tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37106953214331476972024-03-13T20:40:51.508+13:00Jack Ross: OpinionsEssays, Interviews, Introductions & Reviews - 1987 to the presentDr Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01805945600952222957noreply@blogger.comBlogger355125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710695321433147697.post-3269964858110844622022-04-30T10:00:00.027+12:002024-02-01T08:48:55.669+13:00Site-map<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="http://spiritofrumi.blogspot.co.nz/2011/02/book.html">In the Spirit of Rumi</a> (2011)</span><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Jack Ross:</span><br /><span style="font-size: 180%;">Essays, Interviews,<br />
Introductions & Reviews</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">(1987-2024)</span></b></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />Contents:</span><br />
<ul>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn33" name="_ftnref33" title="">2024</a> [1]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn32" name="_ftnref32" title="">2023</a> [3]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn31" name="_ftnref31" title="">2022</a> [6]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn30" name="_ftnref30" title="">2021</a> [4]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn29" name="_ftnref29" title="">2020</a> [2]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn28" name="_ftnref28" title="">2019</a> [7]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn27" name="_ftnref27" title="">2018</a> [15]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn26" name="_ftnref26" title="">2017</a> [21]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn25" name="_ftnref25" title="">2016</a> [6]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn24" name="_ftnref24" title="">2015</a> [19]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn23" name="_ftnref23" title="">2014</a> [36]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn22" name="_ftnref22" title="">2013</a> [6]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn21" name="_ftnref21" title="">2012</a> [25]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn20" name="_ftnref20" title="">2011</a> [7]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn19" name="_ftnref19" title="">2010</a> [6]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn18" name="_ftnref18" title="">2009</a> [14]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn17" name="_ftnref17" title="">2008</a> [5]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn16" name="_ftnref16" title="">2007</a> [7]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn15" name="_ftnref15" title="">2006</a> [9]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn14" name="_ftnref14" title="">2005</a> [12]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn13" name="_ftnref13" title="">2004</a> [27]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn12" name="_ftnref12" title="">2003</a> [20]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn11" name="_ftnref11" title="">2002</a> [16]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn10" name="_ftnref10" title="">2001</a> [20]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn9" name="_ftnref9" title="">2000</a> [12]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn8" name="_ftnref8" title="">1999</a> [23]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn7" name="_ftnref7" title="">1998</a> [14]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn6" name="_ftnref6" title="">1997</a> [3]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn5" name="_ftnref5" title="">1993</a> [1]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn4" name="_ftnref4" title="">1992</a> [2]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn3" name="_ftnref3" title="">1989</a> [1]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn2" name="_ftnref2" title="">1988</a> [2]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title="">1987</a> [1]</li>
<b>=<br />
353</b><br />
</ul>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Date of Publication - Title - Publication Details</span></b></div>
<br />
<ol><br />
<div id="ftn33">
<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn33" name="_ftn33" title=""><b>2024</b></a> [1]</div>
<br />
<li>(February 1) “<a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/shadow-worlds-2024.html">Many In that Blue Room Believed, Heart and Soul</a>: Review of <i>Shadow Worlds: A history of the occult and esoteric in New Zealand</i>, by Andrew Paul Wood (Massey University Press, 2023).” <a href="https://landfallreview.com/many-in-that-blue-room-believed-heart-and-soul/"><i>Landfall Review Online</i></a> (1/2/2024).</li>
<br />
<div id="ftn32">
<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn32" name="_ftn32" title=""><b>2023</b></a> [3]</div>
<br />
<li>(July 17) “<a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/mike-johnson-selected-poems-2023.html">Introduction</a>.” Mike Johnson. <i>Selected Poems 1977-2022</i>. Edited by Jack Ross. ISBN 978-1-991083-00-5. 99% Press. Auckland: Lasavia Publishing Ltd., 2023. 11-15.</li>
<br />
<li>(May 3) “<a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/a-clearer-view-of-hinterland-2023.html">Jack Ross’s 'A Clearer View of the Hinterland'</a>.” Contribution to "Poetry Shelf: Favourite Poems.” Paula Green. <a href="https://nzpoetryshelf.com/2023/05/03/poetry-shelf-favourite-poems-jack-rosss-a-clearer-view-of-the-hinterland/"><i>NZ Poetry Shelf: a poetry page with reviews, interviews, and other things</i></a> (3/5/22).</li>
<br />
<li>(March 1) “<a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/the-frog-prince-2023.html">A Fool in Love</a>: Review of <i>The Frog Prince</i>, by James Norcliffe (Random House New Zealand, 2022).” <a href="https://landfallreview.com/a-fool-in-love/"><i>Landfall Review Online</i></a> (1/3/2023).</li>
<br />
<div id="ftn31">
<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn31" name="_ftn31" title=""><b>2022</b></a> [6]</div>
<br />
<li>(June 3) “<a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/no-ideas-but-in-2022.html">No ideas but in</a> ..." Contribution to "Poetry Shelf Paragraph Room 3: No ideas but in.” Paula Green. <a href="https://nzpoetryshelf.com/2022/06/03/poetry-shelf-paragraph-room-3-no-ideas-but-in/"><i>NZ Poetry Shelf: a poetry page with reviews, interviews, and other things</i></a> (3/6/22).</li>
<br />
<li>(May 6) “<a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/time-2022.html">Time in Poetry</a>." Contribution to "Poetry Shelf Paragraph Room 2.” Paula Green. <a href="https://nzpoetryshelf.com/2022/05/06/poetry-shelf-paragraph-room-2/"><i>NZ Poetry Shelf: a poetry page with reviews, interviews, and other things</i></a> (6/5/22).</li>
<br />
<li>(April 14) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/chocolate-weetbix-2022.html">Chocolate Weetbix</a>." Contribution to "Poetry Shelf Paragraphs: 25 Poets on Poetry.” Paula Green. <a href="https://nzpoetryshelf.com/2022/04/14/poetry-shelf-paragraphs-25-poets-on-poetry/"><i>NZ Poetry Shelf: a poetry page with reviews, interviews, and other things</i></a> (14/4/22).</li>
<br />
<li>(March 14) <i>Poetry NZ Yearbook 2022</i> [Issue #56]: 353-56:<ul>
<li><a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/the-little-ache-2022.html">Review</a> of Ian Wedde, <i>The Little Ache – a German notebook</i> (Wellington: Victoria University Press, 2021)</li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(February 27) “<a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/on-quitting-academy-2022.html">On Quitting the Academy</a>." "Ghosting." <a href="https://afterlifecartographies.blogspot.com/2023/08/haunts.html"><i>Haunts</i></a> (2023).</li>
<br />
<li>(February 25) “<a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/skeleton-tracks-2022.html">Skeleton Tracks</a>." <i>Breach of All Size: Small Stories on Ulysses, love and Venice</i>. Ed. Michelle Elvy & Marco Sonzogni. Wellington: The Cuba Press, 2022. 80-81.</li>
<br />
<div id="ftn30">
<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn30" name="_ftn30" title=""><b>2021</b></a> [4]</div>
<br />
<li>(November 12) “<a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/77-days-2021.html">77 Days</a>.” Contribution to "Poetry Shelf: Writings from lockdown.” Paula Green. <a href="https://nzpoetryshelf.com/2021/11/12/poetry-shelf-writings-from-lockdown/"><i>NZ Poetry Shelf: a poetry page with reviews, interviews, and other things</i></a> (14/4/22).</li>
<br />
<li>(September 31) “<a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/listening-to-silence-2021.html">Introduction: Listening to the Silence</a>.” Chris Gallavin. <a href="https://www.linkedin.com/in/chrisgallavin/overlay/experience/1818396460/multiple-media-viewer/?treasuryMediaId=1635465287327"><i>A Dance Together: Poems</i></a> (Feilding: Prow Publishing, 2021): 3-5.</li>
<br />
<li>(July 10) "<a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/a-memorial-brass-2021.html">Obituary: A Memorial Brass</a>: i.m. Ted Jenner (1946-2021)." <a href="https://mairangibay.blogspot.com/2021/07/a-memorial-brass-im-ted-jenner-1946-2021.html"><i>The Imaginary Museum</i></a> (10/7/21).</li>
<br />
<li>(March 11) <i>Poetry NZ Yearbook 2021</i> [Issue #55]: 352-54:<ul>
<li><a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/mezzaluna-2021.html">Review</a> of Michele Leggott, <i>Mezzaluna: Selected Poems</i> (Auckland: Auckland University Press, 2020)</li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<div id="ftn29">
<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn29" name="_ftn29" title=""><b>2020</b></a> [2]</div>
<br />
<li>(January 20) <i>Poetry NZ Yearbook 2020</i> [Issue #54]: 300-3 & 330-33:<ul>
<li><a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/poeta-2020.html">Review</a> of Cilla McQueen, <i>Poeta: selected and new poems</i> (Dunedin: Otago University Press, 2018)</li>
<li><a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/watching-for-wingbeat-2020.html">Review</a> of Pat White, <i>Watching for the Wingbeat: New and Selected Poems</i> (Lyttelton: Cold Hub Press, 2018)</li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<div id="ftn28">
<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn28" name="_ftn28" title=""><b>2019</b></a> [7]</div>
<br />
<li>(November 27) “<a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/teaching-late-curnow-2019.html">Teaching Late Curnow</a>.” <i>Journal of New Zealand Literature</i> 37.2<i>: Remembering Curnow</i>. Guest Editor Alex Calder (2019): 92-102.</li>
<br />
<li>(November 12) “<a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/the-lonesome-death-of-bridget-furey-2019.html">The Lonesome Death of Bridget Furey</a>, or: Pessoa Down Under,” & (ed.) ‘The Complete Poetical Works of Bridget Furey (1966-c.1997).” <i><a href="http://www.nzepc.auckland.ac.nz/kmko/17/ka_mate17_ross.pdf">Ka mate ka ora</a>: a new zealand journal of poetry and poetics</i> 17 (October 2019): 62-79.</li>
<br />
<li>(January 8) (Ed.) <i>Poetry NZ Yearbook 2019</i> [Issue #53]: 14-20, 68-74 & 303-13:<ul>
<li><a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/poetry-nz-yearbook-2019-editorial-2019.html">Editorial</a>: What makes a poem good?</li>
<li><a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/an-interview-with-stephanie-christie.html">An Interview with Stephanie Christie</a></li>
<b>Reviews:</b>
<li><a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/a-field-officers-notebook-2019.html">Review</a> of Dan Davin, <i>A Field Officer’s Notebook: Selected Poems</i>, ed. Robert McLean (Lyttelton: Cold Hub Press, 2018)</li>
<li><a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/passant-journey-to-elsewhere.html">Review</a> of Alistair Paterson, <i>Passant: A Journey to Elsewhere</i> (London: Austin Macauley Publishers, 2017)</li>
<li><a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/the-rise-of-autobiographical-medical.html">Review</a> of Johanna Emeney, <i>The Rise of Autobiographical Medical Poetry and the Medical Humanities</i> (Stuttgart: ibidem-Verlag, 2018)</li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<div id="ftn27">
<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn27" name="_ftn27" title=""><b>2018</b></a> [15]</div>
<br />
<li>(August 24) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2017/03/divine-muses-xv-2018.html">Divine Muses XV</a>.” Contribution to Jane Sanders, ed. <a href="https://www.facebook.com/siobhan.harvey.777/posts/10156670230465984?comment_id=10156670243490984¬if_id=1535161759608542¬if_t=feedback_reaction_generic_tagged"><i>Divine Muses XV: To Siobhan Harvey with thanks from your fellow poets</i></a>. Auckland: Jane Sanders Art Agent, 2018. VII.</li>
<br />
<li>(August 24) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2017/03/42-poets-celebrate-national-poetry-day.html">42 poets celebrate National Poetry Day</a>: A memory suite.” Contribution to Paula Green. <a href="https://nzpoetryshelf.com/2018/08/24/41-poets-celebrate-national-poetry-day-a-memory-suite/"><i>NZ Poetry Shelf: a poetry page with reviews, interviews, and other things</i></a> (24/8/18).</li>
<br />
<li>(August 7) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2017/03/the-shadow-line-2018.html">The Shadow-Line</a>, or: What’s the difference between micro-fiction & prose poetry?” <i>Bonsai: Best small stories from Aotearoa New Zealand</i>. Ed. Michelle Elvy, Frankie McMillan & James Norcliffe. ISBN 978-1-927145-98-2. Christchurch: Canterbury University Press, 2018. 268-72.</li>
<br />
<li>(June 12) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2017/03/like-japanese-christmas-card-2018.html">‘Like a Japanese Christmas Card’</a>: Line in Poetry and Art.” <i>Axon: Creative Explorations</i>, Vol. 8, No. 1: "Materiality, creativity, material poetics" (May 2018). Special Section: "The Poetic Line", ed. Owen Bullock. (University of Canberra: Centre for Creative & Cultural Research, 2018).
[available at: <a href="http://axonjournal.com.au/issue-14/%E2%80%98-japanese-christmas-card%E2%80%99">http://axonjournal.com.au/issue-14/%E2%80%98-japanese-christmas-card%E2%80%99</a>]</li>
<br />
<li>(January 10) (Ed.) <i>Poetry NZ Yearbook 2018</i> [Issue #52]: 14-18, 308-19 & 332-36:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2017/02/poetry-nz-yearbook-2018-editorial-2018.html">Editorial</a>: A Live Tradition</li>
<b>Reviews:</b>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2017/02/the-arrow-that-missed-2018.html">Review</a> of Ted Jenner, <i>The Arrow That Missed</i> (Lyttelton: Cold Hub Press, 2017)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2017/02/cards-on-table-2018.html">Review</a> of Jeremy Roberts, <i>Cards on the Table</i> (Carindale, Queensland, Australia: Interactive Press, 2015)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2017/02/frida-kahlos-cry-2018.html">Review</a> of Laura Solomon, <i>Frida Kahlo's Cry and Other Poems</i> (Hong Kong: Proverse Hong Kong, 2015)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2017/02/a-transpacific-poetics-2018.html">Review</a> of <i>A TransPacific Poetics</i>, ed. Lisa Samuels and Sawako Nakayasu (Brooklyn, NY: Litmus Press, 2017)</li>
<b>Books & Magazines in brief:</b>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2017/02/field-notes-2018.html">Review</a> of Mary Cresswell, <i>Field Notes</i> (Wellington: Mākaro Press, 2017)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2017/02/observations-osservazioni-2018.html">Review</a> of Claudio Pasi, <i>Observations: Poems / Osservazione: Poesie</i>, trans. Tim Smith & Marco Sonzogni (Wellington: Seraph Press, 2016)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2017/02/shipwrecksshelters-2018.html">Review</a> of <i>Shipwrecks/Shelters: Six Contemporary Greek Poets / Ναυάγια/Καταφύγια: Έξι Σύγχρονοι Έλληνες Ποιητές</i>. With Lena Kallergi, Theodore Chiotis, Phoebe Giannisi, Patricia Kolaiti, Vassilis Amanatidis & Katerina Iliopoulou, ed. & trans. Vana Manasiadis (Wellington: Seraph Press, 2016)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2017/02/signals-5-2018.html">Review</a> of <i>Signals: A Literary Journal</i> 5, ed. Ros Ali & Johanna Emeney (Devonport: Michael King Writers’ Centre, 2016)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2017/02/the-trials-of-minnie-dean-2018.html">Review</a> of Karen Zelas, <i>The Trials of Minnie Dean: A Verse Biography</i> (Wellington: Mākaro Press, 2017)</li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(January 1) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2017/01/painting-with-words-2017.html">Painting with Words</a>: Review of <i>Painting with Words: a Collection of Poems</i>, by Terence O’Neill-Joyce (Warkworth: Video Pacific Communications Limited, 2017).” <a href="https://poetrynzreview.blogspot.co.nz/2018/01/terence-oneill-joyce-painting-with.html"><i>Poetry New Zealand Review</i></a>: Books & Magazines in brief (1/1/18).</li>
<br />
<div id="ftn26">
<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn26" name="_ftn26" title=""><b>2017</b></a> [21]</div>
<br />
<li>(December 7) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2017/01/lounge-room-tribalism-2017.html">Lounge Room Tribalism (for Graham Fletcher</a>).” <i><a href="http://www.thescopes.org/art-and-design-14/lounge-room-tribalism-for-graham-fletcher/">Scope: Art and Design</a></i> #14 (November 2017): 133-35.</li>
<br />
<li>(November 23) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2017/01/welcome-to-novella-2017.html">Welcome to Novella</a>.” Leicester Kyle. <a href="http://papertablepress.blogspot.co.nz/2017/10/letters-to-psychiatrist-2017.html"><i>Letters to a Psychiatrist</i></a>. Edited with an Afterword by Jack Ross. Paper Table Novellas, 2 (Auckland: Paper Table, 2017): 81-87.</li>
<br />
<li>(November 1) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2017/01/milk-island-2017.html">The Poetics of Planned Obsolescence</a>: Review of <i>Milk Island</i>, by Rhydian Thomas (Lawrence & Gibson Publishing Collective, 2017).” <a href="https://www.landfallreview.com/the-poetics-of-planned-obsolescence/"><i>Landfall Review Online</i></a> (2017).</li>
<br />
<li>(October 30) "<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2017/01/vanishing-points-2017.html"><i>Vanishing Points</i></a>: Launch Speech." Contribution to Paula Green, “Michele Leggott’s glorious new poetry collection: a launch speech and some poems.” <a href="https://nzpoetryshelf.com/2017/10/30/michele-leggotts-glorious-new-poetry-collection-a-launch-speech-and-some-poems/"><i>NZ Poetry Shelf</i></a><i>: a poetry page with reviews, interviews and other things</i> (30/10/17).</li>
<br />
<li>(September 26) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2017/01/pilot-2018-guide-for-writers-2017.html">Starting (and Stopping) a Poem</a>.” <i>Pilot 2018: A Diary for Writers</i> (Melbourne & South Gippsland: <a href="http://www.pilotpress.com.au/">Pilot Press</a>, 2018): 12.</li>
<br />
<li>(February 21) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2017/01/enactments-of-identity-2017.html">Enactments of Identity in the New Zealand Short Story</a>.” <i>Fudan Journal of the Humanities and Social Sciences (FDHS).</i> ISSN 1674-0750. <a href="http://rdcu.be/pqnG">DOI 10.1007/s40647-017-0170-2</a> (2017): 1-19.</li>
<br />
<li>(January 28) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2017/01/how-many-miles-to-babylon-2017.html">How Many Miles to Babylon</a>? Three Faces of Mike Johnson’s <i>Lear</i>.” <i>brief</i> 55 (Summer 2016-17): 113-31.</li>
<br />
<li>(January 15) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2017/01/the-time-of-achamoth-2017.html">The Time of Achamoth</a>: M. K. Joseph and the Rise of New Zealand Speculative Fiction.” <i>Journal of New Zealand Literature</i> 34.2<i>: New Writing 1975-2000</i>. Guest Editor John Geraets (2016): 61-80.</li>
<br />
<li>(January 13) (Ed.) <i>Poetry NZ Yearbook 2017</i> [Issue #51]: 14-19, 48-51, 293-302 & 318-23:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2017/01/poetry-nz-yearbook-2017-editorial-2017.html">Editorial</a> – Hands across the Tasman</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2017/01/an-interview-with-elizabeth-morton-2017.html">An Interview with Elizabeth Morton</a></li>
<b>Reviews:</b>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2017/01/the-blue-outboard-2017.html">Review</a> of Nicholas Williamson, <i>The Blue Outboard: New and Selected Poems</i> (Port Chalmers: Black Doris Press, 2016)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2017/01/poems-from-george-wilder-cottage-2017.html">Review</a> of Antonios Papaspiropoulos, <i>Poems from the George Wilder Cottage: A Poetry Cycle</i> (Southbank, Victoria, Australia: St. Antoni Publishing, 2015)</li>
<li><a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2017/01/in-slant-light-2017.html">Review</a> of Cilla McQueen, <i>In a Slant Light: A Poet’s Memoir</i> (Dunedin: Otago University Press, 2016)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2017/01/koel-2017.html">Review</a> of Jen Crawford, <i>Koel</i> (Melbourne: Cordite Books, 2016)</li>
<b>Books & Magazines in brief:</b>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2017/01/brief-54-love-2017.html">Review</a> of <i>brief</i> 54: <i>Love</i>, ed. Olivia Macassey (Pokeno, Auckland: The Writers Group, 2016)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2017/01/mister-hamilton-2017.html">Review</a> of John Dickson, <i>Mister Hamilton</i> (Auckland: Auckland University Press, 2016)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2017/01/nothing-for-it-but-to-sing-2017.html">Review</a> of Michael Harlow, <i>Nothing for it but to Sing</i> (Dunedin: Otago University Press, 2016)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2017/01/ika-4-2017.html">Review</a> of <i>IKA</i> 4: <i>Journal of Literature and Art</i>, ed. Anne Kennedy (Manukau: MIT, 2016)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2017/01/jaam-33-small-departures-2017.html">Review</a> of <i>JAAM</i> 33: <i>Small Departures</i>, ed. Kiri Piahana-Wong and Rosetta Allan (Wellington: JAAM Collective, 2015)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2017/01/an-echo-where-you-lie-2017.html">Review</a> of Polina Kouzminova, <i>An echo where you lie</i> (Wellington: Mākaro Press, 2016)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2017/01/my-mother-and-hungarians-2017.html">Review</a> of Frankie McMillan, <i>My Mother and the Hungarians and Other Small Fictions</i> (Christchurch: Canterbury University Press, 2016)</li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
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<li>(December 25) “<a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2016/11/brief-55-supplement-babylon-2016.html">Issue 55 Supplement</a>: <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2017/01/how-many-miles-to-babylon-2017.html">How Many Miles To Babylon</a>.” <a href="http://www.briefthejournal.nz/issue-55-babylon/">The brief blog</a> (25/12/16).</li>
<br />
<li>(December 4) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/11/poetry-shelf-poets-choice-2016.html">Poetry Shelf, Poet's Choice</a>.” Contribution to Paula Green. <a href="https://nzpoetryshelf.com/2016/12/05/poetry-shelfs-annual-books-we-loved-in-2016-lists/"><i>NZ Poetry Shelf: a poetry page with reviews, interviews, and other things</i></a> (4/12/16).</li>
<br />
<li>(November 22) <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/11/catching-ride-on-paradox-2016.html">Blurb</a> for Keith Nunes, <i>catching a ride on a paradox: poetry and short fiction</i> (Rotorua, 2016).</li>
<br />
<li>(July 8) "<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/05/on-road-to-nowhere-2016.html">On the Road to Nowhere</a>: Revisiting Samuel Butler’s <i>Erewhon</i>." <i>Extraordinary Anywhere: Essays on Place from Aotearoa New Zealand</i>. Ed. Ingrid Horrocks & Cherie Lacey. Wellington: Victoria University Press, 2016. 135-49.</li>
<br />
<li>(May 19) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/03/the-psychopathic-god-2016.html">The Psychopathic God</a>: Review of <i>R.H.I.</i>, by Tim Corballis (Victoria University Press, 2015).” <i>Landfall</i> 231 (April 2015): 182-85.</li>
<br />
<li>(May 5) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/05/the-skeleton-of-kitten-killed-by-frost.html">I am ‘modern’ but want to go back’</a>: Review of <i>Aurelia</i>, by John Hawke (Cordite Press, 2015).” <i><a href="http://www.textjournal.com.au/april16/ross_rev.htm">TEXT: Journal of Writing and Writing Courses</a></i>, vol 20, no. 1 (April 2016).</li>
<br />
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<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn24" name="_ftn24" title=""><b>2015</b></a> [19]</div>
<br />
<li>(December 11) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2015/12/poetry-shelf-poets-choice-2015.html">Poetry Shelf, Poet's Choice</a>.” Contribution to Paula Green. <a href="http://nzpoetryshelf.com/2015/12/11/poetry-shelf-poets-choice-jack-ross-makes-a-few-picks/"><i>NZ Poetry Shelf: a poetry page with reviews, interviews, and other things</i></a> (11/12/15).</li>
<br />
<li>(November 27) (Ed.) <i>Poetry NZ Yearbook</i> 2 [Issue #50] (2015): 7-10, 23-38, 255-63 & 269-73:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2015/11/poetry-nz-yearbook-2-editorial-2015.html">Editorial</a> – What is New Zealand Poetry?</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2015/11/an-interview-with-robert-sullivan-2015.html">An Interview with Robert Sullivan</a></li>
<b>Reviews:</b>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2015/11/fish-stories-2015.html">Review</a> of Mary Cresswell, <i>Fish Stories</i> (Christchurch: Canterbury University Press, 2015)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2015/11/the-conch-trumpet-2015.html">Review</a> of David Eggleton, <i>The Conch Trumpet</i> (Dunedin: Otago University Press, 2015)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2015/11/a-place-to-go-on-from-2015.html">Review</a> of <i>A Place To Go On From: The Collected Poems of Iain Lonie</i>, ed. David Howard (Dunedin: Otago University Press, 2015)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2015/11/erebus-2015.html">Review</a> of Jane Summer, <i>Erebus</i> (Little Rock, Arkansas: Sibling Rivalry Press, 2014)</li>
<b>Books & Magazines in brief:</b>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2015/11/taking-my-mother-to-opera-2015.html">Review</a> of Diane Brown, <i>Taking My Mother to the Opera</i> (Dunedin: Otago University Press, 2015)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2015/11/catalyst-11-my-republic-2015.html">Review</a> of <i>Catalyst 11: My Republic</i>, ed. Doc Drumheller (Christchurch: The Republic of Oma Rāpeti Press, 2014)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2015/11/histories-of-future-2015.html">Review</a> of Martin Edmond & Maggie Hall, <i>Histories of the Future</i> (North Hobart, Tasmania: Walleah Press, 2015)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2015/11/jaam-32-shorelines-2015.html">Review</a> of <i>JAAM 32: Shorelines</i>, ed. Sue Wootton (Wellington: JAAM Collective, 2014)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2015/11/a-little-book-of-sonnets-2015.html">Review</a> of Julie Leibrich, <i>A Little Book of Sonnets</i> (Wellington: Steele Roberts Aotearoa, 2013)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2015/11/tender-machines-2015.html">Review</a> of Emma Neale, <i>Tender Machines</i> (Dunedin: Otago University Press, 2015)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2015/11/generation-kitchen-2015.html">Review</a> of Richard Reeve, <i>Generation Kitchen</i> (Dunedin: Otago University Press, 2015)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2015/11/fracking-hawk-2015.html">Review</a> of Pat White, <i>Fracking & Hawk</i> (Aotearoa New Zealand: Frontiers Press, 2015)</li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(August 29) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/09/we-society-2015.html">'We' Society</a>: Editor's Note.” <a href="http://printablereality.com/publishing/we-society-publication/"><i>'We' Society Poetry Anthology</i></a>. Edited with a Preface by Jack Ross. Stage2Page Titles, 4 (Bethells / Te Henga, Auckland: Poetry/Spoken Word Art NZ Trust, 2015): 1-3.</li>
<br />
<li>(July 29) <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/09/edmond-hall-histories-of-future-2015.html">Blurb</a> for Martin Edmond & Maggie Hall, <i>Histories of the Future</i> (North Hobart, Tasmania: Walleah Press, 2015).</li>
<br />
<li>(May 11) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/09/miss-herbert-2015.html">Miss Herbert</a>, by Adam Thirlwell [2007].” <a href="http://www.verbivoraciouspress.org/festschrifts/volume-three-the-syllabus/"><i>Verbivoracious Festschrift Vol. 3: The Syllabus</i></a>. Ed. G.N. Forester and M.J. Nicholls. ISBN 978-981-09-3593-1 (Singapore: Verbivoracious Press, 2015): 209-10.</li>
<br />
<li>(May 1) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/09/mistory-2015.html">Is MiStory YourStory</a>? Review of <i>MiStory</i>, by Philip Temple (Dunedin: Scribe Publishing, 2014).” <a href="http://www.landfallreview.com/fiction/is-mistory-yourstory/"><i>Landfall Review Online</i></a> (2015).</li>
<br />
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<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn23" name="_ftn23" title=""><b>2014</b></a> [36]</div>
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<li>(November 1) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/09/an-interview-with-gabriel-white-2014.html">An Interview with Gabriel White</a>.” <i>Tongdo Fantasia</i>. <a href="http://vimeo.com/user2844675"><i>Gabriel White on Vimeo</i></a> (26/10/14).</li>
<br />
<li>(October 28) (Ed.) <i>Poetry NZ Yearbook</i> 1 [Issue #49] (2014): 7-10, 41-48, 224-37:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/09/poetry-nz-yearbook-1-editorial-2014.html">Editorial</a> – From Dagmara to Lisa</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/09/an-interview-with-lisa-samuels-2014.html">An Interview with Lisa Samuels</a></li>
<b>Books & Magazines in brief:</b>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/09/beyond-ohlala-mountains-2014.html">Review</a> of Alan Brunton, <i>Beyond the Ohlala Mountains: Poems 1968-2002</i>. Ed. Michele Leggott & Martin Edmond (Auckland: Titus Books, 2013)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/09/born-to-red-headed-woman-2014.html">Review</a> of Kay McKenzie Cooke, <i>Born to a Red-Headed Woman</i> (Dunedin: Otago University Press, 2014)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/09/after-lunch-with-frank-ohara-2014.html">Review</a> of Craig Cotter, <i>After Lunch with Frank O’Hara</i>. Introduction by Felice Picano (New York: Chelsea Station Editions, 2014)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/09/raspberry-money-2014.html">Review</a> of Alison Denham, <i>Raspberry Money</i> (Christchurch: Sudden Valley Press, 2013)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/09/10-x-10-10-0-2014.html">Review</a> of Doc Drumheller, <i>10 x (10 + -10) = 0: A ten year, ten book project, 20/02/2002-21/02/2012</i> (Christchurch: The Republic of Oma Rāpeti Press, 2014)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/09/the-thousand-year-minutes-2014.html">Review</a> of Eugene Dubnov, <i>The Thousand-Year Minutes</i>. Translated by Anne Stevenson & the author (UK: Shoestring Press, 2013)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/09/on-wing-2014.html">Review</a> of Sue Fitchett, <i>On the Wing</i> (Wellington: Steele Roberts Aotearoa, 2014)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/09/conversation-by-owl-light-2014.html">Review</a> of Alexandra Fraser, <i>Conversation by Owl-Light</i> (Wellington: Steele Roberts Aotearoa, 2014)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/09/the-thin-boy-other-poems-2014.html">Review</a> of John Gibb, <i>The Thin Boy & Other Poems</i> (Lyttelton: Cold Hub Press, 2014)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/09/si-no-te-hubieras-ido-2014.html">Review</a> of Rogelio Guedea, <i>Si no te hubieras ido / If only you hadn’t gone</i>. With translations by Roger Hickin. Introduction by Vincent O’Sullivan (Lyttelton: Cold Hub Press, 2014)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/09/sweeping-courtyard-2014.html">Review</a> of <i>Sweeping the Courtyard: The Selected Poems of Michael Harlow</i> (Lyttelton: Cold Hub Press, 2014)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/09/heart-absolutely-i-can-2014.html">Review</a> of Michael Harlow, <i>Heart absolutely I can</i>. Hoopla Series (Wellington: Mākaro Press, 2014)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/09/the-tulip-flame-2014.html">Review</a> of Chloe Honum, <i>The Tulip-Flame</i> (Cleveland, Ohio: Cleveland State University Poetry Center, 2014)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/09/the-speak-house-2014.html">Review</a> of David Howard, <i>The Speak House: A Poem in Fifty-Seven Pentastichs on the Final Hours in the Life of Robert Louis Stevenson</i> (Lyttelton: Cold Hub Press, 2014)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/09/remnants-2014.html">Review</a> of Leonard Lambert, <i>Remnants: Poems</i> (Wellington: Steele Roberts Aotearoa, 2013)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/09/bird-murder-2014.html">Review</a> of Stephanie Lash, <i>Bird murder</i>. Hoopla Series (Wellington: Mākaro Press, 2014)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/09/edwins-egg-other-poetic-novellas-2014.html">Review</a> of Cilla McQueen (in association with the Alexander Turnbull Library), <i>Edwin’s Egg & Other Poetic Novellas</i> (Dunedin: Otago University Press, 2014)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/09/whistling-in-dark-2014.html">Review</a> of John O’Connor, <i>Whistling in the Dark</i> (Wellington: HeadworX, 2014)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/09/outloud-too-2014.html">Review</a> of <i>Outloud Too</i>. Ed. Vaughan Rapatahana, Kate Rogers, Madeleine Slavick (Hong Kong: MCCM Creations, 2014)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/09/arboretum-2014.html">Review</a> of Lee Posna, <i>Arboretum</i> (Auckland: Compound Press, 2014)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/cinema-2014.html">Review</a> of Helen Rickerby, <i>Cinema</i>. Hoopla Series (Wellington: Mākaro Press, 2014)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/the-antigone-poems-2014.html">Review</a> of Marie Slaight, <i>The Antigone Poems</i>. Drawings by Terrence Tasker (Potts Point NSW: Altaire Production and Publication, 2013)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/ruby-duby-du-2014.html">Review</a> of Elizabeth Smither, <i>Ruby Duby Du</i> (Lyttelton: Cold Hub Press, 2014)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/fallen-grace-2014.html">Review</a> of MaryJane Thomson, <i>Fallen Grace</i> (Wellington: HeadworX / The Night Press, 2014)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/fiddlehead-2014.html">Review</a> of Steven Toussaint, <i>Fiddlehead</i> (Auckland: Compound Press, 2014)</li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(August 5) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/august-on-shelf-2014.html">August on the Shelf</a>.” Contribution to Paula Green. <a href="http://nzpoetryshelf.com/2014/08/05/august-on-the-shelf-poetry-picks-from-siobhan-harvey-harry-ricketts-jack-ross-james-norcliffe/"><i>NZ Poetry Shelf: a poetry page with reviews, interviews, and other things</i></a> (5/8/14).</li>
<br />
<li>(May 16) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/the-disestablishment-of-paradise-2014.html">Green Movement</a>: Review of Phillip Mann, <i>The Disestablishment of Paradise: A Novel in Five Parts plus Documents</i> (London: Gollancz, 2013).” <i>Landfall</i></a> 227 – <i>Vital Signs</i> (2014): 183-85.</li>
<br />
<li>(April 14) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/the-zone-plateau-2014.html">Paul Celan & Leicester Kyle</a>: The Zone & the Plateau.” <a href="http://www.nzepc.auckland.ac.nz/kmko/13/ka_mate13_ross.asp"><i>Ka Mate Ka Ora</i></a> 13 (2014): 54-71.</li>
<br />
<li>(March 12) (Ed.) <i>brief</i> 50 – <i>the projects issue</i> (2014): 3-5, 152-53, 154-56:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/brief-50-editorial-2014.html">Editorial</a> – Misha's Project</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/wild-dialectics-2014.html">Review</a> of Lisa Samuels, <i>Wild Dialectics</i> (Bristol: Shearsman Books Ltd., 2012)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/book-of-equanimity-verses-2014.html">Review</a> of Richard von Sturmer, <i>Book of Equanimity Verses</i> (Auckland: Puriri Press, 2013)</li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(February 6) Leicester Kyle. <i>The Millerton Sequences</i>. Edited by Jack Ross. Poem by David Howard. ISBN 978-0-473-18880-1. Pokeno, Auckland: Atuanui Press, 2014. 8-29:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/introducing-leicester-kyle-2014.html">Introducing Leicester Kyle</a></li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(February 1) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/the-wind-city-2014.html">Carnage in Cuba Street</a>: Review of <i>The Wind City</i>, by Summer Wigmore (Steam Press, 2013).” <a href="http://www.landfallreview.com/fiction/carnage-in-cuba-street/"><i>Landfall Review Online</i></a> (2014).</li>
<br />
<div id="ftn22">
<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn22" name="_ftn22" title=""><b>2013</b></a> [6]</div>
<br />
<li>(December 9) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/here-are-poetry-books-that-hooked-us.html">Here are the poetry books that hooked us in 2013</a>.” Contribution to Paula Green. <a href="http://nzpoetryshelf.com/2013/12/09/here-are-the-poetry-books-that-hooked-us-in-2013/"><i>NZ Poetry Shelf: a poetry page with reviews, interviews, and other things</i></a> (9/12/13).</li>
<br />
<li>(September 27) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/confessions-of-unrepentant-anthologist.html">Confessions of an Unrepentant Anthologist</a>: Review of <i>The AUP Anthology of NZ Literature</i>, ed. Jane Stafford & Mark Williams (Auckland: AUP, 2013).” <i>brief</i> 49 (2013): 129-45.</li>
<br />
<li>(September 7) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/wearing-their-ethics-on-their-sleeves.html">Wearing their ethics on their sleeves</a>: Review of Elizabeth Knox, <i>Mortal Fire</i> (Wellington: Gecko Press, 2013) & Mandy Hager, <i>Dear Vincent</i> (Auckland: Random House New Zealand, 2013).” <i>NZ Books: A Quarterly Review</i> vol. 23, no. 3, issue 103 (Spring 2013): 16-17.</li>
<br />
<li>(August 31) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/trouble-in-river-city-2013.html">Trouble in River City</a>: How I learned to stop worrying and trust poetics.” <i>Poetry NZ</i> 47 (2013): 93-103.</li>
<br />
<li>(June 25) “Obituary – <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/dreamtigers-im-sarah-broom-2013.html">Dreamtigers: i.m. Sarah Broom</a>.” <i>Poetry Notes</i> 14 (vol. 4, issue 2). ISSN 1179-7681 (Winter 2013): 6-8.</li>
<br />
<li>(May 14) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/never-get-taken-to-second-location-2013.html">Never Get Taken to the Second Location</a>: Review of <i>The Second Location. Stories</i> by Bronwyn Lloyd (Auckland: Titus Books, 2011). RRP $NZ 30.00.” <i>Landfall</i> 225 – <i>My Auckland</i> (2013): 186-89. </li>
<br />
<div id="ftn21">
<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn21" name="_ftn21" title=""><b>2012</b></a> [25]</div>
<br />
<li>(November 23) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/interpreting-paul-celan-2012.html">Interpreting Paul Celan</a>.” <i>brief</i> 46 – <i>The Survival Issue</i> (2012): 85-101.</li>
<br />
<li>(November 5) <i>Celanie: Poems & Drawings after Paul Celan</i>.
