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Big Pink Umbrella

Susan Millar DuMars

ISBN: 978-1-903392-74-4

Page Count: 64

Publication Date: Tuesday, April 01, 2008

Cover Artwork: Claude Madel

Click to play movie SUSAN MILLAR DuMARS reads the poem "Poets Are Just Like Everyone Else" from BIG PINK UMBRELLA (Salmon, 2008). ... play
Click to play movie SUSAN MILLAR DuMARS reads the poem "Salthill" from BIG PINK UMBRELLA (Salmon, 2008). From the film "Rhyming Co... play

About this Book

Millar DuMars' sense of language, ingrained in the poet's attitude toward her poems, is why they can move such extraordinary distances in tone, language and theme, building to conclusions of breath-taking clarity and directness.
Patricia Prime, New Hope International Review

Susan Millar DuMars will not rush sadness, but instead makes language do its poignant job of revealing and evoking strong feelings... Her style of retelling is unique; she doesn't mince her words, she spares them and makes them work.
Rita Ann Higgins

Author Biography

Susan Millar DuMars was born in Philadelphia in 1966. She holds an MA in Writing from the University of San Francisco. Her poems and short stories have been published widely in the US, UK and Ireland. Her poetry was included in the 2004 Anthology I, published by Ainnir; in 2005, Lapwing published a pamphlet of her poems, the well reviewed Everyone Loves Me. Susan's stories have been short-listed for many awards, and in 2005 she received an Irish Arts Council Bursary for her fiction. American Girls, a volume of her short stories, was published by Lapwing in 2007. Susan lives in Galway, Ireland. Since 2003, Susan and her husband Kevin Higgins have organised the successful Over the Edge reading series, showcasing new writers. Big Pink Umbrella is the first full collection of her poetry.

Read a sample from this book

Big Pink Umbrella

I am:
Tax bills and spin cycles
Non-drowsy cough syrup
All out of bin bags
Photocopied lesson plans
Running late

You are:
In your pajamas
Sighing on the third stair.
"Nothing tastes of anything",
You will tell me
When you ring.

But you don't ring.
And I think that you think
I'm busy just to mock you.
That my life opens up,
Like a big pink umbrella,
And I'm dancing ahead of you,
And you're getting wet.


A Review by Grace Wells for Contrary Magazine, July 2008

Merciless Self-Portrait Inspires Mercy and More

Reading 'Big Pink Umbrella', the first collection by American-living-in-Ireland Susan Millar DuMars, is rather like standing before one of those extraordinary self-portraits painted by Picasso or Orpen. There's an accumulation of information that adds up through a mélée of shards. In this one collection, this single painting, we have a sense of Millar DuMars past and present, of the symbols and recurring themes of her life, so that overall we are awed, disquieted, shaken to the roots; and then healed?

Millar DuMars is hard on herself. Her infant mewls were "inconsequential" to the "white world", she grew up "puddled" in "cold, blinking/ submarine light", in the shadow of her parents, "locked in silent combat, seething". By the time she is fourteen,

John Lennon is dead
and I hate everyone.

She's a "pale painted vampire", "kissing the world goodbye/ every night", annoyed, "to find it still there in the morning." Her parents separate and on her mother's street,

The moon sniggers.
The houses spit.
The darkness slaps.
The trees point and laugh.

She mistakes Silvia Plath's "open graves/ for cathedrals", and by twenty-nine,

Shredded by my need
for work that mattered, clothes that fit,
a face glad to see me.

She tries to die.

This process of self-portraiture is brutally honest; Millar DuMars hangs up the faulted flesh of her own self in a way that is quite merciless. We're drawn to feel empathy with her struggle and tenderness toward her being, but our ultimate response is: 'girl, you are so much more than this.' There is also the hovering question: is poetry the place? Have the borders between art and therapy become just a little too blurred? Still, this is a first collection, where it may just be permissible to get all that stuff off the chest. But in Big pink Umbrella this stuff is Picasso's grossly, exaggerated nose, it is the peculiar expression on Orpen's face, and if we're not careful as readers, it not only eclipses everything else in the painting, it also eclipses the poet's own talent as a painter.

Millar DuMars is so much more than her biography. She is a short story writer and her gift for narrative, for the way prose is pushed along by the careful arrangement of words, seeps into her poems, pushing back the boundaries of form.

Neighbours' argument echoes
down the heating duct. A door slams,
a name is called, twice.


First awake, she moves
to the window on shuddering
foal's legs
and parts the curtains silently

She grasps the minimalism that electrifies dialogue, and she describes ancillary characters vividly. Adjectives are her friends, like spiders she keeps them in her house, ornamenting lines, spinning up admirable structures. 'My Husband, the Great Poet' is as dear and genuine a love poem as you will read anywhere, and a fine example of the way Millar DuMars walks the tightrope strung between the House of Mirth and the Temple of Poetry-and gets it right. Her wit isn't performance, it's another aspect of Millar DuMars standing in her own strength. 'Poets are Just like Everyone Else' and 'Hampshire College Halloween' further display her somewhat suppressed, mercurial voice.

Despite these powers, Millar DuMars is still able to describe herself as "glib, useless", she wonders if she's "emitting any rays at all". Her collection ends with the poem 'Supermarket Selves' and the lines,

I can't see the universe
when I'm inside it.
All I can see
is this aisle I'm on.

and it's the wrong note, a mistake because elsewhere there is the "Wellspring Wife" "licking at foundations", biding her time, able to "shape stones/quench thirst". This is a woman who can "rearrange the sky", she just doesn't seem to know it. Someone really ought to tell her..

Reviewer Grace Wells is a British poet living in Ireland. Her poems have appeared in the Autumn 2007, Spring 2007, and Winter 2006 issues of Contrary.

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