Review of Another Way to Split Water by Alycia Pirmohamed

by Michelle Lu

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Another Way To Split Water by Alycia Pirmohamed is a courageously free-flowing collection of poems, consisting of forty pieces split into two sections. An exploration of her cultural roots, yearning for her homeland weaved into the essence of her being, uncertainty and certainty, Pirmohamed’s writing is a kaleidoscope of images. She writes with the same versatility in which water crystallizes when frozen, gently murmurs, and undulates through history.
 
Water holds memory as the body does, and Pirmohamed describes womanhood as a river flowing within her, traversing the depths of her identity and the ties to her lineage. In “Faded,” the first poem of the book, Pirmohamed writes, “in the past, someone shaped like me / poured water from a metal carafe / straight into my mouth, / the echo of my river submerged in your river—.” The imagery of water carrying the stories of the past—of those who have braved the world before her—simultaneously embracing the present and testing the future, is a recurring theme throughout the poems. As a second-generation Asian American raised in the United States, the line in Pirmohamed’s poem above bears deep resonance to me; irrespective of distance and time, every individual inherently carries with them the rich history of their predecessors, through the blood that flows in their veins and the physical features passed down through generations. “My river submerged in your river” beautifully deconstructs the illusion of separation between who we are and those before us. “Inheritance is a form of second sight,” the narrator also says in “Midnight Vessel Across the Great Sea.” 

As water retains its structure even once split, water in Pirmohamed’s writing speaks of the strength carried by the speaker as they coexist between nostalgia for their homeland and uncertainty—to live in the in-betweens of the oceans and land separating their homelands. In “The Fish that Halved Water,” “There are too many ways to say cleave, / but one day I’ll split into myth / and pass through the mouths of a hundred generations.” Repeating this line back to myself, I think about the power held by oral tradition and storytelling. Speaking of our community and telling the stories that have been given to us, we may still “cleave” and divide, but just as the water molecules continue to remain, so will the parts of our culture we hold closest to our hearts. In “Prairie Storm,” Pirmohamed further expresses admiration for the droplets of water condensed in the overlying clouds, for “how something / carried such a long distance / can fill the prairies like a vase.” 

At the same time, Pirmohamed’s descriptions of nature reveal profound sadness and pain: “Call it what you will—violence, abduction, / a kidnapping by wolves— / that morning, the earth split apart like a mouth reciting du’a / & there I was / some foundling into into its arms, / diving into the archipelagos, / a scattering homeland.” The speaker laments the parting of waters—the distance and estrangement—between her and homeland. In moments, she blames herself and is filled with “a heartache tongued by wild deer.” Pirmohamed pleads, “Almadulillah, / forgive me, forgive me. I praise once again, I symmetry / like the wings of a migrating bird, I repeat alhamdulillah / and rinse and repeat and rinse and repeat.” 

In “The House of Prayer,” the speaker says, “I have learned that alhamdulillah / does not resemble a border but is a house of its own. / Alhamdulillah glints beyond language: praise be to God.” Pirmohamed’s intimate connection to spirituality becomes a compass, as steadfast as the migratory route of birds, as the speaker flows between identities. “In the blood of every migrant / there is a map pointing home,” yet perhaps, uncertainty, itself, is too, a form of belonging. 
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Pirmohamed’s writing in Another Way To Split Water evokes tender emotions within readers by bringing a voice to those who search for a sense of identity and belonging in multiple places at the same time. The narrator weaves together elements of nature, images of water, womanhood, and faith with intricacy and patience in her storytelling. To read her book is to give form to the unappeased diasporic yearning that we continue to come to terms with. 

Alycia Pirmohamed is a Canadian-born poet based in Scotland. She is the author of Another Way to Split Water, as well as the pamphlets Hinge and Faces that Fled the Wind, and the collaborative essay Second Memory, which was co-authored with Pratyusha. She is the co-founder of the Scottish BPOC Writers Network, a co-organiser of the Ledbury Poetry Critics Program, and she currently teaches on the MSt. Creative Writing at the University of Cambridge. Alycia has held post-doctoral positions at University Edinburgh and at the University of Liverpool, and she received an MFA from the University of Oregon and a PhD from the University of Edinburgh. She is the recipient of several awards, including the 2019 CBC Poetry Prize and the 2020 Edwin Morgan Poetry Award. 

Michelle Lu is a high school senior from the Bay Area. She is a 2021 California Arts Scholar, and her work has been recognized by the Scholastic Writing Awards and in the Writopia Youth Essay Conference. In her leisure, Michelle deeply enjoys reflecting in her journal, reading, and writing poetry. In the future, she hopes to continue developing her passion for writing alongside other fellow creatives.

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