Poems by Jack Ross, Drawings by Emma Smith, with an Afterword by Bronwyn
Lloyd. ISBN 978-0-473-22484-4. Pania Samplers, 3. Auckland: Pania
Press, 2012. 168 pp. 11-16:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/the-twenty-year-masterclass-2012.html">Introduction</a>: The Twenty-Year Masterclass</li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(September 24) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/channelling-paul-celan-2012.html">Channeling Paul Celan</a>.” <i>Rabbit</i> 5: <i>The RARE Issue</i> (Winter 2012): 118-31.</li>
<br />
<li>(September 1) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/nicholas-reid-little-enemy-2012.html">Review</a> of <i>The Little Enemy</i>, by Nicholas Reid (Wellington: Steele Roberts Aotearoa, 2011).” <i>Poetry NZ</i> 45 (2012): 103-4.</li>
<br />
<li>(July 1) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/closedown-hibernate-restart-2012.html">Closedown, hibernate, restart</a>: Review of <i>The Comforter</i>, by Helen Lehndorf (Seraph Press, 2011) & <i>Birds of Clay</i>, by Aleksandra Lane (VUP, 2012).” <a href="http://www.landfallreview.com/poetry/closedown-hibernate-restart/"><i>Landfall Review Online</i></a> (2012).</li>
<br />
<li>(June 19) <i>Fallen Empire: Maui in the Underworld, Kupe & the Fountain of Youth, Hatupatu & the Nile-monster: Three Play-Fragments from the Literary Remains of The Society of Inner Light</i>. Attributed to Bertolt Wegener. Edited with an introduction by Jack Ross. Museum of True History in Collaboration with Karl Chitham and Jack Ross (20 June – 21 July 2012). Dunedin: Blue Oyster Art Project Space, 2012:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/fallen-empire-introduction-2012.html">Introduction</a></li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(May 8) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/old-shore-2012.html">Old Shore</a>.” <a href="http://www.trout.auckland.ac.nz/journal/17/17_40.html"><i>Trout</i></a> 17: <i>Home Spaces</i> (2012).</li>
<br />
<li>(May 6) <i>brief</i> 44 / 45 – <i>Oceania</i> (2012): 56-76 & 206-7:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/the-great-white-silence-2012.html">The Great White Silence</a></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/leicester-kyle-koroneho-2012.html">Review</a> of Leicester Kyle, <i>Koroneho</i></li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(March 31-July 3) JACK ROSS: Notes on NZ Poetry (April-June 2012). <a href="https://jacket2.org/commentary/jack-ross"><i>Jacket2: Commentaries</i></a>. <ol>
<li>[31/3/12]: <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/notes-on-nz-poetry-1-2012.html">Begin anywhere</a></li>
<li>[6/4/12]: <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/notes-on-nz-poetry-2-2012.html">The persistence of memory</a></li>
<li>[13/4/12]: <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/notes-on-nz-poetry-3-2012.html">Experiments with sound</a></li>
<li>[18/4/12]: <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/notes-on-nz-poetry-4-2012.html">Dancing on ropes with fetter’d legs</a></li>
<li>[27/4/12]: <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/07/notes-on-nz-poetry-5-2012.html">In small press land</a></li>
<li>[6/5/12]: <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/07/notes-on-nz-poetry-6-2012.html">State-of-the-Nation poems: Allen Curnow</a></li>
<li>[11/5/12]: <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/07/notes-on-nz-poetry-7-2012.html">State-of-the-Nation poems (2): James K. Baxter</a></li>
<li>[17/5/12]: <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/07/notes-on-nz-poetry-8-2012.html">State-of-the-Nation poems (3): Cilla McQueen</a></li>
<li>[26/5/12]: <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/07/notes-on-nz-poetry-9-2012.html">Work yet for the living: Hone Tuwhare</a></li>
<li>[1/6/12]: <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/07/notes-on-nz-poetry-10-2012.html">What's in the mags? <i>brief</i> 44/45</a></li>
<li>[8/6/12]: <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/07/notes-on-nz-poetry-11-2012.html">State-of-the-Nation poems (4): Ian Wedde</a></li>
<li>[15/6/12]: <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/07/notes-on-nz-poetry-12-2012.html">State-of-the-Nation poems (5): Kendrick Smithyman</a></li>
<li>[25/6/12]: <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/07/notes-on-nz-poetry-13-2012.html">State-of-the-Nation poems (6): Michele Leggott</a></li>
<li>[3/7/12]: <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/07/notes-on-nz-poetry-14-2012.html">Coda</a></li>
</ol>
</li>
<br />
<li>(March 30) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/07/marie-de-france-laustic-2012.html">Marie de France</a>: ‘Laüstic’ (c.1180).” <a href="http://www.nzepc.auckland.ac.nz/kmko/11/ka_mate11_ross.asp"><i>Ka Mate Ka Ora</i></a> 11 (2012): 75-88.</li>
<br />
<li>(March 13) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/07/the-book-that-got-me-started-2012.html">The book that got me started</a> ...” Contribution to <i>Celebrating NZ Book Month</i>. <a href="http://www.press.auckland.ac.nz/en/about/news-and-events/news/news-2012/2012/03/13/Celebrating-NZ-Book-Month-Jack-Ross-on-The-book-that-got-me-started-....html"><i>Auckland University Press</i></a> (13/3/12).</li>
<br />
<div id="ftn20">
<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn20" name="_ftn20" title=""><b>2011</b></a> [7]</div>
<br />
<li>((November 29) “Look and look again: Twelve New Zealand poets.” <a href="https://jacket2.org/feature/look-and-look-again"><i>Jacket2 NZ Poetry Feature</i></a>: with poets John Adams, Raewyn Alexander, Jen Crawford, Scott Hamilton, Leicester Kyle, Aleksandra Lane, Thérèse Lloyd, Richard Reeve, Michael Steven, Apirana Taylor, Richard Taylor, Richard von Sturmer. Edited by Jack Ross. Images by Emma Smith.<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/07/look-look-again-2011.html">Introduction</a> - Look, & Look Again: 12 New Zealand Poets</li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(November 3) Leicester Kyle, <i>Koroneho: Joyful News Out Of The New Found World</i>. Edited with an Introduction by Jack Ross. Preface by Ian St George. ISBN 978-0-9876604-0-4. Auckland: The Leicester Kyle Literary Estate / Wellington: The Colenso Society, 2011. 7-9:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/07/koroneho-introduction-2011.html">Introduction</a></li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(November 1) <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/05/keith-westwater-tongues-of-ash-2011.html">Blurb</a> for Keith Westwater, <i>Tongues of Ash</i> (Brisbane: Interactive Press, October 2011).</li>
<br />
<li>(August 25) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/lugosis-children-2011.html">Foreword</a>.” <i>Lugosi’s Children</i>, Curated by Bronwyn Lloyd (27 August – 1 October 2011). Auckland: Objectspace, 2011: 2-3. [PDF available at: <a href="http://www.objectspace.org.nz/publications/viewPublication.php?documentCode=2984">http://www.objectspace.org.nz/publications/viewPublication.php?documentCode=2984</a>].</li>
<br />
<li>(May 25) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/07/johnsons-or-shits-2011.html">Johnsons or Shits</a>: Review of Mike Johnson, <i>Travesty</i> (Auckland: Titus Books, 2010).” <i>brief</i> 42 (2011): 40-44.</li>
<br />
<li>(May 17) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/07/questions-of-structure-2011.html">Questions of Structure</a>: Review of John Newton, <i>Lives of the Poets</i>; Cilla McQueen, <i>The Radio Room</i>; David Eggleton, <i>Time of the Icebergs</i>.” <i>Landfall</i> 221 – <i>Outside In</i> (2011): 184-87.</li>
<br />
<li>(January 6) Kendrick Smithyman, <i>Campana to Montale: Versions from Italian</i>. 2004. Edited by Jack Ross & Marco Sonzogni. ISBN-13: 978-88-7536-264-5. Transference Series. Ed. Erminia Passannanti. Novi Ligure: Edizioni Joker, 2010. 23-39:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/07/the-poem-within-2011.html">Essay</a> – The Poem Within: Kendrick Smithyman the Poet-Translator</li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<div id="ftn19">
<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn19" name="_ftn19" title=""><b>2010</b></a> [6]</div>
<br />
<li>(December 16) <i>11 Views of Auckland</i>. Edited by Jack Ross & Grant Duncan. Preface by Jack Ross. Social and Cultural Studies, 10. ISSN 1175-7132. Auckland: Massey University, 2010. ii + 210 pp. [100 copies]. 5-8; 155-76:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/07/11-views-of-auckland-preface-2010.html">Preface</a></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/07/the-stokes-point-pillars-2010.html">The Stokes Point Pillars</a></li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(November 19) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/07/hearts-on-run-2010.html">Hearts on the Run</a>: Poetry Panels in Sydney.” <a href="http://www.nzepc.auckland.ac.nz/features/home&away/papers-ross.asp"><i>All Together Now</i></a>: A Digital Bridge for Auckland and Sydney / <i>Kia Kotahi Rā</i>: He Arawhata Ipurangi mō Tamaki Makau Rau me Poihākena (March-September 2010). (23/11/10).</li>
<br />
<li>(November 18) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/07/a-short-history-of-fairytales-2010.html">A Short History of Fairytales</a>.” <i>One Brown Box: A Storybook Exhibition for Children</i>, by Bronwyn Lloyd & Karl Chitham (6 November – 18 December 2010). ISBN-13: 978-0-9582811-8-8. Auckland: Objectspace, 2010: 27-37.</li>
<br />
<li>(September 17) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/07/disorder-and-early-sorrow-2010.html">Discussion of 'Disorder and Early Sorrow'</a>.” In <i>99 Ways into NZ Poetry</i>, by Paula Green & Harry Ricketts. ISBN 978-1-86979-178-0. Auckland: Random House, 2010. 364-65.</li>
<br />
<li> (May 27) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/07/the-sleep-of-reason-2010.html">The Sleep of Reason</a>: Review of Jessica Le Bas, <i>Walking to Africa</i>; David Lyndon Brown, <i>Skin Hunger</i>; Bernadette Hall, <i>The Lustre Jug</i>; Kevin Ireland, <i>Table Talk: New Poems</i>; Frankie McMillan, <i>Dressing for the Cannibals</i>; Brian Turner, <i>Just This: Poems</i>; Richard von Sturmer, <i>On the Eve of Never Departing</i>.” <i>Landfall</i> 219 – <i>On Music</i> (2010): 185-89.</li>
<br />
<div id="ftn18">
<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn18" name="_ftn18" title=""><b>2009</b></a> [14]</div>
<br />
<li>(December 7) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/07/scroll-codex-hypertext-2009.html">Scroll, Codex, Hypertext</a> …” Contribution to the <i>Flying Blind</i> Symposium (3/12/09). <a href="http://floatingcinemas.blogspot.com/2009/12/scroll-codex-hypertext.html"><i>Floating Cinemas Website</i></a> (7/12/09).</li>
<br />
<li> (November 3) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/07/troubling-our-sleep-2009.html">Troubling Our Sleep: Ted Jenner’s Postmodern Classicism</a>.” <a href="http://www.nzepc.auckland.ac.nz/kmko/08/ka_mate08_ross.asp"><i>Ka Mate Ka Ora</i></a> 8 (2009): 46-66. </li>
<br />
<li>(September 25) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/07/travelling-to-edge-of-oneself-2009.html">Travelling to the Edge of Oneself</a>: Review of Martin Edmond, <i>The Supply Party</i>.” <i>brief</i> 38 (2009): 89-93.</li>
<br />
<li>(June 16) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/07/the-tolkien-industry-2009.html">The Tolkien Industry</a>.” <a href="http://books.scoop.co.nz/2009/06/16/the-tolkien-industry/"><i>Scoop Review of Books</i></a> (16/6/09). </li>
<br />
<li>(May 29) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/07/is-there-future-for-poetry-blog-2009.html">Is there a future for the poetry blog?</a>” Colloquium: “1,000 words or a picture: Could Poetry be a Contemporary Art?” <a href="http://www.nzepc.auckland.ac.nz/kmko/07/ka_mate07_ross.asp"><i>Ka Mate Ka Ora</i></a> 7 (2009): 26-29.</li>
<br />
<li>(May 6) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/07/in-love-with-chinese-novel-2009.html">In Love with the Chinese Novel</a>: A Voyage around the <i>Hung Lou Meng</i>.” <i>brief</i> 37 (2009): 10-28. [Available at:
<a href="http://titus.books.online.fr/WebMagazines/ChineseNovel.html">Titus Books website</a> (June 15, 2010)].</li>
<br />
<li>(March 1) (Ed.) <i>Poetry NZ</i> 38 (2009): 9, 10 & 107-8.:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/07/poetry-nz-38-editorial-2009.html">Editorial</a> [Available at: <a href="http://www.poetrynz.net/current-issue/">Poetry NZ Website</a> (12/3/09)]</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/07/jen-crawford-2009.html">Jen Crawford</a></li>
<li>Books & Magazines in brief: <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/06/land-very-fertile-2009.html">Review</a> of Coral Atkinson & David Gregory, ed. <i>Land very Fertile: Banks Peninsula in Poetry & Prose</i> (Christchurch: CUP, 2008)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/06/just-another-fantastic-anthology-2009.html">Review</a> of Stu Bagby, ed. <i>Just Another Fantastic Anthology: Auckland in Poetry</i> (Auckland: Antediluvian Press, 2008)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/06/helen-bascand-into-vanishing-point-2009.html">Review</a> of Helen Bascand, <i>into the vanishing point</i> (Wellington: Steele Roberts, 2007)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/06/michael-harlow-tram-conductors-blue-cap.html">Review</a> of Michael Harlow, <i>The Tram Conductor’s Blue Cap</i> (Auckland: AUP, 2009)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/06/john-oconnor-parts-of-moon-2009.html">Review</a> of John O’Connor, <i>Parts of the Moon: Selected Haiku & Senryu, 1988-2007</i> (Teneriffe, Queensland: Post Pressed, 2007)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/06/takahe-64-2009.html">Review</a> of <i>Takahe</i> 64 (Winter 2008)</li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<div id="ftn17">
<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn17" name="_ftn17" title=""><b>2008</b></a> [5]</div>
<br />
<li>(September 23) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/06/climbing-off-barricades-2008.html">Climbing off the Barricades</a>: Review of Tony Beyer, <i>Dream Boat: Selected Poems</i> & Stu Bagby, ed. <i>A Good Handful: Great NZ Poems about Sex</i>." <i>brief</i> #36 (2008) – <i>The NZ Music Issue</i>: 114-18.</li>
<br />
<li>(August 30) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/06/ex-africa-semper-aliquid-novi-2008.html"><i>Ex Africa semper aliquid novi</i></a> ... Review of Alistair Paterson, <i>Africa: //Kabbo, Mantis and the Porcupine’s Daughter</i>.” <i>Poetry NZ</i> 37 (2008): 101-08.</li>
<br />
<li>(July 30) <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/06/martin-edmond-evolution-of-mirrors-2008.html">Review</a> of Martin Edmond, <i>The Evolution of Mirrors</i>. Queensland: Otoliths, 2008. <a href="http://www.lulu.com/content/3372034">Lulu</a> Marketplace.</li>
<br />
<li>(June 15) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/06/the-word-for-food-hot-rolls-2008.html">Recipe</a>: Hot rolls.” In <i>The Word for Food: Recipes and Anecdotes from members of the International Writers’ Workshop, and others</i>. Ed. Joyce Irving. Palmerston North: Heritage Press Ltd., 2008. 98-99.</li>
<br />
<li> (June 6) <i>New New Zealand Poets in Performance</i>. Edited by Jack Ross. Poems Selected by Jack Ross and Jan Kemp. ISBN 978 1 86940 4093. Auckland: Auckland University Press, 2008. xiv + 146 pp. ix-xii:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/06/new-nz-poets-in-performance-preface-2008.html">Preface</a></li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<div id="ftn16">
<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn16" name="_ftn16" title=""><b>2007</b></a> [7]</div>
<br />
<li> (November 13) (Ed.) <i>Landfall</i> 214 – <i>Open House</i> (2007): 5-6, 175-79 & 187-90:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/06/landfall-214-open-house-editorial-2007.html">Editorial</a> – Terms of Engagement</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/06/the-need-to-gather-stones-2007.html">The Need to Gather Stones</a>: Review of Geoff Cochrane, <i>84-484</i> & Fiona Farrell, <i>The Pop-Up Book of Invasions</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/06/at-revival-meeting-2007.html">At the Revival Meeting</a>: Review of Martin Edmond, <i>Waimarino County and Other Excursions</i></li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(September 1) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/06/irony-and-after-new-bearings-in-nz.html">Irony and After</a>: New Bearings in NZ Poetry.” <i>Poetry NZ</i> 35 (2007): 95-103.</li>
<br />
<li>(June 6) <i>To Terezín</i>. Travelogue by Jack Ross, with an Afterword by Martin Edmond. Social and Cultural Studies, 8. ISSN 1175-7132 (Auckland: Massey University, 2007). ii + 90 pp. 5-6:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/05/to-terezin-preface-2008.html">Preface</a></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/06/the-golem-2007.html">The Golem</a></li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(March 29) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/06/pounds-fascist-cantos-revisited-2007.html">Pound’s Fascist Cantos Revisited</a>.” <a href="http://www.nzepc.auckland.ac.nz/kmko/03/ka_mate03_ross.asp"><i>Ka Mate Ka Ora</i></a> #3 (2007): 41-57.<ul>
<li>(September) "Correspondence: Pound’s Italian Cantos." <a href="http://www.nzepc.auckland.ac.nz/kmko/04/ka_mate04_correspondence.asp"><i>Ka Mate Ka Ora</i></a> #4 (2007): 154-57.</li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<div id="ftn15">
<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn15" name="_ftn15" title=""><b>2006</b></a> [9]</div>
<br />
<li> (December 13) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/06/gabriels-groundhog-day-2006.html">Gabriel’s Groundhog Day</a>: Launch speech for Gabriel White's <i>Aucklantis</i>.” <a href="http://window.auckland.ac.nz/archive/2006/12/online.php"><i>Window Online</i></a> (13/12/06).</li>
<br />
<li>(December 6) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/06/for-leicester-hugo-kyle-2006.html">for Leicester Hugo Kyle</a> (b. 1937).” <i>brief</i> #34 (2006) – <i>war</i>: 6-11. [Available at: <a href="http://titus.books.online.fr/Brief/index.html">http://titus.books.online.fr/Brief/index.html</a>].</li>
<br />
<li> (September 9) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/06/death-of-old-gang-2006.html">Death of the Old Gang</a>: Review of Sarah Broom, <i>Contemporary British and Irish Poetry</i>.” <i>Poetry NZ</i> 33 (2006): 80 & 96-101. [Available at: <a href="http://mairangibay.blogspot.co.nz/2006/09/death-of-old-gang.html">The Imaginary Museum</a> (12/9/06)].</li>
<br />
<li>(August 30) <i>Myth of the 21st Century: An Anthology of New Fiction</i>. Edited by Tina Shaw & Jack Ross. ISBN 0-7900-1098-4. 137 pp. Auckland: Reed Publishing (NZ) Ltd, 2006. 7-9:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/06/myth-of-21st-century-introduction-2006.html">Introduction</a></li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(May 12) <i>Classic New Zealand Poets in Performance</i>. Edited by Jack Ross. Poems selected by Jack Ross and Jan Kemp. ISBN 1-86940-367-3. Auckland: Auckland University Press, 2006. xiv + 146 pp. ix-xi:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/06/classic-nz-poets-in-performance-preface.html">Preface</a></li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li> (March 24) <i>brief</i> #33 (2006) – <i>exile and home</i>: 35-37, 60-62, 106-8:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/06/in-defence-of-tracey-slaughter-2006.html">In Defence of Tracey Slaughter</a>: <i>Her Body Rises: Stories & Poems</i> [available at: <a href="http://readingthemaps.blogspot.com/2006/03/brief-33-out-now-phew.html">Reading the Maps</a> (25/3/06)]</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/06/smithyman-goes-online-2006.html">Smithyman Goes Online</a>: <i>Collected Poems 1943-1995</i> by Kendrick Smithyman, ed. Margaret Edgcumbe & Peter Simpson [available at: <a href="http://www.smithymanonline.auckland.ac.nz/about.php">Smithyman online</a>]</li>
<li><a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2013/06/olwyn-stewart-curriculum-vit-2006.html">Review</a> of Olwyn Stewart, <i>Curriculum Vitae</i> [available at:
<a href="http://titus.books.online.fr/html/Reviews.html#Ross">Titus Books Website</a> (29/4/06)]</li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li> (March 4) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/06/in-shop-of-wah-lee-2006.html">In the Shop of Wah Lee</a>: Denys Trussell – poet, musician, ecologist.” <i>Poetry NZ</i> 32 (2006): 85-94.</li>
<br />
<div id="ftn14">
<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn14" name="_ftn14" title=""><b>2005</b></a> [12]</div>
<br />
<li>(October 22) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/06/is-melvilles-poetry-really-worth.html">Is Melville's poetry really worth reading?</a>” <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0873386604/102-2302309-8746515?v=glance&n=283155&s=books&v=glance"><i>Amazon.com</i></a> (22/10/05).</li>
<br />
<li> (October 3) (Ed.) <i>Where Will Massey Take You? Life Writing 2</i>. ISBN 0-473-09551-3. Massey University: School of Social and Cultural Studies, 2005. viii + 155 pp. [100 copies]. v-vi:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/06/where-will-massey-take-you-preface-2005.html">Preface</a></li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li> (August 19) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/06/a-few-thoughts-on-sampling-2005.html">A few thoughts on sampling</a>.” <a href="http://titus.books.online.fr/WebMagazines/SamplingSuite.html"><i>Titus Books website</i></a> (19/8/05).</li>
<br />
<li> (July 18) (Ed.) <i>brief</i> 32 – <i>Joanna Margaret Paul</i> (2005): 3-4, 103-7:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/06/brief-32-editorial-2005.html">Editorial</a> – i.m. Joanna Margaret Paul (1946-2003)</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/06/the-brian-bell-reader-2005.html">Review</a> of <i>The Brian Bell Reader</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/05/alan-brunton-grooves-of-glory-2005.html">Review</a> of Alan Brunton, <i>Grooves of Glory: Three Performance Texts</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/05/sue-fitchett-palaver-lava-queen-2005.html">Review</a> of Sue Fitchett, <i>Palaver Lava Queen</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/05/michael-harlow-cassandras-daughter-2005.html">Review</a> of Michael Harlow, <i>Cassandra’s Daughter</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/05/anne-kennedy-time-of-giants-2005.html">Review</a> of Anne Kennedy, <i>The Time of the Giants</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/05/michele-leggott-milk-honey-2005.html">Review</a> of Michele Leggott, <i>Milk & Honey</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/05/c-k-stead-red-tram-2005.html">Review</a> of C. K. Stead, <i>The Red Tram</i></li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(July 2) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/05/john-caselberg-lawrence-jones-2005.html">Review</a> of ‘Asclepius’. <i>Poet Triumphant: The Life and Writings of R. A. K. Mason</i> (1905-1971) & Lawrence Jones. <i>Picking up the Traces: The Making of a New Zealand Literary Culture 12932-1945</i>.” <i>WLWE: World Literature Written in English</i> 40 (2) (2005): 144-47.</li>
<br />
<div id="ftn13">
<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn13" name="_ftn13" title=""><b>2004</b></a> [27]</div>
<br />
<li>(December 2) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/05/takahe-2004-poetry-competition-2004.html"><i>Takahe</i> 2004 Poetry Competition Report</a>.” <i>Takahe</i> 53 (2004): 2.</li>
<br />
<li> (November 30) (Ed.) <i>brief</i> 30 / 31 – <i>Kunst / Kultur</i> (2004): 3-4, 88-91, 109-11, 115 / 3 & 5-6:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/05/brief-30-editorial-2004.html">Editorial</a> – <i>WARUM die KUNST</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/05/murray-edmond-fool-moon-2004.html">Review</a> of Murray Edmond, <i>Fool Moon</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/05/basim-furat-here-and-there-2004.html">Review</a> of Basim Furat, <i>Here and There</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/05/harvey-mcqueen-recessional-2004.html">Review</a> of Harvey McQueen, <i>Recessional</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/05/guyon-neutze-dark-out-of-darkness-2004.html">Review</a> of Guyon Neutze, <i>Dark out of Darkness</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/05/mark-pirie-bullet-poems-2004.html">Review</a> of Mark Pirie, <i>Bullet Poems: In Four Rounds</i>, ed. “Recent New Zealand Poetry: 50 Poems by 50 Poets,” & ed. <i>Tupelo Hotel: Winter Readings at Tupelo</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/05/niel-wright-only-bullet-will-stop-me.html">Review</a> of Niel Wright, <i>Only a Bullet will stop me now</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/05/william-direen-jules-2004.html">Review</a> of William Direen, <i>Jules</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/05/brief-31-editorial-2004.html">Editorial</a> – <i>brief</i> goes political</li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li> (November 21) <i>Magazine</i> 2 (2004) <i>[aroha, love, l’amour]</i>: 7-18, 86-87:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/05/the-poetics-of-stasis-in-1001-nights.html">The Poetics of Stasis in <i>The 1001 Nights</i></a></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/05/iain-sharp-singing-harp-2004.html">Review</a> of Iain Sharp, <i>The Singing Harp</i></li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(October 18) Kendrick Smithyman. <i>Campana to Montale: Versions from Italian</i>. Edited by Jack Ross. ISBN 0-476-00382-2. [ii] + 190 pp. Auckland: The Writers Group, 2004. 10-17:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/05/campana-to-montale-introduction-2004.html">Introduction</a></li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(September 28) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/05/going-west-five-years-on-2004.html"><i>Going West </i>Five Years On</a>.” <i>Pander Online</i>. [Available at: <a href="http://www.thepander.co.nz/literature/articles/jross200409.php">http://www.thepander.co.nz/literature/articles/jross200409.php</a> (28/9/04)].</li>
<br />
<li>(September 17) <i>Golden Weather: North Shore Writers Past and Present</i>. Poems edited by Jack Ross / Prose edited by Graeme Lay. ISBN 0-908561-96-2. 244 pp. Auckland: Cape Catley, 2004. 12-16:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/05/pure-enterprise-poetry-of-north-shore.html">Pure Enterprise</a>: The Poetry of the North Shore</li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(August 31) “<a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2013/05/james-mcneish-vincent-osullivan-2004.html">Review</a> of James McNeish, <i>Dance of the Peacocks: New Zealanders in Exile in the Time of Hitler and Mao Tse-Tung</i> & Vincent O’Sullivan, <i>Long Journey to the Border: a Life of John Mulgan</i>.” <i>WLWE: World Literature Written in English</i> 39 (2) (2004): 143-46.</li>
<br />
<li> (July 12) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/05/i-dreamed-your-book-was-written-2004.html">'I dreamed your book was written</a> ...' Review of <i>Young Knowledge: the Poems of Robin Hyde</i>, ed. Michele Leggott.” <i>JNZL: Journal of New Zealand Literature</i> 22 (2004): 180-90.</li>
<br />
<li> (April 2) (Ed.) <i>brief</i> 29 – <i>more fun than you’ve ever seen</i> (2004): 3-4, 23, 62-65, 81-84, 87-88:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/05/brief-29-editorial-2004.html">Editorial</a> – The Secrets behind my Smile</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/05/paul-hardacre-year-nothing-2004.html">Review</a> of Paul Hardacre, <i>The Year Nothing</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/05/howard-pardington-how-to-occupy-our.html">Review</a> of David Howard & Fiona Pardington, <i>How to Occupy Our Selves</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/05/anne-kennedy-sing-song-2004.html">Review</a> of Anne Kennedy, <i>Sing-Song</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/05/graham-lindsay-lazy-wind-poems-2004.html">Review</a> of Graham Lindsay, <i>Lazy Wind Poems</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/04/oconnor-mould-working-voices-2004.html">Review</a> of John O’Connor & Eric Mould, <i>Working Voices</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/04/alistair-paterson-summer-on-cote-dazur.html">Review</a> of Alistair Paterson, <i>Summer on the Côte d’Azur</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/04/mark-pirie-dumber-2004.html">Review</a> of Mark Pirie, <i>Dumber</i></li>
<li><a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2013/04/john-pule-tagata-kapakiloi-2004.html">Review</a> of John Pule, <i>Tagata Kapakiloi: Restless People</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/04/r-k-mason-maurice-duggan-2004.html">Review</a> of R. A. K. Mason, <i>Four Short Stories</i> & Maurice Duggan, <i>A Voice for the Minotaur</i></li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<div id="ftn12">
<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn12" name="_ftn12" title=""><b>2003</b></a> [20]</div>
<br />
<li> (November 14) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/04/jill-chan-smell-of-oranges-2003.html">Review</a> of Jill Chan, <i>The Smell of Oranges</i>.” <i>Magazine</i> 1 (2003) <i>[loaded with arts, fire and boodle]</i>: 76.</li>
<br />
<li> (October 28) (Ed.) <i>brief</i> 28 – <i>Alan Brunton</i> (2003): 3-4, 116-22:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/04/brief-28-editorial-2003.html">Editorial</a> – In the Spirit of Crazy Horse [available at: <a href="http://www.nzepc.auckland.ac.nz/authors/brunton/brief/ed_brief.asp">nzepc</a>]</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/04/fk-you-faerie-queene-2003.html">F**k you, Faerie Queene</a>: Review of Alan Brunton, <i>Fq</i> [available at: <a href="http://www.nzepc.auckland.ac.nz/authors/brunton/brief/fq.asp">nzepc</a>]</li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(July 10) (Ed.) <i>brief</i> 27 – <i>Season of the Remakes</i> (2003): 3-4, 98, 99-100:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/04/brief-27-editorial-2003.html">Editorial</a></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/04/leicester-kyle-five-anzac-liturgies-2003.html">Review</a> of Leicester Kyle, <i>Five Anzac Liturgies</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/04/sugu-pillay-chandrasekhar-limit-2003.html">Review</a> of Sugu Pillay, <i>The Chandrasekhar Limit</i></li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(May 7) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/04/smithyman-imperial-vistas-family.html">Review</a> of Kendrick Smithyman, <i>Imperial Vistas Family Fictions</i>.” <i>JAAM</i> 19 (2003): 246-49.</li>
<br />
<li>(April 22) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/04/smithyman-quasimodo-2003.html">Smithyman / Quasimodo</a>: Introduction to the Translations of Kendrick Smithyman.” <i>Glottis: New Writing</i> 8 (2003): 91-96.</li>
<br />
<li>(April 16) (Ed.) <i>Spin</i> 45 (2003): 3, 59-63:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/04/spin-45-editorial-2003.html">Editorial</a></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/04/dreu-harrison-dreaming-of-flight-2003.html">Review</a> of dreu harrison, <i>dreaming of flight</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/04/michal-mau-taste-of-fiji-2003.html">Review</a> of Michal Ma’u, <i>Taste of Fiji</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/04/mark-pirie-swing-and-other-stories-2003.html">Review</a> of Mark Pirie, <i>Swing and Other Stories</i></li>
<li><a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2013/04/sarah-quigley-love-in-bookshop-2003.html">Review</a> of Sarah Quigley, <i>Love in a Bookshop or Your Money Back</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/04/bill-sewell-ballad-of-fifty-one-2003.html">Review</a> of Bill Sewell, <i>The Ballad of Fifty-One</i></li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(February 26) (Ed.) <i>A </i>brief<i> index: A breakdown by issue & author of 7 years / 26 issues of brief, the magazine formerly known as: A Brief Description of the Whole World / ABDOTWW / description / ABdotWW / Ab.ww / brief. &c., December 1995 – January 2003</i>. ISSN 1175-9313. 48 pp. Auckland: The Writers Group, 2003. 3:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/04/a-brief-index-preface-2003.html">Preface</a></li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(February 25) (Ed.) <i>brief</i> 26 – <i>Smithymania</i> (2003): 3-4, 5-8, 9, 19-50, 56, 92, 103-09, 115-116:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/04/brief-26-editorial-2003.html">Editorial</a></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/04/kendrick-smithyman-chronology-2003.html">Kendrick Smithyman: A Chronology</a> [available at: <a href="http://www.smithymanonline.auckland.ac.nz/chronology.php">Smithyman online</a></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/04/smithymania-miscellaneous-notes-2003.html">Miscellaneous Notes</a>: Jack's Hole / Uncollected Northland Poems / The Firpo Essay / Occasional Verses</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/04/life-with-kendrick-2003.html">Life with Kendrick</a>: A Conversation with Margaret Edgcumbe</li>
<li><a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2013/04/smithyman-imperial-vistas-family_6.html">Review</a> of Kendrick Smithyman, <i>Imperial Vistas Family Fictions</i></li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<div id="ftn11">
<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn11" name="_ftn11" title=""><b>2002</b></a> [16]</div>
<br />
<li>(December 6) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/04/alan-brunton-my-publisher-2002.html">Alan Brunton, my publisher</a>.” <a href="http://www.nzepc.auckland.ac.nz/authors/brunton/recollections/ross.asp"><i>New Zealand Electronic Poetry Centre</i></a> (6/12/02).</li>
<br />
<li>(October 7) (Ed.) <i>brief</i> 25 – <i>trains at a glance</i> (2002): 3-6, 13-16:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/04/brief-25-editorial-2002.html">Editorial</a></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/04/hong-kong-2001-2002.html">Hong Kong – 2001</a></li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(September 17) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/04/what-is-auckland-poetry-2002.html">What is Auckland Poetry?</a>” <i>Five Bells</i> vol. 9 (3) (2002): 14-15.</li>
<br />
<li>(August 29) <i>Poetry NZ</i> 25 (2002): 100-06:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/04/stephen-oliver-night-of-warehouses-2002.html">Review</a> of Stephen Oliver, <i>Night of Warehouses: Poems 1978-2000</i> [available at: <a href="http://titus.books.online.fr/html/Reviews.html#Ross">Titus Books Website</a> (29/4/06)]</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/03/mark-pirie-reading-will-2002_31.html">Review</a> of Mark Pirie, <i>Reading the Will</i></li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(July 12) (Ed.) <i>brief</i> 24 – <i>less formal than bull</i> (2002): 3, 41-44, 78-79:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/03/brief-24-editorial-2002.html">Editorial</a></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/03/hybrid-art-2002.html">Hybrid Art</a>, or the Three-Colour Problem</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/03/alan-loney-falling-2002.html">Review</a> of Alan Loney, <i>The Falling</i></li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(March 25) (Ed.) <i>Spin</i> 42 (2002): 3-4, 60-63:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/03/spin-42-editorial-2002.html">Editorial</a></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/03/jeanne-bernhardt-snow-poems-your-self.html">Review</a> of Jeanne Bernhardt, <i>The Snow Poems / Your Self of Lost Ground</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/03/t-anders-carson-different-shred-of-skin.html">Review</a> of T. Anders Carson, <i>A Different Shred of Skin</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/03/leicester-kyle-great-buller-coal.html">Review</a> of Leicester Kyle, <i>The Great Buller Coal Plateaux: A Sequence of Poems</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/03/mark-pirie-reading-will-2002.html">Review</a> of Mark Pirie, <i>Reading the Will</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/03/wensley-willcox-woman-in-green-2002.html">Review</a> of Wensley Willcox, <i>A Woman in Green</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/03/helen-rickerby-abstract-internal.html">Review</a> of Helen Rickerby, <i>Abstract Internal Furniture</i></li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<div id="ftn10">
<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn10" name="_ftn10" title=""><b>2001</b></a> [20]</div>
<br />
<li>(December) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/03/alan-loney-john-oconnor-john-geraets.html">Alan Loney / John O’Connor / John Geraets</a>.” <i>brief</i> 22 (2001): 63-73.</li>
<br />
<li>(November 17) <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/03/shebang-collected-poems-1980-2000-2001.html">Review</a> of <i>Shebang: Collected Poems 1980-2000</i> by David Howard. <i>JAAM </i>16 (2001): 171-75.</li>
<br />
<li>(October 30) “Imaginary Toads in Real Gardens: Poets in Christchurch.” In <i>Complete with Instructions</i>. Edited by David Howard. ISBN 0-473-07646-2. Christchurch: Firebrand, 2001. 33-61:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/03/imaginary-toads-in-real-gardens-i.html">I – Prelims</a></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/03/imaginary-toads-ii-julia-allen-2001.html">II – A Conversation with Julia Allen</a></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/03/imaginary-toads-iii-john-allison-2001.html">III – A Conversation with John Allison</a></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/03/imaginary-toads-iv-kenneth-fea-2001.html">IV – A Conversation with Kenneth Fea</a></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/03/imaginary-toads-v-david-gregory-2001.html">V – A Conversation with David Gregory</a></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/03/imaginary-toads-vi-rob-jackaman-2001.html">VI – A Conversation with Rob Jackaman</a></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/03/imaginary-toads-vii-graham-lindsay-2001.html">VII –A Conversation with Graham Lindsay</a> [available at: <a href="http://www.nzepc.auckland.ac.nz/authors/Lindsay/ross.asp">nzepc</a> (March 5, 2004)]</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/03/imaginary-toads-viii-mike-minehan-2001.html">VIII – A Conversation with Mike Minehan</a></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/03/imaginary-toads-ix-john-oconnor-2001.html">IX – A Conversation with John O’Connor</a></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/03/imaginary-toads-x-afterword-2001.html">X – Afterword</a></li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(September 4) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/03/translating-poetry-2001.html">Translating Poetry</a>.” <i>Poetry NZ </i>23 (2001): 125-34.</li>
<br />
<li>(July 5) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/03/case-studies-2001.html">Case Studies</a>.” <i>brief </i>20 (2001): 23-29.</li>
<br />
<li>(March 21) (Ed.) <i>Spin</i> 39 (2001): 3, 64-66:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/03/spin-39-editorial-2001.html">Editorial</a></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/03/all-together-now-2001.html">Review</a> of <i>All Together Now: A Celebration of New Zealand Culture by 100 Poets</i>, ed. Tony Chad</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/03/t-anders-carson-stain-2001.html">Review</a> of T. Anders Carson, <i>Stain</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/03/john-geraets-x-2001.html">Review</a> of John Geraets, <i>? X</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/03/david-howard-shebang-2001.html">Review</a> of David Howard, <i>Shebang: Collected Poems 1980-2000</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/03/leicester-kyle-five-anzac-liturgies-2001.html">Review</a> of Leicester Kyle, <i>Five Anzac Liturgies</i></li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<div id="ftn9">
<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn9" name="_ftn9" title=""><b>2000</b></a> [12]</div>
<br />
<li>(November 13) <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/02/murray-edmond-sue-fitchett-2000.html">Review</a> of <i>Laminations </i>by Murray Edmond and <i>Charts & Soundings </i>by Sue Fitchett & Jane Zusters. <i>JAAM</i> 14 (2000): 99-103.</li>
<br />
<li>(September 30) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/02/an-inside-narrative-2000.html">An Inside Narrative</a>: Recent Works by Alan Loney.” <i>A Brief Description of the Whole World</i> 17 (2000): 70-79.</li>
<br />
<li>(September 2) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/02/necessary-oppositions-2000.html">Necessary Oppositions?</a> Avant-garde versus Traditional Poetry in New Zealand.” <i>Poetry NZ </i>21 (2000): 80-83.</li>
<br />
<li>(August 26-September 1) <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/02/big-smoke-2000.html">Review</a> of <i>Big Smoke</i>, ed. Alan Brunton, Murray Edmond, and Michele Leggott. <i>New Zealand Listener </i>vol. 175 (3146) (2000): 40-41.</li>
<br />
<li>(March 27) <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/02/michele-leggott-as-far-as-i-can-see-2000.html">Review</a> of <i>As far as I can see</i>, by Michele Leggott. <i>JAAM </i>13 (2000): 158-60.</li>
<br />
<li>(March 14) (Ed.) <i>Spin</i> 36 (2000): 3-4, 61-63:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/02/spin-36-editorial-2000.html">Editorial</a></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/02/here-after-living-with-bereavement-2000.html">Review</a> of <i>Here After: Living with Bereavement</i>, ed. Stu Bagby</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/02/jeffrey-paparoa-holman-flood-damage-2000.html">Review</a> of Jeffrey Paparoa Holman: <i>Flood Damage</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/02/leicester-kyle-safe-house-for-man-2000.html">Review</a> of Leicester Kyle: <i>A Safe House for a Man</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/02/when-sea-goes-mad-at-night-2000.html">Review</a> of <i>When The Sea Goes Mad at Night</i>, ed. Theresia Marshall</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/02/tongue-in-your-ear-4-2000.html">Review</a> of <i>Tongue in Your Ear</i> 4 (1999)</li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(February 13) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/02/anne-2000.html">Jack</a>.” In <i>Here After. Living with Bereavement: Personal Experiences and Poetry</i>. Edited by Stu Bagby. ISBN 0-473-06399-9. 9 Daphne Harden Lane, Albany, Auckland: Antediluvian Press, 2000. 35-40.</li>
<br />
<div id="ftn8">
<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn8" name="_ftn8" title=""><b>1999</b></a> [23]</div>
<br />
<li>(October 16) (Co-ed.) <i>The Pander</i> 9 (1999): 14-16, 18-19, 39, 39-40, 40-41, 43:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/02/a-brief-description-of-whole-world-1999.html"><i>A Brief Description of the Whole World</i></a>: From Multiple Angles [with Hamish Dewe, John Geraets, Leicester Kyle & Richard Taylor]</li>
<li>Theatre: <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/02/greg-mcgee-foreskins-lament-1999.html">Review</a> of <i>Foreskin’s Lament</i>, by Greg McGee</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/02/elisabeth-easther-salt-1999.html">Review</a> of <i>Salt</i>, by Elisabeth Easther</li>
<li>Books: <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/02/aup-new-poets-1-1999.html">Review</a> of <i>AUP New Poets 1</i>, by Raewyn Alexander, Anna Jackson & Sarah Quigley</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/02/janet-charman-rapunzel-rapunzel-1999.html">Review</a> of <i>Rapunzel Rapunzel</i>, by Janet Charman</li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(October 13) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/02/a-conversation-with-mike-minehan-1999.html">A Conversation with Mike Minehan</a>.” Monthly Profile Series 1. <i>Zoetropes: New Zealand Literature / Nga Pukapuka o Aotearoa online</i>. [Available at: <a href="http://www.arts.uwo.ca/~andrewf/zoetropes.htm">http://www.arts.uwo.ca/~andrewf/zoetropes.htm</a> (13/10/99)].</li>
<br />
<li>(July 14) (Co-ed.) <i>The Pander</i> 8 (1999): 32, 34, 35-36, 38-39, 39, 40:<ul>
<li>Books: <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/02/janet-hunt-wizard-1999.html">Review</a> of <i>Hone Tuwhare: A Biography</i>, by Janet Hunt & <i>My Life as A Miracle</i>, by The Wizard</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/02/john-oconnor-particular-context-1999.html">Review</a> of <i>A Particular Context</i>, by John O’Connor</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/02/kenneth-fea-graham-lindsay-1999.html">Review</a> of <i>on what is not</i>, by Kenneth Fea & <i>Legend of the Cool Secret</i>, by Graham Lindsay</li>
<li>Theatre: <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/02/royal-nz-ballet-peter-pan-1999.html">Review</a> of The Royal NZ Ballet’s Shell Season of <i>Peter Pan</i></li>
<li>Auckland Theatre Company’s Culture of Desire: <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/02/patrick-marber-closer-1999.html">Review</a> of <i>Closer</i>, by Patrick Marber</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/02/martin-macdonagh-cripple-of-inishmaan.html">Review</a> of <i>The Cripple of Inishmaan</i>, by Martin MacDonagh</li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(May) <i>Salt</i> 6 (2) (1999): 8, 12 & 16 & 61 & 65:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/02/letter-to-scott-hamilton-1999.html">Letter to Scott Hamilton</a></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/02/salt-poetics-1999.html">Poetics</a> [available at: <a href="http://homepages.ihug.co.nz/~mbellard/poetics/jack_ross_poetics.htm">Salt Online: Poetics</a> (5/3/2000)]</li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(May) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/02/kendrick-smithyman-in-italian-1999.html">Kendrick Smithyman in Italian</a>.” <i>Landfall</i> 197 (1999): 70-73.</li>
<br />
<li>(April) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/02/going-west-literary-festival-1999.html">Review</a> of <i>Going West</i> Literary Festival.” <a href="http://www.thepander.co.nz/archive.html">Pander online edition</a> 6/7 (1999).</li>
<br />
<li>(March 30) (Co-ed.) <i>The Pander</i> 6/7 (1999): 21 & 23, 41-43 & 34-35, 53-54:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/01/leicester-kyle-prophet-without-honour.html">Leicester H. Kyle</a>: Prophet without Honour</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/01/the-kassabova-phenomenon-1999.html">The Kassabova Phenomenon</a> [with Hamish Dewe & Richard Taylor]</li>
<li>Books: <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/01/alan-loney-sidetracks-1999.html">Review</a> of <i>Sidetracks</i>, by Alan Loney</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/01/e-mailing-venus-1999.html">Review</a> of <i>e-mailing venus</i>, ed. Diana Harris & Anna Jackson</li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(March 18) (Ed.) <i>Spin</i> 33 (1999): 2, 58-59, 63:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/01/spin-33-editorial.html">Editorial</a></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/01/spin-poetics-1999.html">Poetics</a> [available at:
<a href="http://www.webwritersworkshop.com">Writers’ Web Zine</a> (24/2/2000)]</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/01/leicester-kyle-machinery-for-pain-1999.html">Review</a> of <i>A Machinery for Pain</i></li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<div id="ftn7">
<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn7" name="_ftn7" title=""><b>1998</b></a> [14]</div>
<br />
<li>(October 18) “<a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2013/01/poetry-live-1998.html">It’s Standing Room Only for the Rekindling of Live Lines</a>.” <i>Sunday Star-Times</i> (18/10/98): F4.</li>
<br />
<li>(September) (Co-ed.) <i>The Pander</i> 5 (1998): 26-27, 32-33 & 34-35:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/01/kathy-goes-to-mexico-1998.html">Kathy Goes to Mexico</a>: In Memoriam Kathy Acker, d. 30/11/97</li>
<li>Exhibition: <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/01/hotere-out-black-window-1998.html">Review</a> of Ralph Hotere: <i>Out the Black Window</i></li>
<li>Film: <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/01/lars-von-trier-guy-maddin-1998.html">Review</a> of <i>Guy Maddin: Waiting for Twilight</i> & <i>Tranceformer: A portrait of Lars von Trier</i></li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(August) <i>Salt</i> 6 (1998): 24-26, 27-36:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/01/talking-about-kendrick-smithyman-1998.html">Talking about Kendrick Smithyman</a> [with Scott Hamilton and Richard Taylor] [available at: <a href="http://homepages.ihug.co.nz/~mbellard/">Salt 6 online</a> (9/99)]</li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/01/two-readings-of-ti-point-1998.html">Two Readings of Ti Point</a> [available at: <a href="http://homepages.ihug.co.nz/~mbellard/">Salt 6 online</a> (9/99)].</li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(August 2) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/01/a-mutual-respect-hotere-and-tuwhare-1998.html">A Mutual Respect</a>: Ralph Hotere and Hone Tuwhare.” <i>Sunday Star-Times</i> (2/8/98): F7.</li>
<br />
<li>(June) (Co-ed.) <i>The Pander</i> 4 (1998): 10, 14 & 16:<ul>
<li>Film: <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/01/titanic-1998.html">Review</a> of <i>Titanic</i></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/01/fairy-tale-true-story-1998.html">Review</a> of <i>Fairy Tale: A True Story</i></li>
<li>Books: <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/01/sudden-valley-press-1998.html">Review</a> of <i>As It Is</i>, by John O’Connor, <i>Pools over Stone</i>, by Helen Jacobs & <i>Always Arriving</i>, by David Gregory</li>
<li>Exhibitions: <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/01/orientalism-1998.html">Review</a> of <i>Orientalism</i></li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<li>(March) (Co-ed.) <i>The Pander</i> 3 (1998): 20-22:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/01/pander-anonymous-reviews-1998.html">My Declaration of Principles</a></li>
<li>Books: <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/01/stephen-king-wizard-and-glass-1998.html">Review</a> of <i>Wizard and Glass. The Dark Tower 4</i>, by Stephen King</li>
<li>Film: <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/01/starship-troopers-1998.html">Review</a> of <i>Starship Troopers</i></li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<div id="ftn6">
<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn6" name="_ftn6" title=""><b>1997</b></a> [3]</div>
<br />
<li> (August)“<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/01/kendrick-smithymans-northland-1997.html">Kendrick Smithyman’s Northland</a>.” <span style="font-style: italic;">The Pander</span> 1 (1997): x-xiii.</li>
<br />
<li>(July 12) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/01/amazon.html">Genji Monogatari is the first psychological novel</a>.” <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/cdp/member-reviews/A2PTGEMG6UHPF8/ref=cm_aya_av.rev_rev.attrib/102-2302309-8746515?%5Fencoding=UTF8&display=anonymous"><i>Amazon.com</i></a> (12/7/97).</li>
<br />
<li> (May) <i>Ezra Pound’s Fascist Cantos (72 & 73) together with Rimbaud’s “Poets at Seven Years Old.”</i> Trans. Jack Ross. Auckland: Perdrix Press, 1997. [ii] + 42 pp. 37-46:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/01/pounds-italian-cantos-1997.html">Afterword</a></li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<div id="ftn5">
<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn5" name="_ftn5" title=""><b>1993</b></a> [1]</div>
<br />
<li>(February) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/01/cunninghame-grahams-brazil-1993.html">Cunninghame Graham’s Brazil</a>: Differing Interpretations of the Canudos Campaign, 1896-97.” <i>Australasian Victorian Studies Association: Conference Papers 1993</i>. Ed. Joanne Wilkes. Auckland: University Press, 1993. 27-38.</li>
<br />
<div id="ftn4">
<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn4" name="_ftn4" title=""><b>1992</b></a> [2]</div>
<br />
<li>(December) “<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/01/the-south-american-quest-novel-1992.html">Wilson Harris, Joseph Conrad, and the South American ‘Quest’ Novel</a>.” <i>Landfall: A New Zealand Quarterly</i> 184 (1992): 455-68.</li>
<br />
<li>(March) <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/01/singer-in-songless-land-1992.html">Review</a> of <i>Singer in a Songless Land: A Life of Edward Tregear, 1846-1931</i>, by K. R. Howe, & <i>The Verse of Edward Tregear</i>, ed. K. R. Howe. <i>Landfall: A New Zealand Quarterly</i> 181 (1992): 122-25.</li>
<br />
<div id="ftn3">
<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn3" name="_ftn3" title=""><b>1989</b></a> [1]</div>
<br />
<li>(August) <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/01/tell-me-lies-about-vietnam-1989.html">Review</a> of <i>Tell Me Lies About Vietnam: Cultural Battles for the Meaning of the War</i>, ed. Alf Louvre and Jeffrey Walsh. <i>Inter-Arts: A Quarterly Journal of Cultural Connections</i> 9 (1989): 31.</li>
<br />
<div id="ftn2">
<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn2" name="_ftn2" title=""><b>1988</b></a> [2]</div>
<br />
<li>(October) <i>Inter-Arts: A Quarterly Journal of Cultural Connections</i> 7 (1988): 14-16, 27:<ul>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/01/south-america-in-recent-british-cinema.html">Views of South America in Recent British Cinema</a></li>
<li><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/01/mythologies-on-stage-1988.html">Mythologies on Stage</a>: Review of <i>The Mahabharata</i>, by Peter Brook and Jean-Claude Carrière (Tramway Theatre, Glasgow)</li>
</ul>
</li>
<br />
<div id="ftn1">
<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2016/04/site-map.html#_ftn1" name="_ftn1" title=""><b>1987</b></a> [1]</div>
<br />
<li>(July) <a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/01/r-b-cunninghame-graham-1987.html">Review</a> of <i>The North American Sketches of R. B. Cunninghame Graham</i>, ed. John Walker. <i>University of Edinburgh Journal</i> 33 (1987): 54.</li>
<br />
</ol>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicR3rv4C_NPTQkaKRD1CGoIrLXTPUTqHoJ0guH5JLSTvtfIHJHBRKk4NZJ-vF1Fsc7M-QlK2Cp8e6qoTwW_XZq5FN2du31f8nP18iYnMCB5njf-yz_JiRYB1iirbPsbfYZiBKMPacRgWo/s1600/800x571xBlank-books-template.jpg.pagespeed.ic.vsNRDLQg50.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicR3rv4C_NPTQkaKRD1CGoIrLXTPUTqHoJ0guH5JLSTvtfIHJHBRKk4NZJ-vF1Fsc7M-QlK2Cp8e6qoTwW_XZq5FN2du31f8nP18iYnMCB5njf-yz_JiRYB1iirbPsbfYZiBKMPacRgWo/s320/800x571xBlank-books-template.jpg.pagespeed.ic.vsNRDLQg50.jpg"></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/01/contents.html">Blank Book</a></span></div><br />
<br />Dr Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01805945600952222957noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710695321433147697.post-3060410696032015732018-08-30T10:36:00.020+12:002024-02-01T08:39:09.366+13:00Shadow Worlds (2024)<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiEtqCZKmIXy3vZ_rCpqYAEb8GlQIndPPNn-4ph6NReEdlMt0t4Abc1ZQhllM5vihD4A-O_mLn3KBVZd565jQJRMx2Woa5PA7-SNFDm_OeyMRGEMCLo00VvsV21TyPfgOucJ_O15KekFk/s1600/index.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="92" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiEtqCZKmIXy3vZ_rCpqYAEb8GlQIndPPNn-4ph6NReEdlMt0t4Abc1ZQhllM5vihD4A-O_mLn3KBVZd565jQJRMx2Woa5PA7-SNFDm_OeyMRGEMCLo00VvsV21TyPfgOucJ_O15KekFk/s320/index.jpg" width="320"></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="http://www.landfallreview.com/">Landfall Review Online</a></span>
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 180%;">Many In that Blue Room Believed, Heart and Soul</span></b></div>
<br />
<br />
<blockquote>
Andrew Paul Wood. <i>Shadow Worlds: A History of the Occult and Esoteric in New Zealand</i>. ISBN 978-1991016379. Auckland: Massey University Press, 2023. 426 pp. RRP $65.00.</blockquote>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYRAZVa9c6_348bhBsUaHDBjYoA_B8HJMNLp8VmAjrBaZgPHhTXhO7RauNM052irAOr9-qgYACaZzsMlylNqHmBxnygSbduS0rQV4G3mpOJX_nqEhph4zPiJVsIJsBUrbSiba08He0cZhd3XO1yw_T9CpZWbVwdVFuJ0zDnqw9SmlpkTbjSNZqxpPx28g/s2711/9781991016379.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="600" data-original-height="2711" data-original-width="1919" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYRAZVa9c6_348bhBsUaHDBjYoA_B8HJMNLp8VmAjrBaZgPHhTXhO7RauNM052irAOr9-qgYACaZzsMlylNqHmBxnygSbduS0rQV4G3mpOJX_nqEhph4zPiJVsIJsBUrbSiba08He0cZhd3XO1yw_T9CpZWbVwdVFuJ0zDnqw9SmlpkTbjSNZqxpPx28g/s600/9781991016379.jpg"/></a>
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Andrew Paul Wood: <a href="https://www.masseypress.ac.nz/books/shadow-worlds/">Shadow Worlds</a> (2023)</span></div><br />
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<i>The Blue Room: Being the Absorbing Story of the Development of Voice-to-Voice Communication in BROAD LIGHT with Souls who have Passed into THE GREAT BEYOND, by Clive Chapman</i> (Auckland: Whitcombe and Tombs Ltd., 1927) … I first came across a reference to this curious book in D. Scott Rogo and Raymond Bayless’s almost equally intriguingly titled <i>Phone Calls from the Dead</i> (1979). Shortly afterwards I managed to acquire a copy of it myself, and was privileged to read its long, literally “ghost-written” – by a reporter identified only as G. A. W. – account of “Uncle Clive” and his careful fostering of the clairvoyant abilities of his young niece Pearl.<br />
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The story came to an abrupt end in 1927, with the publication of Chapman & G. A. W.’s book, so I was delighted to find some supplementary details about the case in the chapter entitled “Bumps in the Night” in Andrew Paul Wood’s newly published history of the occult and esoteric in New Zealand. He records, for instance, a reference in Harry Price’s <i>Fifty Years of Psychical Research</i> (1939) to an incident “around 1930”, where:
<blockquote>
William Henry Gowland (1879-1965), professor of anatomy at the University of Otago’s medical school, witnessed heavy tables levitate and a locked piano play itself.
