A God at the Door

By Tishani Doshi

An exquisite collection from a poet at the peak of her powers, A God at the Door spans time and space, drawing on the extraordinary minutiae of nature and humanity to elevate the marginalised. Extending the territory of her zeitgeist collection Girls Are Coming Out of the Woods, these new poems traverse history, from the cosmic to the quotidian. There is a playful spikiness to be found in poems like 'Why the Brazilian Butt Lift Won’t Save Us', while others, such as 'I Found a Village and in it Were All Our Missing Women', are fed by rage. As the collection unfolds, there are gem-like poems such as 'I Carry My Uterus in a Small Suitcase' which sparkles on the page with impeccable precision. Later, there are the sharp shocks delivered by two mirrored poems set side by side, 'Microeconomics' and 'Macroeconomics'. Tishani Doshi's poetry bestows power on the powerless, deploys beauty to heal trauma, and enables the voices of the oppressed to be heard with piercing clarity. From flightless birds and witches, to black holes and Marilyn Monroe, A God at the Door illuminates with lines and images that surprise, inflame and dazzle.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bloodaxe Books
• Release date: Apr 22, 2021
• ISBN: 9781780375762

Tishani Doshi

Tishani Doshi was born in Chennai. She is an award-winning poet, journalist, essayist and novelist. Doshi has published seven books of fiction and poetry, most recently Girls Are Coming Out of the Woods, which was shortlisted for the Ted Hughes Award 2018. She is the recipient of an Eric Gregory Award for Poetry, winner of the All-India Poetry Competition, and her first book, Countries of the Body, won the Forward Prize for Best First Collection in 2006. Her debut novel, The Pleasure Seekers, was shortlisted for the Hindu Literary Prize and longlisted for the Orange Prize and the International IMPAC Dublin Literary Award. Small Days and Nights was shortlisted for the Ondaatje Prize 2020. Doshi is also a professional dancer with the Chandralekha Troupe. She lives in Tamil Nadu, India, with her husband and three dogs. tishanidoshi.com

Book preview

TISHANI DOSHI

A GOD AT THE DOOR

An exquisite collection from a poet at the peak of her powers, A God at the Door spans time and space, drawing on the extraordinary minutiae of nature and humanity to elevate the marginalised. These poems, taken together, traverse history, from the cosmic to the quotidian. There is a playful spikiness to be found in poems like ‘Why the Brazilian Butt Lift Won’t Save Us’, while others are fed by rage. As the collection unfolds, there are gem-like poems such as ‘I Carry My Uterus in a Small Suitcase’ which sparkles on the page with impeccable precision, and the sharp shocks delivered by two mirrored poems set side by side, ‘Microeconomics’ and ‘Macroeconomics’.

Tishani Doshi’s poetry bestows power on the powerless, deploys beauty to heal trauma, and enables the voices of the oppressed to be heard with piercing clarity. From flightless birds and witches, to black holes and Marilyn Monroe, A God at the Door illuminates with lines and images that surprise, inflame and dazzle.

‘May we always have the music and elegant fury of Tishani Doshi’s poetry.’ – Fatima Bhutto

‘The title poem is a haunting vision of retribution… Doshi’s poem is exceptionally timely, although it was written before the rise of the #MeToo movement. It’s impossible not to cheer the boldness and liberation enacted by much of this book, and to be stirred by its bravery. To paraphrase one interviewer, Doshi is writing the anthems of her generation.’ – Sandeep Parmar, The Guardian

Front cover: Avatars of Devi, Zenana, Samode Palace, Samode by Karen Knorr © Karen Knorr

TISHANI DOSHI

A God at the Door

For my father, Vinod,

whose name means joy.

CONTENTS

Title Page

Dedication

Epigraph

Mandala

Pilgrimage

Creation Abecedarian

The Stormtroopers of My Country

My Loneliness Is Not the Same as Your Loneliness

A Blue Mormon Finds Herself Among Common Emigrants

Why the Brazilian Butt Lift Won’t Save Us

Every Unbearable Thing

Advice for Pliny the Elder, Big Daddy of Mansplainers

Roots

In a Dream I Give Birth to a Sumo Wrestler

Instructions on Surviving Genocide

The Comeback of Speedos

Face Exercises for Marionette Lines

I Found a Village and in it Were All our Missing Women

Contagion

Tree of Life

Homage to the Square

I Don’t Want to be Remembered by My Last Instagram Post

Everyone Has a Wilting Point

Tigress Hugs Manchurian Fir

Poems Lull Us Into Safety

After a Shooting at a Maternity Clinic in Kabul

They Killed Cows. I Killed Them.

Cell

Self

Collective

Nation

Species

Cosmos

The Coronapocalypse Will Be Televised

Variations on Hippo

A Dress is Like a Field

Postcard to My Mother-in-Law Who at 16 is Chasing Brigitte Bardot in St Tropez

Together

Many Good & Wonderful Things

I Carry My Uterus in a Small Suitcase

Bacterium

A Possible Explanation as to Why We Mutilate Women & Trees, which Tries to End on a Note of Hope

What Mr Frog Running Away from Marilyn Monroe Taught Me About #MeToo

Tiger Woman

We Will Not Kill You. We’ll Just Shoot You in the Vagina.

Microeconomics

Macroeconomics

This May Reach You Either as a Bird or Flower

Petard

Rotten Grief

October Fugue

Do Not Go Out in the Storm

Listening to Abida Parveen on Loop I Understand Why I Miss Home and Why It Must Be So

End-of-Year Epiphany in the Holiday Inn

It Has Taken Many Years to See My Body

Hope Is the Thing

Survival

notes

acknowledgements

About the Author

Copyright

I trapped my breath in the bellows of my throat:

a lamp blazed up inside, showed me who I really was.

I crossed the darkness holding fast to that lamp,

scattering its light-seeds around me as I went.

lal ded

The world was lovely, really, but it was tricky,

and peevish with the small things, like a god

who didn’t get out much.

lorrie moore

Creation Abecedarian

As each day passes we grow less certain about the universe.

Bewildered by black holes and big bangs, our textbooks confuse

childbirth with cosmic eggs, skim over the functions of reproduction.

Darwin was wrong, they claim, not just about his theory of biological

evolution, but everything. We are descendants of sages!

From Primordial Man’s mouth, arms, thighs, feet we sprang.

God is an organisational genius. Even our Minister of Education,

holistic scholar and yogi, believes our forefathers never stated

in writing or on their dictaphones, that they ever saw an ape

jolted into being a man. It never happened.

Know of course, our people were daubing their wrists with

lotus perfume while elsewhere others were chiselling rocks. Still,

Mary’s immaculate hijab