to the paradox he is named after. If everything is taken and replaced, it surely cannot be what it once was.
Upon the completion of his transformation, the poem concludes with an eerie suggestion of compliance to his new self- suggesting his new purpose would be to bring the same sense of calm and neutrality that he now felt to those who had subjected him to the painful journey it took for him to feel it.
With seemingly no empathy, no more humanistic feeling within him, he deems it a kindness for him to cause them suffering for a “positive” conclusion, despite having been so resistant to it before its completion.
This leaves the reader to question what the purpose of their actions were, what circumstances had led him to becoming the monster they turned him into, and most importantly- can the nameless individual he once was even be named as responsible for the actions of this new, altered shell of himself?
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