</blockquote>
As an <i>Otago Daily Times</i> reporter invited to an earlier séance said of the phenomena he saw: “If it was trickery it was damnable trickery, for there were many in that Blue Room who believed, heart and soul.”<br />
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This is perhaps the most useful feature of Wood’s book: its inclusiveness, and the fact that he’s followed up on so many intriguing details of early New Zealand occultism – as far as that’s possible in so tantalisingly ill-defined a field. Nor does he scruple to record the many occasions where the trail has run cold, and the rumours of the continued existence of some exiled order or malign coven cannot be substantiated one way or the other.<br />
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It's true that much of this data is not, in itself, particularly interesting or stimulating except to enthusiasts (or other Academic researchers). The list of changing addresses for the Dunedin Theosophical Lodge between 1914 and 2015 – recorded in detail on pp. 61-62 of the chapter devoted to this “Not-so-secret Doctrine” – is fairly typical of this aspect of <i>Shadow Worlds</i>. If in doubt, include it, appears to be the guiding principle – after all, it might be of use to <i>someone</i> – which led me to wonder, at times, if simply compiling an Encyclopaedia of New Zealand Esotericism might not have suited his (and our) purposes better?<br />
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Wood’s book is, after all, already grouped in large, roughly chronological grab-bag chapters around his basic themes: Theosophy, The Golden Dawn, Anthroposophy, Spiritualism, Witchcraft, and various others. Would further segmentation into discrete entries really have compromised it much?<br />
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Part of the problem is the very large scale – both chronological and conceptual – of the study Wood has undertaken. It’s true that he specifies in his preface:
<blockquote>
I do not pretend this to be a comprehensive or exhaustive history of the subject – an undertaking of that sort would take many years of research and extend to multiple volumes. … What I hope this book will do is give a taste of the parallel universe of the unexpected, the strange, and the high weird that exists just beneath the New Zealand story you thought you knew.
</blockquote>
Exhaustive, no, but certainly at times a little exhaust<i>ing</i>. It’s awe-inspiring just how much material Wood does manage to cover, especially given the necessity of giving potted histories of at least <i>some</i> of the major luminaries – Madam Blavatsky, Aleister Crowley, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Rudolf Steiner – whose doctrines had such surprising offshoots here on the other side of the world.<br />
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The truth of the matter, I suppose, is that this book only really comes to life when it touches on something directly interesting to each individual reader. In my case, this was definitely his chapter on Spiritualism, “Bumps in the Night” – but devotees of Black Magic, Rosicrucianism, or Neopaganism are likely to be similarly engrossed by the sections on <i>their</i> pet topics.<br />
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In any case, it’s undoubtedly better to be grateful for what we have here than to carp about the various alternative ways in which it might have been arranged. Take, for example, the following 1870 letter from the northern gold fields, quoted from <i>The Pleasant Creek News</i>:
<blockquote>
I saved a claim here at the Thames through a spirit communication. It had been neglected, and was liable to be jumped, when I was told by spirit writing that six men were coming at nine o’clock the next morning on the claim to jump the ground, with other particulars of their programme. It was there with the men that I got, just in the nick of time to save the claim. The jumpers came exactly at the time I was told they would do, and they saw at once that they were completely checkmated, and looked sheepishly disappointed and as white as ghosts when they saw we were too much and too strong to be bounced by them. You can see by this that I am a Spiritist.
</blockquote>
There’s an individuality and expressiveness in this old news item which seems to open a door on a whole other world of experience – on, in fact, the “parallel universe of the unexpected, the strange, and the high weird that exists just beneath the New Zealand story you thought you knew” promised by Wood in his opening remarks.<br />
<br />
Again and again, his book raises new questions about the precise nature of this secret history. What on earth was going on in Hawke’s Bay in the early to mid-twentieth century, for instance?<br />
<br />
Wood starts off with an intriguing account of the “Havelock Work,” where, sometime around 1907-8, “a peculiar brew of Quakers, Theosophists, Anglicans and adherents of Radiant Living were developing a sympathetic climate” for esoteric enlightenment, with an organisation whose activities included:
<blockquote>
Shakespeare and Dickens readings, carving, Morris dancing lessons and festivals, climaxing in the Old Village Fête of 1911 presided over by a pantomime King Arthur and his court.
</blockquote>
Around 1912, Golden Dawn alumnus Robert Felkin brought his own peculiar blend of Freemasonry, Rosicrucianism and occultism to Havelock North, where he founded the grandly named Smaragdum Thalasses Temple of the Stella Matutina Order. (“Stella Matutina” is perhaps most famous for its connections with the poet W. B. Yeats, a member for over 20 years).<br />
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Some land was provided by local farmers for a temple building, completed in 1915, and known locally as “Whare Rā”. Felkin continued to run it till his death in 1926, when it was taken over by his widow Harriot. It would continue to act as a centre for local occult activities – including, latterly, black magic (or “Goetia”) – until the late 1970s.
<blockquote>
Whare Rā was eventually sold to a Roman Catholic family, who thought they were merely getting a Chapman-Taylor-designed heritage house, unsealed the door to find the vault in their basement, and were so plagued by supernatural happenings that they had an exorcism performed.
</blockquote>
If you find it surprising that such a mélange of magic, esoteric rituals and occultist teaching was permitted to flourish in so conservative an enclave, the explanation is not difficult to find: “most of the town’s leading personages were members of the Temple.”
<blockquote>
Membership of Whare Rā is reputed to have included members of Parliament and two governors-general.</blockquote>
It’s hardly surprising, then, that “there was a weekend-long bonfire when the Temple was dissolved” in 1978. No doubt it included membership lists as well as the rest of their “documentation and paraphernalia.”<br />
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This is just one of the many fascinating stories recounted in Wood’s book. It’s true that I’m left with more questions than answers about Whare Rā’s influence on local culture in the Bay, but I don’t doubt his assiduity in hunting out data and clues from a notoriously cagy group of informants (and survivors).<br />
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“Occult” and “Esoteric” are, after all, both rough synonyms for “hidden” – and exposing such knowledge to the bright light of day can be surprisingly difficult at times. Despite the fact that the shelves of libraries and second-hand bookshops are groaning with esoteric literature, its authors have a tendency to content themselves with hints and whispers rather than committing themselves to facts.<br />
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To conclude, It’s hard to imagine that anyone interested in this field will be able to get anywhere in future without a well-thumbed copy of Andrew Paul Wood’s <i>Shadow Worlds</i>. For myself, I’d like to end with a quote from <i>The Blue Room</i>, the book that started this particular quest for me:
<blockquote>
29/3/2*. – At tea time a message came through, strong but broken, F.R. (? FLOWING ROBES), then COUNCIL OF MARS. Next, in answer to the question as to who was the sender of this strange message, I AM ERIN; THEA. While this message was being spelled out I felt a sensation as of a strong electric current passing over my head at the end of each sentence. I had never felt this before, and it gives rise to the thought that possibly Mars could open up communication with this planet by means of electric or magnetic currents controlled by our spirit friends beyond.<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">Why not?</span></blockquote>
Why not, indeed?<br />
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(13-25/9/23)
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<i>Landfall Review Online</i> (2024).
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[Available at: <a href="https://landfallreview.com/many-in-that-blue-room-believed-heart-and-soul/">https://landfallreview.com/many-in-that-blue-room-believed-heart-and-soul/</a>]
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[1570 wds]
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyvq1QOySZ6nSlUP8hKAXNKcX9RlbYosC1Oux0UjLRIjK9HPEV3pzkS-ZUUVIeBjd3DAH4bB5__1Q4fg-kCxVQS5WqGs_sON8NccbYeE6YnTgF0atxXpGxi5R9wbT4jLJjxFfe3xwPFHY/s1600/landfall+review+online.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyvq1QOySZ6nSlUP8hKAXNKcX9RlbYosC1Oux0UjLRIjK9HPEV3pzkS-ZUUVIeBjd3DAH4bB5__1Q4fg-kCxVQS5WqGs_sON8NccbYeE6YnTgF0atxXpGxi5R9wbT4jLJjxFfe3xwPFHY/s320/landfall+review+online.jpg" width="216"></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><i>Landfall 1</i> (1947)</span>
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<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s1600/book_blank.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s200/book_blank.jpg"></a></div>
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<br />Dr Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01805945600952222957noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710695321433147697.post-36037218659674271942018-08-28T09:35:00.131+12:002024-02-02T08:50:17.602+13:00Mike Johnson: Selected Poems (2023)<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2xL1BJLHLBhtGlWr3P3gE6EUF8FB4KxX7-y9oE81BAoPkq5o3SDQ_Wx34uUw45t19f_oUhi5-HJjb0Vu7gCcB4CiIzQMf5JLaiFRcsFASrsdgPSYm8CV0GfNLr2olpIRRJvCnsTap3VRx_nO46Mmdb4pB3UJiiGoiBRH_j9N0zUMxVF3eiiPqVHrBPhY/s500/Mike%20Johnson%20Selected%20Poems.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="600" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="353" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2xL1BJLHLBhtGlWr3P3gE6EUF8FB4KxX7-y9oE81BAoPkq5o3SDQ_Wx34uUw45t19f_oUhi5-HJjb0Vu7gCcB4CiIzQMf5JLaiFRcsFASrsdgPSYm8CV0GfNLr2olpIRRJvCnsTap3VRx_nO46Mmdb4pB3UJiiGoiBRH_j9N0zUMxVF3eiiPqVHrBPhY/s600/Mike%20Johnson%20Selected%20Poems.jpg"/></a>
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Mike Johnson: <a href="https://hesiodic.blogspot.com/2017/10/mike-johnson-selected-poems-2023.html">Selected Poems</a> (2023)</span>
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<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Introduction</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 180%;">Mike Johnson: <i>Selected Poems</i></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzgNNZXnrPl-CfdkdmzI26okEScG0L37cIpODs8Fzn8_jHltzJKV5iPwrDEVF9zCTHv-J3GGld-dPU0ciSA57LIf1F5nszTXG3KhF_HR6nf7FbTRhsTWBRBJPgwkqGBJ1wwOUh_4aLzNmQdsNQi2Ox_DPqdNFSFmFzgUE0GSRc0Mo0kF0rZT6q3Nf5/s323/mike-johnson.png" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="400" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="323" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzgNNZXnrPl-CfdkdmzI26okEScG0L37cIpODs8Fzn8_jHltzJKV5iPwrDEVF9zCTHv-J3GGld-dPU0ciSA57LIf1F5nszTXG3KhF_HR6nf7FbTRhsTWBRBJPgwkqGBJ1wwOUh_4aLzNmQdsNQi2Ox_DPqdNFSFmFzgUE0GSRc0Mo0kF0rZT6q3Nf5/s400/mike-johnson.png"/></a>
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="https://lasaviapublishing.com/mike-johnson/">Mike Johnson</a> (1947- )</span></div>
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<blockquote>
<i>I want you to think about it, she said<br />
I am, he said<br />
<br />
it’s not helping, she said</i></blockquote>
These lines, from Mike Johnson’s eighth book of poems, <i>Ladder without Rungs</i> (2019), seem to me to provide an excellent point of entry to his poetry to date.<br />
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The major themes declared themselves as early as his first book, <i>The Palanquin Ropes</i> (1983), and have remained consistent throughout. There’s an interest in spareness, in the kind of short, pithy verses, we associate with Zen Buddhism or the Sufi poet Rumi. There’s also a strong sense of humour, as we can see in this abrupt and yet so-very-believable dialogue between a man and a woman.<br />
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The immense complexity of human relationships, social, sexual and everyday are at the heart of much of Mike’s best poetry. However, there’s an almost equal pull towards the empyrean: the cosmic mysteries of nature and the visible world, the beauty of the birds, trees and beaches which surround him in his longtime home-base, Waiheke Island.<br />
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Waiheke seems to act as a kind of analogue to Neruda’s Isla Negra for Mike. Its location, off the shores of New Zealand’s most populous city, Auckland, and yet its comparative isolation from the pressures of metropolitan life, have combined to make it an admirable microcosm for the type of writing he wants to do.<br />
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There’s a close social circle of family, neighbours and friends to chronicle – but there are also the follies of the tourists to marvel at – above all, though, there’s the sheer physical beauty of the place.<br />
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This is brilliantly expressed in the small book of short, three-line verses, Two Lines and a Garden, accompanied by drawings by Mike’s partner, Leila Lees, which he published in 2017:<br />
<blockquote>
<i>after everything,<br />
I still want to write love songs<br />
and hear the tides of rain on the aluminium roof</i></blockquote>
or, perhaps even more appositely:
<blockquote><i>mountain, beach, and valley, sky and stone<br />
these are conversations of our art<br />
in the garden, snails come and go</i></blockquote>
Mike began his writing career as a poet, back in the early 1980s, before the success of his first novel <i>Lear: The Shakespeare Company Plays Lear at Babylon</i> in 1986 redefined him in the eyes of the majority of readers as a novelist first and foremost.<br />
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That’s never been how he sees it, though. Like many New Zealand writers, Mike can switch from one medium to the other with admirable ease. Reading back over the whole sweep of his published poetry, the 13 collections he’s published since 1983, any desire we might feel to pigeonhole him as a prose writer who also writes poetry seems impossible to sustain.<br />
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As you’ll see from the selections included below, Mike began as he meant to go on. There’s no excess wordage in a Mike Johnson poem: there is, however, a consolidation of themes and ideas from poem to poem. It’s as if the same ideas, about our smallness in face of the universe we inhabit, the need to steward our environment, and the imperative to feel empathy for the downtrodden and beleaguered, must be stated and restated in the hopes that they might, one day, actually be <i>heard</i>.<br />
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There’s no way that a selection such as this can replace the experience of reading his original books in their entirety. Only a collected poems could do that, but even then the physical beauty of so many of the books as artefacts – those illustrated by his partner, artist and writer Leila Lees, in particular – could not really be reproduced.<br />
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Those designs and layouts have grown more ambitious and more tactile over the years. The colourful geometric shapes of <i>To Beatrice Where We Cross The Line</i> (2014) have morphed into the wonderful flip book absurdities of his 2021 book of nonsense rhymes “for the young at heart,” <i>Flippity Fluppity Flop</i>, written in collaboration with the inimitable Daniela Gast.<br />
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It’s hard to argue that this represents a change or new development in his writing, though, when you look back on the strong physicality of such early books as <i>From a Woman in Mt Eden Prison & Drawing Lessons</i> (1984) and <i>Standing Wave</i> (1985), both printed by Warwick Jordan on his handpress at Hard Echo Press.<br />
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Both as a novelist and a poet, Mike has never really formed part of a group or a movement. He’s marched to his own drum, followed his own path. If, however, I were to look for analogues for his poetry, I think I’d probably start the search well outside New Zealand, with a writer such as Ursula K. Le Guin, who shares both his taste for Zen koans and his genre fluidity.
<blockquote><i>Only in silence the word,<br />
Only in dark the light,<br />
Only in dying life:<br />
Bright the hawk's flight<br />
On the empty sky.</i></blockquote>
These lines, included as a quote at the beginning of her <i>Earthsea</i> series, sound rather like Mike’s:
<blockquote>
<i>for the fish, no notion of rain<br />
for the birds, no sharp stars<br />
in the houses, no troubling gods</i></blockquote>
Much though I’ve always loved that short verse of Le Guin’s, I’m not sure that I wouldn’t give preference to Mike’s. I find fascinating his notion of a house without its ‘troubling’ household gods, whether you defne them in terms of the classical <i>lares et penates</i> or something closer to home.<br />
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There’s also something of other Eastward-leaning poets such as Allen Ginsberg, Kenneth Rexroth, and Gary Snyder there, too. And, of course, Pablo Neruda, as I mentioned above. Rather than pursuing the influence game further, though, suffice it to say that in forty years of writing Mike Johnson has built up a formidable corpus of poetry: abstract, intimate, politically <i>engagée</i>, environmental, romantic, narrative, humorous – not to mention translations and children’s verses.<br />
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I despair of doing justice to all these aspects of his work in this selection of 128 poems out of approximately 950. Nevertheless, I feel confident that there should be something here to fit every taste.<br />
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More to the point, though, I hope that this book will have the effect of directing readers back to its sources: those original collections – some aesthetic marvels, others more conventional slim volumes of verse – but all of them carefully considered and curated works of art.<br />
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<span style="font-size: 130%; font-weight: bold;">•</span><br />
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(5-12/12/22)
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<br />
“Introduction.” In Mike Johson: <i>Selected Poems</i>. Waiheke, Auckland: Lasavia Publishing, 2023. 11-15.
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[1039 wds]
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<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s1600/book_blank.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s200/book_blank.jpg"></a></div>
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<br />Dr Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01805945600952222957noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710695321433147697.post-60878478451883075432018-08-26T08:56:00.147+12:002023-05-03T09:29:26.343+12:00A Clearer View of the Hinterland (2023)<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgS_SVzNLUmelGCx6w9LgaI43cpvOgtTHrqrwTl4svW1kTRKLjoTcSXwWgbnMREDn22IpWxW5YY4iLTQrLndPXGYVm33ELnJz9HF-lWuNWJKSJ-v06yAOumue0AvVYh191-0nZQC3qorc/s1600/cropped-poetryshelf.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgS_SVzNLUmelGCx6w9LgaI43cpvOgtTHrqrwTl4svW1kTRKLjoTcSXwWgbnMREDn22IpWxW5YY4iLTQrLndPXGYVm33ELnJz9HF-lWuNWJKSJ-v06yAOumue0AvVYh191-0nZQC3qorc/s400/cropped-poetryshelf.png"></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="http://nzpoetryshelf.com/">NZ Poetry Shelf</a></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Poetry Shelf Favourite Poems:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 180%;">A Clearer View of the Hinterland</span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaN90Ml92IXI2cyLHqrjxnoHani3v58gY_ZSd8qEKThIoJaOJ4CFBl1KKfk4j5XLloXhiElxN5v3ohFKRgYw1C-zQ0L4x0dNGOU5eMHEQbzJoQql1qJXe3squqaPVlIfxIVWqWhxH2Y8yuubhZJfykLtrYnysOprUt_kLL-FK8Nj8SZw8rbrFMch1R/s800/leicester%20&%20landrover.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="600" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="604" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaN90Ml92IXI2cyLHqrjxnoHani3v58gY_ZSd8qEKThIoJaOJ4CFBl1KKfk4j5XLloXhiElxN5v3ohFKRgYw1C-zQ0L4x0dNGOU5eMHEQbzJoQql1qJXe3squqaPVlIfxIVWqWhxH2Y8yuubhZJfykLtrYnysOprUt_kLL-FK8Nj8SZw8rbrFMch1R/s600/leicester%20&%20landrover.jpg"/></a>
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Jack Ross: <a href="http://nzpoetryshelf.com/">Leicester Kyle</a> (2000)</span></div><br />
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<blockquote>
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">A Clearer View of the Hinterland</span></b><br />
<b>Leicester at Millerton</b><br />
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Absence of rapids on Ngakawau stream.<br />
Big Ditch and Little Ditch Creek – impious hand bisects the ‘D.’<br />
Cobweb of raindrops in dragon sun.<br />
“Down, down, down from the high Sierras ...”<br />
Electrical storms: intensity of affect.<br />
Fund-raising at the Fire Depot.<br />
Grey & white kitten, black robin, and black fantail.<br />
Huffing into an Atlas stove.<br />
“If you can see the hills, it’s going to rain.”<br />
Jack said: “A succession of inner landscapes.”<br />
Kiwi peck through sphagnum moss.<br />
Leicester said: “A community devoted to male play.”<br />
Millerton speaks – A Cannabis Landslide.<br />
Nature tips – gorse is choked by bush.<br />
Other landrovers get one wave.<br />
Proud grey donkey; manure in a sack.<br />
Quarrelling over the Fire Service.<br />
“Rain has a persistency of grades, much noted by the locals.”<br />
Siren: “I’m always free on Wednesday nights.”<br />
Twin side-logs set for smoke-alarms.<br />
Utopia St, Calliope Rd.<br />
Village hall stained with camouflage paint.<br />
White-packaged videos, too frank a stare.<br />
X of three rocks marks one rare tussock.<br />
“You have to say: Great! Awesome! Choice!”<br />
668 – Neighbour of the Beast.<br />
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[7-10/7/98]</blockquote>
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<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b></div><br />
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As a kid, I spent a good deal of time poring over the works of Edward Lear. I did like the limericks, but it was his illustrated alphabet poems that really tickled my fancy. This was my first – and to date only – attempt to compose one myself.<br />
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It records a visit I made in 1998, some 25 years ago now, to my friend the Rev. Leicester Kyle, who was living at the time in Millerton, a small bush-clad town on the West Coast of the South Island. Millerton is quite a mysterious place (or it was then) – very much off the grid. It was, however, the rather deadpan commentary on its inhabitants and traditions delivered by Leicester as we navigated its narrow roads in his bright red Land Rover which was the real prize for me.<br />
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I found myself jotting down some of his more quotable comments and thoughts, along with a few of my own observations, and ended up grouping them in this way to reduce the information overload I felt overtaking me at times.<br />
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Leicester himself was a fascinating character. He started off as a botanist, was then ordained as an Anglican priest, only to convert in his late fifties to a new faith: poetry. After his death in 2006, my friend David Howard and I collaborated on an online edition of his collected works which can still be consulted <a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/">here</a>.<br />
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The poem first appeared in a small magazine called <i>Spin</i> [#36 (2000): 51], which I was co-editing at the time. It was described in a review of the issue as “languid and oddly themed,” a tag I’ve always relished. I’ve often thought it could stand as an epitaph for most of my work.<br />
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Some ten years ago I used it as the title poem for my collection <i>A Clearer View of the Hinterland: Poems & Sequences 1981-2014</i> (Wellington: HeadworX, 2014). The publisher, Mark Pirie, was kind enough to include it on his <a href="https://headworx.co.nz/poetry/clearer_sample">website</a> as an incitement to purchase the book.<br />
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I still have a soft spot for it, I must admit. It brings back many memories of those times: of Leicester himself, of the wild West Coast, and the kindness of the people I met there. It makes me feel like jumping in the car right now and heading straight down to Buller and Karamea to try to locate some of the overgrown industrial sites and hidden green havens my friend revealed to me then.<br />
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I fear that it might have to be a journey through time as well as space, though. Much of the Buller Plateau has been devastated since then by strip mining.
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<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span></div><br />
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<b>Jack Ross</b>’s most recent book is <i>The Oceanic Feeling</i> (2021). Last year he retired from his job teaching creative writing at Massey University to pursue his own writing fulltime. He lives with his wife, crafter and art-writer Bronwyn Lloyd, in sunny Mairangi Bay, and blogs at <a href="https://mairangibay.blogspot.com/">http://mairangibay.blogspot.com/</a>.<br />
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<b>Favourite Poems</b> is a series where a poet picks a poem from their own backlist and writes a short note to accompany it.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4zqb-ei9drt6ym4zRM0oPBSbsAXxImTyJnq4k5M9neIvlBE42Dl29sIKkiJa0ZuK5piRnHv48oqGjIX-r89HZV8pEF95QiAPn4d0_Gl4UOuKFDbxQGqNG0VuF-4THzYWzpAGwmnqz0IXCG1ukmPHEG7rCD7Js1qeHgH0RxR7cR4BnUiGGmlAgTmn1/s2835/a%20clearer%20view%20front.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="600" data-original-height="2835" data-original-width="1890" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4zqb-ei9drt6ym4zRM0oPBSbsAXxImTyJnq4k5M9neIvlBE42Dl29sIKkiJa0ZuK5piRnHv48oqGjIX-r89HZV8pEF95QiAPn4d0_Gl4UOuKFDbxQGqNG0VuF-4THzYWzpAGwmnqz0IXCG1ukmPHEG7rCD7Js1qeHgH0RxR7cR4BnUiGGmlAgTmn1/s600/a%20clearer%20view%20front.jpg"/></a>
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Jack Ross: <a href="http://nzpoetryshelf.com/">A Clearer View of the Hinterland</a> (2014)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span><br />
<br />
(13-14/4/23)
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<br />
'Poetry Shelf Favourite Poems: Jack Ross’s "A Clearer View of the Hinterland".' Ed. Paula Green.
<i>NZ Poetry Shelf: a poetry page with reviews, interviews, and other things</i>.<br />
[Available at: <a href="https://nzpoetryshelf.com/2023/05/03/poetry-shelf-favourite-poems-jack-rosss-a-clearer-view-of-the-hinterland/">https://nzpoetryshelf.com/2023/05/03/poetry-shelf-favourite-poems-jack-rosss-a-clearer-view-of-the-hinterland/</a> (3/5/23)]<br />
<br />
[624 wds]
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv63scJ35niRFRNS0Fq_hsN17RgRSyByJJe7O7Pdevhh92Ryyp3KkYJWiKNCmj9Xth6PnqFdZPUb4NIXh0epc3enRskTDCLZ4sKZNT7VgGx8Yd_jALmlBtKuoaouTYrr2p5d_V5XfEqe4/s1600/64e80a392e0e0cbd25ca32258b399a78.jpeg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv63scJ35niRFRNS0Fq_hsN17RgRSyByJJe7O7Pdevhh92Ryyp3KkYJWiKNCmj9Xth6PnqFdZPUb4NIXh0epc3enRskTDCLZ4sKZNT7VgGx8Yd_jALmlBtKuoaouTYrr2p5d_V5XfEqe4/s400/64e80a392e0e0cbd25ca32258b399a78.jpeg" width="400" height="400" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Poetry Box: <a href="https://nzpoetrybox.wordpress.com/author/paulajoygreen/">Paula Green</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s1600/book_blank.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s200/book_blank.jpg"></a></div>
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<br />Dr Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01805945600952222957noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710695321433147697.post-9005368495605356582018-08-24T09:52:00.135+12:002023-09-27T10:35:46.886+13:00The Frog Prince (2023)<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiEtqCZKmIXy3vZ_rCpqYAEb8GlQIndPPNn-4ph6NReEdlMt0t4Abc1ZQhllM5vihD4A-O_mLn3KBVZd565jQJRMx2Woa5PA7-SNFDm_OeyMRGEMCLo00VvsV21TyPfgOucJ_O15KekFk/s1600/index.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="92" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiEtqCZKmIXy3vZ_rCpqYAEb8GlQIndPPNn-4ph6NReEdlMt0t4Abc1ZQhllM5vihD4A-O_mLn3KBVZd565jQJRMx2Woa5PA7-SNFDm_OeyMRGEMCLo00VvsV21TyPfgOucJ_O15KekFk/s320/index.jpg" width="320"></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="http://www.landfallreview.com/">Landfall Review Online</a></span>
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<b><span style="font-size: 180%;">A Fool in Love</span></b></div>
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<blockquote>
James Norcliffe. <i>The Frog Prince</i>. ISBN 978-0143775492. Vintage. Auckland: Penguin Random House New Zealand, 2022. 302 pp. RRP $36.00.</blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1scBRXJaUbM_UkXEKqD16xY2v5MtdtNlWx7fv3faqu5yrNV3aMhBucC2ETzKMrDK6_lkD4LcLn1rZD9aZzFSDWQvB3n-nX-CjoMnknC1WQvYhWH9Hlxj4pRfVVvFEOMhRhgOT-qIKXRs26CsD3_FC57-yvTjDIN4YUrB488UWhDqLYDnY87O4ywAM/s2764/9780143775492.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="600" data-original-height="2764" data-original-width="1808" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1scBRXJaUbM_UkXEKqD16xY2v5MtdtNlWx7fv3faqu5yrNV3aMhBucC2ETzKMrDK6_lkD4LcLn1rZD9aZzFSDWQvB3n-nX-CjoMnknC1WQvYhWH9Hlxj4pRfVVvFEOMhRhgOT-qIKXRs26CsD3_FC57-yvTjDIN4YUrB488UWhDqLYDnY87O4ywAM/s600/9780143775492.jpg"/></a>
<span style="font-size: 85%;">James Norcliffe: <a href="https://www.penguin.co.nz/books/the-frog-prince-9780143775492">The Frog Prince</a> (2022)</span></div><br />
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I suppose one reason I’m fascinated by Grimms’ <i>Fairy Tales</i> — or, rather, the Brothers Grimm’s <i>Kinder- und Hausmärchen</i> (Children’s and Household Tales), very few of which are actually about fairies — is because it’s the first book I ever read from cover to cover in German. At the time, I felt it was a good choice because I was already (I thought) familiar with the formulaic language of most of the stories (<i>Es war einmal</i>: Once upon a time). As it turned out, though, the experience taught me something about the nature of translation, which I’ve not been able to forget since.<br />
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Even to someone with German as rudimentary as mine, the first thing that struck me was that the stories had so obviously been composed by different people. Much is made of the wholesale alterations made to the original folktales by the moralising Wilhelm (and to a lesser extent Jakob) Grimm. ‘Mothers’ become ‘stepmothers’, pregnancies and murders are elided out. Far more striking, I found, were the obvious differences in sentence structures, word choices, and the overall approach between the various narrators. And I don’t just mean the few stories printed in dialect; ‘The Fisherman and his Wife’ being the most famous example. Even the standardised German of the other tales shows unequivocal signs of these diverse voices.<br />
<br />
But virtually all of this, I realised with a shock, was <i>invisible in translation</i>. It didn’t matter whether you were reading Edgar Taylor, Margaret Hunt, Ralph Manheim or Jack Zipes. In English, the stories all sounded much the same: stock fairy tales from the collective myth-kitty. In German, by contrast, they provided a little anthology of diverse idioms and cultures all lumped together under that blanket term <i>Deutsch</i>.<br />
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‘The Frog Prince’ is one of the most perplexing stories in the whole collection. And, since it’s usually placed at the beginning, it’s the first one most readers will encounter. Everyone’s familiar with the idea of kissing a frog so that he’ll turn into a handsome prince. It may come as a bit of a shock, then, that the princess in the original tale never <i>does</i> actually kiss her frog. Instead, she hurls him violently against a wall when he tries to hold her to her promise to let him sleep in her bed.<br />
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Nor, for that matter, is he a prince. The original title is <i>Der Froschkönig oder der eiserne Heinrich</i> (‘The Frog-king, or Iron Henry’). So, he’s actually a king. And what’s all this about Iron Henry? What’s <i>his</i> part in the story?<br />
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No, he’s not the same person as <i>Eisern Hans</i> (‘Iron John’), the protagonist of another one of the Grimms’ tales, though there are certain common features — the golden ball, the deep well — between the two narratives. That story was used as the central plank of Robert Bly’s notorious masculinity self-help book <i>Iron John: A Book About Men</i>. Iron <i>Henry</i> is a type of faithful servant whose love for his lost master is such that he’s had to enclose his heart with three iron bands to prevent it from bursting with sorrow.<br />
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One of the many virtues of poet James Norcliffe’s first adult novel — he’s already written a number of others for children and young people — is the original solution he offers to the puzzles posed by this very enigmatic story.<br />
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Or, rather, one of the characters in his book, a young woman named Cara, has written a historical novella that suggests an answer: ‘The Frog Prince’ was, in fact, a fiction created by the Heller sisters, Mathilde and Helga, to attract the attention of the pale, scholarly Jakob Grimm, whom Mathilde, the elder of the two girls, had fallen for.<br />
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The Frog King story, as we have it, however, (according to Cara) was re-edited by Jakob’s overprotective younger brother Wilhelm to convert the compassionate princess of the original into the petulant brat of the version we now read. He also, for good measure, added faithful Heinrich to the mix to symbolise his own role as a benign presence in Jakob’s life.<br />
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But that’s just the beginning of the twists and turns in James Norcliffe’s book. The main level of the narrative records the abortive love affair of two young language teachers, David and Cara, at an international school in Northern France. The enigmatic Cara, author of the novella I mentioned above, chapters of which we encounter piecemeal as we move through the narrative, has been conducting an affair with young New Zealander, David. When he finally asks her to marry him — in a graveyard, appropriately enough — she abruptly disappears:
<blockquote>
What he had always admired as Cara’s non-judgemental nature, her refusal to gossip, he now understood as secrecy, inexplicable privacy. Of course she had joked about politicians, celebrities, but they, not being in her orbit, were not really people, only names. The closer people were to her, the less willing was she to express an opinion. These things, along with her hopes and fears, he realised he had been forced to infer. Everything was always veiled. What misguided audacity had possessed him that he had actually asked her to marry him? He didn’t know her at all.</blockquote>
The precise relationship between these two stories, Cara’s and David’s, unfolding side by side, is the real riddle that drives Norcliffe’s story. It’s clear all along that David is a frog of the first order: he commits virtually every tactical error a man can in pursuit of an elusive <i>Fata Morgana</i>. He is, by turns, jealous, possessive, self-pitying, angry, importunate and futile. He is, in short (like most of us), a fool in love.<br />
<br />
Cara, by contrast, has been trained by her upbringing to reveal nothing that might come back to bite her. Her defences are virtually impregnable. And the moment she drops them to allow David back in, his subsequent antics serve only to vindicate her stance.<br />
<br />
It doesn’t help that an earlier fling with the amoral art teacher Angus has left her deeply suspicious of all male motives.<br />
<br />
So how do the various layers of Norcliffe’s fiction co-inhere (to borrow a term from Charles Williams)? The princess in the Fräulein Hellers’ concocted ‘The Frog Prince’ earns the love of her handsome prince by showing him a hint of compassion. But the petulant princess in Wilhelm’s doctored text earns marriage to her Frog King without ever deserving it. David loses his princess by asserting property rights in her child (which he wrongly assumes to be his own). Cara is left with both child and independence, but in the final pages of the book, dreams of being sucked back down into the swamp as a female frog.<br />
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There seems no obvious — or at any rate simple — message to be deduced from all this. ‘Relationships are difficult’ perhaps, or the ever popular ‘a girl needs to kiss a lot of frogs before she finds a handsome prince’.<br />
<br />
I prefer to see it as a test of our ability as readers. If you remove or dilute the regional peculiarities of the Grimms’ so-called fairy tales — as most translators are forced to do — you’re left with a kind of Disneyfied soup. If, however, you read with such fine-grained details in mind, you may end up marvelling at the particularity of each of them. These are, after all, the particularities that make our own love stories such an endless source of puzzlement to us, as well as, hopefully, most of the time, more delight than pain.<br />
<br />
As far as this particular slice of life is concerned, David has failed, and Cara succeeded. Mathilde Heller fails to make an impression on Jakob Grimm, and Wilhelm succeeds in keeping property rights in his brother. Without knowing what will come next in each of their stories, it will never be possible to guess who will come out as the winner and end up holding the glittering prize.<br />
<br />
<blockquote>
JACK ROSS is the author of four novels, four books of short fiction, and six poetry collections, most recently The Oceanic Feeling (2021). He was managing editor of <i>Poetry New Zealand</i> from 2014–2019 and has edited numerous other books, anthologies, and literary journals.</blockquote><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
(19-31/1/23)
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<br />
<i>Landfall Review Online</i> (2023).
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[Available at: <a href="https://landfallreview.com/a-fool-in-love/">https://landfallreview.com/a-fool-in-love/</a>]
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[1324 wds]
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyvq1QOySZ6nSlUP8hKAXNKcX9RlbYosC1Oux0UjLRIjK9HPEV3pzkS-ZUUVIeBjd3DAH4bB5__1Q4fg-kCxVQS5WqGs_sON8NccbYeE6YnTgF0atxXpGxi5R9wbT4jLJjxFfe3xwPFHY/s1600/landfall+review+online.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyvq1QOySZ6nSlUP8hKAXNKcX9RlbYosC1Oux0UjLRIjK9HPEV3pzkS-ZUUVIeBjd3DAH4bB5__1Q4fg-kCxVQS5WqGs_sON8NccbYeE6YnTgF0atxXpGxi5R9wbT4jLJjxFfe3xwPFHY/s320/landfall+review+online.jpg" width="216"></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><i>Landfall 1</i> (1947)</span>
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<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s1600/book_blank.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s200/book_blank.jpg"></a></div>
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<br />Dr Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01805945600952222957noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710695321433147697.post-29712847943687550202018-08-22T08:39:00.031+12:002022-06-03T08:48:41.457+12:00No ideas but in ... (2022)<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgS_SVzNLUmelGCx6w9LgaI43cpvOgtTHrqrwTl4svW1kTRKLjoTcSXwWgbnMREDn22IpWxW5YY4iLTQrLndPXGYVm33ELnJz9HF-lWuNWJKSJ-v06yAOumue0AvVYh191-0nZQC3qorc/s1600/cropped-poetryshelf.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgS_SVzNLUmelGCx6w9LgaI43cpvOgtTHrqrwTl4svW1kTRKLjoTcSXwWgbnMREDn22IpWxW5YY4iLTQrLndPXGYVm33ELnJz9HF-lWuNWJKSJ-v06yAOumue0AvVYh191-0nZQC3qorc/s400/cropped-poetryshelf.png"></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">[<a href="http://nzpoetryshelf.com/">NZ Poetry Shelf</a>]</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: 180%;">Paula Green:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;">Poetry Shelf Paragraph Room 3: No ideas but in</span></b></div>
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<blockquote>
<b>No wars but in words</b><br />
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When I was at school, my friends and I used to have long philosophical arguments about whether or not it was possible to have a thought which wasn’t initially in words. I was a strong believer in the idea that a thought <i>could</i> precede the words which expressed it: that it often had to be translated – imperfectly – into words, after being conceived in musical or architectural or simply relational terms. Of course I couldn’t prove it, as our discussions were conducted entirely in words. We were also very concerned about the status of mathematics. Was it really a language? Did its axioms constitute words, or were they somehow superior to those slippery entities (as the budding scientists among us tended to argue)? Now that I’m older, my trust in words has not grown greater – but I think I love them more. In fact, “words are windows” was the first phrase that came to mind for this paragraph, until I realised it lacked a “no” and a “but”. Words <i>are</i> windows. They show us things. But they don’t do so clearly. And when you read – as I did in the online news today – that in Russia now you can “speculate freely and quite calmly on the prospects of nuclear war,” I’m again terrified at what treacherous little disease-laden free radicals words can be. I’d like to set against that the opening of Hemingway’s <i>A Farewell to Arms</i>: “I was always embarrassed by the words sacred, glorious, and sacrifice and the expression in vain … There were many words that you could not stand to hear and finally only the names of places had dignity.” That is to say, choose your words wisely, or they may blow up in your face.</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
(24-25/5/22)
<br />
<br />
'Poetry Shelf Paragraph Room 3: No ideas but in.' Ed. Paula Green.<br />
<i>NZ Poetry Shelf: a poetry page with reviews, interviews, and other things</i>.<br />
[Available at: <a href="https://nzpoetryshelf.com/2022/06/03/poetry-shelf-paragraph-room-3-no-ideas-but-in/">https://nzpoetryshelf.com/2022/06/03/poetry-shelf-paragraph-room-3-no-ideas-but-in/</a> (3/6/22)]<br />
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[294 wds]
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv63scJ35niRFRNS0Fq_hsN17RgRSyByJJe7O7Pdevhh92Ryyp3KkYJWiKNCmj9Xth6PnqFdZPUb4NIXh0epc3enRskTDCLZ4sKZNT7VgGx8Yd_jALmlBtKuoaouTYrr2p5d_V5XfEqe4/s1600/64e80a392e0e0cbd25ca32258b399a78.jpeg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv63scJ35niRFRNS0Fq_hsN17RgRSyByJJe7O7Pdevhh92Ryyp3KkYJWiKNCmj9Xth6PnqFdZPUb4NIXh0epc3enRskTDCLZ4sKZNT7VgGx8Yd_jALmlBtKuoaouTYrr2p5d_V5XfEqe4/s400/64e80a392e0e0cbd25ca32258b399a78.jpeg" width="400" height="400" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Poetry Box: <a href="https://nzpoetrybox.wordpress.com/author/paulajoygreen/">Paula Green</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span><br />
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<br />Dr Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01805945600952222957noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710695321433147697.post-16142134592539755642018-08-20T10:05:00.025+12:002022-06-03T08:49:33.512+12:00Time in Poetry (2022)<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgS_SVzNLUmelGCx6w9LgaI43cpvOgtTHrqrwTl4svW1kTRKLjoTcSXwWgbnMREDn22IpWxW5YY4iLTQrLndPXGYVm33ELnJz9HF-lWuNWJKSJ-v06yAOumue0AvVYh191-0nZQC3qorc/s1600/cropped-poetryshelf.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgS_SVzNLUmelGCx6w9LgaI43cpvOgtTHrqrwTl4svW1kTRKLjoTcSXwWgbnMREDn22IpWxW5YY4iLTQrLndPXGYVm33ELnJz9HF-lWuNWJKSJ-v06yAOumue0AvVYh191-0nZQC3qorc/s400/cropped-poetryshelf.png"></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">[<a href="http://nzpoetryshelf.com/">NZ Poetry Shelf</a>]</span><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 180%;">Paula Green:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;">Poetry Shelf Paragraph Room 2</span></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<b>Time</b><br />
<br />
I find it essential to be on time for everything (including the present assignment). If I’m invited anywhere, I count backwards to find the latest moment I can leave in order to be at my destination punctually. Occasionally I try to factor in a bit of fashionable lateness, but mostly in vain. Time in <i>poetry</i>, though, is a horse of a different colour. I wrote a poem while travelling in the Lake District with my family in 1981. The first two lines ran:
<blockquote>
We built a man of slates, and after years,<br />
revisited, the rock had grown a face.
