poetry – Page 34

Fractured Rhythms

October 1, 2012 Leave a Comment

Lindsay Rabbitt

Common Land, by Lynn Davidson (Victoria University Press, 2012), 8 0pp., $28; Just Then, by Harry Ricketts (Victoria University Press, 2012) 64 pp., $25; The Cheese and Onion Sandwich and other New Zealand Icons, by Vivienne Plumb (Seraph Press, 2011), 56 pp., $20.

At the launch of her book of poems and essays Lynn Davidson said she feels more like herself when she is writing. Was she saying that when she finds the time to write, and read the literature that informs the work, it also affords her the space to think and feel – deeply? Probably. She has invested much in this book, which could be likened to a family’s rite of passage. Common Land is made up of three interconnected essays (‘Leaving the Is-land’, ‘Selah’ and ‘The Flame Organ Concert’) that, amongst other things, carry themes surrounding the gradual losing of the poet’s mother’s cognitive abilities, and the loss at sea of Davidson’s first partner – the father of her grown-up son. The essays are separated by runs of poems, relating to different periods in the poet’s life.

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Burning Typewriters

August 1, 2012 Leave a Comment

Robert McLean
Scenery and Agriculture, by David Beach (VUP, 2012), 64 pp., $25.00; Punctured Experimental, by Iain Britton (Kilmog Press, 2010), 44 pp., $45.00; Cominghomeland – Poems by Terry Moyle (Ducks on the Wall Publishing, 2011), 74 pp., $32.00.

To have an open mind is usually held to be a prerequisite for book reviewers. Indeed, it is difficult not to pity biased or embittered critics, who admittedly make up a fraction of the trade, for whom the next book is no more than an opportunity to pick masochistically at their scabs of disappointment — William Logan’s poisonous parsing at the New Criterion is a particularly sad example of this sorry spectacle. I wonder, though, if we’ve tipped the scales too far in the other direction, and that too often readers, of whom book reviewers are but a part, don’t expect enough of writers. To be surprised by the wonderful — and it is very much a surprise — doesn’t require readers demand less of writers in the meantime. Doing so does authors no favours, and I fear that many of them who could produce better work aren’t doing so because there isn’t enough pressure being applied on them under which they might write as well as they should.

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How Can My Accent Wrap the Local in its Cloak?

August 1, 2012 Leave a Comment

Nicholas Reid

The In-Complete Poems, by David Howard (Cold Hub Press), 274 pp., $ 49.95; S(t)et, by David Howard (Gum Tree Press) 42pp. $70; China as Kafka, by Vaughan Rapatahana (Kilmog Press) 52 pp. $65.

141 of David Howard’s poems in 261 large pages before notes and index, some poems short and pithy, some expansive and densely detailed. Numbered and arranged in order from the earliest (1976, when the poet was 17) to the most recent at the time of publication (2010–11), and with endnotes drawing attention to which ones won prizes. A comprehensive collection of the poet’s work to date then, or at least as comprehensive as the poet-editor wants it to be. ‘In their definitive versions … those poems that I am prepared to stand beside’, he says in the blurb. Doubtless some work hasn’t made the cut. But ‘In-Complete’ (note the hyphen arranged artfully on both cover and title-page) because only dead poets’ work may truly be called complete. David Howard, aged 53, is still very much with us. He has more to write.

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Closedown, Hibernate, Restart

July 1, 2012 Leave a Comment

Jack Ross

The Comforter, by Helen Lehndorf (Seraph Press, 2011) 76 pp. $25; Birds of Clay, by Aleksandra Lane, (Victoria University Press, 2012) 95 pp. $30.

Insects everywhere – dead bees in the garden, moths

stud the bathroom ceiling like dusty ornaments, praying

mantises crawl out of the compost bucket. The flies.

That’s the opening of Helen Lehndorf’s poem ‘Fall back’. It is, I suppose, a not unfamiliar region to most of us, that is: a kind of suburban hell, afflicted with its own mini-version of the plagues of Egypt.

Your body corporate must miss you, Mr Chairman.

Yeahno, it’s all right here. The woman next door

keeps pigeons tied to her shoelaces (no, pets are not

allowed (unless signed off by a vet (as long as

there is no washing on the balcony you) will) be fine.

This is the first stanza of Aleksandra Lane’s ‘Wellington Inc.’ Again, it is, I think, immediately recognisable to anyone who’s ever lived in the capital — the immense, impertinent, monstrously invasive petty officialdom, the horror vacui of endless clauses and subclauses in one’s tenancy agreement …

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Particular Tongues

May 1, 2012 Leave a Comment

Cliff Fell

Nice Pretty Things and others, by Rachel Bush (VUP, 2011) 80 pp., $28.00; Tongues of Ash, by Keith Westwater (Interactive Press, 2011) 92 pp., $27.99; The Same As Yes, by Joan Fleming (VUP, 2011), 79 pp., $28.00.

Poetry is a beast that talks in many tongues, but always with this singular quality: it can conduct a conversation – between poet and reader, poet and subject, and even subject and poem – on a seemingly one-to-one basis. It’s a quality that ranges across epochs and extends to the conversations poems hold with other poems. With ‘verse’ so obviously embedded in ‘converse’, this observation is neither surprising or new, but three recent collections highlight how it still holds true today.

Rachel Bush’s ear has always been closely tuned to the rhythms and nuances of speech. Sometimes her monologues seem inspired by snatches of overheard language, but more often they rework the remembered and possibly heightened and/or imagined discourse of friends, family and acquaintances. In her latest and most absorbing collection, Nice Pretty Things and Others this aspect of Bush’s work underpins much of the structure – and is effectively announced in the title’s colloquialism and timely rescue of the word ‘nice’ from its spell in the doldrums of language.

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Adrift in the Windowless Room

May 1, 2012 Leave a Comment

Siobhan Harvey

Beauties of the Octagonal Pool, by Gregory O’Brien (Auckland University Press, 2012), 120 pp, $27.99.

Greg O’Brien’s early poetry books, such as Location of the Least Person (AUP, 1987) and Man with Child’s Violin (Caxton Press, 1990) showcased his willingness to experiment with language, form and subject-matter. From an early point in his career, however, his work has also engaged with images, as in Great Lake (Local Consumption Productions, Sydney, 1991). Since then, O’Brien’s publications have explored and pursued word-image connections. In this vein, O’Brien’s new collection, Beauties of the Octagonal Pool, combines poetry with artwork, both created during or else inspired by his 2011 voyage on the HMS Otago through the Kermadecs to Tonga. With its compliment of verse and illustrations, and a beautiful lyricism informing both, Beauties of the Octagonal Pool is not just an authorial continuation of a long-standing poetry-picture intersection but a high point in his ongoing artistic trajectory.

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