</blockquote>
I liked them, but I wasn’t really sure what they meant. Perhaps for that reason, what came next was less satisfactory – to me, and to others. The poem stayed with me, though, and fifteen or so years later I made a concerted attempt to complete it with some entirely new lines. And in that form it appeared in my first book, <i>City of Strange Brunettes</i> (1998), under the title “First Love.” But I didn’t entirely like that version either, so later on I had a go at changing the second stanza. Just now, in 2022, I had a look at the poem again and decided to change it back to the way it’d been in the book. Even as I read it, though, I can still hear the original 1981 version of the last four lines going round and round in my head. My point is not so much that the poem is still alive for me, after forty-odd years (though it is); rather, the thing that fascinates me is the number of different moments over those four decades that are somehow miraculously preserved in this one six-line poem. Writing a poem is the closest thing I’ve ever experienced to that Proustian idea of recovering lost time – not just as it was, but with the added patina of what has come in between then and now. It’s a snapshot of a buried past, but with the advantage that the people in the picture are still able to live and breathe. Going back to old poems to rewrite and reshape them is not so much about improving them as asserting their ongoing vitality – and, I suppose, my own.</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
(27-28/4/22)
<br />
<br />
'Poetry Shelf Paragraph Room 2.' Ed. Paula Green.<br />
<i>NZ Poetry Shelf: a poetry page with reviews, interviews, and other things</i>.<br />
[Available at: <a href="https://nzpoetryshelf.com/2022/05/06/poetry-shelf-paragraph-room-2/">https://nzpoetryshelf.com/2022/05/06/poetry-shelf-paragraph-room-2/</a> (6/5/22)]<br />
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[376 wds]
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv63scJ35niRFRNS0Fq_hsN17RgRSyByJJe7O7Pdevhh92Ryyp3KkYJWiKNCmj9Xth6PnqFdZPUb4NIXh0epc3enRskTDCLZ4sKZNT7VgGx8Yd_jALmlBtKuoaouTYrr2p5d_V5XfEqe4/s1600/64e80a392e0e0cbd25ca32258b399a78.jpeg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv63scJ35niRFRNS0Fq_hsN17RgRSyByJJe7O7Pdevhh92Ryyp3KkYJWiKNCmj9Xth6PnqFdZPUb4NIXh0epc3enRskTDCLZ4sKZNT7VgGx8Yd_jALmlBtKuoaouTYrr2p5d_V5XfEqe4/s400/64e80a392e0e0cbd25ca32258b399a78.jpeg" width="400" height="400" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Poetry Box: <a href="https://nzpoetrybox.wordpress.com/author/paulajoygreen/">Paula Green</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span><br />
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<br />Dr Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01805945600952222957noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710695321433147697.post-85493423642113636812018-08-18T08:56:00.032+12:002022-04-14T10:35:03.663+12:00Chocolate Weetbix (2022)<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgS_SVzNLUmelGCx6w9LgaI43cpvOgtTHrqrwTl4svW1kTRKLjoTcSXwWgbnMREDn22IpWxW5YY4iLTQrLndPXGYVm33ELnJz9HF-lWuNWJKSJ-v06yAOumue0AvVYh191-0nZQC3qorc/s1600/cropped-poetryshelf.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgS_SVzNLUmelGCx6w9LgaI43cpvOgtTHrqrwTl4svW1kTRKLjoTcSXwWgbnMREDn22IpWxW5YY4iLTQrLndPXGYVm33ELnJz9HF-lWuNWJKSJ-v06yAOumue0AvVYh191-0nZQC3qorc/s400/cropped-poetryshelf.png"></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">[<a href="http://nzpoetryshelf.com/">NZ Poetry Shelf</a>]</span><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 180%;">Paula Green:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;">Poetry Shelf Paragraphs: 25 Poets on Poetry</span></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
When we were kids, we had a bad habit of leaving the last couple of inches of cereal in the Weetbix package uneaten. No amount of persuasion would convince us that this unwholesome looking mess was as good as the perfectly formed biscuits we’d started off with. That is, until my father came up with the term <i>chocolate weetbix</i>. All of a sudden, we were competing to have a bowl of chocolate weetbix scraps rather than those boringly predictable rectangles. I’m still not sure why those two words made such a great difference to us – the mystique of chocolate transforms all it touches, I suppose. But it was more than that. It was my first experience, not so much of the power of advertising, as of the inherent magic of putting the right words in the right place. My father was a clever and eloquent man, but even he must have felt some slight disquiet at manipulating us with such ease. Since then, as a writer and a teacher, I’ve become increasingly aware of the extent to which one can transform other people’s experience of the world simply by describing it in a particular way. It’s a fearsome responsibility, and not to be taken lightly. This year, as so many of our assumptions about the society we live in crumble around us, I’m more conscious than ever of the power of poetry – ‘language charged with meaning to the utmost possible degree’ – and its ability to affect reality. We can, quite literally, change lives with our words: but what is it, exactly, we want to say?</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
(6-7/4/22)
<br />
<br />
'Poetry Shelf Paragraphs: 25 Poets on Poetry.' Ed. Paula Green.<br />
<i>NZ Poetry Shelf: a poetry page with reviews, interviews, and other things</i>.<br />
[Available at: <a href="https://nzpoetryshelf.com/2022/04/14/poetry-shelf-paragraphs-25-poets-on-poetry/">https://nzpoetryshelf.com/2022/04/14/poetry-shelf-paragraphs-25-poets-on-poetry/</a> (14/4/22)]<br />
<br />
[265 wds]
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv63scJ35niRFRNS0Fq_hsN17RgRSyByJJe7O7Pdevhh92Ryyp3KkYJWiKNCmj9Xth6PnqFdZPUb4NIXh0epc3enRskTDCLZ4sKZNT7VgGx8Yd_jALmlBtKuoaouTYrr2p5d_V5XfEqe4/s1600/64e80a392e0e0cbd25ca32258b399a78.jpeg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv63scJ35niRFRNS0Fq_hsN17RgRSyByJJe7O7Pdevhh92Ryyp3KkYJWiKNCmj9Xth6PnqFdZPUb4NIXh0epc3enRskTDCLZ4sKZNT7VgGx8Yd_jALmlBtKuoaouTYrr2p5d_V5XfEqe4/s400/64e80a392e0e0cbd25ca32258b399a78.jpeg" width="400" height="400" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Poetry Box: <a href="https://nzpoetrybox.wordpress.com/author/paulajoygreen/">Paula Green</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span><br />
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<br />Dr Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01805945600952222957noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710695321433147697.post-54050276982737122622018-08-17T09:33:00.000+12:002023-05-01T10:46:41.646+12:00The Little Ache (2022)<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi1_CrfFzjh8eryM-dKyyuVSMGQC9zG9fMTFUWci9OKIcAOS0hbiGvi_FRUoNMXO5-dszr9v7Kto34TsvSRBNA3LYbqoLrqEnYJTOVVZ7n80ITNZXaT7nPwAviFhpDxRgHpkCP4NVrSh_FxLPVB68mw1b5fDdSGscQoBtLNdmzI0SO7P2cPg23vFRYM=s2345" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="400" data-original-height="2345" data-original-width="1716" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi1_CrfFzjh8eryM-dKyyuVSMGQC9zG9fMTFUWci9OKIcAOS0hbiGvi_FRUoNMXO5-dszr9v7Kto34TsvSRBNA3LYbqoLrqEnYJTOVVZ7n80ITNZXaT7nPwAviFhpDxRgHpkCP4NVrSh_FxLPVB68mw1b5fDdSGscQoBtLNdmzI0SO7P2cPg23vFRYM=s400"/></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhRtai7WbBnPbKtC0n31_HW_9tdo91hZsyRHH_z7DKtrNVCjdp9axEP5OXyM6bFs88MbKvJJpusDaDgbrkdkZkChUh7JG6ZH14zLEJh-uMa2frURbsq0XMG0p4MjVCRZ3O8BwlMXOYRs2VVhJygPr3yx6EGs7y52CJwHnjDc3_GxylAU7Mlpt-FwLyH=s1418" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="400" data-original-height="1418" data-original-width="928" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhRtai7WbBnPbKtC0n31_HW_9tdo91hZsyRHH_z7DKtrNVCjdp9axEP5OXyM6bFs88MbKvJJpusDaDgbrkdkZkChUh7JG6ZH14zLEJh-uMa2frURbsq0XMG0p4MjVCRZ3O8BwlMXOYRs2VVhJygPr3yx6EGs7y52CJwHnjDc3_GxylAU7Mlpt-FwLyH=s400"/></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Tracey Slaughter, ed.: <a href="https://www.masseypress.ac.nz/books/poetry-new-zealand-yearbook-2022/">Poetry NZ Yearbook 2022</a> (March 2022)</span>
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 180%;">Reviews:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;">Ian Wedde</span></b></div>
<br />
<br />
<blockquote>Ian Wedde. <i>The Little Ache – a German notebook</i>. ISBN 978-177656-426-2. Wellington: Victoria University Press, 2021. RRP $NZ30. 144 pp.</blockquote><br />
<br />
<div align="center">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBx-vzio5vkVhix2phVDqtQYUgLOI7a1YE_LIW8rcmdvzzuFpxMacooPr8v7vH4g_-b6dmin3_pGor6aZIW8HpIA0YtriYXuC1oZieq62NA1u9pAeaFVeXAN511twT6gNzsiG93Mnwme4/s2048/little_ache_front__22284.1617060588.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="600" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBx-vzio5vkVhix2phVDqtQYUgLOI7a1YE_LIW8rcmdvzzuFpxMacooPr8v7vH4g_-b6dmin3_pGor6aZIW8HpIA0YtriYXuC1oZieq62NA1u9pAeaFVeXAN511twT6gNzsiG93Mnwme4/s600/little_ache_front__22284.1617060588.jpg"/></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Ian Wedde: <a href="https://vup.victoria.ac.nz/the-little-ache-a-german-notebook/">The Little Ache – a German notebook</a> (2021)</span></div><br />
<br />
<blockquote>The thing to ask about a burlesqued wink or a mock sheep raid is not what their ontological status is. It is the same as that of <i>rocks on the one hand and dreams on the other – they are things of this world</i>.
</blockquote>
The quote comes from anthropologist Clifford Geertz’s famous essay ‘Thick Description: Toward an Interpretive Theory of Culture.’ Or rather, it comes from the notes at the end of Ian Wedde’s latest volume of poems. In the poem itself, he includes only the last 16 words, which I’ve italicised. Wedde explains the passage as follows:
<blockquote>
The term ‘thick description’ … became, Geertz wrote … ‘a position and a slogan I have been living with since.’ I have gone on reading and admiring these essays for many years and want to acknowledge that the concept of ‘thick description’ was my passport to the state of mind I hoped this book would occupy, where ghosts could be encountered in the everyday, material world, and in the phantom fragments of language which seemed to collate its meanings. [131]
</blockquote>
There are, of course, other names for this state of mind: in a fictional context one might refer to it as ‘Magic Realism.’ But is that what Wedde means by his own methods of ‘thick description’? What exactly <i>is</i> it, for a start? Another of Wedde’s Geertz quotes may be helpful here:
<blockquote>
Believing … that man is an animal suspended in webs of significance he himself has spun, I take culture to be those webs, and the analysis of it to be therefore not an experimental science in search of law but an interpretive one in search of meaning. [133]
</blockquote>
So, for example, in poem 51, Wedde sees Turkish poet Nâzım Hikmet Ran, who died in Moscow in 1963, sitting at a German café in 2014, and carefully tabulating his reactions to:
<blockquote>
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">the perfect pitch of exile</span><br />
a tone found somewhere in the chord combining <br />
the demonstrators over at Wienerstraße <br />
the expostulations of his Turkish companions <br />
and the voice of the German coffee commentator <br />
on the café’s big screen <br />
during the quarter-final <br />
between German and France. [86-87]
</blockquote>
Shades of Geertz’s famous example of the need to account for the difference between a twitch and a wink (“as anyone unfortunate enough to have had the first taken for the second knows”)! Geertz’s essay goes on to add a third actor who chooses to <i>parody</i> the others’ winks, and whose behaviour is therefore even more culturally layered and needful of interpretation than theirs.<br />
<br />
Wedde, a New Zealander in temporary exile from his native land, and eagerly trying to discover tendrils of ancestry in Germany, imagines – or sees (need the apparition of a ghost <i>always</i> be taken as pure imagination?) – the author of the epic <i>Human Landscapes from My Country</i> carefully modulating his own way through all these various voices and layers of cultural entanglement.<br />
<br />
On the surface, then, Wedde’s book – which might otherwise be taken as a simple amalgam of travel notes and genealogical jottings – is actually something far more ambitious: an attempt to decode of the levels of significance to be encountered by someone of his complex background in an already immensely overwritten cultural matrix.<br />
<br />
He has certain advantages, mind you. Some of his not-too-distant ancestors were themselves poets – one had a few poems set to music by Brahms, another was famed as ‘the founder of Plattdüütsch dialect literature’ – so their works can be interrogated with this concept of distant kinship in mind. With these advantages, however, come risks:
<blockquote>
it’s the ghost of a smile I see <br />
when I read what Joseph Blos thought <br />
of Johannes Wedde’s poems <br />
which though ‘often very beautiful <br />
didn’t sink in with the wider public <br />
on account of the scholarly ballast <br />
with which they were packed’. [45]
</blockquote>
There’s a certain amount of ‘scholarly ballast’ in this Wedde book, too: 10 pages of notes and another 3 of acknowledgments. Personally I’m inclined to think that there should be <i>more</i> notes, not fewer – not all of the German tags and quotations, most of them admittedly explained in the context of the poems they adorn, are actually translated, let alone referenced. That may not be every reader’s view, however.<br />
<br />
If there <i>is</i> a universal applicability to be sought in Ian Wedde’s complex web of encounters and experiences during his Berlin residency, I suppose that it comes by analogy rather than directly. Speaking personally, I find his struggles with communication in a strange land quite poignant, given my own halting German. <br />
<br />
However, Wedde certainly gives as good as he gets to an arrogant librarian in poem 53:
<blockquote>
Failing to find it in the loan stacks <br />
I said to the narcissist of small differences <br />
as he glared at this Ausländer <br />
across his Ausgabeort barrier <br />
<i>Ich kann den Buch nicht finden</i><br />
at which <br />
having got it <br />
he pushed the book against my chest <br />
and jeered <br />
<i>Hier ist</i> der <i>Buch!</i><br />
<br />
Books are <i>das</i> not <i>der</i> [89]
</blockquote>
Given that this particular book – the second volume of Johannes Wedde’s <i>Collected Works</i> – had not been taken out for 111 years, he feels (not unreasonably) justified in unleashing the full force of his poetic fury against ‘the thick-browed bureaucratic <i>Nationalismus</i>’ of this ‘bored pedant.’<br />
<br />
Exile and displacement are subjects much on our minds at present. 2013-14, when most of these poems were written, seems now like a distant golden age, when free travel was still permitted (to holders of the right passports, that is), and the refugee crisis in Europe – though dire – was not yet catastrophic.<br />
<br />
There are echoes of these things – the rise of extreme nationalism in Europe, for instance – in some of the poems, but it’s to Wedde’s credit that he hasn’t allowed second thoughts to distort the clear mirror of this particular experience.<br />
<br />
This book appears 50 years after his first, <i>Homage to Matisse</i> (1971). What a career it’s been! Wedde has always been one of the most internationally focussed of New Zealand poets (witness his translations from Arabic poet Mahmoud Darwish, also published in the early 1970s).<br />
<br />
There’s a (much-quoted) phrase in Anna Akhmatova’s <i>Poem without a Hero</i>: “the bitter air of exile.” Wedde knows better than to borrow such an expression for his own voluntary sojourn abroad, his own constituting merely a “little ache.” These letters from exile do, nevertheless, remind me of their distant prototypes, Ovid’s <i>Sad Poems</i> and <i>Letters from Pontus</i>, written from his own place of official banishment on the shores of the Black Sea to the centre of culture in Rome.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span><br />
<br />
(1-3/8/21)
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<br />
<i>Poetry New Zealand Yearbook 2022</i>. ISBN 978-1-991151-11-7 (March 2022): 353-56.
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<br />
[1104 wds]<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2K-mY-zWusHyY_A2tcFQ548R7ZtYiMwUsnw8R-yyrTWb7pmrSWhZEJ4ONif5JgK3UJsJL2zo-9e16QxXALVfd-gjMJWgtNOpeWU_AV8mTgCMg7X2hNc011mH3Z6eBuLMcDUueAzn3rAQ/s1000/ian-wedde-with-pete-1-credit-joanna-forsberg.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="400" data-original-height="873" data-original-width="1000" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2K-mY-zWusHyY_A2tcFQ548R7ZtYiMwUsnw8R-yyrTWb7pmrSWhZEJ4ONif5JgK3UJsJL2zo-9e16QxXALVfd-gjMJWgtNOpeWU_AV8mTgCMg7X2hNc011mH3Z6eBuLMcDUueAzn3rAQ/s400/ian-wedde-with-pete-1-credit-joanna-forsberg.jpg"/></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Joanna Forsberg: <a href="https://vup.victoria.ac.nz/brands/Ian-Wedde.html">Ian Wedde with Pete</a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s1600/book_blank.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s200/book_blank.jpg"></a></div>
<br />
<br />Dr Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01805945600952222957noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710695321433147697.post-49100163559658177752018-08-16T09:08:00.019+12:002023-09-28T08:36:44.003+13:00On Quitting the Academy (2022)<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7mHI2z5TSX5FP58qh18qekj6YmfaYyAynfeNc2kmS3kfv7ZljhIPvH4bk0PuvquOuiyBU9vAf1up-BHfsxpWon0Uh_aGShhzHAYVP4gefUy_Ye_FfFNkaNSy-jmapnvxA6TnBBT2gm0DZU3BBRU7PQFYZi7XOFkkiz2u2ssMlyyN3Hg_ngast2WaM/s1240/Screen%20Shot%202022-04-07%20at%2009.18.57.png" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="400" data-original-height="862" data-original-width="1240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7mHI2z5TSX5FP58qh18qekj6YmfaYyAynfeNc2kmS3kfv7ZljhIPvH4bk0PuvquOuiyBU9vAf1up-BHfsxpWon0Uh_aGShhzHAYVP4gefUy_Ye_FfFNkaNSy-jmapnvxA6TnBBT2gm0DZU3BBRU7PQFYZi7XOFkkiz2u2ssMlyyN3Hg_ngast2WaM/s400/Screen%20Shot%202022-04-07%20at%2009.18.57.png"/></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">[<a href="https://poetryremake2.wordpress.com/">poetry remake 2</a>]</span><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 180%;">Sidedoor:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;">On Quitting the Academy</span></b></div><br />
<br />
Recently I decided to take early retirement from my job teaching creative writing at Massey University.<br />
<br />
Why? I’d spent thirty years in the tertiary sector, first five years as an English tutor at the University of Auckland, then ten years tutoring Academic Writing at Massey’s Auckland campus, then a further fifteen years there as a Lecturer (then Senior Lecturer) in Creative Writing.<br />
<br />
I used to think that long stretch of time working as a tutor marked me out as a bit of a loser – in Academic terms, at any rate. After all, the real achievers tend to get appointed straight out of graduate school. But now I’m not so sure.<br />
<br />
All those years of classroom teaching, going over the same curriculum again and again, definitely taught me more than any of the students. I learned patience, for one thing: trying endlessly to find inventive ways of getting through to particular individuals.<br />
<br />
It also revealed to me just how much I enjoyed meeting new people in such a context: a situation where we were all working together towards a common goal, and where the students were encouraged to express and expand upon their own ideas as fully and clearly as they could.<br />
<br />
That’s the advantage of concentrating on process rather than content. It wasn’t up to me to teach them facts or opinions: just how to channel their own body of knowledge and present it in an intellectually cogent way.<br />
<br />
And, of course, it had the by-product of forcing me to learn the same lesson. Up to then, I’d written much like other Academics: footnotes, jargon, more-or-less futile (or fertile) digressions … all the usual hallmarks. For the first time, after teaching writing courses for a living, I was forced to acknowledge just how unreadable most of what I’d been churning out actually was.<br />
<br />
The shift up to lecturer came at a cost. I still did some classroom teaching, but increasingly less and less. Instead, my energies went largely into course and curriculum design.<br />
<br />
There were a couple of major events during this period at Massey. First of all, the umbrella school which had covered most of the Humanities disciplines on our Auckland campus was dissolved into a series of splinter groups, each one linked to its parent school at Palmerston North.<br />
<br />
In the case of English, this meant that for the first time I had actual colleagues, other people specialising in the Creative Writing discipline. This was a huge plus, and I’m still grateful that it came when it did, so early in my career as a lecturer.<br />
<br />
Secondly, a rather arbitrary vote was taken one day at senior level to restrict the number of courses which could be offered in any particular BA major. This struck English hard, as we had vastly more courses than were allowed for in the new curriculum.<br />
<br />
The solution we finally came up with, after much debate, was to split the subject of English down the middle into an ‘English Studies’ major and a ‘Creative Writing’ major, accompanied by two minors in Theatre and Rhetoric studies.<br />
<br />
This bureaucratically driven decision created an opportunity for the four permanent Creative Writing staff (one in Auckland, two in Palmerston North, and one in Wellington) to construct a whole new major in our own discipline.<br />
<br />
Such opportunities are rare, and – while obviously a good deal of horse trading had to take place to get any personal initiatives past the group as a whole – it was an immensely fruitful time, as we made plans which would affect our teaching for years to come.<br />
<br />
I ended up designing a new <a href="http://albany139329.blogspot.com/">Advanced Fiction</a> paper, while continuing to teach <a href="http://albany139326.blogspot.com/">Travel Writing</a> and introductory <a href="http://albany139123.blogspot.com/">Creative Writing</a> (Fiction and Poetry). It was really quite exciting, especially when combined with our growing graduate programme at Masters and Doctoral level.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span></div><br />
<br />
So why did I give it all up?<br />
<br />
I remember once, when I was in the middle of planning a series of publications based on the collections in the <a href="http://aonzpsa.blogspot.com/2007/12/preface-2007.html"><i>Aotearoa New Zealand Poetry Sound Archive</i></a>, which I’d helped Jan Kemp and a number of others compile in the early 2000s, taking a walk on North Head with poet (and fellow academic) Michele Leggott.<br />
<br />
She listened to my tale of woe about the increasing amounts of acrimony and discord involved in the project, then outlined her theory of the lustrum.<br />
<br />
A lustrum is the period of five years preceding a census in Ancient Rome. Michele thought that that should be about the effective length of a creative project. Sometimes they have to be renewed for another five years, but it’s best to concentrate on the limits in everything.<br />
<br />
I’ve thought of that conversation often: a certain amount of time spent <a href="http://hesiodic.blogspot.com/2012/09/celanie-2012.html">translating Paul Celan</a>; a certain amount of time working on <a href="https://nzspeculativefiction.blogspot.com/">New Zealand Science Fiction</a>; a certain period of time spent editing <a href="http://poetrynzblog.blogspot.com/"><i>Poetry New Zealand</i></a> (after similar stints working on <i>brief</i>, <i>the pander</i>, <i>Spin</i>, and various other journals).<br />
<br />
These projects worked well for me because they were bounded. I could happily lavish the whole of my energy on them because I knew that it wasn’t forever, that there was a solid substratum of day-to-day work on reading and writing poetry, fiction and essays, which would continue for me in any case.<br />
<br />
Those core activities were sometimes compromised by the demands of these projects, but (by and large) shifting from one project to another has a way of helping you with both in the long run.<br />
<br />
I suppose, in a nutshell, that was my reason for quitting Academia. I was no longer doing much of the face-to-face teaching which was my favourite part, and the fascinating work of curriculum design was now largely complete. Now it just remained to keep on teaching the same courses over and over again – with as many tweaks and rewrites as could be conveniently shoehorned into summer vacation.<br />
<br />
If I’d aspired to move higher in the hierarchy, to shape the way the University and College themselves were going, it might have been different. But that is, I’m afraid, not my bliss. What I really like is to sit as I’m doing now, tapping away on a keyboard, and trying to get closer to that elusive meaning hovering behind each screen of words.<br />
<blockquote>somehow never wrote something to go back to.<a class="style23" href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/the-twenty-year-masterclass-2012.html#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title="">[1]</a></blockquote>
That was Robert Lowell’s late verdict on his own body of work. Naturally I don’t agree with him. I keep going back to his certain of his poems and books again and again, but I can understand why he thought so.<br />
<br />
The point is that he kept on writing. That last book of his, <i>Day by Day</i>, is one that grows on you. It evades the – in retrospect, shallower – rhetorical triumphs of much of his earlier work in favour of a deliberately downbeat, unresonant sadness.<br />
<br />
Is it his best work? Who can say? You could almost make a rule that your best work is always the next one, the one still in prospect, because it hasn’t yet taken shape, because it still possesses so many possibilities, before being condemned into actual existence.<br />
<br />
I’ll never regret spending so much time in Academia, but a whole pile of lustra have come and gone since I started there (especially if you count a decade of undergraduate and graduate study), and I find now that I want to change gear, lose that slightly absurd air of authority you’re forced to assume while teaching, in favour of sitting here alone with nothing solid to guide me. <br />
<br />
It feels terrifying. That’s why I know it’s probably right.
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<hr align="left" noshade="noshade" size="1" width="70%" /><br />
<br />
<b>Notes:</b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn1">
<a href="http://jackrossopinions.blogspot.co.nz/2013/08/the-twenty-year-masterclass-2012.html#_ftn1" name="_ftn1" title="">1.</a> Robert Lowell, ‘Reading Myself.’ In <i>Collected Poems</i>. Ed. Frank Bidart & David Gewanter, with DeSales Harrison (New York: Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 2003): 591.</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
(23-27/2/22)
<br />
<br />
"Ghosting." <a href="https://afterlifecartographies.blogspot.com/2023/08/haunts.html"><i>Haunts</i></a> (2023).<br />
[Available at: <a href="https://afterlifecartographies.blogspot.com/2022/06/ghosting.html">https://afterlifecartographies.blogspot.com/2022/06/ghosting.html</a> (18-24/3/22)]<br />
<br />
[1266 wds]
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s1600/book_blank.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s200/book_blank.jpg"></a></div>
<br />
<br />Dr Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01805945600952222957noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710695321433147697.post-25168946532061323502018-08-15T10:26:00.000+12:002023-05-01T11:02:21.983+12:00Skeleton Tracks (2022)<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbQzFQYw3qun3jV8OK2smcG3jquaGCma9oshOVHlKYmdupZSGUA7Iz3I4Lt7eDc6DZlKX0U_b5vZZeei4H0H9siqPJ7LjqJj66c6SIGNaEpAq3FsuXOSpWkTnGfWBZJsjY7qyIybOfof7P852DSbwL_bDnPboOEiK_7vqBM5SixYvFdYjbEMM3lz5-/s2339/Breach-of-All-Size-front-cover.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="600" data-original-height="2339" data-original-width="1512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbQzFQYw3qun3jV8OK2smcG3jquaGCma9oshOVHlKYmdupZSGUA7Iz3I4Lt7eDc6DZlKX0U_b5vZZeei4H0H9siqPJ7LjqJj66c6SIGNaEpAq3FsuXOSpWkTnGfWBZJsjY7qyIybOfof7P852DSbwL_bDnPboOEiK_7vqBM5SixYvFdYjbEMM3lz5-/s600/Breach-of-All-Size-front-cover.jpg"/></a>
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Michelle Elvy & Marco Sonzogni, ed.: <a href="https://thecubapress.nz/shop/breach-of-all-size/">Breach of All Size:<br />
Small Stories on <i>Ulysses</i>, love and Venice</a> (2022)</span><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 180%;">Skeleton Tracks</span></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote><i>Tell me the word, mother, if you know now. The word known to all men</i>.</blockquote>
You know how it is when you’re in a strange city, especially if you don’t speak the language well? The books you brought with you dry up, and you become desperate for new reading material. You can usually find a book exchange of some sort in most hostels: French and German paperbacks, English potboilers – even some more serious books among them: Goethe’s <i>Faust</i> or (as in this case) Joyce’s <i>Ulysses</i>, left behind, no doubt, by travellers who’d repented of their self-improving zeal.<br />
<br />
This time I was in Venice, on Giudecca. I’d just finished reading <i>Snow Falling on Cedars</i>, and was desperate to exchange it before leaving next morning to catch my train south. <i>Ulysses</i> it was.<br />
<br />
Not just any copy of <i>Ulysses</i>, though – the one I’d picked up was a special ‘corrected’ version prepared by some German Professor called Hans Walter Gabler. He’d also included a long preface explaining how, by dint of comparing all the manuscript remnants, he’d managed to reconstruct parts of the book even its author had failed to comprehend.<br />
<br />
In particular, in the Nighttown sequence, when the ghost of Stephen Dedalus’s mother appears and he asks her for that word, the ‘word known to all men’, Gabler had actually managed to find out what that word <i>was</i>, even though Joyce himself left it out. Not to keep you in suspense, the word turned out to be ‘love’.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately for Gabler, the previous owner had included a few press cuttings denouncing the impudence of presuming to know better than a book’s author what it should and shouldn’t contain.<br />
<br />
But that’s not what I want to talk about here. Even though I had doubts about reading Gabler’s rather than Joyce’s version, there’s not much else to do on long train journeys, so I did get a chance to study the book in some detail.<br />
<br />
In particular, since this was clearly a student text, I was on the lookout for underlinings or marginal notes. There were none. What there were – in Chapter XV: <i>Circe</i>, the one I mentioned above – were little pinprick dots under some of the words. I’d read my fair share of prison-camp books, and I knew that during World War II people used to send coded messages like that.<br />
<br />
I started to jot them down as I came to them. This was the result:
<blockquote>
<i>the gondola<br />
wait my love<br />
behind the stable<br />
great light<br />
still young</i>
</blockquote>
Make of that what you will.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVVoyb77ycoNMLJ_gSReMWk0mEAe_Fe77T9cS-va3YzStukz_0S0O2knxux2I28SJoSj2LhdUMboI-LpIQi9VqQq0pYhHW1htGWBVp6p5o9CY10VzHFWpclUud-111NCMmtuO20o-4bWHLZ3XldiWI_79-vzLPCXmmxoTqo_zFLzZ_kvCXnBgg1TI2/s1280/Breach-image.jpeg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="400" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVVoyb77ycoNMLJ_gSReMWk0mEAe_Fe77T9cS-va3YzStukz_0S0O2knxux2I28SJoSj2LhdUMboI-LpIQi9VqQq0pYhHW1htGWBVp6p5o9CY10VzHFWpclUud-111NCMmtuO20o-4bWHLZ3XldiWI_79-vzLPCXmmxoTqo_zFLzZ_kvCXnBgg1TI2/s400/Breach-image.jpeg"/></a>
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Michelle Elvy & Marco Sonzogni, ed.: <a href="https://flashfrontier.com/breach-of-all-size/">Breach of All Size</a> (2022)</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span><br />
<br />
(18-19/11/21)
<br />
<br />
<i>Breach of All Size: Small Stories on Ulysses, love and Venice</i>. Ed. Michelle Elvy<br />
& Marco Sonzogni. Wellington: The Cuba Press, 2022. 80-81.
<br />
<br />
[423 wds]
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s1600/book_blank.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s200/book_blank.jpg"></a></div><br />
<br />Dr Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01805945600952222957noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710695321433147697.post-77068658102878015972018-08-14T10:48:00.055+12:002023-05-01T11:02:02.513+12:0077 Days (2021)<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgS_SVzNLUmelGCx6w9LgaI43cpvOgtTHrqrwTl4svW1kTRKLjoTcSXwWgbnMREDn22IpWxW5YY4iLTQrLndPXGYVm33ELnJz9HF-lWuNWJKSJ-v06yAOumue0AvVYh191-0nZQC3qorc/s1600/cropped-poetryshelf.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgS_SVzNLUmelGCx6w9LgaI43cpvOgtTHrqrwTl4svW1kTRKLjoTcSXwWgbnMREDn22IpWxW5YY4iLTQrLndPXGYVm33ELnJz9HF-lWuNWJKSJ-v06yAOumue0AvVYh191-0nZQC3qorc/s400/cropped-poetryshelf.png"></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="http://nzpoetryshelf.com/">NZ Poetry Shelf</a></span><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 180%;">Poetry Shelf: Writings from lockdown</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;">77 Days</span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv3wOk_iqxSfJuCVt6MK_ZN_xv2G3dd_hV433FcyQ8DX1xK6tWIHCw3s5h_cpnsr1rHoSExD3zx8hkv1R338YguInwJB954AgElFqfes_-1kOnBhf4M0JipRGetRqdsTw8EfJLthrlz0NbGGboQqEzFolh7mQFG2I5vM8srnxq55eIepS6X1FlTltd/s900/702px-Chekhov_1898_by_Osip_Braz-56aa19043df78cf772ac6284.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="600" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="702" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv3wOk_iqxSfJuCVt6MK_ZN_xv2G3dd_hV433FcyQ8DX1xK6tWIHCw3s5h_cpnsr1rHoSExD3zx8hkv1R338YguInwJB954AgElFqfes_-1kOnBhf4M0JipRGetRqdsTw8EfJLthrlz0NbGGboQqEzFolh7mQFG2I5vM8srnxq55eIepS6X1FlTltd/s600/702px-Chekhov_1898_by_Osip_Braz-56aa19043df78cf772ac6284.jpg"/></a>
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Osip Braz: <a href="https://www.thoughtco.com/biography-of-anton-chekhov-2713614">Anton Chekhov</a> (1860-1904)</span></div><br />
<br />
<blockquote>
When I was at high school my Russian teacher, Mr. Meijers, told us a Chekhov story, “The Bet.”<br />
<br />
A rich man wagers a poor one he can’t spend five years in solitary confinement without going crazy. He can ask for books, or fancy food, or anything else he wants – but he’s not allowed to talk to anyone, or go outside his room.<br />
<br />
I do remember wondering what all the fuss was about. A few years on your own, with books and entertainment of your choice – what could be wrong with that? In fact, after that, every time I bought a book I had that in the back of my mind – being stuck in my own room under house arrest.<br />
<br />
As the years roll by, the man in the room studies languages and learns new skills; he leaves little notes asking for more textbooks. What he isn’t told is that his host has lost most of his money, and can no longer afford to settle the bet without going bankrupt.<br />
<br />
The rich man lives in fear of his former friend.<br />
<br />
The night before the five years are up, the man in the room escapes through a window, leaving no note behind. Perhaps he’s found out about the loss of his friend’s fortune, and decided to let him off out of pity. Perhaps all these years of enforced confinement have finally taken their toll.<br />
<br />
Five years is an awfully long time – a scarcely conceivable weight of days. Until now, that is.<br />
<br />
Our present lockdown, the fourth for Tāmaki Makaurau, began at midnight on Tuesday, 17th of August. As I write, at the beginning of November, only 77 days have actually gone by. But five years adds up to – give or take a leap year or so – <i>1824</i> days!<br />
<br />
That’s almost 24 times what we’ve had to put up with so far.<br />
<br />
And what have I done with this time?<br />
<br />
I boxed up my father’s remaining books and carted them across the road for a church fundraiser.<br />
<br />
I edited a webfestchrift for my friend Michele Leggott. <br />
<br />
I wrote some posts on my blog.<br />
<br />
I went on a diet: I’ve lost 20 kilos so far.<br />
<br />
Oh, and I did take the trouble to look up that story. It turns out that it isn’t <i>five</i> years he has to spend in the room, it’s <i>fifteen</i>. Not 1824 days, but <i>5472</i>. Not 24, but <i>71</i> times what we’ve just been through.<br />
<br />
No doubt we’ll soon be back to normal. It hasn’t been five years – let alone fifteen – but you can’t really call it nothing, either.
</blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span><br />
<br />
(1-3/11/21)
<br />
<br />
'Poetry Shelf: Writings from lockdown.' Ed. Paula Green.<br />
<i>NZ Poetry Shelf: a poetry page with reviews, interviews, and other things</i>.<br />
[Available at: <a href="https://nzpoetryshelf.com/2021/11/12/poetry-shelf-writings-from-lockdown/">https://nzpoetryshelf.com/2021/11/12/poetry-shelf-writings-from-lockdown/</a> (12/11/21)]<br />
<br />
[431 wds]
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv63scJ35niRFRNS0Fq_hsN17RgRSyByJJe7O7Pdevhh92Ryyp3KkYJWiKNCmj9Xth6PnqFdZPUb4NIXh0epc3enRskTDCLZ4sKZNT7VgGx8Yd_jALmlBtKuoaouTYrr2p5d_V5XfEqe4/s1600/64e80a392e0e0cbd25ca32258b399a78.jpeg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv63scJ35niRFRNS0Fq_hsN17RgRSyByJJe7O7Pdevhh92Ryyp3KkYJWiKNCmj9Xth6PnqFdZPUb4NIXh0epc3enRskTDCLZ4sKZNT7VgGx8Yd_jALmlBtKuoaouTYrr2p5d_V5XfEqe4/s400/64e80a392e0e0cbd25ca32258b399a78.jpeg" width="400" height="400" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Poetry Box: <a href="https://nzpoetrybox.wordpress.com/author/paulajoygreen/">Paula Green</a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s1600/book_blank.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s200/book_blank.jpg"></a></div>
<br />
<br />Dr Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01805945600952222957noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710695321433147697.post-76854264471060484082018-08-13T08:30:00.000+12:002023-05-01T11:17:05.421+12:00Listening to the Silence (2021)<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEihxA-fPfsMG7IHZuig3oLYjZ56MCB9TmFDCp5zqzLrPPo_uax_M52_xICr5VYtT-5_RGho-bdVUc1PeigyBgankkdsIwoHqIP80nxM9fxI4gIy98MuqCUanwZGBxnKDHbcqrV9XRqRTeZp2uc-Gv7JUwuhK7A8r8HfMrVUCMeS8HgmkxemU8juZ__v=s822" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="600" data-original-height="822" data-original-width="630" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEihxA-fPfsMG7IHZuig3oLYjZ56MCB9TmFDCp5zqzLrPPo_uax_M52_xICr5VYtT-5_RGho-bdVUc1PeigyBgankkdsIwoHqIP80nxM9fxI4gIy98MuqCUanwZGBxnKDHbcqrV9XRqRTeZp2uc-Gv7JUwuhK7A8r8HfMrVUCMeS8HgmkxemU8juZ__v=s600"/></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Chris Gallavin: <a href="https://www.linkedin.com/in/chrisgallavin/overlay/experience/1818396460/multiple-media-viewer/?treasuryMediaId=1635465287327">A Dance Together</a> (2021)</span>
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Introduction:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 180%;">Listening to the Silence</span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFK9BcsY0_m0Ivnf3TyjVSLVo4W3O92MQBq6WOzEPmd2c_oTcXkw5ort8RAij9GS2Qrg4g0yXCxY2HLQNJDHO0AmpumxRa6d5EuekfbPD9DBdiHDN2zB_5g4vwbKMNlWSCHIscaRKbkN8/s1110/gallavin-2015.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="400" data-original-height="740" data-original-width="1110" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFK9BcsY0_m0Ivnf3TyjVSLVo4W3O92MQBq6WOzEPmd2c_oTcXkw5ort8RAij9GS2Qrg4g0yXCxY2HLQNJDHO0AmpumxRa6d5EuekfbPD9DBdiHDN2zB_5g4vwbKMNlWSCHIscaRKbkN8/s400/gallavin-2015.jpg"/></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="https://www.massey.ac.nz/massey/about-massey/news/article.cfm?mnarticle_uuid=B6DBACFD-B03C-38A8-E7E8-B1C310EFAB04">Prof. Chris Gallavin</a> (2015)</span></div>
<br />
<br />
Earlier this year, 2020, as the country prepared to go into lockdown against the COVID-19 pandemic – strange to think how quickly even this global cataclysm is bound to recede into memory – I read an interesting interview with Kiwi bard Sam Hunt.<br />
<br />
“How do poets deal with such things?” asked the interviewer, Hunt’s longtime mate Colin Hogg. <br />
<br />
“I’m a poet only when I’m writing a poem,” replied Hunt. “Otherwise I’m just hanging round, listening to the silence.” <br />
<br />
Just hanging around, listening to the silence.<br />
<br />
It’s hard to imagine a better definition of poetry than that. <br />
<br />
Wordsworth called it “the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings,” and added that “it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquillity.” That’s pretty much the same thing, though, if you think about it. <br />
<br />
I first met Chris Gallavin at a large Academic forum at Massey University, where both of us work. I guess I was struck at once by his larger-than-life ebullience and enthusiasm for every subject he touches: Law, University Administration, and – as it turned out – poetry.<br />
<br />
I teach poetry there, at Massey (as well as trying to write it), and I have to admit that it was a little surprising to find so much fascination in him for something which can feel, at times, like a recondite art.<br />
<br />
We cemented this acquaintance when he invited me to stay in his sleep-out during the 2017 Manawatu Writers’ Festival, which he co-hosted with other local writers at the Feilding Public Library. I saw then the massive library of New Zealand poetry he’d amassed over the years, jostling for space with long shelves of sober law books.<br />
<br />
Given his druthers, he told me, he’d spend all day long in the sleep-out, reading poetry and wandering around the garden, like a T’ang dynasty sage.<br />
<br />
Gallavin’s poetic heroes are all on display in this, his first full-length collection:
<br />
<blockquote><i>And we listened to Sam ....<br />
'Hunt' you finished the <br />
Sentence before I could<br />
Say we all need heroes,<br />
Even if some like fathers<br />
Are a bit broken-down</i> </blockquote>
<br />
as he puts it in “Milla,” the second of two heartfelt poems addressed to his daughter.<br />
<br />
James K. Baxter puts in a somewhat subdued appearance, too:<br />
<blockquote>
<i>I was caught today<br />
Reading a book of Baxter<br />
Quietly on a sofa, where I sat<br />
Tempted to lay my grey flecked head.<br />
<br />
‘That looks like an old man's book’<br />
Said with a smile. <br />
I did not know what to say<br />
Save a breathed and lonely,<br />
‘Yes, I suppose it is’.</i></blockquote>
<br />
As a poet, Gallavin has many strengths. I admire the vernacular love poems he addresses to his first Ford Cortina (‘My First Love’) and his local fish n chip shop. There’s a genuine passion for New Zealand scenery and weather on display here, too. <br />
<br />
The temptation – as always – is to continue to quote examples, but I don’t want to keep you from the body of his book any longer, so I think I’ll have to content myself with only one of these, a Bashō-like evocation of the charms of winter:
<br />
<blockquote><i>I stand at the window<br />
Cloaked, first cold coat,<br />
A cocoon of clouds,<br />
In this my new winter.</i></blockquote>
<br />
Good luck, then, to Chris Gallavin in all his new ventures, poetic and otherwise!<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%; font-weight: bold;">•</span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgchQtSe9oDDMSw4JmnSSjy2Sg5oM2qLFlLVnG-NNHDtaKp6ToJeUej28uFh5BnpWyT1v6aZ2wqVPMfSF9yitJSFWcmxzYT-La5ZnMIPAQ8lqqpJK2mu0y9ovUqcGNS-L8GvtvBITUkCvZOos35y-DUd28PqwjgOthrw89iZ1Q1wRCR9cxP8Pt9NhLk=s822" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="600" data-original-height="822" data-original-width="616" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgchQtSe9oDDMSw4JmnSSjy2Sg5oM2qLFlLVnG-NNHDtaKp6ToJeUej28uFh5BnpWyT1v6aZ2wqVPMfSF9yitJSFWcmxzYT-La5ZnMIPAQ8lqqpJK2mu0y9ovUqcGNS-L8GvtvBITUkCvZOos35y-DUd28PqwjgOthrw89iZ1Q1wRCR9cxP8Pt9NhLk=s600"/></a>
</div>
<blockquote>
<br />
<hr align="left" noshade="noshade" size="1" width="70%" /><br />
<br />
<b>Works cited:</b><br />
<br />
Colin Hogg, “Sam Hunt: We’ll be wiser, weaker folk.” <i>Newsroom</i> (7/4/20): [Available at: <a href"https://www.newsroom.co.nz/2020/04/07/1117315/sam-hunt-well-come-out-weaker-and-wiser?fbclid=IwAR3aEk5mMEb5gRYEy9BwU6U9MRYIsH7U8sLcmh0moUFiNrXETX-FpiGRG0c">https://www.newsroom.co.nz/2020/04/07/1117315/sam-hunt-well-come-out-weaker-and-wiser?fbclid=IwAR3aEk5mMEb5gRYEy9BwU6U9MRYIsH7U8sLcmh0moUFiNrXETX-FpiGRG0c</a>].
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhQoNI7iNGY0dT0GsTkvyQq2C2isrmoG0MjxaA7n-Dp1-Al3gLna3DoQcpUW7WSia9zhStjnOK2ABToxaKUpgB9ewAxBpgujNGINNZ-7x7-mG5cMfbA2nanK_jdrmxFfOoAW9ZhPiUKQRF7L7inWKabdSggQgITX78bPhtmJrtgE7FwA-LXHb0RpHyO=s1280" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="400" data-original-height="826" data-original-width="1280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhQoNI7iNGY0dT0GsTkvyQq2C2isrmoG0MjxaA7n-Dp1-Al3gLna3DoQcpUW7WSia9zhStjnOK2ABToxaKUpgB9ewAxBpgujNGINNZ-7x7-mG5cMfbA2nanK_jdrmxFfOoAW9ZhPiUKQRF7L7inWKabdSggQgITX78bPhtmJrtgE7FwA-LXHb0RpHyO=s400"/></a><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%; font-weight: bold;">•</span><br />
<br />
<br />
(19-20/7/20)
<br />
<br />
“Introduction: Listening to the Silence.” In Chris Gallavin: <i>A Dance Together</i>. Feilding: Prow Publishing, 2021.
<br />
<br />
[559 wds]
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s1600/book_blank.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s200/book_blank.jpg"></a></div>
<br />
<br />Dr Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01805945600952222957noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710695321433147697.post-86969893306151453832018-08-12T10:07:00.001+12:002023-09-28T08:36:14.092+13:00A Memorial Brass (2021)<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjxfei2JAvemkB_jYP7ClH4TU6LCaCJntkyMhc5IeXYCsvd0DdjS9R1Hbr3t5coC0xeldSpQO_G78YHaI8vfj3CtGFG_7JnnHsIQBmh_KHqfoS_0wr9VLskjorJFh6FYXJZ_oQBHVK8lVqP-Sw8CTphnMcFtCDk4NfXUFhCNWHGe7PYzafa09fIeomi=s800" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="600" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="499" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjxfei2JAvemkB_jYP7ClH4TU6LCaCJntkyMhc5IeXYCsvd0DdjS9R1Hbr3t5coC0xeldSpQO_G78YHaI8vfj3CtGFG_7JnnHsIQBmh_KHqfoS_0wr9VLskjorJFh6FYXJZ_oQBHVK8lVqP-Sw8CTphnMcFtCDk4NfXUFhCNWHGe7PYzafa09fIeomi=s600"/></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="http://sydreef.blogspot.com/">brief</a></span>
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Obituary:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 180%;">A Memorial Brass: i.m. Ted Jenner (1946-2021)</span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiccy9oi8_YOQOe8x-WhOxRM1m56NpfOPCBTn6WGcfhLXbXHGw4d0uUmxT-x0PxM60R0H4577Z16rtf9-Nf4fHnwK4vOiTfYwoq_8gLTexFCc26irxgO7d_PaqOr0DEZuEW8JrfhJAiQTKIeYWUNns44XNQqqUZehqWVtoQxfxBj4SDgzipBjzf9bqH=s1600" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="600" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiccy9oi8_YOQOe8x-WhOxRM1m56NpfOPCBTn6WGcfhLXbXHGw4d0uUmxT-x0PxM60R0H4577Z16rtf9-Nf4fHnwK4vOiTfYwoq_8gLTexFCc26irxgO7d_PaqOr0DEZuEW8JrfhJAiQTKIeYWUNns44XNQqqUZehqWVtoQxfxBj4SDgzipBjzf9bqH=s600"/></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Scott Hamilton: <a href="http://readingthemaps.blogspot.com/2011/03/ted-heraclitus-and-dead.html">Ted Jenner</a> (2011)</span></div>
<br />
<br />
Ted Jenner was a friend of mine. I guess one of the things I appreciated most about Ted was his unfailing cheerfulness and unflappability even when things appeared to be going very, very wrong indeed. Perhaps it was his long years working as a Classics lecturer in Malawi that accustomed him to sudden emergencies, or perhaps it was the hand-to-mouth nature of his life as a writer and teacher in New Zealand, but I never saw him at a loss for a wise and witty thing to say.<br />
<br />
I had heard that he was ill, and even in hospital, but I'm sorry to say that the news of his death from cancer in the early hours of Friday morning still came as a shock. He wore his years lightly. He was one of that group of baby-boomer New Zealand poets, all born in 1946, at the close of World War II – Sam Hunt, Bill Manhire, Ian Wedde prominent among them – who've been so influential on our literature.<br />
<br />
Much though I always enjoyed chatting to Ted – he was a marvellously learned man, a trained classicist with an expertise in Ancient Greek – I suppose it would be true to say that most of my knowledge of him came through his books. The below is probably not a complete list, but it includes all the titles I myself own:<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li><i>A Memorial Brass</i>. Eastbourne, Wellington: Hawk Press, 1980.</li>
<li><i>Dedications</i>. Auckland: Omphalos Press, 1991.</li>
<li><i>The Love-Songs of Ibykos: 22 Fragments</i>. Images by John Reynolds. Auckland: Holloway Press, 1997.</li>
<li><i>Sappho Triptych</i>. Auckland: Puriri Press, 2007.</li>
<li><i>Writers in Residence and Other Captive Fauna</i>. Auckland: Titus Books, 2009.</li>
<li>[Ed.] <i>brief the fortieth</i> (July 2010). Auckland: Titus Books, 2010.</li>
<li><i>The Gold Leaves (Being an Account and Translation from the Ancient Greek of the 'So-Called' Orphic Tablets)</i>. Pokeno: Atuanui Press, 2014.</li>
<li>‘Complete Gold Leaves: Transcriptions of Sixteen Ancient Greek Gold Lamellae. Compiled with English Translations.’ In Bill Direen, ed. <i>Percutio</i> 10: <i>A Special Issue devoted to two projects by Classicist and poet Edward Jenner</i>. Dunedin: Percutio Publications, 2016. </li>
<li><i>The Arrow that Missed</i>. Lyttelton: Cold Hub Press, 2017.</li>
</ol>
<br />
Looking back, I seem to have written quite a lot about Ted's work over the years:<br />
<br />
<ul><li>There's a brief introduction to it here: ‘Hooked on Classics.’ <i>The Imaginary Museum</i> (3/11/09). <a href="http://mairangibay.blogspot.com/2009/11/hooked-on-classics.html">http://mairangibay.blogspot.com/2009/11/hooked-on-classics.html</a>.</li>
<li>Then there's my review-essay of his book <i>Writers in Residence</i>, ‘Troubling Our Sleep: Ted Jenner’s Postmodern Classicism,” in <i>Ka Mate Ka Ora</i> #8 (September 2009): 46-66. <a href="http://www.nzepc.auckland.ac.nz/kmko/08/ka_mate08_ross.asp">http://www.nzepc.auckland.ac.nz/kmko/08/ka_mate08_ross.asp</a>.</li>
<li>And, more recently, there's my review of <i>The Arrow that Missed</i> in <i>Poetry New Zealand Yearbook 2018</i> (March 2018): 308-10. <a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2017/02/the-arrow-that-missed-2018.html">https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2017/02/the-arrow-that-missed-2018.html</a>.</li>
</ul>
<br />
I'm not sure that there's any need to repeat all that here. In any case, it’s readily available online. Suffice it to say that for me, Ted Jenner combined the twin virtues of precise, scrupulous scholarship with an equally strong taste for experimental fiction and poetry – not that I think he saw much difference between the two genres – and the way he wrote, there really wasn't.<br />
<br />
I recall being quite concerned when I heard that Ted was planning to review my chapbook <i>Papyri: Love poems & fragments from Sappho & elsewhere</i> (2007) for <i>brief</i> 36. Knowing no Greek, I’d adapted my versions from a literal French translation I’d picked up in a second-hand shop. I knew that he himself, adept at ancient Greek, had done his own translations in the beautiful small-press <i>Sappho Triptych</i>.<br />
<br />
It came as a huge surprise when he praised my book. I suppose a true scholar has far less need to be picky and pedantic than those with a half-knowledge of the field. In any case, it certainly showed the breadth of his sympathies with unusual takes on the classics!<br />
<br />
I’ve borrowed the title for this piece from his first collection, <i>A Memorial Brass</i>, exquisitely printed by Alan Loney at the Hawk Press in 1980. It seems best to conclude with some more of Ted's own words, taken from the title poem in that book:
<blockquote>
<i>My dear, they call us bourgeois<br />
But it was essentially<br />
<br />
A bourgeois thing to do –<br />
An image of conjugal<br />
<br />
Faith – to cross the hands over chest<br />
And breast and stand on<br />
<br />
The goblin pups, a monumental<br />
Brass patent<br />
<br />
For the bloodstream-fevers.<br />
I remember it was cold<br />
<br />
That May with added expense, upkeep<br />
of allotment, and late<br />
<br />
Spring blooms falling fierce as<br />
Snow on the gale-lashed<br />
<br />
Oats. Very soon a priest mumbled eight<br />
Sacrificia patriarchae nostri<br />
<br />
Above us. Commenting now on the<br />
Canon of his mass, I<br />
<br />
Like to think it was<br />
Easy in Abraham's time –<br />
<br />
Knowledge and fear were deliberate<br />
Then, total, without cover; but<br />
<br />
As for us, we lie awake<br />
Until the sleeping's over.</i>
</blockquote>
My profoundest condolences to Ted's wife, Vasalua. If he were here I'm sure he could find the perfect words to thank her for making the last years of his life perhaps the happiest of all.<br />
<br />
As for me, I'd like to say once more <i>Ave atque vale</i>: Hail and farewell, to one of the finest scholars and poets I've ever known. Perhaps we'll meet again some day, when the sleeping's over.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%; font-weight: bold;">•</span><br />
<br />
<br />
(8-13/7/21)
<br />
<br />
<i>brief</i> 57, ed. Olivia Macassey (Pokeno: Titus Books, tba)
<br />
<br />
[857 wds]
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s1600/book_blank.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s200/book_blank.jpg"></a></div>
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<br />Dr Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01805945600952222957noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710695321433147697.post-54906708044549588632018-08-11T08:14:00.000+12:002023-05-01T11:17:23.073+12:00Mezzaluna (2021)<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3vxkVRDViBf6B2YJxDcAG8viiyvAvrKSvmohBeK-LZG2k21p3duabelbtRA-LwWiq7_B0bwzGzUHGt9Zm4-k6Bir2etY9HYxQNlf3vQWHOnTsj6DUEYg_JSXKf2ii6uixnpSGo8vU_iU/s2048/9780995135420.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="400" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1509" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3vxkVRDViBf6B2YJxDcAG8viiyvAvrKSvmohBeK-LZG2k21p3duabelbtRA-LwWiq7_B0bwzGzUHGt9Zm4-k6Bir2etY9HYxQNlf3vQWHOnTsj6DUEYg_JSXKf2ii6uixnpSGo8vU_iU/s400/9780995135420.jpg"/></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfjHHeJkSzw7-nEnEZUMx3dvE5gOLvVuxhsubZvZ_H29nPp0CNiK3KzjLS8_avpDz5qyCcjEfLCSgNeMI_U7dnMrp3zzPtdj62ZRLOah0kcYI_V5hFfwu4l2J7bgC3rTaF_ou58VNzDqw/s682/Screen+Shot+2021-03-12+at+09.16.12.png" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="400" data-original-height="682" data-original-width="510" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfjHHeJkSzw7-nEnEZUMx3dvE5gOLvVuxhsubZvZ_H29nPp0CNiK3KzjLS8_avpDz5qyCcjEfLCSgNeMI_U7dnMrp3zzPtdj62ZRLOah0kcYI_V5hFfwu4l2J7bgC3rTaF_ou58VNzDqw/s400/Screen+Shot+2021-03-12+at+09.16.12.png"/></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Tracey Slaughter, ed.: <a href="https://www.masseypress.ac.nz/books/poetry-new-zealand-yearbook-2021/">Poetry NZ Yearbook 2021</a> (March 2021)</span>
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 180%;">Reviews:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;">Michele Leggott</span></b></div>
<br />
<br />
<blockquote>Michele Leggott. <i>Mezzaluna: Selected Poems</i>. Auckland University Press, 2020. RRP $35. 216 pp.</blockquote><br />
<br />
<div align="center">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_mi0nUPNUfWWxJlQv7AdM4v40g37zOI6xEJDpORTK3S96tmx2gGwdjCq3cPqVuu6-nL2txj5c3z1gsSQfmUczShaYUSfYAUOvWx05N6Na6egnbXnoIlew-oWZQILte97Nfm3OkACmVEg/s1600/1582672124910.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_mi0nUPNUfWWxJlQv7AdM4v40g37zOI6xEJDpORTK3S96tmx2gGwdjCq3cPqVuu6-nL2txj5c3z1gsSQfmUczShaYUSfYAUOvWx05N6Na6egnbXnoIlew-oWZQILte97Nfm3OkACmVEg/s640/1582672124910.jpg" width="556" height="640" data-original-width="480" data-original-height="553" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Michele Leggott: <a href="https://www.auckland.ac.nz/en/news/2020/03/02/michele-leggott-selected-poems-snapshot-of-her-life.html">Mezzaluna: Selected Poems</a> (2020)</span></div><br />
<br />
One of my students wrote an essay for our Creative Nonfiction course discussing the use of the senses in the work of two prose writers. The first she discussed, a local blogger and essayist, turned out to rely almost exclusively on visual cues: everything depended on colours, shapes, and things one could <i>see</i>. The second, an international memoirist and cultural commentator, was far more variable in her use of all five senses: touch, taste, sight, scent and hearing — almost (in Sigmund Freud’s phrase) polymorphously perverse in her sensuous appreciation of the world around her. That student was blind.<br />
<br />
The relevance of this anecdote to Michele Leggott’s comprehensive selection from more than 30 years of her poetry is not as simple as it might appear. Yes, Michele is blind. Macular degeneration has gradually robbed her of her sight. Yes, she is one of the most acutely sensory of contemporary poets: from her very first book, <i>Like This?</i> (1988), to her latest, <i>Vanishing Points</i> (2017), reviewers and critics have commented on her tendency to restate abstractions in concrete terms.<br />
<br />
If there’s a paradox there, it revealed itself early on. When you think of an <i>oeuvre</i> that includes <i>Journey to Portugal</i> (2007), a sumptuous limited edition of poems accompanied by hand-made Gretchen Albrecht collages, as well as a series of books whose shape, size and aesthetic characteristics show an obsessive concern with detail more common to workers in the visual arts, it’s clear that — for Michele — poetry is a thing which transcends any narrow formal definitions of ‘for the page’ or ‘for the voice’. The present book is no exception. If I had to declare a theme in any overview of Michele Leggott’s protean poetic project over the past 30 years, it would be dualities. The North American / New Zealand double focus displayed by the simultaneous publication of her selected poems in both places is nothing new in her work. When she returned to this country in 1985, having completed a doctorate in Canada on the work of American poet Louis Zukofsky, it was apparent at once that she’d imbibed a good deal of his intensely compressed aesthetics in the process. If not a L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E poet, she was at any rate already one whose relation to contemporary poetics as well as poetic practice was intimate and assured.<br />
<br />
That first book, <i>Like This?</i>, won a number of awards, not least the International PEN First Book of Poetry award. It was both accessible and scholarly. When I say that her poetry embraces dualities, it’s important to stress that I don’t mean dichotomies: it’s never either/or in Michele’s work — always both/and.<br />
<br />
The first and most irritating label her creative work to date has had to endure is ‘academic poetry’. Those of us who happen to work in the tertiary-education industry — in this country, at any rate — have to get used to complaints about living in ‘ivory towers’ and a supposed preoccupation with poetics over everyday life, style over substance, experimentation over mainstream accessibility . . .The only real answer to such accusations is the quality and durability of the work in question. Michele’s poetry has always seemed to me to constitute the perfect answer to this particular bugbear.<br />
<br />
Her third book, <i>DIA</i>, succeeded in combining her academic interests in recuperating the voices of neglected local women writers with the formalist techniques she’d picked up from a battery of writers, local and international, Zukofsky, Ian Wedde, Susan Howe, and a host of others. The result was a tour-de-force of stunning visual design combined with sensuous imagery — the kissing lips of ‘Micromelismata’ being the most famous of many examples. There were so many levels on which one could read these poems that they almost defied criticism. Above all, though, there’s nothing particularly ‘ivory tower’ about pointing out examples of gender discrimination past and present.<br />
<br />
The flexible instrument of Michele’s intellectual interest in such ‘lost voices’ — whether they belonged to Ursula Bethell, Eileen Duggan, Iris Guiver Wilkinson (Robin Hyde), or (more recently) Alan Brunton and Emily Harris — has informed her poetry ever since, but also resulted in a series of essays and editions of their work which have assisted in rewriting the map of New Zealand letters.<br />
<br />
As the first National Library-appointed New Zealand Poet Laureate from 2008 to 2009, Michele started to compose a series of poems meant more for the ear than the eye — collected in <i>Mirabile Dictu</i> (2009) and <i>Heartland</i> (2014): both well sampled from in the present volume. Once again, though, she confounded expectations of more in the same vein with her latest book <i>Vanishing Points</i>, a collection of prose poems and lineated pieces designed to engage more systematically than ever before with history itself: her own, as in her alternate-past piece about her mother’s painting career, ‘Self-Portrait: Still Life. A Family Story’ (alas, not included here), and New Zealand’s, in ‘The Fascicles’ and ‘Emily and Her Sisters’ (both included in full).<br />
<br />
The very last poem in the book, a hitherto uncollected piece called ‘the wedding party’ (first published in <i>Poetry New Zealand Yearbook 2019</i>) continues this theme with its imagery drawn from the Taranaki war of the 1860s, and its effortless shifting from Māori to English to Latin (intentionally garbled for safe transmission by government spies).<br />
<br />
Thirty years on, Michele Leggott’s work continues to give ‘academic writing’ a good name. Why <i>not</i> read a poet so attentive to sources; to the sound and texture of the past; to the sensuous realities of beach, sun, sand which are our heritage in these islands; to the aesthetic patterning as well as the careful sounding out of words; to the dark which we come from — and return to — and the light which we try to shed while we’re here? <i>I</i> can’t think of a good reason. Can you?<br />
<br />
<div align="center">
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 180%;">Original text:</span></b>
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Like This?</span></b></div>
<br />
<br />
<blockquote>Michele Leggott. <i>Mezzaluna: Selected Poems</i>. ISBN 978-0-8195-7907-2. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 2020. RRP $US18.95. 216 pp.<br />
<br />
Michele Leggott. <i>Mezzaluna: Selected Poems</i>. ISBN 9-781-86940-907-4. Auckland: Auckland University Press, 2020. RRP $NZ 35. 216 pp.</blockquote><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpiUUDNGYOE1Ek-_e5M-Z90730flbNjzJDJO6bCWOwARJT01-NA82JkGqQZORoUzOapLMIc-W7IkEGq1ljOcltLQgCmjbNSRioDfJhsZmKGqY_Jk40S2eyfkzVBCTkfMGBk4NOEWpixeQ/s1600/232295978.jpeg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpiUUDNGYOE1Ek-_e5M-Z90730flbNjzJDJO6bCWOwARJT01-NA82JkGqQZORoUzOapLMIc-W7IkEGq1ljOcltLQgCmjbNSRioDfJhsZmKGqY_Jk40S2eyfkzVBCTkfMGBk4NOEWpixeQ/s640/232295978.jpeg" width="498" height="640" data-original-width="311" data-original-height="400" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Michele Leggott: <a href="https://www.mightyape.co.nz/product/mezzaluna/31583657">Mezzaluna: Selected Poems</a> (2020)</span></div><br />
<br />
One of my students wrote an essay discussing the use of the senses in the work of two prose writers for our Creative Nonfiction course here at Massey. The first she discussed, a local blogger and essayist, turned out to rely almost exclusively on visual cues: everything depended on colours, shapes, and things one could see. The second, an international memoirist and cultural commentator, was far more variable in her use of all five senses: touch, taste, sight, scent, and hearing – almost (in Sigmund Freud’s phrase) polymorphously perverse in her sensuous appreciation of the world around her.<br />
<br />
That student was blind.<br />
<br />
The relevance of this anecdote to Michele Leggott’s comprehensive selection from more than thirty years of her poetry is not as simple as it might appear. Yes, Michele is blind. Macular degeneration has gradually robbed her of her sight over a period of decades. Yes, she is one of the most acutely sensory of contemporary poets: from her very first book, <i>Like This?</i> (1988) to her latest, <i>Vanishing Points</i> (2017) reviewers and critics have commented on her tendency to restate abstractions in concrete terms.<br />
<br />
I recall an old essay of Michele’s on Robert Duncan where she began by remarking how the recurrence of a certain term in his poems which sounded a bit like the name of the dog next door made the latter come barking up to the fence on a regular basis throughout the summer – rather like the repetition of the word ‘caddy’ which attracts poor Benjy Compson to the fence of a neighbouring golf-course, thus prompting the long reverie about his lost sister Caddie which opens William Faulkner’s <i>Sound and the Fury</i>.<br />
<br />
If there’s a paradox there, it revealed itself early on. When you think of an <i>oeuvre</i> which includes a sumptuous limited edition of poems accompanied by hand-made Gretchen Albrecht collages, <i>Journey to Portugal</i> (2007), as well as a series of books whose shape, size, and aesthetic characteristics show an obsessive concern with detail more common to workers in the visual arts, it’s clear that – for Michele – poetry is a thing which transcends any narrow formal definitions of ‘for the page’ or ‘for the voice.’<br />
<br />
The present book is no exception. I happen to be privileged to own copies of both the American and New Zealand editions of <i>Mezzaluna</i>. Strange to say, given they have the same pagination and essential layout, the two books look quite different. The American edition uses thistledown to divide up the various sections, as well as adorning the front cover. The New Zealand edition uses long meandering riverine shapes to achieve the same object.<br />
<br />
I guess if I had to declare a theme in any overview I’d care to provide of Michele Leggott’s protean poetic project over the past thirty years, it would be dualities. This North American / New Zealand double focus is nothing new in her work. When she returned to this country in 1985, having completed a Doctorate in Canada on the work of American poet Louis Zukofsky, it was apparent at once that she’d imbibed a good deal of his intensely compressed aesthetics in the process. If not a L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E poet, she was at any rate already one whose relation to contemporary poetics as well as poetic practice was intimate and assured.<br />
<br />
That first book, <i>Like This?</i>, won a number of awards, not least the International PEN First Book of Poetry award. More to the point, it was both accessible and scholarly. When I say that her poetry embraces dualities, it’s important to stress that I don’t mean dichotomies: it’s never either/or in Michele’s work – always both/and.<br />
<br />
I suppose the first and most irritating label her creative work to date has had to endure is ‘Academic poetry.’ Those of us who happen to work in the tertiary education industry – in this country, at any rate – have to get used to complaints about living in ‘Ivory Towers’ and a supposed preoccupation with poetics over everyday life, style over substance, experimentation over mainstream accessibility …<br />
<br />
The only real answer to such accusations – which can admittedly have a certain validity at times – is the quality and durability of the work in question. Michele’s poetry has always seemed to me to constitute the perfect answer to this particular bugbear.<br />
<br />
Her third book, <i>DIA</i>, succeeded in combining her Academic interests in recuperating the voices of neglected local women writers with the formalist techniques she’d picked up from a battery of writers, local and international, Zukofsky, Ian Wedde, Susan Howe, and a host of others. The result was a tour-de-force of stunning visual design combined with sensuous imagery – the kissing lips of ‘Micromelismata’ being the most famous of many examples. There were so many levels on which one could read these poems, that they almost defied criticism. Above all, though, there’s nothing particularly ‘Ivory Tower’ about pointing out examples of gender discrimination past and present. <br />
<br />
The flexible instrument of Michele’s intellectual interest in such ‘lost voices’ – whether they belonged to Ursula Bethell, Eileen Duggan, Iris Guiver Wilkinson [Robin Hyde], or (more recently) Alan Brunton and Emily Harris – has informed her poetry ever since, but also resulted in a series of essays and editions of their work which have assisted in rewriting the map of New Zealand letters.<br />
<br />
As the first National Library-appointed NZ Poet Laureate from 2008-9, Michele started to compose a series of poems meant more for the ear than the eye – collected in <i>Mirabile Dictu</i> (2009) and <i>Heartland</i> (2014): both well sampled from in the present volume. Once again, though, she confounded expectations of more in the same vein with her latest book Vanishing Points, a collection of prose poems and lineated pieces designed to engage more systematically than ever before with history itself: her own, as in her alternate-past piece about her mother’s painting career, ‘Self-Portrait: Still Life. A Family Story’ (alas, not included here), and New Zealand’s, in ‘The Fascicles’ and ‘Emily and Her Sisters’ (both included in full).<br />
<br />
The very last poem in the book, a hitherto uncollected piece called ‘the wedding party’ (first published in <i>Poetry NZ Yearbook 2019</i>) continues this theme with its imagery drawn from the Taranaki war of the 1860s, and its effortless shifting from Māori to English to Latin (intentionally garbled for safe transmission by Government spies).<br />
<br />
Thirty years on, Michele Leggott’s work continues to give ‘Academic writing’ a good name. Why not read a poet so attentive to sources; to the sound and texture of the past; to the sensuous realities of beach, sun, sand which are our heritage in these islands; to the aesthetic patterning as well as the careful sounding out of words; to the dark which we come from – and return to – and the light which we try to shed while we’re here?<br />
<br />
I can’t think of a good reason. Can you?<br />
<br />
[1172 wds]
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span><br />
<br />
(25-29/8/20)
<br />
<br />
<i>Poetry New Zealand Yearbook 2021</i>. ISBN 978-0-9951354-2-0 (March 2021): 352-54.
<br />
<br />
[997 wds]<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtpGUAgjRn-ubxbgKV6NF8Vhr2vCt86hmWnetC0ewdnC_NNKUUm-45fMy_SDUfOkQoULPvJ20ic39UsYWSJEn56XlK5T0Gpjk_Nm92L4R4SEO5KcMBXEI7rvPjwwm19vHzE3IK82oDmB8/s433/5835465.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="600" data-original-height="433" data-original-width="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtpGUAgjRn-ubxbgKV6NF8Vhr2vCt86hmWnetC0ewdnC_NNKUUm-45fMy_SDUfOkQoULPvJ20ic39UsYWSJEn56XlK5T0Gpjk_Nm92L4R4SEO5KcMBXEI7rvPjwwm19vHzE3IK82oDmB8/s600/5835465.jpg"/></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="http://www.stuff.co.nz/national/5835906/Poets-guide-dog-changes-her-life">Michele Leggott & Olive</a> (2011)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s1600/book_blank.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s200/book_blank.jpg"></a></div>
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<br />Dr Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01805945600952222957noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710695321433147697.post-69129280681124445322018-08-09T09:06:00.000+12:002020-08-30T08:14:15.626+12:00Poeta (2020)<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPCdMb45Z66Rc14fTbbGtr5xMUjjTsFa7B0-vO1Y2aibZGLo3wQC6TTAKW0WCTprS4aA2jgd2j_pcPiaRmwQxtzMi1fuMbyLOTwQZWjsoDIlQCZi1f-Ocxid0hs9yvFg_Qy9s4HdaJ58Q/s1600/9780995122932.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPCdMb45Z66Rc14fTbbGtr5xMUjjTsFa7B0-vO1Y2aibZGLo3wQC6TTAKW0WCTprS4aA2jgd2j_pcPiaRmwQxtzMi1fuMbyLOTwQZWjsoDIlQCZi1f-Ocxid0hs9yvFg_Qy9s4HdaJ58Q/s400/9780995122932.jpg" width="293" height="400" data-original-width="1172" data-original-height="1600" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjExoTztS-E6gvW-q3-H4gsC83cxGWZ5f3O1kslw86AN7HAg3ZcW3fXEG5yTYuW0t8F8NLjHa5g7RCnrghXn_G9fMqTLxjWruf3Wxf2Kxe3-hq_pGqCdKGjV63msiaIo5xQiGX8eee7iWw/s1600/Screen+Shot+2020-01-29+at+8.53.01+AM.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjExoTztS-E6gvW-q3-H4gsC83cxGWZ5f3O1kslw86AN7HAg3ZcW3fXEG5yTYuW0t8F8NLjHa5g7RCnrghXn_G9fMqTLxjWruf3Wxf2Kxe3-hq_pGqCdKGjV63msiaIo5xQiGX8eee7iWw/s400/Screen+Shot+2020-01-29+at+8.53.01+AM.png" width="296" height="400" data-original-width="589" data-original-height="795" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Johanna Emeney, ed.: <a href="https://www.masseypress.ac.nz/books/all/all/poetry-new-zealand-yearbook-2020">Poetry NZ Yearbook 2020</a> (March 2020)</span>
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 180%;">Reviews:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;">Cilla McQueen</span></b></div>
<br />
<br />
<blockquote>Cilla McQueen. <i>Poeta: selected and new poems</i>. ISBN 978-1-98-853128-1. Dunedin: Otago University Press, 2018. RRP $39.95. 296 pp.</blockquote><br />
<br />
<div align="center">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVQ-_kUeQitkR3yG2f6PD6wEkdbOH_wh4t2Tx1gY8SkzqiIUoVZn95bY8yyf-m8ZKpj2b-EhjMk-eA9dKORFwFEQw-U46ZJVqAYy5jGZ5ob_PCPTyGE8SCk6w6t7qKAfJmXlbN4ptsxkk/s1600/GUEST_ac51a1b8-9ae5-4544-8ee1-8b6a64dadcbd.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVQ-_kUeQitkR3yG2f6PD6wEkdbOH_wh4t2Tx1gY8SkzqiIUoVZn95bY8yyf-m8ZKpj2b-EhjMk-eA9dKORFwFEQw-U46ZJVqAYy5jGZ5ob_PCPTyGE8SCk6w6t7qKAfJmXlbN4ptsxkk/s640/GUEST_ac51a1b8-9ae5-4544-8ee1-8b6a64dadcbd.jpg" width="640" height="640" data-original-width="488" data-original-height="488" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Cilla McQueen: <a href="https://www.target.com/p/poeta-selected-and-new-poems-by-cilla-mcqueen-hardcover/-/A-54248652">Poeta</a> (2018)</span></div><br />
<br />
Like Pat White’s <i>Watching for the Wingbeat</i>, Cilla
McQueen’s <i>Poeta</i> is a kind of collected/selected poems, together with
some new work. Like White’s book, McQueen’s spans almost 40 years of
published poetry, and no doubt some years of practice before that.<br />
<br />
She herself is clear on her intentions for the collection, specifying
that:
<blockquote>These poems have been grouped . . . in rooms, where they have had a
chance to converse, being related in my mind to one or another of my
preoccupations as a poet. Arranged as a span rather than as a timeline,
the sequence remains roughly chronological, with idiosyncratic
exceptions.</blockquote>
One very useful convention she has adopted is the inclusion of ‘the date
of first book publication or, where poems have not previously appeared
in a book the date of composition’ at the end of each poem.<br />
<br />
This is one of those brilliantly simple ideas which are so immensely
helpful to scholars and common readers alike — a little like the device
of including the date and age of the subject on each page of a biography
— that it’s difficult to understand why <i>everyone</i> doesn’t do that.<br />
<br />
The point about the rooms seems a useful one, too. When I think
of McQueen’s poems, I think first of meeting her at her house in Bluff
during a 2006 poetry symposium — mainly because I’d had to send
down some books for the occasion and hers was the only fixed postal
address the organisers could muster.<br />
<br />
I remember the slightly bemused courtesy with which she accepted
this commission and greeted this comparative stranger, and the
amusement with which she regarded each new invasion of poets on
their way up the hill to the marae: rooms, yes — beautifully composed
and uncluttered rooms, with their harvest of paintings and books from
her many years at the centre of so much of the creative life of the region
she lives in.<br />
<br />
I have to confess to having had some doubts about McQueen’s
last substantive book, her poetic memoir <i>In a Slant Light</i> (2016). Its
reticence puzzled me somewhat, as I said at the time. I’m glad to say
that this is not the case with this wonderful new collection. There has
never been any doubt that McQueen is supremely adept at the complex,
many-layered lyric, and this is the best place to find the very best of
them.<br />
<br />
More to the point, however, the extracts from <i>In a Slant Light</i>
included here seem to me to work very well <i>as lyrics</i> — or lyrical
narrative excerpts, if you prefer. I guess I was too busy reading it as a
memoir, and so failed to see that it was actually just an adjunct to this
many-roomed mansion that she has been constructing so carefully over
the years.<br />
<br />
What are the particular highpoints, for me? Well, I’ll never stop
loving ‘Homing in’ and ‘Timepiece,’ but then they can be found in
anthologies — and even in the memoir itself. What was most exciting
about reading through this new collection (and it really does make a
difference that her publishers have given her a wonderfully resilient
hardback to hold these nearly 300 pages of poems) were the unexpected
gems, which I should have known already, but in many cases didn’t.<br />
<br />
Poems such as ‘Kids on the Road’, for instance:
<blockquote>you know, I would like to kick<br />
t.s. eliot in the head<br />
because you shouldn’t have to pass<br />
english exams to love poetry</blockquote>
I like particularly that conspiratorial ‘you know’ at the head of that
passage. How many of us have felt similarly oppressed by some such
GOM (Grand Old Man) or GOD (Grand Old Dame) of poetry? They may
have been wild themselves once — perhaps are wild still — but not in
the embalmed form with which we are forced to unwrap them from
their mummy bandages in some dreary classroom.<br />
<br />
The poem continues:
<blockquote>no more puzzles for clever sleuths<br />
I’d just like to<br />
smile at you broadly<br />
and hand you the whole world<br />
clean on a plate.</blockquote>
You’d have to be pretty jaundiced to resist the charm of <i>that</i>.<br />
<br />
I did feel — at the time of reading her memoir — that there was a
strong contrast between the seeming simplicity (and actual cunning)
of this early lyric voice that might have been vitiated by the many,
many poetic experiments — collaborations with artists, captions to
photographs, travel poems — she’s conducted over the years.<br />
<br />
When one reads such a late poem as ‘Epitaph’, however, such fears
dissolve:
<blockquote>Alas shall I in time become<br />
of all no more a part than stone<br />
or blackbird drumming up a worm<br />
<br />
And what can worm say in a poem<br />
but dark loam and the sound of rain?</blockquote>
The breathless, run-on diction here puts one a little in mind of Stevie
Smith, but a Stevie Smith far less assertive of her own idiosyncrasies.
The substance of the poem recalls Wordsworth, I suppose, and (a little)
John Clare.<br />
<br />
But saying that says little about the poem itself. McQueen has learnt
from her lifetime’s work to be supremely herself — reminiscent of other
poets at times, as all great and consummate writers are — but instantly
recognisable as having been inspired by <i>things</i> and <i>experiences</i>, not
simple delving in books:
<blockquote>I remember the look<br />
of the unreadable page<br />
<br />
the difficult jumble<br />
<br />
and then the page<br />
became transparent<br />
<br />
and then the page<br />
ceased to exist:<br />
<br />
at last I was riding this bicycle<br />
all by myself.</blockquote>
It would be easy to illustrate — for any sceptics still left out there — the
complexity and subtlety of McQueen’s thought, as embodied in these
many, many glass cages of words — but, like her, I think it’s better to go
on ‘stopping for shivers / woggly trees in puddles / . . . a coin on the road
/ a rusty key’.<br />
<br />
This is a beautiful book by a wonderful poet.
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg38qRKdbEMYzPAMDL1bv5xiZ5wcFOhpj0vRw5HqMaWVaWcAbUOZhq3CoAAhzunAjteTJrHWwjhP2fi4ZgeChOxH3e3rL_hd0sKvw5YfL_50F2ZDQN4z-tGih0r9kLcSFxLXWdIzdCQ9SM/s1600/83753018_10216656373306775_6598819158375268352_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg38qRKdbEMYzPAMDL1bv5xiZ5wcFOhpj0vRw5HqMaWVaWcAbUOZhq3CoAAhzunAjteTJrHWwjhP2fi4ZgeChOxH3e3rL_hd0sKvw5YfL_50F2ZDQN4z-tGih0r9kLcSFxLXWdIzdCQ9SM/s400/83753018_10216656373306775_6598819158375268352_n.jpg" width="298" height="400" data-original-width="714" data-original-height="960" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/photo?fbid=10216656373266774&set=a.1198476207081">Poetry NZ Yearbook 2020 Booklaunch</a> (10 March, 2020)</span><br />
<br />
(30-31/7/19)
<br />
<br />
<i>Poetry New Zealand Yearbook 2020</i>. ISBN 978-0-9951229-3-2 (March 2020): 300-03.
<br />
<br />
[997 wds]
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_-bzT9-k1iYaY7BXzHt053Z2fkyj7qaJ1k6uLf8uZZN2pWd4Alv9Pj7EIPPAiF-Y1qV0VToKzpp5DwVsiRHB38MmXcGEq4ZWhL-bSULC5nYlVEj943nJvVRiZBWlzNtcb_q_puLvaLUg/s1600/PNZY+2020a.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_-bzT9-k1iYaY7BXzHt053Z2fkyj7qaJ1k6uLf8uZZN2pWd4Alv9Pj7EIPPAiF-Y1qV0VToKzpp5DwVsiRHB38MmXcGEq4ZWhL-bSULC5nYlVEj943nJvVRiZBWlzNtcb_q_puLvaLUg/s640/PNZY+2020a.png" width="491" height="640" data-original-width="750" data-original-height="978" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><i>Poetry NZ Yearbook 2020</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s1600/book_blank.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s200/book_blank.jpg"></a></div>
<br />
<br />Dr Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01805945600952222957noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710695321433147697.post-44294954767348115872018-08-08T09:06:00.000+12:002020-02-05T11:13:41.147+13:00Watching for the Wingbeat (2020)<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPCdMb45Z66Rc14fTbbGtr5xMUjjTsFa7B0-vO1Y2aibZGLo3wQC6TTAKW0WCTprS4aA2jgd2j_pcPiaRmwQxtzMi1fuMbyLOTwQZWjsoDIlQCZi1f-Ocxid0hs9yvFg_Qy9s4HdaJ58Q/s1600/9780995122932.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPCdMb45Z66Rc14fTbbGtr5xMUjjTsFa7B0-vO1Y2aibZGLo3wQC6TTAKW0WCTprS4aA2jgd2j_pcPiaRmwQxtzMi1fuMbyLOTwQZWjsoDIlQCZi1f-Ocxid0hs9yvFg_Qy9s4HdaJ58Q/s400/9780995122932.jpg" width="293" height="400" data-original-width="1172" data-original-height="1600" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjExoTztS-E6gvW-q3-H4gsC83cxGWZ5f3O1kslw86AN7HAg3ZcW3fXEG5yTYuW0t8F8NLjHa5g7RCnrghXn_G9fMqTLxjWruf3Wxf2Kxe3-hq_pGqCdKGjV63msiaIo5xQiGX8eee7iWw/s1600/Screen+Shot+2020-01-29+at+8.53.01+AM.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjExoTztS-E6gvW-q3-H4gsC83cxGWZ5f3O1kslw86AN7HAg3ZcW3fXEG5yTYuW0t8F8NLjHa5g7RCnrghXn_G9fMqTLxjWruf3Wxf2Kxe3-hq_pGqCdKGjV63msiaIo5xQiGX8eee7iWw/s400/Screen+Shot+2020-01-29+at+8.53.01+AM.png" width="296" height="400" data-original-width="589" data-original-height="795" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Johanna Emeney, ed.: <a href="https://www.masseypress.ac.nz/books/all/all/poetry-new-zealand-yearbook-2020">Poetry NZ Yearbook 2020</a> (March 2020)</span>
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 180%;">Reviews:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;">Pat White</span></b></div>
<br />
<br />
<blockquote>Pat White. <i>Watching for the Wingbeat: New and Selected Poems</i>. ISBN 978-0-473-44420-4. Lyttelton: Cold Hub Press, 2018. RRP $39.95. 164 pp.</blockquote><br />
<br />
<div align="center">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEZY7Dm8caS-hZI0_joHIOmlXTmVRSzZreKKxyXHQ4xX3bRQ8f2qTjRi-Zh1_pslqmAZXkYuuU8YnnYNCkO3loQJRtYPkTRSJYzGXYPoc95congImnjXyTfcICiWTw5olyYPqrrOZmRtw/s1600/9780473444204.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEZY7Dm8caS-hZI0_joHIOmlXTmVRSzZreKKxyXHQ4xX3bRQ8f2qTjRi-Zh1_pslqmAZXkYuuU8YnnYNCkO3loQJRtYPkTRSJYzGXYPoc95congImnjXyTfcICiWTw5olyYPqrrOZmRtw/s640/9780473444204.jpg" width="451" height="640" data-original-width="377" data-original-height="535" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Pat White: <a href="https://www.coldhubpress.co.nz/watchng-for-the-wingbeat-pat-white-cold-hub-press---.html">Watching for the Wingbeat</a> (2018)</span></div><br />
<br />
Pat White’s new book of selected poems covers 40 years
of his writing life, from <i>Signposts</i> in 1977 to <i>Fracking & Hawk</i> in 2015,
together with some uncollected and unpublished work.<br />
<br />
The first impression it gives is continuity. White’s preoccupations
have, it seems, always been what they are now: landscape, love, history,
the natural world.<br />
<br />
A great deal of care has clearly gone into winnowing out the best
pieces from this lifetime of work. It would be very hard to find a false
note. It is nevertheless true that there’s an austerity about the earliest
poems here which has been modulated and complicated by White’s
experiments with the long line in more recent times. Take, for instance,
an early poem such as ‘Paperbacks’:
<blockquote>That was the summer<br />
when the paperbacks grew mould<br />
from the damp<br />
of the outhouse floor<br />
. . .<br />
<br />
when graduation took its leave<br />
of student flats<br />
with cheap editions<br />
of expensive ideals . . .</blockquote>
This is a wonderful piece: spare, telling, making the single image of
these ‘grubby books / that fed our empty heads’ stand for a whole
world of adult responsibilities, leavened by a spine of humorous selfdeprecation.<br />
<br />
And yet, when you contrast it with a more recent poem such as
‘Getting out of the car, Danseys Pass’, you can see how much these years
of practice, of constant circling in on that central mystery of concise
expression, have done for the strength and flexibility of his idiom:
<blockquote>A shingle road winding through mist on hills<br />
tussock beside the cutting, silhouette against<br />
a drop down to Maerewhenua Stream<br />
cutting deeper than epiphany<br />
through schist<br />
and the other side of the road<br />
in drizzling rain</blockquote>
This evocation of the joys — and complexities — of ‘following this road
/ in search of God knows what’ is on a different order of suggestiveness
and complexity than the early poems, fine though they are.<br />
<br />
There’s nothing ‘simple’ about the experiences presented here,
and nothing casual about the musical skill with which the words are
modulated, almost like one of Beethoven’s late quartets.<br />
<br />
But what is Pat White <i>about</i> as a poet? Pastoral, once a byword for
escapism and irrelevance, has become one of the central modes of
our time: whether in the guise of dystopian ‘eco-poetry’ or utopian
nostalgia. Is that why White seems suddenly so relevant? So armoured
by integrity against the accusations of complacency and self-regard that
can afflict other poets attempting so comprehensive a summing-up of
their achievement?<br />
<br />
I would argue that pastoral concerns have only ever been part of his
worldview. In a poem such as ‘For my children’, for instance, he scores a
rather dismal and unsought rhyme with some <i>very</i> topical concerns:
<blockquote>
One year when things were tight<br />
that old rifle was sold. It was no<br />
accident, but contemplation of<br />
cut throats, fascination<br />
with destruction has marked<br />
itself into the marrow<br />
of too many generations.</blockquote>
Gun enthusiasts can’t understand why the rest of us show so little
sympathy when they moan about the compulsory loss of their pretties.
My father was a gun-nut, so I think I know a few things about the type.
To <i>him</i>, an old rifle or musket was a miracle of applied engineering, a
beautiful piece of craftmanship with only the most tenuous relationship
to its original function. To <i>me</i>, it was an instrument of death which I
could hardly bear to put my hands on. It reeked of blood.<br />
<br />
White’s poem concludes:
<blockquote>If you visited me now, there<br />
is a garden to sit in, a drink<br />
to share, and talking to do.<br />
Across the bay, a bluff<br />
where rock crumbles, is<br />
shaping trees’ stubborn growth.<br />
<br />
There’s no heirloom to argue over.<br />
There had to be a time to halt<br />
the darkness of such bitter games.</blockquote>
By no stretch of the imagination could this be described as a propaganda
poem, but it is, I suppose, polemical in these times of compulsory buybacks
of firearms in the wake of the March 2019 Christchurch terror
attack. But it makes its point so gently that it would be hard to reject the
idyllic vision of those last few lines.<br />
<br />
The point is that White <i>knows</i>. He knows why people love their guns.
I don’t love them, but I did love my father, and I respect the sincerity of
his attachment to the aesthetics of these ambassadors from a not-toodistant
past. Those ‘bitter games’ at the end of the poem ring very true,
also.<br />
<br />
It’s a commonplace that Scottish families always fall out over wills
and heirlooms (not that I suppose it’s a purely Scottish trait). I had an
aunt who went mad when she wasn’t left the pieces of furniture she
wanted in another of my ancestors’ wills.<br />
<br />
Guns, bad blood — it’s all in the poem. That’s one of the many
reasons why I love Pat White’s work, and find it a continuing source of
inspiration. It feels very close to me.<br />
<br />
I’ll conclude with some lines from another one of his great this-is-the-
state-of-things-for-me-now poems, ‘Elemental’. Midway through,
he evokes ‘a poet who wrote / hawk-like, no longer in need / of
predatory advice, able to spiral / onto a stray word, sneak it from the
set’. The words could apply just as easily to White himself.<br />
<br />
Like <i>that</i> poet (T. S. Eliot, Seamus Heaney, Ted Hughes? — certain
internal references to <i>Four Quartets</i> would suggest the first), he’s very
definitely ‘not shovelling bullshit’:
<blockquote>
It’s difficult to forget how much we know<br />
and look at the site as if for the first time<br />
to catch the flow but not the flood<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">nobody told me</span><br />
it never got easier, this putting on the page.</blockquote>
If you are intending to read Pat White, this is the book to buy. If you’re
not, I have to say that you’re missing a treat: a collection that brings
together poems that are beautiful, unassuming and perfectly paced, all
at the same time.
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeVMf6dLMKEyPig5sClcSLy8mfO1EgCKKRk-jQZsBo6n3tXn5p6gx_6EzxwKYruoNW4ceqUm2qXgtf8p55bjdOQeJttJXGsmFn796u4e5tY2OD8JyByWFyvCclvb4Y3gHGO7bv6cGX3b0/s1600/83753018_10216656373306775_6598819158375268352_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeVMf6dLMKEyPig5sClcSLy8mfO1EgCKKRk-jQZsBo6n3tXn5p6gx_6EzxwKYruoNW4ceqUm2qXgtf8p55bjdOQeJttJXGsmFn796u4e5tY2OD8JyByWFyvCclvb4Y3gHGO7bv6cGX3b0/s400/83753018_10216656373306775_6598819158375268352_n.jpg" width="298" height="400" data-original-width="714" data-original-height="960" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/photo?fbid=10216656373266774&set=a.1198476207081">Poetry NZ Yearbook 2020 Booklaunch</a> (10 March, 2020)</span><br />
<br />
(30-31/7/19)
<br />
<br />
<i>Poetry New Zealand Yearbook 2020</i>. ISBN 978-0-9951229-3-2 (March 2020): 330-33.
<br />
<br />
[1004 wds]
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwloDFAlD_wmX63WPCEyuiK0aSaFmzL3eChf3HPddxOJSvCvm961zHCeiFDdhr-gYigbBAYgnlFPHSVOK4fpeOGX5M5b_L9jqTLQyd-dO0YHDxsd1DFBs3ZgUHxoi-K8-571raxwGTU4U/s1600/PNZY+2020b.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwloDFAlD_wmX63WPCEyuiK0aSaFmzL3eChf3HPddxOJSvCvm961zHCeiFDdhr-gYigbBAYgnlFPHSVOK4fpeOGX5M5b_L9jqTLQyd-dO0YHDxsd1DFBs3ZgUHxoi-K8-571raxwGTU4U/s640/PNZY+2020b.png" width="469" height="640" data-original-width="973" data-original-height="1329" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><i>Poetry NZ Yearbook 2020</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s1600/book_blank.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s200/book_blank.jpg"></a></div>
<br />
<br />Dr Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01805945600952222957noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710695321433147697.post-67647070463798130762018-08-07T09:25:00.002+12:002022-07-07T10:27:14.723+12:00Teaching Late Curnow (2019)<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIfDl6i0r3Gx9tq5tBRNLCi2ow2bQ9Puu-X0uplj4eiWHsC1RoPCtKKk-XAGMVHKyReQdlGvpfbob-KYfpSD_8SZxfCb1JdhX2wgzlkYDsv7MdpFc2aE0EBshCeyfriAw1vnbNHn0ehso/s1600/JNZL+34-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIfDl6i0r3Gx9tq5tBRNLCi2ow2bQ9Puu-X0uplj4eiWHsC1RoPCtKKk-XAGMVHKyReQdlGvpfbob-KYfpSD_8SZxfCb1JdhX2wgzlkYDsv7MdpFc2aE0EBshCeyfriAw1vnbNHn0ehso/s400/JNZL+34-2.JPG" width="300" height="400" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="https://jnzl.ac.nz">JNZL 34.2</a>: <i>New Writing 1975-2000</i> (2016)</span>
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 180%;">Teaching Late Curnow</span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirBc6HRo2_vDkz1WjVzzc-mGeZWPfYLOIPBh33Q3bMMjq1wX-blabNgA2e-IzSX7HuUOBd8O2raa8-Pw8EB1zQWD6RRubzBN9z1hIlsVzAMKpEMOdMP6mqySiYsfsfIJqb94akC3TkmFE/s1600/1-pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirBc6HRo2_vDkz1WjVzzc-mGeZWPfYLOIPBh33Q3bMMjq1wX-blabNgA2e-IzSX7HuUOBd8O2raa8-Pw8EB1zQWD6RRubzBN9z1hIlsVzAMKpEMOdMP6mqySiYsfsfIJqb94akC3TkmFE/s400/1-pic.jpg" width="400" height="267" data-original-width="1500" data-original-height="1000" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="https://www.goodground.com/listings/spectacular-sea-views-53ha-waipu-cove/">Bream Bay from the Brynderwyns</a></span></div>
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<br /><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Ways into the text</span></b><br />
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<br />It can be quite a curious experience trying to teach classic New Zealand poems to local students. You tend to start off with an expectation of familiarity: not so much of knowledge of the work itself, as of at least some of its geographical and cultural background. I remember once hearing the late Kendrick Smithyman describe the experience of reading his early poem ‘Bream Bay’ — ‘What does a traveller see, looking north / from Brynderwen over the arc of Bream Bay’ — to an audience of Auckland University undergraduates.<a class="style23" href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/teaching-late-curnow-2019.html#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title="">[1]</a> They had absolutely no idea what he meant when he made a side-reference to the Marsden Point smelter having spoilt the view since he originally wrote it. He was therefore left with two alternatives: either he had to explain exactly what you <i>do</i> now see from the crest of the Brynderwyns when driving north, or else just let it go.<br />
<br />
Choosing between those two alternatives—letting the poem speak for itself, or filling in each and every one of the references—does not get any easier over time. If you <i>do</i> explain them all, you can hear yourself gradually turning into the most dreaded of social types, the professional explainer. But then, by the same token, if you fail to explain them, you have to resign yourself to incomprehension: to your listeners missing a good deal of the point.<br />
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The situation becomes particularly difficult when you attempt to teach the poetry of Allen Curnow. When some pedant wrote in to the <i>Listener</i> to query the accuracy of the line ‘a scarlet geranium wild on a wet bank’ in Curnow’s classic poem ‘A Small Room with Large Windows’, claiming that the flower does not actually <i>grow</i> on wet banks, Curnow responded to the effect that: ‘irrespective of the customary behaviour of those plants in Wellington, there was, observable from the window of his house, “a scarlet geranium growing wild on a wet bank”’.<a class="style23" href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/teaching-late-curnow-2019.html#_ftn2" name="_ftnref2" title="">[2]</a> Furthermore, lest we be in any doubt as to where this observation took place, the new edition of his poems is careful to specify that ‘the location is the sitting room at 13 Herbert St., Takapuna’.<a class="style23" href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/teaching-late-curnow-2019.html#_ftn3" name="_ftnref3" title="">[3]</a> It is hard to imagine any poet giving more unequivocal directions about how to read their poems than that: Curnow has clearly cast himself as one of Marianne Moore’s ‘literalists of the imagination’, and his ‘imaginary gardens’ certainly appear to aspire to have real toads in them!<a class="style23" href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/teaching-late-curnow-2019.html#_ftn4" name="_ftnref4" title="">[4]</a><br />
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For the most part, however, Curnow survives for our students, as he does for the general reader, in the form of a few tags. People keep quoting these gnomic fragments, year after year, as if they were self-explanatory:
<blockquote>
Not I, some child born in a marvellous year<br />
Will learn the trick of standing upright here.<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">‘The Skeleton of the Great Moa in the Canterbury Museum, Christchurch’ (p. 99)</span><br />
<br />
It was something different, something<br />
Nobody counted on.<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">‘The Unhistoric Story’ (p. 56)</span><br />
<br />
Simply by sailing in a new direction<br />
You could enlarge the world.<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">‘Landfall in Unknown Seas’ (p. 95)</span>
</blockquote>
It is hard to think of another New Zealand poet, in fact — even Baxter or Tuwhare — who has gifted us with so many of these irreducible, teasing nuggets of wit.<br />
<br />
Having had the rather unenviable experience of dragging successive classes through ‘A Small Room with Large Windows’ in our second-year Massey University <i>Auckland Writers and Their Region</i> course—What is a mangrove? ‘Why do they ‘truckle’? What is the exact point of the contrast between them and the ‘Seven ageing pine trees’? What <i>are</i> the ‘thousand diverse dullnesses’ that are being exploding by the exact details described at the end of the poem? etc. etc.—I have formed some rather anecdotal, but definitely experiential, ideas on the most effective ways to teach Curnow’s poetry—his later poetry, at any rate.<br />
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<span style="font-size: 130%; font-weight: bold;">•</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Late and early Curnow</span></b><br />
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<br />
That is if ‘A Small Room with Large Windows’ can really be said to rank as late Curnow. Where does ‘late Curnow’ actually begin? In terms of our <i>Auckland Writers and Their Region</i> course, the earlier South Island Curnow is postulated to have been succeeded by the later, Auckland-based Curnow after his move up here in the 1950s. Of course, it would be just as easy to claim that the break should be dated later than that. The work collected in <i>Continuum</i> (1988) overlaps with the end of the 1974 <i>Collected Poems</i>, but one could certainly contend that a modernising shift both in diction and treatment of his overriding concerns can be observed in all of the books after <i>Trees, Effigies, Moving Objects</i> (1972). <br />
<br />
In any case, so far as our students are concerned, the later the better seems to be the rule of thumb when it comes to Curnow. But is this simply a by-product of my own enthusiasm for that remarkable series of books collected in <i>Continuum</i>: <i>An Incorrigible Music</i> (1979), <i>You Will Know When You Get There</i> (1982), <i>The Loop in Lone Kauri Road</i> (1986)? Might the earlier poems work just as well for them if I concentrated the same intensity of attention on them?<br />
<br />
It is, in the final analysis, impossible to say. This is (at best) qualitative rather than quantitative research: tendentious and unscientific, as all such enquiries tend to be, but still valid within certain limits of definition. My own greater enthusiasm for Curnow’s later work can certainly not be counted out as a factor in the choices I have made while teaching him. Nevertheless, the arc of his poetry from first to last towards ever greater specificity and precision might be seen to explain this increased accessibility in his work after the (at least partial) hiatus of the 1960s.<br />
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<span style="font-size: 130%; font-weight: bold;">•</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Ways to discuss a poet</span></b><br />
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<br />
It is, I think, true to say that some poets’ work is easier to discuss in tutorials than others. All of us trained in the strange art of sitting around and simply talking around a poem—using the basic techniques of New Criticism, but hopefully avoiding some of its conceptual pitfalls—would surely have to agree with this assertion.<br />
<br />
I have always found Kendrick Smithyman an excellent poet to anatomise in group surroundings. It is tempting to attribute this to his own decades-long bondage to the tutorial system at Auckland University. His poems from this era include so many intriguing details, so many diverse points of entry—surely that has something to do with his own repeated talkfests about Auden, Eliot and Hardy in so many small classes (limited, as a rule, to 20-odd students)? But then, many other canonical New Zealand poets are similarly rewarding when dissected in company. James K. Baxter’s ‘East Coast Journey’, Charles Brasch’s ‘View of Rangitoto’, R. A. K. Mason’s ‘Strange Memories of Earth’, Robin Hyde’s ‘Houses by the Sea’ — all of these can be made to intrigue students with a little prompting,; or so I myself have found, at any rate. None of <i>those</i> writers (so far as I’m aware) served their time as English tutors.<br />
<br />
In fact, some of the most halting and end-stopped discussions I have had are of one of the New Zealand poets I admire most: Hone Tuwhare. There seems to be some sort of inhibition in our students when it comes to analysing the shifting registers and tones of voice in Tuwhare’s poetry. It is not that his poems don’t retain their effectiveness when read out loud, but that is where it seems to end. When one tries to go deeper, a certain feeling of breaking a butterfly on the wheel seems to stymie further discussion.<br />
<br />
What, then, of Allen Curnow? It is tempting to draw some connection with the fact that Curnow was upstairs lecturing on poetry whilst Smithyman was downstairs running workshops on it, when it comes to comparing the effect of their poems on students. Kendrick’s, though baffling at times, have less of a tendency to intimidate. ‘A Small Room with Large Windows’, by contrast, leaves far less room for imaginative reconstruction in the reader’s own voice.<br />
<br />
In my own case, I have had the most success with Curnow’s poems from the 1970s and 1980s, with their clear focus on quotidian detail. His larger, eschatological concerns are still there, but they are more adroitly concealed beneath the surface of the poem. Take ‘A Dead Lamb’ (1972), for instance:
<blockquote>
Never turn your back on the sea.<br />
The mumble of the fall of time is continuous.<br />
<br />
A billion billion broken waves deliver<br />
a coloured glass globe at your feet, intact.<br />
<br />
You say it is a Japanese fisherman's float.<br />
It is a Japanese fisherman’s float. ...<br />
<br />
There is standing room and much to be thankful for<br />
in the present. Look, a dead lamb on the beach. (p. 161)
</blockquote>
That poem is a teacher’s gift, whether at a lecture, a seminar or a tutorial. What better articulation of late twentieth-century linguistic philosophy could be found than in those lines: ‘You say it is a Japanese fisherman’s float. / It is a Japanese fisherman’s float’? Is the point that it is that because you say it’s that—or is it an assertion of the possibility of identity between signifier and signified? And then there’s that dead lamb … <i>Agnus dei qui tollis peccata mundi</i>: or just a dead lamb? The point is that the speculation is an interesting one—it’s one that everyone, Christian, Agnostic or Atheist, can express an opinion on. And is there a connection there with the danger of turning your back on the sea? Is the presence of that dead lamb a fact of the same order as the Japanese fisherman's float (I have one at home, which I have occasionally brought along to class and brandished at this point in the discussion)? That is to say, is it simply a complication to an otherwise idyllic scene—or is it metaphoric of some larger, metaphysical danger, more than that offered by the mere possibility of drowning?<br />
<br />
The sparseness of the diction leaves room for such speculations: it is, finally, the <i>arrangement</i> of phenomena in such poems that gives rise to such speculations, rather than the more heavyhanded hints in the language of his previous work. That’s not to say that he became an entirely new poet in the 1970s and 80s. His concerns, by and large, remained the same—those anxious anticipations of the next world, and consequent inability to take the values of this world seriously—but now those values were more clearly bound up with the lifestyle and seascapes of his second home,: that West Coast bach above Karekare Beach, situated bang in the middle of the loop on Lone Kauri Road.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">You Will Know When You Get There</span></b><br />
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<br />For a while it was possible to get instant product recognition for Karekare and even Lone Kauri Road simply by referring to Jane Campion’s 1993 film <i>The Piano</i>, but I am afraid that that has now become just one more high-culture footnote. West Coast beaches are still a good starting-point for most students, though (more so, at any rate, than the mangroves and salt flats of Shoal Bay).<br />
<br />
The latest of his poems I teach is ‘The Game of Tag’, from <i>Early Days Yet</i> (1997). I use it when lecturing on poetic form in our first-year <i>Creative Writing</i> paper.
<blockquote>
Seven thigh-thick<br />
hamstring-high posts,<br />
<br />
embedded two<br />
metres and cemented<br />
<br />
in, where the side<br />
of the road burst<br />
<br />
into bird space,<br />
tree-toppling all<br />
<br />
that plunging way<br />
down. A clean-cut<br />
<br />
horizon shapes<br />
daylight. A gap. (p.301)
</blockquote>
Do the students like it, or get it? It is hard to be sure. Certainly, there is not quite the same quick response they give to those wonderfully lucid <i>Continuum</i> poems. But it is fun to talk about it, to take them up Lone Kauri Rd, every precipitous twist and turn of it etched into clipped, claustrophobic couplets, and to watch the aging poet trying so hard to form a bond with his alter-ego, ‘my spray-gun-toting rival’, the AFRIKA POET tagger, who:
<blockquote>
Gave<br />
<br />
Death the fingers.<br />
Shook the dreadlocks<br />
<br />
from his eyes, for<br />
his best shot.
</blockquote>
‘Does it date?’ asked E. M. Forster anxiously of Christopher Isherwood, after allowing the latter to read the then unpublished manuscript of <i>Maurice</i>, his novel of forbidden love, abandoned by him some time in the Edwardian era. ‘Yes’, replied Isherwood, ‘but why <i>shouldn’t</i> it date?’ (Moskowitz 2018).<a class="style23" href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/teaching-late-curnow-2019.html#_ftn5" name="_ftnref5" title="">[5]</a> These ‘dreadlock’ lines of Curnow’s have dated also. They may sound a little dismissive, even a little patronising at first glance. But if you persevere with the poem, try to enter into its author’s world as he climbs the long slope, hypnotised by the signs of vehicular mayhem combined with the tagger’s obscurely allusive words, you begin to realise just how much he has conflated the two, how <i>small</i> the distance he maintains from this ‘rival’:
<blockquote>
Where have they all<br />
gone, with CICERO<br />
<br />
BEASTIE and me<br />
and which of us<br />
<br />
leads the way down<br />
post and plank not-<br />
<br />
withstanding, car-<br />
apaced in Korean<br />
<br />
steel, to be wrapped<br />
round a bole two<br />
<br />
hundred years thick,<br />
two hundred feet<br />
<br />
below? One wild<br />
wheelie and we’re off.
</blockquote>
There’s been a car crash. That much is obvious. The heavily reinforced posts guarding one of the many precipitous corners on this most treacherous of roads were not sufficient to save whoever side-swiped them so disastrously, sometime since:
<blockquote>
Rain-forest soon<br />
repairs its ruins.<br />
<br />
Dead men’s dental<br />
records and cellphones<br />
<br />
tell no lies. Rust<br />
finishes the job<br />
<br />
(almost). One chip<br />
of red Perspex<br />
<br />
under a stone<br />
in the stream was<br />
<br />
his (whose?) tail-light.
</blockquote>
The tagger, ‘AFRIKA POET,’ came subsequently, adding his words to the ‘hefty planks’ mounted across the gap, and then again on the subsequent bends. Then he, too (the poet conjectures) signed off with ‘skid marks in the gravel.’<br />
<br />
This kinship between the two, poet and tagger, both insisting on giving ‘death the fingers’—on murmuring ‘name upon name, / As a mother names her child’, as Yeats puts it in ‘Easter, 1916’<a class="style23" href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/teaching-late-curnow-2019.html#_ftn6" name="_ftnref6" title="">[6]</a>—on somehow finding some way to <i>record</i> the prior presence of those who trod this road before them, is profound, albeit still a little teasing:
<blockquote>
A-F-R-I-K-A P-O-E-T<br />
<br />
writes, and I quote<br />
THANKS FOR THE TAG.
</blockquote>
These two writers, the tagger of ’93 and the poet born in 1911, will never quite see eye to eye, but—in the end—they have a lot more in common than one might think. Both are engaged in fighting off death and oblivion with powerful incantations.<br />
<br />
Certainly, many of the allusions and attitudes in Allen Curnow’s works have dated, and will continue to date—even in the poems of this later, reinvented self. But so what? There’s something deeply satisfying about those last two books of his, <i>Early Days Yet</i> and <i>The Bells of Saint Babel’</i>s—those final attempts to screw his own idiolect just a couple of turns tighter.<br />
<br />
‘The Game of Tag’ remains one of my favourites among his later poems because the effort he makes to bridge the gap between then and now is <i>so</i> great, and yet the wry smile implicit behind the lines makes it clear how little faith he puts in success. However strong the words, death will still come for us all: but one can greet it on one’s feet or on one’s knees.<br />
<br />
It may not be quite saving the best for last, but it seems to me considerably closer to it than any other New Zealand poet I know of has achieved so far.<br />
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<span style="font-size: 130%; font-weight: bold;">•</span></div>
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<hr align="left" noshade="noshade" size="1" width="70%" /><br />
<br />
<b>Notes:</b><br />
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<div id="ftn1">
<a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/teaching-late-curnow-2019.html#_ftn1" name="_ftn1" title="">1.</a> Kendrick Smithyman, <i>Selected Poems</i>, ed. Peter Simpson (Auckland: Auckland University Press, 1989), p. 25.</div>
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<div id="ftn2">
<a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/teaching-late-curnow-2019.html#_ftn2" name="_ftn2" title="">2.</a> C. K. Stead, ‘Allen Curnow: Poet of the Real’, in <i>Kin of Place: Essays on 20 New Zealand Writers</i> (Auckland: Auckland University Press, 2002), p. 129.</div>
<br />
<div id="ftn3">
<a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/teaching-late-curnow-2019.html#_ftn3" name="_ftn3" title="">3.</a> Allen Curnow, <i>Collected Poems</i>, ed. Elizabeth Caffin and Terry Sturm (Auckland: Auckland University Press, 2017), p. 362.</div>
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<div id="ftn4">
<a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/teaching-late-curnow-2019.html#_ftn4" name="_ftn4" title="">4.</a> Marianne Moore, <i>The Poems of Marianne Moore</i>, ed. Grace Schulman (London: Faber, 2003), p. 135.</div>
<br />
<div id="ftn5">
<a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/teaching-late-curnow-2019.html#_ftn5" name="_ftn5" title="">5.</a> Hannah Moskowitz, ‘Review of A Great Unrecorded History: A New Life of E.M. Forster, by Wendy Moffatt’, <i>Queerly reads</i> <a href="https://www.queerlyreads.com/home/2018/11/15/a-great-unrecorded-history-a-new-life-of-em-forster">https://www.queerlyreads.com/home/2018/11/15/a-great-unrecorded-history-a-new-life-of-em-forster</a>> [accessed 14 December 2018].</div>
<br />
<div id="ftn6">
<a href="https://jackrossopinions.blogspot.com/2018/08/teaching-late-curnow-2019.html#_ftn6" name="_ftn6" title="">6.</a> W. B. Yeats, <i>The Variorum Edition of the Poems of W. B. Yeats</i>, ed. Peter Allt and Russell K. Alspach (New York: Macmillan Publishing Company, 1973), p. 394.</div>
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</blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7Mg9HseLuSjsjIY63Ya8wgDE1tNCtNj340UXkBw4z-9E0-489FG3Zxft37nrVqFzDIZXdZvhNaxjDKMjFRr8YmHuCHyVnGGfyQShP3OFkja2iUA3Jh5sSi-gWqS2IY033rb-4YXa3dPc/s1600/cropped-2013-05-27-17-16-52.jpeg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7Mg9HseLuSjsjIY63Ya8wgDE1tNCtNj340UXkBw4z-9E0-489FG3Zxft37nrVqFzDIZXdZvhNaxjDKMjFRr8YmHuCHyVnGGfyQShP3OFkja2iUA3Jh5sSi-gWqS2IY033rb-4YXa3dPc/s400/cropped-2013-05-27-17-16-52.jpeg" width="400" height="112" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="https://jnzl.ac.nz">JNZL</a>: <i>Journal of New Zealand Literature</i></span>
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<span style="font-size: 130%; font-weight: bold;">•</span><br />
<br />
<br />
(18-24/9/17; 8/10/18; 13-14/12/18)
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<br />
<i>JNZL [Journal of New Zealand Literature]</i> 37.2: <i>Remembering Curnow</i>. Edited by Alex Calder. (Wellington: Victoria University, 2019): 92-102.
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<br />
[2701 wds]
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s1600/book_blank.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s200/book_blank.jpg"></a></div>
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<br />Dr Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01805945600952222957noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710695321433147697.post-60050771738362979802018-08-06T09:10:00.000+12:002019-11-12T16:25:53.721+13:00The Lonesome Death of Bridget Furey (2019)<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX_ykBnBgOTcT-lOnLtkQ5-B2xeiYIK31m-kLxl0bvJiEX0rFOiU2C_d8kHLMawRN6Tu8IpvmRkx2ENZCnzoPWvcbucXqjDpVTr3eUSXceubldTcjArQR8czgZRe5RfthKmhSQxlYmONQ/s1600/0_front.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX_ykBnBgOTcT-lOnLtkQ5-B2xeiYIK31m-kLxl0bvJiEX0rFOiU2C_d8kHLMawRN6Tu8IpvmRkx2ENZCnzoPWvcbucXqjDpVTr3eUSXceubldTcjArQR8czgZRe5RfthKmhSQxlYmONQ/s640/0_front.jpg" width="640" height="599" data-original-width="576" data-original-height="539" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Murray Edmond, ed.: <a href="http://www.nzepc.auckland.ac.nz/kmko/index.asp">Ka Mate Ka Ora</a></span><br />
<br />
<br /><b><span style="font-size: 180%;">The Lonesome Death of Bridget Furey</span>
<br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">or: Pessoa Down Under</span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuRxcf1qIxrul-yI4FfXfndjpWo7XFBj_xfTmIbyME3SnNnEr0C2A-32qiprg8ncrKhGSCwghXVIgGUCNN1ZsT_OoYlERjhplZ2UbCc85VN8ErV33AWKPtPVYRqtMZjX6k2iKxKBvk1Jc/s1600/wm_AlenMacWeeney_Travellers_90.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuRxcf1qIxrul-yI4FfXfndjpWo7XFBj_xfTmIbyME3SnNnEr0C2A-32qiprg8ncrKhGSCwghXVIgGUCNN1ZsT_OoYlERjhplZ2UbCc85VN8ErV33AWKPtPVYRqtMZjX6k2iKxKBvk1Jc/s400/wm_AlenMacWeeney_Travellers_90.jpg" width="387" height="400" data-original-width="990" data-original-height="1024" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="http://hdl.handle.net/10599/5393">Bridget Furey</a></span></div><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">The Dead</span></b>
<br />
<blockquote>this is the war I lost<br />
a woman<br />
versus three poets.<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">– Bridget Furey, ‘Brag Art’ (<i>brief</i> 6 (1997): 31)</span></blockquote>
<br />
New Zealand poet Bridget Furey flickered into existence for a brief moment between the late 1980s and 1990s. Her contributor’s bio in <i>Landfall</i> 168 (1988), describes her as ‘22 years of age. Recently returned from an extended working holiday overseas; presently living and working in Dunedin.’ That would put her date of birth sometime around 1966.<br />
<br />
Her next, and final, contributor note, in <i>A Brief Description of the Whole World</i> 6 (1997), says simply: ‘Bridget Furey has just returned to Dunedin after a stint overseas.’ (<i>brief</i> 56) The rest, it would appear, is silence.<br />
<br />
In her brief period in the limelight, Furey contributed three poems – ‘Ricetta per Critica,’ ‘The Idea of Anthropology on George Street,’ and ‘The Book-Keepings of a Ternary Mind in Late February’ – to our most celebrated literary periodical, <i>Landfall</i>. And another, ‘Brag Art,’ which must now be regarded as her swansong, to its antithesis, the avant-garde quarterly <i>A Brief Description of the Whole World</i>.<br />
<br />
Out of curiosity, I spent some time recently trying to track down an image of Bridget Furey. I drew a blank in the local repositories, but the photograph above, taken by Alen MacWeeney and dated ‘Loughrea, 1966,’ though clearly not of the poet herself (unless she was unusually prone to concealing information about her age) may come, perhaps, from some cognate branch of the family? Loughrea is in County Galway, Ireland. This Bridget is described in context as a ‘traveller.’<br />
<br />
One is tempted to speculate further that this branch of the family may have included a certain <i>Michael</i> Furey, quondam lover of Gabriel Conroy’s wife in James Joyce’s short story ‘The Dead’ (1914), and the principal inspiration for its immortal last paragraph:
<blockquote>Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.</blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkkJ6lB-zH_wWDYYo2nez9ye4DQI76OpAC2ecKiAVCx2an4LuivBUWkjskfUmSdDi4Uvn-ozdaz0kODOUpeK_mDjF8m4UuK1ntXrkIHuJqWFCAmePNvP9xd-pqKkGRYN5ksMXJUy7w2PQ/s1600/brief+6+%25287-97%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkkJ6lB-zH_wWDYYo2nez9ye4DQI76OpAC2ecKiAVCx2an4LuivBUWkjskfUmSdDi4Uvn-ozdaz0kODOUpeK_mDjF8m4UuK1ntXrkIHuJqWFCAmePNvP9xd-pqKkGRYN5ksMXJUy7w2PQ/s400/brief+6+%25287-97%2529.jpg" width="281" height="400" data-original-width="450" data-original-height="640" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="http://sydreef.blogspot.com/2007/12/issue-6-july-1997.html">A Brief Description of the Whole World</a> 6 (1997)</span></div><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">When Good Poets Get Bored</span></b>
<br />
<blockquote>one must swing the ice pick<br />
so she can shine like<br />
a sacrifice<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">(Furey 31)</span></blockquote>
<br />
As you may have gathered by now, there is no ‘Bridget Furey.’ She was a hoax – or should one say a persona? – created by two other New Zealand poets, Michele Leggott and Murray Edmond.<br />
<br />
<i>Landfall</i> has (to date, at least) made no official comment on the incident, but the founding editor of <i>A Brief Description of the Whole World</i>, fellow-poet Alan Loney, did not encourage the two collaborators to repeat the experiment. They had been forced to confess to their involvement when Loney attempted to contact Bridget Furey in order to solicit more poems.<br />
<br />
Furey, then, remains largely still-born, her small handful of poems sandwiched tantalisingly between two pillars of New Zealand Lit: the official canon represented by <i>Landfall</i> and the alternative tradition enshrined in what is now called <i>brief</i>.<br />
<br />
Murray Edmond composed a kind of epitaph for her in a recent email to the author:
<blockquote>
the reclusive Bridget Furey … may be dead by now, likely of an overdose (tho’ of what who knows?).</blockquote>
Of what indeed? <i>Why</i> would two poets choose to spend their time in such a manner, composing mock verses for an imaginary alternate self? The first answer is probably the simplest: as a tribute to possibly the most famous (non-existent) poet that ever (didn’t) live: Ernest Laylor Malley.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhJCRoDgCIiGEtC-S75QWXO9YJDOOhb89zxF1IIufBAt7-Rz5VoRNIXcdlKKkoQhmGxf6-4wGP3kfxtt1WTBY0trwIe4Hu9Vl0pERl7yaY27hwNmlXoP__xr36ajNkWTkRemaL0WfysdQ/s1600/1376749850.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhJCRoDgCIiGEtC-S75QWXO9YJDOOhb89zxF1IIufBAt7-Rz5VoRNIXcdlKKkoQhmGxf6-4wGP3kfxtt1WTBY0trwIe4Hu9Vl0pERl7yaY27hwNmlXoP__xr36ajNkWTkRemaL0WfysdQ/s400/1376749850.jpg" width="255" height="400" data-original-width="883" data-original-height="1384" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Michael Heyward: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Ern-Malley-Affair-Michael-Heyward/dp/0571221211">The Ern Malley Affair</a> (1993)</span></div><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">The Ern Malley Affair</span></b>
<br />
<blockquote>
I had read in books that art is not easy<br />
But no one warned that the mind repeats<br />
In its ignorance the vision of others. I am still<br />
The black swan of trespass on alien waters<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">(Malley 24)</span></blockquote>
<br />
The story is a familiar one, and has been told many times – most conveniently in Michael Heyward’s <i>The Ern Malley Affair</i> (1993). Put briefly, two young Australian poets, James McAuley and Harold Stewart, irritated by what they saw as the pretentious obscurity of Modernist poet and critic Max Harris’s magazine <i>Angry Penguins</i>, decided to put his critical acumen to the test by inventing a poet and fabricating a number of spurious poems by him.<br />
<br />
Ern Malley was the name they chose, and they created his entire body of work – 17 poems – in a single day in 1943. They also provided him with a fake biography, a wasting disease, and a doting older sister, who sent Harris the poems after her alleged brother’s death at the early age of 25.<br />
<br />
Harris loved the poems, publishing them en masse in a special issue of <i>Angry Penguins</i> in June 1944, and subsequently as a short book, under the title <i>The Darkening Ecliptic</i>.<br />
<br />
Which is when things started to go awry. Max Harris was sued by the South Australian police for the alleged ‘obscenity’ of some of the Malley poems. Despite the fact that Harris had by then detected the imposture, he was found guilty and fined five pounds. Shortly afterwards <i>Angry Penguins</i> folded.<br />
<br />
Malley refused to go away, however. His poems continue to be reprinted, discussed, praised, and denounced to this day. They are now a cornerstone of the Australian poetic canon, far outshining any productions of their two authors <i>in propria persona</i>.<br />
<br />
Roughly forty years after Malley’s alleged death in the 1940s, did it seem an opportune moment to Edmond and Leggott to stir up similarly the New Zealand literary establishment? Leggott, after all, had herself recently returned from a long ‘stint overseas’ – working on a Doctoral thesis about American Objectivist poet Louis Zukofsky. What could be more likely than the somewhat homespun quality of much New Zealand poetry and – especially – poetry criticism struck her as a bit behind the times in the mid-1980s?<br />
<br />
Certainly Bridget’s first set of poems, the three included in <i>Landfall</i> 168, make few concessions to the uninitiated reader. The first, ‘Ricetta per Critica’ [Recipe for Criticism] takes us on a quick cook’s tour of literary modernism ‘as the nineteenth century drew to a close … in shells and golden elbows sailing past a new Byzantium’. Perhaps the most telling allusion here comes in the second stanza, taking us:
<blockquote>
from the Charcoal-burners to Marinetti’s circus<br />
simply by sailing in a new direction a whole world<br />
of culinary delight or recipes for disaster </blockquote>
Allen Curnow seems appropriately sandwiched here between Marinetti and the ‘circus’ of futurism – though who precisely who ‘Groqwyn’ is (described as a ‘fascist fly’) remains a little unclear. Is he the facile critic who is being guyed by the poet, or is there some deeper meaning there? In any case, the slightly-off tags continue to fly thick and fast:<br />
<br />
From Duchamp:
<blockquote>
oh Garibaldi at the holy gates cavorting with futurisms<br />
thin enough to drape like laundry round the kitchen –<br />
next a clicking of legbones, Giuseppe, and she is descending<br />
a staircase hung with noodle dough<span style="padding-left: 2em;">naked</span><br />
<br />
and about to slip into the modernist jacuzzi </blockquote>
to Ezra Pound:
<blockquote>
the meat and drink of politics<span style="padding-left: 2em;">a brew</span><br />
of bodies piled like pasta (‘in hell’) nothing<br />
the old canto-maker at his gelato couldn’t have<br />
cooked up<span style="padding-left: 2em;">‘must thou go the road to</span><br />
<br />
hell’ </blockquote>
to William Carlos Williams:
<blockquote>
weeping catastrophe from the kitchen floor<span style="padding-left: 2em;">it’s raining</span><br />
chicken giblets as the doctor arrives with his red barrow<br />
<br />
uncertain where to deliver or abort the last primavera<br />
of all<span style="padding-left: 2em;">momentary aphasia as the ships pull out</span></blockquote>
‘Momentary aphasia’ might be, in fact, a good description of the effect this poem is liable to have on the unwary reader. What seems at first sight substantive dissolves under closer scrutiny, leaving one only with the sense of a mischievous sharp tongue, immense erudition, fricasseed with a deep underlying fury.<br />
<br />
That rage becomes more intense in the next poem, ‘The Idea of Anthropology on George Street’ (presumably an allusion to Wallace Steven’s ‘The Idea of Order at Key West’). This is a bitter satire on a kind of Jack-the-lad academic whizz kid, with more in common, perhaps, with Carly Simon’s 1972 anthem ‘You’re so vain’ than with the rather more stately and philosophical Stevens poem.
<blockquote>
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">Was it Billy Zydeco’s leg</span><br />
in the air, synergism of phallus and wheel,<br />
artefact disappearing through a turnstile door,<br />
stag party invites in cuneiform passed under the<br />
boardroom table? Jism, just juice. Freshly.</blockquote>
Again, it’s hard to attribute biographical allusiveness to this poem in the absence of a biography, but one yearns to detect in this ‘Glass case whizz kid’ some ex-lover of Bridget’s:
<blockquote>
Wow. & ow. (o, & pow). </blockquote>
The last of this early group, ‘The Book-Keepings of a Ternary Mind in Late February’ is more meditative in tone (as befits its apparent echo of Eliot’s ‘Thoughts of a dry brain in a dry season’). Its last stanza has an especial poignancy as a kind of self-portrait of the poet herself, in the guise of one of Chagall’s models:
<blockquote>
She wants to take both glasses and pour them over
the white drapery he is condemning her to
wear like paint, she has a notion to uplift
the fiddler from the street and snap his matchstick
wrists for musical effect. But the future perfect
will allow them only one-way flights and she is
already three-quarters full and falling
into the theatre of the city, the opera of images
where the swarming paint is still wet upon the flats.</blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfVVohrXRs8yQg6_pHjfBnX2FJ2__LarHKRnh1yTdhRBycD-Vse18csSkIblRNItK-EDGYH_FQEaDPdrX2Bsdqd5bavT9tjpbYpC4tLP6h_2gHfpIdh6x8MZl-foc9ztJMCPPPnwdqplA/s1600/AJLlDp0zDdoC4vH6_0Zzs7D3i5emPX1Le3dBln4aYg%253Ds900-mo-c-c0xffffffff-rj-k-no.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfVVohrXRs8yQg6_pHjfBnX2FJ2__LarHKRnh1yTdhRBycD-Vse18csSkIblRNItK-EDGYH_FQEaDPdrX2Bsdqd5bavT9tjpbYpC4tLP6h_2gHfpIdh6x8MZl-foc9ztJMCPPPnwdqplA/s400/AJLlDp0zDdoC4vH6_0Zzs7D3i5emPX1Le3dBln4aYg%253Ds900-mo-c-c0xffffffff-rj-k-no.jpg" width="400" height="400" data-original-width="900" data-original-height="900" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCAj2lzInkso_jEG8DdYDbpg">Mudrooroo</a> (1938-2019)</span></div><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Colonial Constructs</span></b>
<br />
<blockquote>Seeing that provocation and dissent are the diastole and systole of critical enquiry, I close with a provocation: literary forgery is a sort of spurious literature, and <i>so is literature</i> [my emphasis]. Consequently, when we imagine the relationship between [them], we should not be thinking of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde but rather of Tweedledum and Tweedledee.<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">(Ruthven 200)</span></blockquote>
<br />
‘Where the swarming paint is still wet upon the flats.’ To continue this conjecture of Bridget Furey as Ern Malley redivivus, I’d like to introduce here a comment from a recent conference I attended. It was the <i>14th International Conference on the Short Story in English</i>, held in Shanghai in 2016, and dedicated to ‘Influence and Confluence in the Short Story: East and West.’<br />
<br />
At one of the plenary sessions, Canadian writer Clark Blaise proposed a new schema of the Affluent North versus the Indigent South to replace what he saw as the outdated unchanging East / Go-ahead West one. Someone in the audience (not me) asked ‘What about Australia and New Zealand?’ To which he replied – and I quote – ‘Australia and New Zealand are merely colonial constructs.’ <br />
<br />
It seems an odd phrase for a Canadian to use. What, after all, is Canada if not a ‘colonial construct’? Or do the older New World colonies possess a legitimacy that the newer ones lack? Perhaps ‘authenticity’ might be a better term to use than ‘legitimacy,’ in that case?<br />
<br />
What actually makes a person, a culture, a piece of writing ‘authentic’? Because it comes from the heart? Because it is a true expression of its environment? Because it lacks guile or subterfuge? <br />
<br />
But <i>nothing</i> in colonialism is authentic, can be authentic. Colonialism is the polite mask we don to cover dispossession, usurpation, even genocide. Perhaps it’s for that reason that the deliberately inauthentic holds such currency among us – or those of us who hail from down under, that is.<br />
<br />
Ern Malley has been hailed as Australia’s greatest poet not so much in spite of the fact, but <i>because</i> of the fact that he never existed – just as the ‘Australia’ he wrote in and about cannot be said to exist, except, possibly, in the imaginations of those outside it. But – by the same criterion – should we call Mudrooroo (or, for that matter, B. Wongar) her greatest novelist? <br />
<br />
The fact that both of these men, Colin Johnson (‘Mudrooroo’) and Sreten Božić (‘B. Wongar’) had (at least implicitly) claimed Aboriginal ethnicity as a kind of guarantee of the ‘authenticity’ of their writing seemed to have the effect of completely discrediting them when a controversy began over their ‘true’ ethnic origins.<br />
<br />
Colin Johnson’s claim that ‘his dark skin meant he was always treated as Aboriginal by society, therefore his life experience was that of an Aborigine’ (Mudrooroo) did not really satisfy most critics. Nor did Božić’s statement that the name ‘B(anumbir) Wongar’ – which he says can mean ‘both <i>morning star</i> and <i>messenger from the spirit world</i>’ – was given to him by his tribal wife Dumala and her relatives in the course of instructing him in their traditional ways (B. Wongar).<br />
<br />
On the one hand, such cases seem to illustrate the tendency of Europeans to try to monopolise both sides of the colonial debate: to disenfranchise the subaltern, and then impersonate them, with equal facility – and, dare one add, cynicism? <br />
<br />
On the other hand, did those novels and stories of Mudrooroo’s and Wongar’s which had been so praised by critics, and prescribed for so many university courses, suddenly lose all value when their authors’ ethnicity came into question?<br />
<br />
What exactly <i>had</i> we all been reading? Books? Or windows onto some alleged alterity? One reason that Mudrooroo’s and Wongar’s fictions satisfied those demands so well was because they had been written with them in mind. As at a fraudulent séance, it turned out we’d been talking to ourselves all along.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK7LFChdlM48pIVzvTf5_nfHUHRwP_t9ylyXEKQrfLymNjviFyWYeYBALxlQvWBIv_ZgalL0Vt56SqEYZRn_v3aHhFCptaE4AE9sKnD94w4VEwLAaN7POLfertS1TPcS5RzgvTEYH6IOk/s1600/Catfish.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK7LFChdlM48pIVzvTf5_nfHUHRwP_t9ylyXEKQrfLymNjviFyWYeYBALxlQvWBIv_ZgalL0Vt56SqEYZRn_v3aHhFCptaE4AE9sKnD94w4VEwLAaN7POLfertS1TPcS5RzgvTEYH6IOk/s400/Catfish.jpg" width="400" height="266" data-original-width="662" data-original-height="441" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt2498968/">Catfish: The TV Show</a> (2012-?)</span></div><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Catfish</span></b>
<br />
<blockquote>
one<br />
i kept in hiding<br />
one<br />
i renamed ‘citoyen’<br />
one<br />
who stood doyen<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">(Furey 31)</span></blockquote>
<br />
Of course, it’s true to say that such questions of cultural usurpation are not reserved for the post-colonial world – let alone the ‘colonial constructs’ of the South Pacific. The case of Bridget Furey certainly raises such issues, but there must be more to her than that for us to maintain an interest in her.<br />
<br />
At this point, then I’d like to take a complete cultural tangent and throw into the mix one of my favourite reality TV shows, <i>Catfish</i>, which has been running now for seven years, since it began on MTV in 2012.<br />
<br />
In the 16th episode of the 4th series (first broadcast in August 2015), our dynamic duo of presenters, Max and Nev, discovered that Ayissha’s online romance with ‘Sydney’ had been with ‘Whitney,’ instead, all along. What’s more, ‘Whitney Shanice’ (like ‘Sydney’) turned out to be just one more online identity of her <i>real</i> interlocutor, who admitted to having ‘8 or 10’ online identities, which she used for a variety of reasons: including viciously criticising Ayissha online in order to jump in – as herself – to defend her.<br />
<br />
At a certain point such information stops making sense, and you just have to accept the proliferating forest of personae offered up to you so easily by modern social media as an irresistible temptation to a certain sort of person. <br />
<br />
What exactly <i>is</i> a catfish? Thanks to the TV show, the term has now come to mean any kind of unscrupulous online troll or predator, but specifically one who fabricates a fictitious online identity. As the original 2010 <i>Catfish</i> documentary explained it:
<blockquote>
They used to tank cod from Alaska all the way to China. They’d keep them in vats in the ship. By the time the codfish reached China, the flesh was mushy and tasteless. So this guy came up with the idea that if you put these cods in these big vats, put some catfish in with them and the catfish will keep the cod agile. And there are those people who are catfish in life. And they keep you on your toes. They keep you guessing, they keep you thinking, they keep you fresh. And I thank god for the catfish because we would be droll, boring and dull if we didn't have somebody nipping at our fin. (Harris)</blockquote>
Just as there must surely have been a little of Ern Malley behind the Bridget Furey hoax, so too I would have to postulate a little of the catfish. It’s not that the actual TV programme was born or thought of then, but the basic idea of deliberately introducing some discord to rile up the other fish and keep them fresh is surely a universal one.<br />
<br />
Which brings us to the main point of this comparison – another of the major (probable) influences on the creation of Bridget Furey – the Portuguese Modernist poet Fernando Pessoa. Pessoa (which coincidentally means ‘person’ in Portuguese) is famous for publishing under a variety of names (including his own). <br />
<br />
These were not mere hastily assumed personae in the Poundian sense, however. They, or at any rate the major ones, were fully fleshed out with biographies, bibliographies, discordant styles, and a variety of contradictory opinions. He called them heteronyms. He himself has been called many things, but probably never (as yet) a catfish. And yet he <i>was</i> a bit like that, surely? A catfish <i>avant la lettre</i>? <br />
<br />
The fact that he started out as a poet in (bad) English, rather than Portuguese, shows a certain fluidity of identity from the very first. ‘<i>Eu não escrevo em português. Escrevo eu mesmo</i>’ [I do not write in Portuguese, I write myself] is one of his most celebrated <i>dicta</i>. I have it up in my kitchen as a fridge magnet – though I should add that the woman who translated it for me in a shop in Lisbon opined that it sounded ‘a bit pretentious.’ Maybe she was just sick of seeing all those Pessoa mugs, t-shirts, shopping baskets and posters on sale in every tourist gift shop.<br />
<br />
After all, what <i>is</i> a heteronym but an artfully forged and skilfully substantiated fake identity? The actual merits of Pessoa’s writing can be hard to perceive in translation. Whose writing, anyway? One of the things that conspire to keep him in the public eye is the constant proliferation in the actual number of heteronyms he is alleged to have created – in one of the many senses Pessoan scholars have so far identified. Is it 74? 84? 124? It depends on who last edited his <i>Wikipedia</i> page, and (of course) on the way in which you <i>mean</i> the question.<br />
<br />
How many heteronyms can dance on the end of a pin? It would be easier if one could simply conclude that there was no definitive answer to the question. But maybe, just maybe, as in the Periodic Table of Elements, there may really be a final, arithmetically convincing solution.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL0okkgcleNtof9Phijw36uPSgdV8AEcpQ5LvgMPvALBS833trfgT45r1219chvoNtQZfDh6MD2_3Ddas51PZQBqx_YuUtr1hqgTnwsYXWKAb83lSffjcEpe7ERQWQvcF5B8L_EzNgRPg/s1600/51A9VIVX9wL.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL0okkgcleNtof9Phijw36uPSgdV8AEcpQ5LvgMPvALBS833trfgT45r1219chvoNtQZfDh6MD2_3Ddas51PZQBqx_YuUtr1hqgTnwsYXWKAb83lSffjcEpe7ERQWQvcF5B8L_EzNgRPg/s400/51A9VIVX9wL.jpg" width="262" height="400" data-original-width="328" data-original-height="500" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">José Saramago: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Year-Death-Ricardo-Harvest-Translation-ebook/dp/B003T0GBQU">The Year of the Death of Ricardo Reis</a> (1984)</span></div><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">The Year of the Death of Ricardo Reis</span></b>
<br />
<blockquote>
that boy i kept five years<br />
in my apartment<br />
while the war waited<br />
just outside the door<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">(Furey 31)</span></blockquote>
<br />
José Saramago’s novel <i>The Year of the Death of Ricardo Reis</i> (1984) depicts the effect of the death of Pessoa on his drifting creations, as they try to come to terms with the melancholy of their floating, spectral state. Australian novelist Peter Carey’s <i>My Life as a Fake</i> (2003) tries to do something similar with the ‘Ern Malley’ myth. ‘Bob McCorkle,’ his version of Malley, lurches into life like a kind of Frankenstein’s monster as a result of the intense acts of inventive energy which have been poured into his creation.<br />
<br />
Perhaps a more subtle evocation of his influence can be found in critic and historian Martin Edmond’s unpublished novel <i>White City</i>, a fictionalised autobiography of Ern Malley, a few sections of which were published in a special issue of <i>Landfall</i> in 2007. Martin Edmond, son of the poet Lauris Edmond, is also the cousin of Murray Edmond, Michele Leggott’s co-conspirator in the Bridget Fury hoax. <br />
<br />
Martin began his career as a prose writer with a book entitled <i>An Autobiography of My Father</i>, so it’s safe to say that he’s no stranger to the paradoxical effects of shifting identities. In his stand-alone 2004 essay <i>Ghost Who Writes</i>, he evokes the persona of Pessoa to explain his own conception of the writer as one who channels voices, regardless of what those voices may prompt you to say. <br />
<br />
Murray Edmond, too, though better known as a poet and dramaturge, has – in his recent novella collection <i>Strait Men and Other Tales</i> – composed a series of stories ‘almost like urban myths, a kind of informal history of a counter-culture,’ claims poet-critic John Newton in his blurb comment. Novelist Emily Perkins, a little further down the jacket-cover, chooses instead to emphasise the slippery, a-historical nature of these works:
<blockquote>
Stories are disputed and rights are stolen; danger lurks at the edges, sometimes in comic guise. ‘Morning will determine whether scene from thriller or screwball comedy,’ reads one character’s journal entry: the same, <i>Strait Men</i> suggests, could be said of life. (Edmond)</blockquote>
The identity crisis implied by this multiplicity of masks threatens, at times, to overwhelm any stable sense of the literary self in our own corner of the Antipodean colonial construct: witness ‘one of [our] more notorious acts of plagiarism … when a winning short story in a competition run by [<i>Metro</i>] magazine turned out to be a chapter from a Martin Amis book’ (Brown). As a friend of mine, Murray Beasley, commented at the time, in the late 1990s, all that its ‘author’ would actually have had to have done would have been to preface her story with the words: ‘My name is Martin Amis. This is what <i>I</i> have to say…’ to make it a perfectly respectable act of literature. <br />
<br />
Then there’s MOTH, the ‘Museum of True History,’ whose series of art exhibitions and websites chronicle an alternative history of personalities and artefacts which are – like Monty Python’s renowned <i>Hackenthorpe Book of Lies</i> (Chapman, Cleese, Gilliam, Idle, Jones & Palin) – all of them guaranteed false. Despite the running header ‘lies and madness’ on their latest site (MOTH), there’s an embarrassing fervour to believe in many of the viewers who first encounter these extracts from MOTH’s faux archives and artefacts.<br />
<br />
I discovered this myself when talking to some of the visitors to ‘Fallen Empire,’ a collaboration between Museum of True History, artist Karl Chitham and myself at Dunedin’s Blue Oyster Art Project Space in 2012. I felt a bit guilty, I must confess, at wasting so much of their time with this particular pack of lies when most of us have so little of it to spare.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKWIumRX2L8-F7FFgPM83_5atW78qK3r-TIikF6fAsNjnsTBAkomb1JjfMrsOkPVqU23T_WnYDuDWt3pxrypMdCNa3MDwuM990He4YwRd0LfGaP9GWf-giVkM4TBykQa5SuN_z1wkLtao/s1600/216463-leggott-vanishing-points-jacket-0229.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKWIumRX2L8-F7FFgPM83_5atW78qK3r-TIikF6fAsNjnsTBAkomb1JjfMrsOkPVqU23T_WnYDuDWt3pxrypMdCNa3MDwuM990He4YwRd0LfGaP9GWf-giVkM4TBykQa5SuN_z1wkLtao/s400/216463-leggott-vanishing-points-jacket-0229.jpg" width="400" height="400" data-original-width="480" data-original-height="480" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Michele Leggott: <a href="http://jacket2.org/content/leicester-kyle">Vanishing Points</a> (2017)</span></div><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Vanishing Points</span></b>
<br />
<blockquote>
and poets bawled and called<br />
across cafes<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">(Furey 31)</span></blockquote>
<br />
Michele Leggott’s recent book <i>Vanishing Points</i> (2017) accomplishes a shift in her work from ‘poetry’ (arranged on the page in long lines, punctuated only by four-spaced gaps) to ‘prose’ (printed in paragraphs, with conventional pointing). This shift has emboldened her also to invent rather than simply attempt to resuscitate the voices she hears. Her study of the Taranaki war of the 1860s led her to fabricate an Emily Dickinson-like poet to comment upon the drama.<br />
<br />
After completing the piece in question, she discovered a real nineteenth century New Zealand painter and poet, Emily Harris, at least one of whose few surviving poems does indeed betray a Dickinson-like freedom and boldness with rhyme. Leggott, who is now completely blind as a result of macular degeneration, can no longer accomplish the kinds of intricate page arrangements and archival research which characterised her earlier work, so is now forced to rely almost entirely on amanuenses in her continuing search for the missing works of Emily Harris.<br />
<br />
But: can one, admittedly very striking, poem make a poet? Is there not a certain element of self-deception in this quest to find a downunder <i>doppelgänger</i> for Emily of Amherst? Of course there is. Leggott has read her Borges (cited repeatedly in the book), as well as her Pessoa. The <i>emblematic</i> side of her blindness has never been invisible to her. Where authenticity is a vain hope, pursued vainly by those who hope to find it in born-again indigenism, perhaps the most futile – because the most brutally inappropriate – of religions, then perhaps the truest poetics really <i>is</i> the most feigning.<br />
<br />
The self-serving impostures and complacencies of colonial oppression are no joke: but cruellest of all is, perhaps, the <i>overwriting</i> of alternative experiences accomplished by well-meaning outsiders, often with the most innocent of motives. The (appropriately named) Bridget Furey may sound like little more than a footnote to literary history. <br />
<br />
Perhaps, however, this is the lesson she has to teach, and the reason why her ghost goes marching on.
<br />
<br />
<hr align="left" noshade="noshade" size="1" width="70%" /><br />
<br />
<b>Works cited:</b>
<br />
<ul>
<li>B. Wongar. <i>Wikipedia</i>. Available at: <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/B._Wongar">https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/B._Wongar</a>. Accessed 15/11/17.</li>
<li>Brown, Russell. ‘Walk away, Renee.’ <i>NZ Listener</i> (21 August, 2004). Available at: <a href="https://www.noted.co.nz/archive/listener-nz-2004/walk-away-renee/">https://www.noted.co.nz/archive/listener-nz-2004/walk-away-renee/</a>. Accessed 6/10/18.</li>
<li>Chapman, Graham, John Cleese, Terry Gilliam, Eric Idle, Terry Jones & Michael Palin. <i>The Brand New Monty Python Papperbok</i>. 2nd edition. London: Eyre Methuen Ltd., n.d. [1974]. N.p.</li>
<li>Edmond, Murray. <i>Strait Men and Other Tales</i>. Wellington: Steele Roberts Aotearoa, 2015.</li>
<li>Furey, Bridget. ‘Ricetta per Critica,’ ‘The Idea of Anthropology on George Street,’ ‘The Book-Keepings of a Ternary Mind in Late February.’ <i>Landfall</i> 168 (December 1988): 377-79.</li>
<li>Furey, Bridget. ‘Brag Art.’ <i>A Brief Description of the Whole World</i> 6 (July 1997): 31.</li>
<li>Harris, Aisha, ‘Who coined the term ‘Catfish’.’ <i>Slate’s Culture Blog</i> (2013).
Available at: <a href="http://www.slate.com/blogs/browbeat/2013/01/18/catfish_meaning_and_definition_term_for_online_hoaxes_has_a_surprisingly.html">http://www.slate.com/blogs/browbeat/2013/01/18/catfish_meaning_and_definition_term_for_online_hoaxes_has_a_surprisingly.html</a>. Accessed 15/11/17.</li>
<li>MacWeeney, Alen. ‘Bridget Furey stands beside a stone wall’ (Loughrea, 1966). <i>South Dublin County Libraries</i>. Available at: <a href="http://source.southdublinlibraries.ie/handle/10599/5393">http://source.southdublinlibraries.ie/handle/10599/5393</a>. Accessed 15/11/17.</li>
<li>Malley, Ern. ‘Dürer: Innsbruck, 1495.’ <i>Collected Poems</i>. 1944. With Commentary by Albert Tucker, Colin Wilson, Max Harris & John Reed. London: HarperCollins Publishers, 1993.</li>
<li><i>MOTH: Museum of True History</i> (24/3/11-21/9/15). Available at: <a href="http://museumoftruehistory.blogspot.com/">http://museumoftruehistory.blogspot.com/</a>. Accessed 15/11/17.</li>
<li>Mudrooroo. <i>Wikipedia</i>. Available at: <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mudrooroo/">https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mudrooroo/</a>. Accessed 15/11/17.</li>
<li>Pessoa, Fernando. <i>Livro do Desassossego, por Bernardo Soares</i>. Lisboa: Assírio & Alvim, 2008. <i>Pensador</i>. Available at: <a href="https://www.pensador.com/frase/MzU0Ng/">https://www.pensador.com/frase/MzU0Ng/</a>. Accessed 15/11/17.</li>
<li>Ruthven, Kenneth Knowles. <i>Faking Literature</i>. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2001</li>
</ul>
<br />
<b>References:</b>
<br />
<ul>
<li><i>Catfish: The TV Show</i>, hosted by Nev Schulman and Max Joseph, episode 54: Ayissha & Sydney (USA, 2015). Available at: <a href="http://www.mtv.com/news/2238470/catfish-stalker-sydney-ayissha/">http://www.mtv.com/news/2238470/catfish-stalker-sydney-ayissha/</a>. Accessed 15/11/17.</li>
<li>Carey, Peter. <i>My Life as a Fake</i>. 2003. Sydney: Vintage, 2005.</li>
<li>Edmond, Martin. <i>The Autobiography of My Father</i>. Auckland: Auckland UP, 1992.</li>
<li>Edmond, Martin. <i>Ghost Who Writes</i>. Montana Essay Series. Wellington: Four Winds Press, 2004.</li>
<li>Edmond, Martin. ‘from <i>White City</i>: The Autobiography of Ernest Lalor Malley.’ In <i>Landfall</i> 214: <i>Open House</i> (November 2007): 54-66.</li>
<li>Heyward, Michael. <i>The Ern Malley Affair</i>. Introduction by Robert Hughes. 1993. St Lucia, Queensland : University of Queensland Press, 1994.</li>
<li>Leggott, Michele. <i>DIA</i>. Auckland: Auckland UP, 1994.</li>
<li>Leggott, Michele. <i>Journey to Portugal</i>. Collages by Gretchen Albrecht. Auckland: Holloway Press, 2007.</li>
<li>Leggott, Michele. <i>Vanishing Points</i>. Auckland: Auckland UP, 2017.</li>
<li><i>Museum of True History</i> (15/8/09-23/4/10). Available at: <a href="http://moth-projects.blogspot.com/">http://moth-projects.blogspot.com/</a>. Accessed 15/11/17.</li>
<li>Pessoa, Fernando & Co. <i>Selected Poems</i>. Ed. & Trans. Richard Zenith. New York: Grove Press, 1998.</li>
<li>Ross, Jack. <i>Fallen Empire: Maui in the Underworld, Kupe & the Fountain of Youth, Hatupatu & the Nile-monster: Three Play-Fragments from the Literary Remains of The Society of Inner Light</i>. Attributed to Bertolt Wegener. Museum of True History in Collaboration with Karl Chitham and Jack Ross (20 June – 21 July 2012). Dunedin: Blue Oyster Art Project Space, 2012.</li>
<li>Saramago, José. <i>The Year of the Death of Ricardo Reis</i>. 1984. Trans. Giovanni Pontiero. 1991. London: The Harvill Press, 1999.</li>
</ul>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
(15/11/17-31/3/18; 14/3-9/7/19)
<br />
<br /><i>Ka Mate Ka Ora</i> 17 (October 2019): 62-79.
<br />[Available at: <a href="http://www.nzepc.auckland.ac.nz/kmko/17/ka_mate17_ross.pdf">http://www.nzepc.auckland.ac.nz/kmko/17/ka_mate17_ross.pdf</a>]
<br />
<br />[4504 wds]
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd65TMowgdXfC_Kt7GRQmxGJULVhmnVd9OhF6cQZY_YthXlQAGww1XqYB2gXW9PtiAl91MRltyCQzbFr20uHYX7hrcV_iv21odxkbQD-p8crCrvX4T2lmTkh4MB2Q65yKHebjVU784Z3A/s1600/murray-edmond.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd65TMowgdXfC_Kt7GRQmxGJULVhmnVd9OhF6cQZY_YthXlQAGww1XqYB2gXW9PtiAl91MRltyCQzbFr20uHYX7hrcV_iv21odxkbQD-p8crCrvX4T2lmTkh4MB2Q65yKHebjVU784Z3A/s400/murray-edmond.jpg" width="301" height="400" data-original-width="603" data-original-height="801" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="https://conitext.com/code-gala-the-poets/">Murray Edmond</a></span>
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Appendix:</span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 180%;">The Complete Poetical Works of Bridget Furey</span><br />
<br />
(1966-c.1997)</b><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5pt2zgkDmE6Oq19yRwEU5ouE94QTdlXMjLX19IsU6e3I-i_qDZuTl82KAUF7z_OlHWKs79M4Zwhlumqzun7xpVL1b3DrBg_nfOvFxmOKErh9MWpsgCO2L7qL3FI8oEBeuCIql6BPHQoE/s1600/leggott-michele-2014-cTim-Page-Copy-370x568.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5pt2zgkDmE6Oq19yRwEU5ouE94QTdlXMjLX19IsU6e3I-i_qDZuTl82KAUF7z_OlHWKs79M4Zwhlumqzun7xpVL1b3DrBg_nfOvFxmOKErh9MWpsgCO2L7qL3FI8oEBeuCIql6BPHQoE/s400/leggott-michele-2014-cTim-Page-Copy-370x568.jpg" width="261" height="400" data-original-width="370" data-original-height="568" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="https://nzpoetryshelf.com/2014/06/11/poetry-shelf-review-michele-leggotts-heartland-these-poems-settle-beneath-your-skin/">Michele Leggott</a></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<br /><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Ricetta Per Critica</span></b>
<br />
<br />
<br />Risorgimento diamonds sprinkle the Mare d’Azov
<br />four times a year the best tossed
<br />behind tall ships which began the world’s liquefaction
<br />as the nineteenth century drew to a close
<br />and drained il miglior grano duro
<br />in shells and golden elbows sailing past a new Byzantium
<br />
<br />miracles against the grain
<br />from the Charcoal-burners to Marinetti’s circus
<br />simply by sailing in a new direction a whole world
<br />of culinary delight or recipes for disaster
<br />on the boil<span style="padding-left: 2em;">strain rinse and leave to drain</span>
<br />many things have changed but not
<br />
<br />The doctrine that the world is always al dente
<br />though the time of preparation may be critical
<br />oh Garibaldi at the holy gates cavorting with futurisms
<br />thin enough to drape like laundry round the kitchen –
<br />next a clicking of legbones, Giuseppe, and she is descending
<br />a staircase hung with noodle dough<span style="padding-left: 2em;">naked</span>
<br />
<br />and about to slip into the modernist jacuzzi
<br />three minutes and Groqwn’s disaster is replete
<br />the meat and drink of politics<span style="padding-left: 2em;">a brew</span>
<br />of bodies piled like pasta (‘in hell’) nothing
<br />the old canto-maker at his gelato couldn’t have
<br />cooked up<span style="padding-left: 2em;">‘must thou go the road to</span>
<br />
<br />hell’ (van Eng himself knew Groqwyn
<br />for the fascist fly he was) ‘the shade of knowing
<br />so full of the shade of hell’ (to paraphrase
<br />a phrase) revolution done to turn the head
<br />or stomach ‘crying VIVA FERNINANDO and in all parts of
<br />the piazza were flames in great numbers and grenades burning
<br />
<br />to sound of bombs and mortaretti and the shooting of
<br />guns and of pistols …’ the obscene rubric
<br />of Malebolgia lowers itself on innocent and corrupt alike
<br />flowered hands reach silently into the mess<span style="padding-left: 2em;">wiping</span>
<br />weeping catastrophe from the kitchen floor<span style="padding-left: 2em;">it’s raining</span>
<br />chicken giblets as the doctor arrives with his red barrow
<br />
<br />uncertain where to deliver or abort the last primavera
<br />of all<span style="padding-left: 2em;">momentary aphasia as the ships pull out</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="padding-left: 2em;">– <i>Landfall</i> 168 (December 1988): 377-78.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<br /><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">The Idea of Anthropology on George Street</span></b>
<br />
<br />
<br />Who he was. The theatrical red Honda as
<br />chariot. Had edge, Kid Creole, liquid boogie
<br />wouldn’t do. All-comers, then Billy Zydeco
<br />on two wheels for a parking motif. Chopped
<br />through an exchange of hands, iso-jack
<br />the-lad manners, phone-in, talk-back control of
<br />the tie. Also theatre. Hands-on promiscuity
<br />raw silk and rolled edge, deployment had nothing
<br />the overnight pack revealed, lambently geared
<br />to a one-night bull market. The old museum
<br />with its palimpsest architecture downsiding
<br />all futures. Was it underwriting dinged the coup’s
<br />immaculate fender? Was it Billy Zydeco’s leg
<br />in the air, synergism of phallus and wheel,
<br />artefact disappearing through a turnstile door,
<br />stag party invites in cuneiform passed under the
<br />boardroom table? Jism, just juice. Freshly.
<br />
<br />Offshore, taboos multiply harmlessly for the Kid
<br />and his all-stars. They breakfast on boxed PR
<br />brioches printout spill of guts. Jeremy Bentham
<br />look-alike prints out paper keys. Glass case
<br />whizz kid. Wow. & ow. (o, & pow). Breakout
<br />patterns link head and shoulder with the tied lines
<br />nobody connected to museological narratives
<br />in the display cases. The doctor riding a
<br />well-covered liberal ass through city
<br />parks. Who wants a psychic dig? The
<br />rapists would pay him to present. A case
<br />history could never resist, diaphanous in its
<br />assent, nodding at the up and up, wistful
<br />only in the sense. Ass hits Honda:
<br />BIG BANG THEORY BORN IN VACUUM:
<br />Tell us, if you know, what message to
<br />code in the strings of time. Excavate
<br />your machine, mocker up those 5.30 eyes, turn
<br />sharp. There was never a word for her. Fax it.
<br />
<br /><span style="padding-left: 2em;">– <i>Landfall</i> 168 (December 1988): 378-79.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<br /><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">The Book-Keepings of a Ternary Mind in Late February</span></b>
<br />
<br />
<br />Lately Chagall has been saying it, over and over
<br />to a violin: ‘The jaws of a three-quarter moon
<br />may swallow me up, the peppermint lovers who fly
<br />out of my kettle have looked at Paris
<br />and there they saw the three-quarter moon
<br />put on a thin coat of riverboats and serenades.
<br />Her ripples desolate the painted ceilings
<br />of de Sade’s cracked-cup cafes. She stirs
<br />tiny quavers of light, grace-notes, into the Seine.’
<br />
<br />He is clearly doubting these words as they fall.
<br />In the Louvre Paganini’s violin is bandaged,
<br />muted with absurdity, and yet a Renault passing by
<br />blows a cool jazz air in his face then veers
<br />effortlessly into the future perfect.
<br />By the time Chagall gets there on his tender bicycle
<br />workmen in chapeaux are wrapping her in gauze.
<br />He murmurs, ‘Absinthe,’ and ‘Alabaster,’ alternately.
<br />A swallow on an acid-eaten cornice plunges low.
<br />
<br />She wants to take both glasses and pour them over
<br />the white drapery he is condemning her to
<br />wear like paint, she has a notion to uplift
<br />the fiddler from the street and snap his matchstick
<br />wrists for musical effect. But the future perfect
<br />will allow them only one-way flights and she is
<br />already three-quarters full and falling
<br />into the theatre of the city, the opera of images
<br />where the swarming paint is still wet upon the flats.
<br />
<br /><span style="padding-left: 2em;">– <i>Landfall</i> 168 (December 1988): 379.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<br /><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Brag Art</span></b>
<br />
<br />
<br />this is the war I lost
<br />a woman
<br />versus three poets
<br />
<br /><i>(world where women</i>
<br />
<br />one
<br />i kept in hiding
<br />one
<br />i renamed ‘citoyen’
<br />one
<br />who stood doyen
<br />
<br /><i>(where women are
<br />far between</i>
<br />
<br />one must swing the ice pick
<br />so she can shine like
<br />a sacrifice
<br />
<br /><span style="padding-left: 4em;"><i>and few</span>
<br />and few</i>
<br />
<br />that boy i kept five years
<br />in my apartment
<br />while the war waited
<br />just outside the door
<br />
<br />and poets bawled and called
<br />across cafes
<br />
<br /><span style="padding-left: 2em;">– <i>A Brief Description of the Whole World</i> 6 (July 1997): 31.</span>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3ctRN1XY06kUTF0nhcYKuFtMCuzWUY0ApzEtfu5kdLUXMxnwAFTZbhqhPtQ5Zv3sohjVSc2gmhqHh4KquU0-P8T0hFxbDmKxMyRy0ORKKDk3QX8kgGGU_AhYtuSjdDdZEM_TWPd6wQ40/s1600/17_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3ctRN1XY06kUTF0nhcYKuFtMCuzWUY0ApzEtfu5kdLUXMxnwAFTZbhqhPtQ5Zv3sohjVSc2gmhqHh4KquU0-P8T0hFxbDmKxMyRy0ORKKDk3QX8kgGGU_AhYtuSjdDdZEM_TWPd6wQ40/s400/17_large.jpg" width="400" height="391" data-original-width="373" data-original-height="365" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href=" http://www.nzepc.auckland.ac.nz/kmko/index17.asp">Ka Mate Ka Ora 17</a> (2019)</span>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s1600/book_blank.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s200/book_blank.jpg"></a></div><br />
<br />Dr Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01805945600952222957noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710695321433147697.post-1146863425200162112018-08-05T09:51:00.000+12:002019-03-03T09:02:07.638+13:00Poetry NZ Yearbook 2019: Editorial (2019)<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">Jack Ross, ed.: <a href="http://www.masseypress.ac.nz/books/poetry-new-zealand-yearbook-2019/">Poetry NZ Yearbook 2019</a> (March 2019)</span>
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<b><span style="font-size: 180%;">Editorial:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;">What makes a poem good?</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/SEMSMassey/photos/a.849304738489217/1848272268592454/?type=3&theater">Manawatu Writers' Festival</a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 78%;">[Photograph: Jenny Lawn (8/9/18)]</span></div><br />
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It’s a somewhat absurdly ambitious premise for an editorial, you may think. Certainly I did, when I was booked to speak on the topic at the 2018 Manawatū Writers’ Festival.<br />
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I won’t attempt to reprise everything I said on that occasion (vanity —— not to mention sanity —— forbids), but I thought I might mention a few points. First up is a quote from Robert Graves, one of my favourite poetry gurus:
<blockquote>The most popular theory advanced to account for the haunting of houses is that emanations of fear, hate or grief somehow impregnate a locality, and these emotions are released when in contact with a suitable medium. So with a poem or novel, passion impregnates the words and can make them active even divorced from the locality of creation. (<i>On English Poetry</i>, 1922)</blockquote>
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You see what I mean? What a man! Graves, fresh from the trenches of the Western Front —— and even fresher from the psychoanalyst’s couch —— went on to argue in favour of the even more sweeping opinion that ‘Art of every sort . . . is an attempt to rationalize some emotional conflict in the artist’s mind.’<br />
<br />If the work created as a result succeeds somehow in resolving or at least exteriorising the conflict in question, he claims, then it can be said to be successful —— for that artist, at any rate. There is, however, no automatic reason to expect this success to translate to others. If, by some stroke of luck, it does, then we have what is commonly thought of as a ‘work of art’; i.e. something that speaks meaningfully to the emotional conflicts and traumas of others, as well as to yourself.<br />
<br />Certainly, as an editor, I have to acknowledge a certain futility in most of my attempts to make objective judgements about poems. A. E. Housman said that he always knew the real thing because it made the hairs on his chin stand up while he tried to shave. In other words, even that most austere of Classicists had to resort to a physical reaction rather than any more reasoned definition of poetry.<br />
<br />As my father grew older, and especially after his first stroke, we began to see a more emotional side of him (the exact words the doctors used were ‘emotionally labile’ —— apparently a common symptom of cerebral damage). In layman’s terms, he would burst into tears at the drop of a hat. Any mention of war sacrifice, moral courage, or bravery of any kind, would have him sniffing away in a manner that would probably have embarrassed him profoundly as a younger man. It certainly embarrassed us as the more-or-less standard products of a repressed Kiwi upbringing.<br />
<br />Even at the time I felt ashamed of this embarrassment, and tried to persuade myself to look on at such displays with joy and affection. It’s hard to overcome the conditioning of a lifetime, though.<br />
<br />Now it’s happening to me! I have always been pretty susceptible to uplifting speeches or noble acts in movies —— that moment in <i>Rabbit Proof Fence</i>, for instance, when the little girl pulls herself up off the sand to struggle on for just a few yards more with her sister in her arms . . . Pretty much the whole of that movie, in fact. I could make a list. Jimmy Stewart in <i>Mr Smith Goes to Washington</i> (‘Lost causes are the only ones worth fighting for . . .’); Cher in <i>Mask</i> (‘Now you can go anywhere you want, baby’); Gregory Peck in <i>To Kill a Mockingbird</i> (‘Stand up, child, your daddy’s passing’). You know the sort of thing.<br />
<br />It’s starting to affect my poetry reading, too. It’s not that all the poems I like now have to be tragic or elegiac: humour is a pretty strong emotion, too, and everyone needs a good laugh from time to time. It’s just that I’m no longer afraid of being moved by them —— by the last lines of Brett Gartrell’s ‘After the principal calls’, for instance:
<blockquote>
The dogs broke into the hen house
<br />stringing two birds out in bloody feathered scraps.
<br />My son cornered the panting terriers
<br />washed the blood from their lips
<br />as they licked the tears from his eyes.</blockquote>
<br />Or, for that matter, by the whole of Wes Lee’s extraordinary ‘The Things She Remembers #1’, which is almost the only poem I could imagine knocking Brett’s into second place in our annual Poetry New Zealand competition:
<blockquote>Standing looking in the mirror saying:
<br />No, No / The cold orange lipstick of the
<br />Big Nurse / The patient who screamed like
<br />a bird / her mouth wide as the abyss /
<br />The patient who jumped on my back, kicked
<br />in her heels, tried to gee me up like a
<br />donkey / The painful embarrassment of being
<br />thirteen / The laughter of the nurses / At
<br />a terrible time I believed / At terrible times
<br />I still believe / There are still things left to
<br />sell / On the bus a wasp and a homeless man.</blockquote>
<br />My God, there’s some pain in that poem! I hope that it had some success in working out certain traumas for its author (as prescribed by Robert Graves). Whether it did or not, it certainly works for me.<br />
<br />It’s not that I sit here boo-hooing as I read through all the submissions for each issue —— but every now and then something in one of them sits up and looks alive, persuades me that something is being worked out there that might be relevant to others simply because it seems so relevant to me.<br />
<br />It must have been very difficult for A. E. Housman to shave without constantly cutting himself. Every time he thought of ‘Into my heart an air that kills / From yon far country blows’ or ‘Fear no more the heat o’ the sun / Nor the furious winter’s rages’, up the little hairs would go.<br />
<br />I wouldn’t trust myself to read out loud either Brett or Wes’s poems —— or quite a few of the other wonderful poems I have included in this edition of the Yearbook, either —— but I’m very glad the poets wrote them. Glad to have had the privilege to read them and to present them for the rest of you to fall for as hard as I did. (That’s if you’re not still stuck at the embarrassment-before-strong-emotion stage of your development. You wait: the time will come when you, too, find your face wet with tears when the townsfolk burst in to give their hard-earned savings to Jimmy Stewart at the end of <i>It’s a Wonderful Life</i>.)<br />
<br />Housman called poetry ‘a morbid secretion’. Graves, too, sees it as the necessary working-out of a repressed trauma or complex. Whether or not that helps as a tentative answer to what makes a poem good, I don’t know. I just know that spotting the real thing has become, for me, as much of a somatic as a psychosomatic matter.<br />
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<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span></div>
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So, to reprise, the winners of the third annual Poetry New Zealand Poetry Prize are as follows:<br />
<blockquote>
<b>First prize ($500):</b><span style="padding-left: 4em;">Wes Lee,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">for ‘The Things She Remembers #1’</span><br />
<b>Second prize ($300):</b><span style="padding-left: 3em;">Brett Gartrell,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">for ‘After the principal calls’</span><br />
<b>Third prize ($200):</b><span style="padding-left: 4em;">Natalie Modrich,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">for ‘Retail’</span></blockquote>
<br />I’ve already given you some idea of what I found so extraordinary in the first two of these poems.
<br />The third is a complete change of pace. Natalie herself refers to it as ‘a very therapeutic poem’, and while it did make me laugh like a drain —— for which I thank her profoundly —— it also made me think a little about all the rest of the people doing what she calls ‘soul-crushing’ retail jobs. I don’t know if reading such things helps at all, but I’m prepared to believe it might. After all, Housman said that his poetry was meant for the ‘ill-treated . . . / For them to read when they’re in trouble / And I am not.’<br />
<br />This time the three poems have been printed separately, in their own section of the journal.<br />
<br />The same is true of the winning entries for the Poetry New Zealand Yearbook student poetry competition. All three of these poems seem to show an almost frightening maturity and skill. The difficulty in judging the competition was not so much in finding merit, as in deciding which of so many good poems to put first.<br />
<br />Aigagalefili Fepulea‘i-Tapuaʻi’s ‘275 Love Letters to Southside’ is a passionate piece of work —— richly imbued with the spirit of her beloved <i>heimat</i>:
<blockquote>When I learnt that no place outside of South Auckland would want to pronounce my name properly
<br />I scraped it off their tongues
<br />So now all they do is spit on us instead . . .
<br />Haven’t my ancestors’ screams been muffled between textbook pages?
<br />Didn’t a white teacher at my South Auckland sch tell us we’re just ‘typical South Auckland crap’?</blockquote>
<br />If that teacher ever reads this poem, I hope he or she feels very small.
<br />Kathryn Briggs’s ‘Earth is a Star to Someone’ is equally passionate, in a very different context. ‘Let —— This —— Matter,’ she pleads:
<blockquote>
Let us be heard,
<br />Let us take up the space we deserve in the universe.</blockquote>
<br />Let all this youth, all this idealism, count for something. I certainly hope it does. I guess we all do.<br />
<br />Amberleigh Rose’s ‘Snake’s Tongue’ comes from a very different side of the poetic universe. Here passion has been turned to self-destruction, but there’s an aching residue of hope in there, too, somewhere, I feel:
<blockquote>Last night we slept in our blood stains
<br />and whispered over the sound of our bones
<br />trying to leave our skin and you
<br />were the prettiest girl I had ever seen.
<br />What was that? Not love?</blockquote>
<br />Quite a few of the poems I read while judging this competition frightened me profoundly, I must confess. Where are all the flowers and bunny rabbits we used to write about at school? In fact (as a reviewer once remarked of one of my own books), ‘the spirit of darkness certainly prevails.’<br />
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<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span></div>
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There are 100 poets in this issue (besides Stephanie Christie, our featured poet). There are also three essayists and 10 reviewers —— though some of these have also contributed poems: 110 authors in all.<br />
<br />Among the poets I’ve included are such well-known names as Sue Fitchett, Michele Leggott, Stephen Oliver, Bob Orr, Vaughan Rapatahana, Elizabeth Smither and Emma Neale. In her reply to my acceptance letter for the poems she’d submitted, Emma, now firmly established as the new managing editor of Landfall, explains the process of selection better than I could ever imagine doing:
<blockquote>... it’s finally made me realise that rejections aren’t always a comment on literary merit! And it doesn’t even mean an editor dislikes someone’s work, it just means there is chronically limited space.</blockquote>
<br />Quite so. What she said. My long list for this issue was full of beautiful poems which have, one after the other, had to bite the dust for one reason or another. Never assume that your poem didn’t make it into that giant file! And don’t think that I didn’t sweat blood over those rejections, either.<br />
<br />Of course my subjective reactions have a great deal to do with the poems you see before you. As long as I’ve been reading her, which is almost 20 years now, I’ve been impressed and (at times) flabbergasted by the sheer virtuosic brinksmanship of Stephanie Christie’s poetry. It’s great to be able to introduce her poems to —— I hope —— a wider audience than they’ve so far reached in this country. Her fractured word-play —— reminiscent at times of late Celan but with a pop culture edge he never achieved —— can be daunting at first, but I think you’ll see after a while how relentlessly quotable she is:
<blockquote>I hold onto hope because I want something
<br />to do with my hands
<br />(‘-OH’)<br />
<br />Every morning the first word I say is
<br />Yes.
<br />(‘Felt calculus’)<br />
<br />Nothing’s happened. You make me feel
<br />less alone. You’re also real.
<br />That might ruin everything.<br />
(‘Unfinished Objects’)</blockquote>
<br />If you need more evidence, here it is, in the form of a rich selection of 19 recent poems, plus a tell-all interview!<br />
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<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span></div>
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The reviews section is a bit smaller than in previous issues: not because I don’t think they’re important, but because I want to give them more space on their own. We’ve decided to follow <i>Landfall</i>’s good example and to cover most of the books we receive on our website, the <i>Poetry NZ Review</i> [<a href="https://poetrynzreview.blogspot.com/">https://poetrynzreview.blogspot.com/</a>].<br />
<br />The reviews that we do include in the text will now be more in the nature of review-essays, and there will be no more simple notices of books. This also has the advantage of enabling us to include more poems and stand-alone essays. There are three of the latter in this issue, covering issues such as narrative strategies in poetry, Zen Buddhism, mourning, and death, in poets as diverse as Airini Beautrais, Richard von Sturmer and Derek Walcott.<br />
<br />I’m also happy to be able to include here some dual-text poems in Chinese, German, Spanish and te reo Māori. What more need I say? Enjoy!<br />
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— Jack Ross<br />
November 2018</div>
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<i>Poetry New Zealand Yearbook 2019</i>. ISBN 978-0-9951029-6-5 (March 2019): 14-20. [Available at: <a href="https://issuu.com/masseypress/docs/pages_from_pnzy19">https://issuu.com/masseypress/docs/pages_from_pnzy19</a>].
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQUM2qYlrwGDjDGsZ6Y3q2Mr8H0U5ETGHOVxULvqihTlLIvx0fc4uDaDzYRZjYDrf1BVkQOw7-2wpapkAZgLcdPbSf59Eqa5q8ncuGLm7GQ2x_K38HZtOPHjbKR-AtdxClpbhB16xkaZA/s1600/pnzy+53+back+cover.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQUM2qYlrwGDjDGsZ6Y3q2Mr8H0U5ETGHOVxULvqihTlLIvx0fc4uDaDzYRZjYDrf1BVkQOw7-2wpapkAZgLcdPbSf59Eqa5q8ncuGLm7GQ2x_K38HZtOPHjbKR-AtdxClpbhB16xkaZA/s400/pnzy+53+back+cover.png" width="300" height="400" data-original-width="918" data-original-height="1222" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><i>Poetry NZ Yearbook 2019</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s1600/book_blank.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s200/book_blank.jpg"></a></div>
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<br />Dr Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01805945600952222957noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710695321433147697.post-23851780427513350102018-08-04T10:04:00.000+12:002019-03-03T09:01:17.068+13:00An Interview with Stephanie Christie (2019)<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiixwHwBhVHs1xBcwltw4gfwmvXsKt4mPV7bwENYXWG_Wc5tEJoF5JaakrJfhjv_2eZo8j_L-BV84keKz8osD2ysBG-PsBbZr3cp97YwIGqoYNvSHRSjoS-Q_j6j4fWC4A3CwO4hZIzAus/s1600/PNZY+2019.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiixwHwBhVHs1xBcwltw4gfwmvXsKt4mPV7bwENYXWG_Wc5tEJoF5JaakrJfhjv_2eZo8j_L-BV84keKz8osD2ysBG-PsBbZr3cp97YwIGqoYNvSHRSjoS-Q_j6j4fWC4A3CwO4hZIzAus/s400/PNZY+2019.png" width="294" height="400" data-original-width="880" data-original-height="1196" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbZfR8xUiHomS7rH_Z0ooGicNKkurJEsKsV3-IdIbF29xCQgXbmQ2RYhylFsSKY1tNAoXodfzLmeWWi131M5vyfBcymeuiY87lbZeqXS4Zph_Mx-ZA_iPz-7A29r5pGxCbwX0nW5_XtvQ/s1600/pnzy+53+titlepage.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbZfR8xUiHomS7rH_Z0ooGicNKkurJEsKsV3-IdIbF29xCQgXbmQ2RYhylFsSKY1tNAoXodfzLmeWWi131M5vyfBcymeuiY87lbZeqXS4Zph_Mx-ZA_iPz-7A29r5pGxCbwX0nW5_XtvQ/s400/pnzy+53+titlepage.png" width="251" height="400" data-original-width="774" data-original-height="1232" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Jack Ross, ed.: <a href="http://hesiodic.blogspot.co.nz/2012/09/poetry-nz-yearbook-2019.html">Poetry NZ Yearbook 2019</a> (March 2019)</span>
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<b><span style="font-size: 180%;">An Interview with Stephanie Christie</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;">[via email – 8 August-12 September, 2018]</span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_l9XAhPG_Re834Ul2akap9yb2G97z-DIj888J96Q-r4_m5aA2A3HtGiCw8kWqHPxIGPw_1lkDtLMKO6ZiLlyTv76AAG1uls5ttkyAtIHzQxra4X1DnR6pssvYMVaFmMENg3gF8_O1q3s/s1600/stephanie+christie.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_l9XAhPG_Re834Ul2akap9yb2G97z-DIj888J96Q-r4_m5aA2A3HtGiCw8kWqHPxIGPw_1lkDtLMKO6ZiLlyTv76AAG1uls5ttkyAtIHzQxra4X1DnR6pssvYMVaFmMENg3gF8_O1q3s/s400/stephanie+christie.jpg" width="390" height="400" data-original-width="492" data-original-height="504" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="https://www.stephaniechristie.xyz/">Stephanie Christie</a></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: 180%;">Stephanie Christie</span></b></div>
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<blockquote>‘I’ve been publishing and performing poetry for twenty years, while living in a lot of different places in Aotearoa. Ten years ago I changed my active name, Will, back to my birth name, Stephanie. I live in Hamilton in the Waikato with my partner and an elegant hound. I work as a creative coach, and also teach adult literacy skills, run community art classes, and edit instructional materials. <br />
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The selection in this issue combines new material with (recent) classic hits, to share a sense of my work with you. The pieces show the range of forms I use, along with the voice and vision that run through everything I create. <br />
<br />
My creative practice has always been a space in which I can challenge myself to go outside of what I know. This has led me into collaborations, poetry in theatre, sound poetry, visual poetry, songs, installations and video poetry. On a good day, I have no idea what I’m doing and am a hundred percent committed to doing it. This is exactly where I need to be.’<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Select Bibliography:</span></b></div><br />
<b>Poetry Books:</b>
<ul>
<li>[as Will Joy Christie]. <i>luce cannon</i>. Auckland: Titus Books, 2007.</li>
<li><i>The Facts of Light</i>. deciBel Series 001. Ed. Pam Brown. Sydney: Vagabond Press, 2014.</li>
<li><i>Carbon Shapes and Dark Matter</i>. Pokeno: Titus Books, 2015.</li>
</ul>
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<b>Zines:</b>
<ul>
<li><i>Ravel</i> (2001)</li>
<li><i>Urbane Mysts</i> (2001)</li>
<li><i>Orientalisman</i> (2002)</li>
<li><i>WA.N/S.TED</i> (2003)</li>
<li><i>Femme fatality</i> (2005)</li>
<li><i>self [help/harm]</i> (2005)</li>
<li><i>Re:[play]er</i> (2006)</li>
<li><i>My findings</i> (2008)</li>
<li><i>crzy</i> (2009)</li>
<li><i>Art-icu-late</i> (2009)</li>
<li><i>W.inter</i> (2010)</li>
<li><i>So light and so fair</i> (2010)</li>
<li><i>The calling</i> (2011)</li>
<li><i>Bloom</i> (2014)</li>
<li><i>Wingettes</i> (2014)</li>
<li><i>First the wheel then the revolution</i> (2014)</li>
<li><i>I like the idea I have of you so much</i> (2014)</li>
<li><i>Freak out!</i> (2015)</li>
<li><i>Nix</i> (2015)</li>
<li><i>Runt</i> (2017)</li>
<li><i>Fakelore</i> (2018)</li>
</ul>
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<b>Multimedia Projects:</b>
<ul>
<li>‘Arcadia’, collaboration with choreographer Alexa Wilson at Soliton, Auckland, 2003.</li>
<li>'Husk', collaboration with composer Alex Taylor, Auckland University, 2012.</li>
<li>'Home Heart Land', poetry in devised theatre, Hamilton Fringe Festival, 2012.</li>
<li>Two video poems with videographer Paul Bradley, featured in HUFF, 2012/2013.</li>
<li>'Aubade', installation at Hamilton Museum, Intraspace Project, 2013.</li>
<li>'Clean as you go', installation with artist Paul Bradley, Hamilton Arts Festival, 2014.</li>
<li>‘Storm Warning’, poetry in collaborative performance, Hamilton Fringe Festival, 2015.</li>
<li>‘Why So Normal?’ collaboration in Hamilton City of the Future, 2015.</li>
<li>‘True True’ art exhibition, visual poetry installation, Calder and Lawson Gallery, 2017.</li>
</ul>
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<b>Secondary Sources:</b>
<ul>
<li>Alexander, Raewyn. ‘A Sharp Intelligence: Review of <i>Carbon Shapes and Dark Matter</i>.’ <i>Rochford Street Review: A Journal of Australian & International Cultural Reviews, News and Criticism</i>. (February 5, 2016). Available at:
<a href="https://rochfordstreetreview.com/2016/02/05/a-sharp-intelligence-raewyn-alexander-reviews-carbon-shapes-and-dark-matter-by-stephanie-christie/">https://rochfordstreetreview.com/2016/02/05/a-sharp-intelligence-raewyn-alexander-reviews-carbon-shapes-and-dark-matter-by-stephanie-christie/</a></li>
<li>Harvey, Siobhan. ‘A Reduction to the Bone: Review of <i>Carbon Shapes and Dark Matter</i>.’ Landfall Review Online (December 1, 2016). Available at:
<a href="https://www.landfallreview.com/a-reduction-to-the-bone/#more-3120">https://www.landfallreview.com/a-reduction-to-the-bone/#more-3120</a></li>
<li>Morton, Elizabeth. ‘Review of <i>The Facts of Light</i>.’ <i>Poetry NZ Yearbook</i> 2 (2015): 251-52. Available at:
<a href="https://poetrynzreview.blogspot.com/2017/07/stephanie-christie-facts-of-light-2014.html">https://poetrynzreview.blogspot.com/2017/07/stephanie-christie-facts-of-light-2014.html</a></li>
<li>Prime, Patricia. ‘Review of <i>Carbon Shapes and Dark Matter</i>.’ <i>takahē</i> 86 (April 2016). Available at:
<a href="http://www.takahe.org.nz/t86/reviews/stephanie-christie-carbon-shapes-and-dark-matter/">http://www.takahe.org.nz/t86/reviews/stephanie-christie-carbon-shapes-and-dark-matter/</a></li>
<li>Samuels, Lisa. ‘Affective mind and blood language and Stephanie Christie.’ <i>Poetry NZ Yearbook 2017</i> (#51): 214-29.</li>
<li>Slaughter, Tracey. ‘How the Raptures Slip: Review of <i>Luce Cannon</i>.’ <i>Landfall</i> 214 (2009): 169-75.</li>
<li>Wright, Tim. ‘Review of <i>Carbon Shapes and Dark Matter</i>.’ <i>Cordite Poetry Review</i> (November 4 2016). Available at:
<a href="http://cordite.org.au/reviews/wright-christie/">http://cordite.org.au/reviews/wright-christie/</a></li>
</ul>
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<b>Online Resources:</b>
<ul>
<li>Author’s homepage: Stephanie Christie<br />
<a href="https://www.stephaniechristie.xyz/">https://www.stephaniechristie.xyz/</a></li>
<li>NZEPC Six-pack Sound: Stephanie Christie<br />
<a href="http://www.nzepc.auckland.ac.nz/features/six-pack-sound/02/christie.asp">http://www.nzepc.auckland.ac.nz/features/six-pack-sound/02/christie.asp</a></li>
</ul>
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<blockquote>
Some of the poems in this selection have already appeared in the following publications: ‘Felt Calculus’ in <i>Atlanta Review</i> (US); ‘Mag[net]ic’ in <i>The Capilano Review</i> (Canada); ‘Unfinished Objects’ in <i>Cordite</i> (Australia); ‘Poverty Mentality’ and ‘Mall Song’ in <i>Landfall</i> (NZ). Thanks are due to the editors of these journals for permission to reproduce them here.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD5sAZ3-h4Px7NGQqg5yANEjVpakORXD554huB5zaAI3Zo3MWP42cnKGKaRiadDa7QernxkUjkvzNvn5YYzCRvAAXe1CLR6pQw9Xa9hRkk-OU2l0GAV4LoldEvk_BEXulUwuFutsNKgqc/s1600/ae8930_2f24bde963154524b675410ab91dd194.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD5sAZ3-h4Px7NGQqg5yANEjVpakORXD554huB5zaAI3Zo3MWP42cnKGKaRiadDa7QernxkUjkvzNvn5YYzCRvAAXe1CLR6pQw9Xa9hRkk-OU2l0GAV4LoldEvk_BEXulUwuFutsNKgqc/s400/ae8930_2f24bde963154524b675410ab91dd194.jpg" width="400" height="300" data-original-width="796" data-original-height="597" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Stephanie Christie: <a href="https://www.stephaniechristie.xyz/single-post/2016/12/02/Aubade">Aubade</a> (2016)</span></div><br />
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<ul>
<li><b>When did you start writing poetry? The first poems of yours I saw were, I think, in <i>A Brief Description of the Whole World</i> in the early 2000s. Was that the beginning, or was there a long prehistory to those pieces?</b></li><br />
I’ve always written poetry, from when I was tiny. I would catch a flicker and then work on it in my head and then on paper until it turned into something. I remember asking my mum to write down for me what I’d created. Then it started rhyming and became very ‘poetic’. I entered a poem about a foal to a <i>Listener</i> children’s poetry page and was rejected because they thought it had been written by an adult. It was very earnest and used words that probably haven’t made it into this century. Then as a teenager it got very dark and I’d write them on my desk at school. <br />
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When I was 25 I finally wrote a piece that I considered to be an actual completed poem that could be shared. After that I made my first zine and left it at various bus stops. But my poetry was never like the poetry that I was able to get my hands on. A few years later I was shown L.A.N.G.U.A.G.E. poetry, and realised that there was a huge space available to me. This was my most abstract phase, and it was amazing to me when John Geraets of <i>Brief</i> published some poems.
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<li><b>You already seemed to have a very individual way of writing (and performing) at that stage. Could you say a little about the thinking behind your characteristic word-breaks and lineation innovations?</b></li><br />
Although I’m very analytical and logical in my purposeful thinking, my writing is something I feel. It has a physical presence for me. The breaking is a form of liberation from the effects that language and discourse in general has on me. I’m super-sensitive to words, so being able to play with them is important for both my enjoyment of life and my ability to breathe freely. I would love to have theory around it but my mind refuses to engage. I feel poetry and sometimes get instructions, but that’s it. Of course, I have editing processes and hundreds of rules – just no theory. <br />
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The clash between the shape of words and their sounds fascinates me. So I’m magnetised towards words that are impossible to say, where the meaning multiplies and gets out of control, or where line breaks show a voice taking the stated phrase in more than one direction, mimicking the true ambivalence of the sure statements we shelter behind.
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<li><b>I’ve always thought of you as a very political poet – or, at any rate, with a strong ideological bent behind your work. Is that accurate, would you say?</b></li><br />
Yes, to the extent that the world is political already and we engage with this or consent to the status quo by accident. Poetry isn’t a form that makes it easy to explore the stuff that I often find myself asking questions or feeling strongly about. I get the sense that for a lot of poets it’s one of their rules – don’t say it directly, use the object as a mirror. But for me, any part of language itself is an available object. And I need to think and feel more deeply about the world, especially because I’m privileged enough to not be forced to do it that much. I want to lead myself through these journeys, and poetry provides a safe process and a way to share the results.<br />
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Slam or spoken word poetry is a form that allows the political in, in a way that what you might call ‘high’ poetry doesn’t. Although I like to perform, the spoken word genre has its own rules that tend to conflict with my interests, which are largely oriented not towards my identity but to what I see around me.<br />
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<li><b>Tell me a little bit about Hamilton as a place to write in. Do you find it hospitable to poets and artists generally?</b></li><br />
Hamilton is amazing because it supports you to create what you want; there’s stimulation but also space. I’ve made the effort to find other poets, which is magic. Writers tend to self-isolate compared to people working in other creative mediums, so most of my creative communities are made up of non-writers. This works for me because thinking about other art forms feeds into my thoughts about writing.<br />
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One of the most useful things I get out of living in Hamilton has actually been meeting more people who are way different from me. We’re all mixed in together. This brings me language, story, psychic and detail influences that are invaluable to my practice.<br />
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<li><b>I know that you’ve done a lot of work in various multimedia forms: painting, design, zines, and so on. Is poetry just one of your media of expression, or is it central for you?</b></li><br />
Poetry is everything. Or maybe my experience of the world is poetic, and so whatever I make ends up that way. It’s that crystallisation, the way that the vision edits itself down and then inserts that gaps that let us inhabit it.<br />
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I like to play around, which is how I’ve ended up doing different stuff. Also it’s a way to keep having that crucial finished object when you struggle to get your work published. I return to page poetry mainly because it won’t let go of me. It’s the fastest surface, the purest, the most ridiculous, and brutal. It makes other things seem easy. Having said that, I’m transforming my ways of making page poetry, so that it can be playful for me.<br />
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<li><b>How, in fact, would you define the term “poetry?"</b></li><br />
The mapping of psychic dance routines through patterns of presence and nothingness.<br />
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<li><b>I notice that your work – your recent Tinfish chapbook, for instance – often receives a better response overseas than here in New Zealand. Do you feel there’s a certain innate conservatism to the poetry scene here?</b></li><br />
I struggle to recognise the response to my work. I haven’t carried the flag for my work in the way that would have made it accessible to any wider audience – I was too self-conscious. And it doesn’t serve me to make decisions about the nature of the local scene that might protect my ego but close me off from connecting.<br />
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I can see logically that the difficulty in getting less conventional poetry published in the bigger journals must limit the development of the New Zealand poetry scene. There was a period where I tried to write in a more ‘normal’ way to be able to be published. The effects were awful – I hated my work, it was mediocre and I lost my confidence. Then I started to get positive responses to my first (wildly experimental) book, which taught me the meaning of the word ‘bittersweet’. <br />
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Finally I thought, “I’m still here, still writing, so now I’m going to do whatever I want and stand by it.” Learning how to do this has been a crazy journey that’s changed my sense of myself and the world. I’ve had to go right to the foundations and teach myself skills around self-esteem, and build structures to support my practice.<br />
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I’m incredibly grateful for the help and encouragement I’ve gotten from particular people – Jack, you’re one of them – because when you need to write to feel like a person and you have to write what is calling you but you don’t know how to share that work, people clearly articulating that they like your work makes a huge difference. <br />
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I’m excited to know people here now who are writing experimentally, and sharing it in a bunch of ways. It motivates me to make the work I want to make and to get it to the people who hunger for it, whoever and wherever they may be.<br />
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<li><b>There’s a narrative expansiveness in poems such as “Bode” (included in the group chosen for your <i>Poetry New Zealand</i> feature) which I, for one, find very exciting. Is that a new direction for you, or would you say that’s been part of your poetry from the first?</b></li><br />
Sometimes I see poetry as music, with or without lyrics. So a poem with a narrative element is like music with lyrics, and a poem without a narrative element is like music without lyrics. It brings a world and makes its own sense. I’ve always made both. They don’t feel different to me but I can see that they could be very different to experience. In narrative poems we ask: ‘Who speaks and what is the relationship between their words and the truth of their world?’ In non-narrative poems something else is going on, and it’s useful to abandon that question and give over to whatever happens as you encounter the poem.<br />
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I have more options than page poetry as a medium now, and perhaps that makes me take less joy in the pure destruction of the form. I don’t feel constricted and like I need to lash out. I want my poems to do something else.<br />
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Sometimes the amount of narrative comes from how the poem is created. “Bode” was generated out of fragments created from directing attention towards one big thing while writing over a long period. Other poems are resonant pieces thrown into a room together to see what happens in the editing process – more like a party than an expedition into a specific question.<br />
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I’m glad that you’re excited about it. Sometimes I want a crystalline moment and sometimes I want to explodify. I need both and the tensions and webs between them.<br />
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<li><b>Are there any writers – local or international – you feel have been particularly important for you, or influential on your work?</b></li><br />
I take my poetry where I find it. Phantom Billstickers have a poster of a poem by Sue Wootton that I just read – amazing. And right on the street!<br />
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I’ve often found it hard to read poetry – like I can’t generate the right kind of attention – but when I can it all sticks to my brain and reappears later. I’ve had phases of reading Tusiata Avia, Ian Wedde, Baxter, Czeslaw Milosz, Gertrude Stein, Rilke, Adrienne Rich, Raymond Carver … I can’t see how these poets influence my work, but they all share a capacity for devastating accuracy.
The poets I know personally have a big influence on me, because I think about their work and imagine what it’s like to be them writing poetry, and I think about what they say to me about poetry. My favourite thing is that if I read enough then I get the poet’s voice narrating my world for a week or two.<br />
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In the last few years certain poets have inspired me by giving me hope that I can make the work that interests me and find the people who want it. Ya-wen Ho, Lisa Samuels and Essa Ranapiri all have an attitude to sharing their unconventional work that is engaging and open, in contrast to my traditional approach of choosing to give so few fucks that you risk spiralling into a black hole of nihilism. And their work makes my poetry brain happy.<br />
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<li><b>What other sources of inspiration do you find particularly valuable to you as a poet and an artist in general?</b></li><br />
Lyrics. Theory. Other creative forms. Conversation. Errors. Questions.<br />
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I love science, psychology, all languages, listening, and wondering about reality. And mainly people – their battles for meaningfulness. These things pour into my work.<br />
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<li><b>What drives your interest in abstraction?</b></li><br />
In the more abstracted poems, there is no single entity standing in a stable ground and narrating emotional shapes through lines and line breaks. The poem itself is the flesh and blood, the whole entity, built out of swarming words. This reminds me of the strangeness of the experience of consciousness, and the beauty of broken forms is that the seeping in of unconscious elements can be made visual. <br />
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Poetry that lets go of narrative and narrator is challenging to make. On the one hand, you are free to do whatever you want, when we know that restrictions can be creatively motivating. On the other, it’s hard to make something that comes alive. It’s easy to end up like a frustrated Dr. Frankenstein, with phrases lying round in heaps. You work and work towards internal coherence, agile tension, and movement. When the heart starts to pump on its own, it’s a form of magic.<br />
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An important part of abstract poetry is that it can be a relief from the manipulation of narrative that saturates our linguistic encounters. Play is a delight and refreshes us. Meaning is something we make, so let’s investigate the guts of the machinery.<br />
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<li><b>What influences the style of your work?</b></li><br />
There are two things that consistently guide my work. The first is the question I’m carrying around. It may be philosophical, social, psychological, political, or emotional, and I’ll be holding on to it while I live my life and looking at the tiny moments through its lens. This then bubbles up into my writing. The second is something I don’t have a word for (so if you know the word please tell me). It’s that thing that poetry zones in on - a thought feeling or a felt thought, an atmosphere, an emotional environment. Every poem I make has its own and this guides the editing process. <br />
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I realise that sometimes my poetry can seem cold or harsh. Part of this is my aesthetic. In other people’s work, I’m often drawn to intense, challenging work with a strong flavour. It’s unexamined emotional cliches that offend me, not the work that someone else has generously done to lead me out of my normal world into spaces where I receive new visions. I also love the dirty aesthetic, things that are wrong and awkward and imperfect and still full of force. <br />
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My work is often anti-heroic; I actively resist the heroism that is so common in poetry. I change the pronouns to give the ‘I’ the damning judgements that began as ‘you’, because we are all raging messes on the inside. I generate conflicted pauses instead of happy endings, because I align to the mad complexity of reality, and believe that meaning needs to be constantly adapted to be useful, and that the arts are one manifestation of the human urge towards that.<br />
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</ul>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqzGnRdwbIKY9hviSVFyMlSJnuq4JKHa9aBkUAv2QM7JoFswnLh6S1ZkaD9uWRLGL-mVF_ws17kkzEjy-pze89r2eZW_ETdMMoGZ4db6KjsBz7JJLfqHHdosOk3pMobatXQLlVDyjYNcY/s1600/pnzy53+full+cover.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqzGnRdwbIKY9hviSVFyMlSJnuq4JKHa9aBkUAv2QM7JoFswnLh6S1ZkaD9uWRLGL-mVF_ws17kkzEjy-pze89r2eZW_ETdMMoGZ4db6KjsBz7JJLfqHHdosOk3pMobatXQLlVDyjYNcY/s400/pnzy53+full+cover.png" width="400" height="243" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="970" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
(6/8-12/9/18)
<br />
<br />
<i>Poetry New Zealand Yearbook 2019</i>. ISBN 978-0-9951029-6-5 (March 2019): 22-25; 68-74.
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<br />
[2407 wds]
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<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwYB3sEwmu53yYGD-uDhecqFlxM7tgkBFgvun4_VcKlt-wA0Gb6t6k9Naq8gctiGRKr16t_Cwi6n7Jwbj6N-lKiZtS5jOUI4Gsx5wRj8VjtBmCUJa51BixI3c5hv5vlyBK2jQhuiyv9hE/s1600/pnzy+53+back+cover.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwYB3sEwmu53yYGD-uDhecqFlxM7tgkBFgvun4_VcKlt-wA0Gb6t6k9Naq8gctiGRKr16t_Cwi6n7Jwbj6N-lKiZtS5jOUI4Gsx5wRj8VjtBmCUJa51BixI3c5hv5vlyBK2jQhuiyv9hE/s400/pnzy+53+back+cover.png" width="300" height="400" data-original-width="918" data-original-height="1222" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><i>Poetry NZ Yearbook 2019</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s1600/book_blank.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s200/book_blank.jpg"></a></div>
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<br />
Dr Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01805945600952222957noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710695321433147697.post-65157203463985729912018-08-03T10:12:00.000+12:002019-11-09T10:38:54.001+13:00A Field Officer's Notebook (2019)<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiixwHwBhVHs1xBcwltw4gfwmvXsKt4mPV7bwENYXWG_Wc5tEJoF5JaakrJfhjv_2eZo8j_L-BV84keKz8osD2ysBG-PsBbZr3cp97YwIGqoYNvSHRSjoS-Q_j6j4fWC4A3CwO4hZIzAus/s1600/PNZY+2019.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiixwHwBhVHs1xBcwltw4gfwmvXsKt4mPV7bwENYXWG_Wc5tEJoF5JaakrJfhjv_2eZo8j_L-BV84keKz8osD2ysBG-PsBbZr3cp97YwIGqoYNvSHRSjoS-Q_j6j4fWC4A3CwO4hZIzAus/s400/PNZY+2019.png" width="294" height="400" data-original-width="880" data-original-height="1196" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbZfR8xUiHomS7rH_Z0ooGicNKkurJEsKsV3-IdIbF29xCQgXbmQ2RYhylFsSKY1tNAoXodfzLmeWWi131M5vyfBcymeuiY87lbZeqXS4Zph_Mx-ZA_iPz-7A29r5pGxCbwX0nW5_XtvQ/s1600/pnzy+53+titlepage.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbZfR8xUiHomS7rH_Z0ooGicNKkurJEsKsV3-IdIbF29xCQgXbmQ2RYhylFsSKY1tNAoXodfzLmeWWi131M5vyfBcymeuiY87lbZeqXS4Zph_Mx-ZA_iPz-7A29r5pGxCbwX0nW5_XtvQ/s400/pnzy+53+titlepage.png" width="251" height="400" data-original-width="774" data-original-height="1232" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Jack Ross, ed.: <a href="http://hesiodic.blogspot.co.nz/2012/09/poetry-nz-yearbook-2019.html">Poetry NZ Yearbook 2019</a> (March 2019)</span>
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 180%;">Reviews:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;">Dan Davin / Alistair Paterson / Johanna Emeney</span></b></div>
<br />
<br />
<blockquote>Dan Davin. <i>A Field Officer’s Notebook: Selected Poems</i>. Ed. Robert McLean. ISBN 978-0-473-43068-9. Lyttelton: Cold Hub Press, 2018. RRP $29.95. 82 pp.</blockquote><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8z7JM2TME-CcY7Gj_1B5a1lcsLzoIjLH0YnvZzlKPpK690Ce8mYBgqBQWHmRpOA9v1MWJS2171t-6sdsp4FZ6wiv22EXIbBlzb2bFhPiExtinXAqyuBJVoYg2_cuH_H4k62b0o7yN9hY/s1600/9780473430689.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8z7JM2TME-CcY7Gj_1B5a1lcsLzoIjLH0YnvZzlKPpK690Ce8mYBgqBQWHmRpOA9v1MWJS2171t-6sdsp4FZ6wiv22EXIbBlzb2bFhPiExtinXAqyuBJVoYg2_cuH_H4k62b0o7yN9hY/s400/9780473430689.jpg" width="283" height="400" data-original-width="221" data-original-height="312" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Dan Davin: <a href="https://www.wheelers.co.nz/books/9780473430689-field-officers-notebook-a-selected-poems/">A Field Officer’s Notebook</a> (2018)</span></div><br />
<br />
<blockquote>Crawling on all fours to retch up bile
Into the lavatory bowl,
Not knowing whether it was dark or day,
And, ten floors below in that ghastly street
Hearing a woman scream.
</blockquote>
That’s the opening of Dan Davin’s poem ‘That Night in 1954 on 53rd Street in New York’ – nothing if not specific. It’s fairly characteristic of his post-war poems, collected in this book for the first time by the indefatigable Robert McLean, who sees them as ‘quite unlike anything in New Zealand literature – exacting yet generous, angry but tender’.<br />
<br />
Davin was a legendary drunk and womaniser, and – it would appear from this and most of the other poems – his dark night of the soul reached, at times, depths seldom reached by even the most despairing of bards. The poem continues:
<blockquote>
Lately free of another lovely,<br />
You in your sweat-drenched sheets<br />
Did not have courage or strength<br />
To go down in the elevator<br />
And help her. You desperate clown,<br />
I’d knock you down if you were not inside me.
</blockquote>
I don’t know if I’d describe the poem as an example of self-knowledge so much as of self-loathing taken to almost Beckettian extremes. Is it really so great a crime to be so prostrate from drink and self-indulgence that you can’t bring yourself to go down ten floors in a lift to look for more trouble? Few of us might think so. Davin does, though, and it seems impossible to doubt his sincerity in this and other poems, meant more for himself than for the reading public, one can’t help feeling.
Dan Davin is, of course, far better known for his prose: <i>Roads from Home</i> (1949) is probably his most famous work of fiction, but he wrote six other novels and a great many short stories as well as a memoir, <i>Closing Times</i> (1975). He was also responsible for the <i>Crete</i> volume of the New Zealand official war history (1953).<br />
<br />
Despite living most of his life overseas – in Oxford, principally, where he became an important official at the University Press – Davin’s imaginative work circled back endlessly to New Zealand: to Invercargill in particular, where he grew up as part of the Irish diaspora.
Though he himself claimed to be a victim of the ‘great New Zealand clobbering machine,’ there seems no risk that his work will be forgotten anytime soon. <br />
<br />
All of which adds to the importance and usefulness of this collection of his poems. Are they good? Not in an expected way, no, I wouldn’t think. I don’t really see this as a major addition to World War II poetry – a volume to put alongside Keith Douglas or Alun Lewis, though it does certainly include a few setpieces somewhat reminiscent of their work – ‘Egyptian Madonna’ and ‘Cairo Cleopatra’ prominent among them.<br />
<br />
What I did find in it was an unexpectedly intense lyric gift. The earlier poems, though certainly strongly Yeats-influenced, have a power to them which might well have grown into greatness if he’d chosen to pursue it. “Winter Galway” (dated ‘Paris, 1937’), for instance:
<blockquote>
Lost in my father’s youth is that strange land.<br />
No goats ran leaping from the hill<br />
When I came there and the fairies did not know<br />
My father’s son. Only the grey walls<br />
Still ran greyly over the moody hills<br />
And gentle rain fell melancholy<br />
On the son of a lost son.
</blockquote>
That has something of the air of Louis MacNeice’s: ‘Look into your heart, you will find a County Sligo, / … the shadow and sheen of a moleskin mountain / And a litter of chronicles and bones.’
Of the book’s three sections, the first, ‘Before’, includes only 8 pages of poetry; the second, ‘During’, has risen to 14; but the third, ‘After’, has a full 47. It would have to be said, then, that the overwhelming note of this collection is postwar depression and angst: self-hatred, self-contempt (as in the poem I began with), and very little of that wonderful lyrical charm of his early verse.<br />
<br />
Many of the poems in this final section are very short: epigrams and quatrains found scribbled in his papers (now housed in the Alexander Turnbull library) by his editor Robert McLean, though one doubts that their author would have thought them worthy of preservation in this form.<br />
<br />
There, though, I’m with McLean. Despairing and slight though they are at times, there’s an honesty and directness about all of these poems which makes them rewarding to read. As McLean himself puts it: ‘Davin’s best poems inscribe themselves on one’s mind’ – but then so do some of the shorter, more throwaway ones. ‘Despair,’ for instance:
<blockquote>
Despair? Do you use it rightly?<br />
I’m not sure. But I feel it nightly.<br />
And whether it’s despair or not<br />
The hours go very slowly<br />
And the devil’s stopped the clock.
</blockquote>
Or:
<blockquote>
Waiting for the pubs to open,<br />
Waiting for that beer;<br />
Who can think of Einstein<br />
Or of Shakespeare’s Lear?
</blockquote>
There is, to be sure, a certain note of misogyny and lad-ism in many of the poems which rings rather false nowadays:
<blockquote>
She padlocked her virginity<br />
And threw away the key.<br />
But I was passing, luckily,<br />
And thought it meant for me.
</blockquote>
I’m afraid that this also makes such set-piece poems as ‘Cairo Cleopatra’ unassimilable for me – both she and the ‘Egyptian Madonna’ are too obviously exhibited as objects rather than as living human beings, but one would have to admit that it would be a rare (male) poet of the 1940s of whom that couldn’t be said.<br />
<br />
Certainly Davin was a romantic. His early love poems are very moving indeed, and the disillusionment brought about by the war and the ‘long littleness’ of its aftermath had the usual effects on his ability to idealise his surroundings.<br />
<br />
Let’s end, then, with some lines from one of the most beautiful of those late poems, the aptly entitled ‘Waiting, Snookered’:
<blockquote>
Neither of us was where<br />
I wait, old man, still. No corners;<br />
Neither Dee not Tay, nor other misleading streets.<br />
A road, though. A straight and straitening road.<br />
She is not there.<br />
Nor am I. We have reached the uncovenanted, uncornered street,<br />
Where we die.
</blockquote>
I think it was Alun Lewis who said that there were, in the final analysis, only two subjects for poetry: love and death. Certainly one would have to say that that’s true of Davin’s verse: it veers constantly from one to the other, with a preponderance of Thanatos gradually overpowering the pleasure principle.<br />
<br />
This book is the chronicle of a man’s life as much as a simple collection of poems, and one has to say that (for me, at least) it makes Dan Davin a far more sympathetic and approachable character, both as a writer and a human being.
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqzGnRdwbIKY9hviSVFyMlSJnuq4JKHa9aBkUAv2QM7JoFswnLh6S1ZkaD9uWRLGL-mVF_ws17kkzEjy-pze89r2eZW_ETdMMoGZ4db6KjsBz7JJLfqHHdosOk3pMobatXQLlVDyjYNcY/s1600/pnzy53+full+cover.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqzGnRdwbIKY9hviSVFyMlSJnuq4JKHa9aBkUAv2QM7JoFswnLh6S1ZkaD9uWRLGL-mVF_ws17kkzEjy-pze89r2eZW_ETdMMoGZ4db6KjsBz7JJLfqHHdosOk3pMobatXQLlVDyjYNcY/s400/pnzy53+full+cover.png" width="400" height="243" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="970" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
(12-13/9/18)
<br />
<br />
<i>Poetry New Zealand Yearbook 2019</i>. ISBN 978-0-9951029-6-5 (March 2019): 303-7.
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<br />
[1139 wds]
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<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwYB3sEwmu53yYGD-uDhecqFlxM7tgkBFgvun4_VcKlt-wA0Gb6t6k9Naq8gctiGRKr16t_Cwi6n7Jwbj6N-lKiZtS5jOUI4Gsx5wRj8VjtBmCUJa51BixI3c5hv5vlyBK2jQhuiyv9hE/s1600/pnzy+53+back+cover.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwYB3sEwmu53yYGD-uDhecqFlxM7tgkBFgvun4_VcKlt-wA0Gb6t6k9Naq8gctiGRKr16t_Cwi6n7Jwbj6N-lKiZtS5jOUI4Gsx5wRj8VjtBmCUJa51BixI3c5hv5vlyBK2jQhuiyv9hE/s400/pnzy+53+back+cover.png" width="300" height="400" data-original-width="918" data-original-height="1222" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><i>Poetry NZ Yearbook 2019</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s1600/book_blank.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s200/book_blank.jpg"></a></div>
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<br />Dr Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01805945600952222957noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710695321433147697.post-34948071592751328942018-08-02T10:19:00.000+12:002019-03-03T09:34:14.149+13:00Passant: A Journey to Elsewhere<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiixwHwBhVHs1xBcwltw4gfwmvXsKt4mPV7bwENYXWG_Wc5tEJoF5JaakrJfhjv_2eZo8j_L-BV84keKz8osD2ysBG-PsBbZr3cp97YwIGqoYNvSHRSjoS-Q_j6j4fWC4A3CwO4hZIzAus/s1600/PNZY+2019.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiixwHwBhVHs1xBcwltw4gfwmvXsKt4mPV7bwENYXWG_Wc5tEJoF5JaakrJfhjv_2eZo8j_L-BV84keKz8osD2ysBG-PsBbZr3cp97YwIGqoYNvSHRSjoS-Q_j6j4fWC4A3CwO4hZIzAus/s400/PNZY+2019.png" width="294" height="400" data-original-width="880" data-original-height="1196" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbZfR8xUiHomS7rH_Z0ooGicNKkurJEsKsV3-IdIbF29xCQgXbmQ2RYhylFsSKY1tNAoXodfzLmeWWi131M5vyfBcymeuiY87lbZeqXS4Zph_Mx-ZA_iPz-7A29r5pGxCbwX0nW5_XtvQ/s1600/pnzy+53+titlepage.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbZfR8xUiHomS7rH_Z0ooGicNKkurJEsKsV3-IdIbF29xCQgXbmQ2RYhylFsSKY1tNAoXodfzLmeWWi131M5vyfBcymeuiY87lbZeqXS4Zph_Mx-ZA_iPz-7A29r5pGxCbwX0nW5_XtvQ/s400/pnzy+53+titlepage.png" width="251" height="400" data-original-width="774" data-original-height="1232" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Jack Ross, ed.: <a href="http://hesiodic.blogspot.co.nz/2012/09/poetry-nz-yearbook-2019.html">Poetry NZ Yearbook 2019</a> (March 2019)</span>
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 180%;">Reviews:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;">Dan Davin / Alistair Paterson / Johanna Emeney</span></b></div>
<br />
<br />
<blockquote>Alistair Paterson. <i>Passant: A Journey to Elsewhere</i>. ISBN 978-1-7862989-7-3. London: Austin Macauley Publishers, 2017. RRP £8.39. 302 pp.</blockquote><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCSwcsIZbl-j0XcsiXaSMcxWWjHMSJ0FxruGBxi5uqvE3rxFrrApnGwHU1r9Gu26M2JRRFLQaxadygixB6RW0IkK0e6gKj_ILWQw6FNKHvQMsPJcZXe0tX9wj0PhXz-tJTiX-5KkAoPRA/s1600/9781786298973_0.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCSwcsIZbl-j0XcsiXaSMcxWWjHMSJ0FxruGBxi5uqvE3rxFrrApnGwHU1r9Gu26M2JRRFLQaxadygixB6RW0IkK0e6gKj_ILWQw6FNKHvQMsPJcZXe0tX9wj0PhXz-tJTiX-5KkAoPRA/s400/9781786298973_0.jpg" width="265" height="400" data-original-width="1060" data-original-height="1600" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Alistair Paterson: <a href="https://www.austinmacauley.com/book/passant-journey-elsewhere">Passant: A Journey to Elsewhere</a> (2017)</span></div><br />
<br />
It’s interesting to follow a novelist’s book of poems with a prose memoir by one of New Zealand’s most celebrated poets. Alistair Paterson has clearly had a very interesting life: he served in the navy, rubbed shoulders with virtually every significant twentieth-century local poet, and went on in retirement to champion the young as the tireless editor of <i>Poetry NZ</i> for over two decades.<br />
<br />
This book is about none of those things. Instead, it represents the working-out of a series of old traumas, childhood ghosts, family skeletons, and other ‘old, unhappy, far-off things’.
The quotation from Wordsworth’s ‘Solitary Reaper’ seems appropriate. This book does, after all, set out – like The Prelude – to chronicle the ‘growth of a poet’s mind’: the influences and (yes) neuroses that eventually added up to Paterson’s creative urge and artistic achievements.<br />
<br />
I have to admit to a certain allergy to genealogy. It’s an unusual confession for someone of Scottish descent, as I have many relatives who like nothing better than to debate endlessly the ins and outs of the family tree and the various recurring names which make it virtually impossible to know which particular ‘Hugh Anton’ or ‘John Mackenzie’ is pictured in some obscure snapshot or other.<br />
<br />
Paterson’s family history is far more complicated than mine – though also dependent on the nineteenth century Celtic diaspora for many of its details. It’s a rare poet who doesn’t know how to put in the telling detail, however, and Paterson is no exception:
<blockquote>
At school we never spoke of our parents or grandparents, hoping no one would know of our situation and that we might be mistaken for ‘normal’.
</blockquote>
Like so many other family histories, this tale contains its fair share of deaths in suspicious circumstances – which of course are never discussed by one’s ‘elders and betters’ – together with dysfunctional relationships made worse by the relentless power of snobbery.<br />
<br />
Michele Leggott once described one of my reviews – of Alan Brunton’s posthumous epic <i>Fq</i> – as a ‘wrassle’. I guess this one is no exception. Just as I can see the glimmer of a deep lyric gift behind Dan Davin’s few scattered poems, to one side of the solid achievement of his many novels and other prose works, so with Alistair Paterson I am forced to admit that the fluent, casual grace of his poetry is not really equalled by the texture of his prose.<br />
<br />
Fascinating though much of the material in this memoir is, there’s a relentless accumulation of detail which – while certainly valid in itself – makes it slow going for a reader at times.
Christopher Moore in the Listener calls it ‘a beautifully written book inspired by the siren whispers of a beguiling past.’ Nicholas Reid in his review-blog Reid’s Reader gives a perhaps more accurate impression of it when he confesses:
<blockquote>
I might have some misgivings about the way it concludes, and I do admit that it sometimes repeats points it has already made, but in its expansiveness (it runs to 300 substantial pages) it is lively, engaging and enlightening about the way things were in New Zealand eighty-odd years ago.
</blockquote>
I would second that. Reid goes on to give an excellent summary of the various strands that go to make up Paterson’s long story: the childhood rivalry with his brother, the mysterious death of his grandfather, the gradual growth of interest in poetry and literature, and (perhaps most important of all) the mysterious illness and hospitalisation that dominated so much of his childhood. Reid concludes:
<blockquote>
As for my misgivings about how it concludes – which I mentioned at the head of this review – I am referring to the way Alistair Paterson ends with much documentation, in the form of letters, of his great-grandfather’s mental condition. While this is in some ways the “key” to the anxieties that ran through his family, it still seems a clumsy way to close what is otherwise an engaging and sincere book.
</blockquote>
I’m not sure that I agree with Reid on that last point. In terms of creating a well-paced, flowing memoir, I suppose he’s correct. The book would be better, in that and various other respects, if it had been edited by a competent professional writer of creative non-fiction.<br />
<br />
But I think that Paterson’s faith in the raw testimony given by these lately discovered texts is perhaps truer to his own instincts as a writer. What can one trust except words on a page? And if those words bear with them the patina of the past, it would be a rare poet who could resist that challenge.<br />
<br />
Paterson, to be frank, is not a born memoirist, nor is this an ideal memoir in the abstract. It is, however, his memoir – its faults (if faults they are) are his faults: an almost exaggerated respect for detail and precision, and a pronounced tendency to meander around to the same subjects again and again.<br />
<br />
If it is, as Christopher Moore claims, ‘beautifully written’, that is because – not in spite of – its idiosyncrasies: the fact that there’s always more to uncover in its pages, the almost Victorian expansiveness and weight of factual information, the decision its author has taken to attempt to reconstitute rather than simply evoke the past.<br />
<br />
It is, in short, a poet’s memoir: not in the usual sense of those words: lyrical, sparse, and to-the-point in its descriptions, but in an alternate, very Patersonian sense. Alistair Paterson is, after all, a poet of complications, of second thoughts. No-one would understand better than he the value of a ‘wrassle’ with a book one finds weighing insistently on one’s thoughts long after it’s been closed and put back on the shelf.
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqzGnRdwbIKY9hviSVFyMlSJnuq4JKHa9aBkUAv2QM7JoFswnLh6S1ZkaD9uWRLGL-mVF_ws17kkzEjy-pze89r2eZW_ETdMMoGZ4db6KjsBz7JJLfqHHdosOk3pMobatXQLlVDyjYNcY/s1600/pnzy53+full+cover.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqzGnRdwbIKY9hviSVFyMlSJnuq4JKHa9aBkUAv2QM7JoFswnLh6S1ZkaD9uWRLGL-mVF_ws17kkzEjy-pze89r2eZW_ETdMMoGZ4db6KjsBz7JJLfqHHdosOk3pMobatXQLlVDyjYNcY/s400/pnzy53+full+cover.png" width="400" height="243" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="970" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
(12-13/9/18)
<br />
<br />
<i>Poetry New Zealand Yearbook 2019</i>. ISBN 978-0-9951029-6-5 (March 2019): 307-10.
<br />
<br />
[953 wds]
<br />
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwYB3sEwmu53yYGD-uDhecqFlxM7tgkBFgvun4_VcKlt-wA0Gb6t6k9Naq8gctiGRKr16t_Cwi6n7Jwbj6N-lKiZtS5jOUI4Gsx5wRj8VjtBmCUJa51BixI3c5hv5vlyBK2jQhuiyv9hE/s1600/pnzy+53+back+cover.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwYB3sEwmu53yYGD-uDhecqFlxM7tgkBFgvun4_VcKlt-wA0Gb6t6k9Naq8gctiGRKr16t_Cwi6n7Jwbj6N-lKiZtS5jOUI4Gsx5wRj8VjtBmCUJa51BixI3c5hv5vlyBK2jQhuiyv9hE/s400/pnzy+53+back+cover.png" width="300" height="400" data-original-width="918" data-original-height="1222" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><i>Poetry NZ Yearbook 2019</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s1600/book_blank.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s200/book_blank.jpg"></a></div>
<br />
<br />Dr Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01805945600952222957noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710695321433147697.post-31930409574629397702018-08-01T10:24:00.000+12:002019-03-03T09:33:47.688+13:00The Rise of Autobiographical Medical Poetry (2019)<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiixwHwBhVHs1xBcwltw4gfwmvXsKt4mPV7bwENYXWG_Wc5tEJoF5JaakrJfhjv_2eZo8j_L-BV84keKz8osD2ysBG-PsBbZr3cp97YwIGqoYNvSHRSjoS-Q_j6j4fWC4A3CwO4hZIzAus/s1600/PNZY+2019.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiixwHwBhVHs1xBcwltw4gfwmvXsKt4mPV7bwENYXWG_Wc5tEJoF5JaakrJfhjv_2eZo8j_L-BV84keKz8osD2ysBG-PsBbZr3cp97YwIGqoYNvSHRSjoS-Q_j6j4fWC4A3CwO4hZIzAus/s400/PNZY+2019.png" width="294" height="400" data-original-width="880" data-original-height="1196" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbZfR8xUiHomS7rH_Z0ooGicNKkurJEsKsV3-IdIbF29xCQgXbmQ2RYhylFsSKY1tNAoXodfzLmeWWi131M5vyfBcymeuiY87lbZeqXS4Zph_Mx-ZA_iPz-7A29r5pGxCbwX0nW5_XtvQ/s1600/pnzy+53+titlepage.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbZfR8xUiHomS7rH_Z0ooGicNKkurJEsKsV3-IdIbF29xCQgXbmQ2RYhylFsSKY1tNAoXodfzLmeWWi131M5vyfBcymeuiY87lbZeqXS4Zph_Mx-ZA_iPz-7A29r5pGxCbwX0nW5_XtvQ/s400/pnzy+53+titlepage.png" width="251" height="400" data-original-width="774" data-original-height="1232" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Jack Ross, ed.: <a href="http://hesiodic.blogspot.co.nz/2012/09/poetry-nz-yearbook-2019.html">Poetry NZ Yearbook 2019</a> (March 2019)</span>
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<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 180%;">Reviews:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 130%;">Dan Davin / Alistair Paterson / Johanna Emeney</span></b></div>
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<br />
<blockquote>Johanna Emeney. <i>The Rise of Autobiographical Medical Poetry and the Medical Humanities</i>. Studies in World Literature, 5. ISBN 978-3-8382-0938-8. Stuttgart: ibidem-Verlag, 2018. RRP €29.90. 264 pp.</blockquote><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu78VFHLbf5gQ1xL7fNrLolhSqTy4UTIptCLfkJ04FWK91fKsb9UnBuTFSs5-1Ogam1l2E2_UHaJhFZbJniLZFxc4PorkhHXBaweOptheIAip1_7v2IPtQXSSdmu4LNTJ3BpXCM4MvprM/s1600/9783838211282.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu78VFHLbf5gQ1xL7fNrLolhSqTy4UTIptCLfkJ04FWK91fKsb9UnBuTFSs5-1Ogam1l2E2_UHaJhFZbJniLZFxc4PorkhHXBaweOptheIAip1_7v2IPtQXSSdmu4LNTJ3BpXCM4MvprM/s400/9783838211282.jpg" width="282" height="400" data-original-width="350" data-original-height="497" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Johanna Emeney: <a href="https://cup.columbia.edu/book/the-rise-of-autobiographical-medical-poetry-and-the-medical-humanities/9783838211282">The Rise of Autobiographical Medical Poetry and the Medical Humanities</a> (2018)</span></div><br />
<br />
I have to declare an interest here. Together with my colleague Bryan Walpert, I was one of Johanna Emeney’s two supervisors for her PhD. This book reprises – to a large degree – the critical section of her thesis.<br />
<br />
It’s safe to say, then, that a good deal of this material is quite familiar to me. Not all, though. Jo has greatly expanded the book, adding a considerable new chapter on UK and US poets, and swelling it to its present impressive length in the process.<br />
<br />
What is it all about? Well, the reason I thought it should be reviewed in this issue of Poetry New Zealand is mainly because it has so many important and valuable things to say about an important recent trend in our poetry: the preponderance of books about medical matters, from both sides of the equation: Doctors and patients.<br />
<br />
To be precise, Jo Emeney identifies three tropes or variations on this situation: Doctor-poets, such as (in New Zealand) Glenn Colquhoun, Angela Andrews and Rae Varcoe; Patient-poets, such as C. K. Stead, Jenny Bornholdt, and Sarah Broom; and Parent-poets, such as Ingrid Horrocks, Anne Kennedy, and Jessica Le Bas. She parallels this with overseas Doctor-poets such as the Welshman Dannie Abse and the Cuban-American Rafael Campo, and Parent/ Patient-poets such as the American Sharon Olds and the Englishman Philp Gross.<br />
<br />
The first thing Jo points out is the generally positive critical response which the various doctors have received to their work, and the far more mixed (and even, occasionally, quite negative) response which has greeted the writing of the patients, not to mention the parents or relatives of patients.
Dannie Abse’s medical practice was described by one critic as ‘what trench warfare was to Wilfred Owen’s poetry’, while Rafael Campo’s multivocal approach to writing poems is called ‘an act of humility and service, just as healing is.’<br />
<br />
The same trend continues among New Zealand reviewers: Glenn Colquhoun’s bestselling collection <i>Playing God</i> (2002) was praised as ‘heartbreaking and beautiful’ for its ‘intense, almost fragile self-awareness.’ Angela Andrews’ <i>Echolocation</i> (2007) was said to foreground a speaker in whom ‘the concerned eyes of a loving granddaughter combine with the precise observation of a doctor.’ Completing the hat-trick, Rae Varcoe’s <i>Tributary</i> (2007) was commended for its ‘honest’ approach – ‘she stops off to offer advice from time to time but mostly she assures us that she’s no surer than anyone else.’<br />
<br />
What, then, of the patient-poets? Well, Jo Emeney is probably right to see the reaction to them as part and parcel of the Kiwi intolerance of whingers. US-based reviewer Hugh Roberts, for instance, chided C. K. Stead for resorting to the ‘gut-spilling impulse of the “confessional” mode’ in the poems about the aphasia caused by his stroke in The Black River (2007). Poet and critic Joanna Preston said of Jenny Bornholdt’s The Rocky Shore (2008): ‘reportage is not art. Neither is mere depiction’ and went on to explain that ‘You don’t get brownie points any more just for making the world your psychotherapist.’ <br />
<br />
The tragic circumstances of young mother and fledgling poet Sarah Broom’s early diagnosis with lung cancer may have spared her some of the more comprehensive demolition jobs aimed at the other poets, but even there Joanna Preston was careful to stress, of Tigers at Awhitu (2010), that even though she ‘didn’t like poems like “Three Exercises for Oncologists” and “Panther”, they aren’t badly written. Just not up to the same standard as the rest.’<br />
<br />
It’s not that Jo Emeney is suggesting the existence of a vast conspiracy: reviewers paid to puff Doctor-poets and put down any witnesses to their actual practice of the craft of medicine. Many of these opinions are clearly very sincerely held. <br />
<br />
After all, I too figure in the rogue’s gallery of ‘misunderstanders’ of the nature of this new genre of Autobiographical Medical Poetry as a result of certain reservations I expressed in a review of Jessica Le Bas’s <i>Walking to Africa</i> (2009).<br />
<br />
I stated there that: “It’s an odd decision, to say the least, to make someone else’s suffering the subject of such a set of confessional poems.” I stand by that. It is an odd decision. I went on, however, to praise the protagonist of her poems for honesty in daring to describe so frankly her own reactions to the awful situation she finds herself in: “She’s not saintly, not all-knowing, wise, patient – she’s human, flawed, peevish. Maybe that’s worth saying at such length. And maybe not. Who knows?”<br />
<br />
My review concluded:
<blockquote>
I do believe in the purity of her motives, the honesty of her self-scrutiny – the fact that she believes that it might help others in similar trials. Telling them it’s okay not to be a saint. Who knows, it might even make some of us feel a bit better. What more can one really hope of any poem?
</blockquote>
The enduring value of Jo’s book is, I think, the fact that she points out the larger context for Le Bas’s work in this field: the joint project by both patients and doctors to break down the barriers of medical jargon and replace (or at least supplement) them with the language of what Jo calls ‘the life-world’ – the world the rest of us inhabit.<br />
<br />
There is something a bit disconcerting in the sheer inconsequentiality of many of Jenny Bornholdt and other recent poets’ passing observations which might tempt us to agree with Hugh Roberts in seeing them as ‘exercises in Higher Blogging: free-verse ruminations on Stuff That Has Happened To Me Lately’.<br />
<br />
Joanna Preston sees the moment for confessional poetry as definitively over: “it was brave and it was important, because this was opening up poetry to a range of subject matter that had been deemed out of bounds. But that … happened a fair while ago.” Hugh Roberts, similarly, has no time for the old maxim that the personal is political.<br />
<br />
The value of Jo Emeney’s book is its careful scrutiny of the evidence: the extensive close-readings of poems, the marshalling of evidence, designed to show that all three shadings of ‘Autobiographical Medical Poets’ are engaged in the same enterprise: breaking down the barriers between suffering and empathy, identifying and refuting myths of stoical acceptance and ‘hysterical’ over-reactions to experience. <br />
<br />
‘Where Id was, Ego shall be,’ said Sigmund Freud. Strange as it may seem, these poets turn out to be engaged in much the same project: providing us with guidebooks for our own (inevitable) sojourns in Hell, heartening us with the bolshie defiance of the best of these poems, and simply informing us that cancer, AIDS, dementia, mental illness, and all those other bugbears that haunt us can – and must – be faced, and that the doctors have at least as much to learn here as any of their patients.
I now see that my puzzlement at Jessica Le Bas’s book was mostly prompted by ignorance of this context, and of the larger project she and other poets were engaged in. Jo Emeney’s long critical (and creative) exploration of the subject has left me – and others – with no excuse for such ignorance in the future.<br />
<br />
This is, finally, a brave and wise book, by a fine poet who knows her subject thoroughly: both personally and in the abstract.
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqzGnRdwbIKY9hviSVFyMlSJnuq4JKHa9aBkUAv2QM7JoFswnLh6S1ZkaD9uWRLGL-mVF_ws17kkzEjy-pze89r2eZW_ETdMMoGZ4db6KjsBz7JJLfqHHdosOk3pMobatXQLlVDyjYNcY/s1600/pnzy53+full+cover.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqzGnRdwbIKY9hviSVFyMlSJnuq4JKHa9aBkUAv2QM7JoFswnLh6S1ZkaD9uWRLGL-mVF_ws17kkzEjy-pze89r2eZW_ETdMMoGZ4db6KjsBz7JJLfqHHdosOk3pMobatXQLlVDyjYNcY/s400/pnzy53+full+cover.png" width="400" height="243" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="970" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
(12-13/9/18)
<br />
<br />
<i>Poetry New Zealand Yearbook 2019</i>. ISBN 978-0-9951029-6-5 (March 2019): 310-13.
<br />
<br />
[1228 wds]
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwYB3sEwmu53yYGD-uDhecqFlxM7tgkBFgvun4_VcKlt-wA0Gb6t6k9Naq8gctiGRKr16t_Cwi6n7Jwbj6N-lKiZtS5jOUI4Gsx5wRj8VjtBmCUJa51BixI3c5hv5vlyBK2jQhuiyv9hE/s1600/pnzy+53+back+cover.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwYB3sEwmu53yYGD-uDhecqFlxM7tgkBFgvun4_VcKlt-wA0Gb6t6k9Naq8gctiGRKr16t_Cwi6n7Jwbj6N-lKiZtS5jOUI4Gsx5wRj8VjtBmCUJa51BixI3c5hv5vlyBK2jQhuiyv9hE/s400/pnzy+53+back+cover.png" width="300" height="400" data-original-width="918" data-original-height="1222" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><i>Poetry NZ Yearbook 2018</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>•</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s1600/book_blank.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s200/book_blank.jpg"></a></div>
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<br />Dr Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01805945600952222957noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3710695321433147697.post-12797575865090454062017-03-04T17:00:00.000+13:002018-08-25T17:29:42.687+12:00Divine Muses XV (2018)<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZJSS2_s_7qHWajyAyImyVcPI0dDW-XRg5bARlypR6YwWOB9jKRe59iPkpuUgp1rcFJ6c3pEOpBXIQhAJtfrzYvYHeJW6czKWWs4nzlBTnVf9qKoo8SA8Pz81NAbs_fmjfAwsZdwrR6JI/s1600/40042194_10156670229695984_5838722157298843648_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZJSS2_s_7qHWajyAyImyVcPI0dDW-XRg5bARlypR6YwWOB9jKRe59iPkpuUgp1rcFJ6c3pEOpBXIQhAJtfrzYvYHeJW6czKWWs4nzlBTnVf9qKoo8SA8Pz81NAbs_fmjfAwsZdwrR6JI/s400/40042194_10156670229695984_5838722157298843648_o.jpg" width="297" height="400" data-original-width="1186" data-original-height="1600" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/siobhan.harvey.777/posts/10156670230465984?comment_id=10156670243490984¬if_id=1535161759608542¬if_t=feedback_reaction_generic_tagged">Divine Muses XV</a> (2018)</span><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 180%;">Divine Muses XV</span></b></div>
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<blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoK9FQi_pXWSCOCUi3iWrZkFAxOZOqK5__5ZoVN1GVuzWIVZsOQahoXu4oNO_DSlscZdlqqAjZzanljmSNlMJnBwRK0TQR61-7EoQJAEkWZYkByjWnv5s_BQvj3AOur3zLHj_R4sFIkfQ/s1600/40072710_10156670230040984_2279761017149849600_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoK9FQi_pXWSCOCUi3iWrZkFAxOZOqK5__5ZoVN1GVuzWIVZsOQahoXu4oNO_DSlscZdlqqAjZzanljmSNlMJnBwRK0TQR61-7EoQJAEkWZYkByjWnv5s_BQvj3AOur3zLHj_R4sFIkfQ/s640/40072710_10156670230040984_2279761017149849600_o.jpg" width="474" height="640" data-original-width="1186" data-original-height="1600" /></a></div><br />
<br />
I know more than most just how much sheer work is involved in putting together a poetry reading -- and to keep it up year after year takes a special type of commitment to the art of spoken poetry.<br />
<br />
Hats off to Siobhan Harvey, then, as her "Divine Muses" poetry day event reaches its fifteenth year. I've hugely enjoyed reading there myself -- and the addition to the mix in recent years of the letterpress poetry broadsheets organised annually by Siobhan and her wonderful colleague Jane Sanders have added a touch of permanence to performances which would otherwise simply have to remain in memory.<br />
<br />
The other great feature of a Divine Muses evening is the award of prizes to emerging poets. Since I teach at one of the institutions whose students are eligible for these awards, I know the importance of such incentives to young writers and the huge encouragement they can be to them.<br />
<br />
Congratulations on this milestone, Siobhan (and Jane): and here's to many more years of the Muses to come!<br />
<br />
- Dr Jack Ross</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
(26/7/18)
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<br />
<i>Divine Muses XV: To Siobhan Harvey with thanks from your fellow poets</i>. Ed. Jane Sanders. Limited edition pamphlet. Auckland: Jane Sanders Art Agent, 2018. VII.<br />
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[173 wds]
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMECk1VG57pYWYx8TzlmsNYGDPk5zNsyj4Ghsf88QdWdJONVqBYs67SonCnKp4wgu-44-y7sIOfj08VvWDDbqdgX_25JB9aeNqch6tfRwWy1_HTXU8A5Q1knSA_66H_ajueVLZO9wm55M/s1600/40122557_10156670229720984_1475303583795642368_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMECk1VG57pYWYx8TzlmsNYGDPk5zNsyj4Ghsf88QdWdJONVqBYs67SonCnKp4wgu-44-y7sIOfj08VvWDDbqdgX_25JB9aeNqch6tfRwWy1_HTXU8A5Q1knSA_66H_ajueVLZO9wm55M/s400/40122557_10156670229720984_1475303583795642368_o.jpg" width="400" height="297" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1186" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s1600/book_blank.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQn1mv4LEbgbBQ3vnBt6MeMw9pg8PwxbUUiPZKozC9IDMxwyLGgOdTHv1q0CcgRW5tLNNO-JTPmchOxlm0H3bqqZA24C-NwNA7IsRlN1GF6ZpoNTRMQvZda0A3e1dCXHn_z_sC84tQZF0/s200/book_blank.jpg"></a></div>
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<br />Dr Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01805945600952222957noreply@blogger.com0