Friday

Uncollected Poems (1981-1999)


Alistair Paterson, ed.: Poetry NZ 22 (2001)


  1. Obsolete (December 1981)
  2. The Shaman (January 1982)
  3. The Present Tense (17/7/83-18/4/97)
  4. The Late Romances: Pericles (8/6/86-7/1/2025)
  5. Epithalamion (28/4/90)
  6. Tod und Verklärung (1991):
    1. Snow is so soft and deep … (5/8/91)
    2. May God help us … (9/8/91)
    3. It will be generally admitted … (9/8/91)
    4. Very soft shifting snow … (9/8/91)
  7. Killing Time (1997):
    1. Killing Time (10/9-18/11/96)
  8. Nightingale Fever (1996-99):
    1. Fever, nagging pain … (22/10/96-26/7/2000)
    2. A million ways … (31/12/98)
    3. I don’t have … (15/6/99)
  9. Letter to Marianne (13/11/96-24/1/97)
  10. Burn Old Diaries (30/11/96-27/6/2000)
  11. Coda (15/12/96)
  12. Waitakeres (28/6-9/11/97)
  13. Unpardonable Sins (20/8-4/11/97)
  14. The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction (3/10-8/11/97)
  15. Rough Day on the Gulf (10-19/11/97)
  16. A Dash of Bitters (10-19/11/97)
  17. The Mooring of Starting Out (27/11-6/12/97)
  18. Midnight Mass (26/12/97)
  19. When the Sea Goes Mad at Night (1999/2000):
    1. Ashley Gorge (18-19/1/98)
    2. Travel Sonnets (1998):
    3. The Longest Day (22/12/98)
    4. Orpheus in the Bays (5/8/97-27/2/98)
  20. Some More of Your Friends from Nevada (28/3/98)
  21. Elegy: Miriel Kyle (1/4/98)
  22. Meditation Exercise (5/5/98)
  23. La Fille que j’ai abandonnée (6/5-9/7/98)
  24. Aeroplane Poems (3-10/7/98)
  25. Tips on Stress from Seddonville (9/7/98)
  26. City Face (9/7/98)
  27. In the Ngakawau Gorge (9/7/98)
  28. Henry Fool (17/7-13/10/98)
  29. A Previously Uncollected Posthumous Work of Bukowski (24/7/98)
  30. M.C. (22/8/98)
  31. NZ Writing: the NeXt Wave (22/8/98)
  32. The Old School after Twenty Years (12/10/98)
  33. The Road to Oratia (7/11/98-26/2/2000)
  34. A Patina of the Antique (1998-99):
    1. Car Broken Down (4/12/98)
    2. Lean's Zhivago (30/4/99)
    3. The Information (4/12/98)
  35. Like a Japanese Christmas Card (30/12/98)
  36. Ohope at New Year (3/1/99)
  37. An Appointment with Cortázar (6/2/99)
  38. Christchurch Revisited (1999):
    1. Festival of Romance (9/2/99)
    2. Crossover Hits (9/2/99)
    3. The Vicar of Okains Bay (9/2/99)
    4. Last Morning (9/2/99)
  39. The Imp of the Perverse (26/3/99)
  40. APEC Weekend (30/7-4/8-14/9/99)






Does death in these surroundings answer more
Effectively to death?
                      Or ... after all,
These towers no less cornices than breath
Allows, cannot reallocate
An office to the chanting of the dead.

    A face once long-remembered undertook
    Its hasty greetings, heard a simple strain
    Of unacquaintance ...
                          After all,
    (The image allocated to the Dane)
    No hasty soil delivers seed.


(12/81)

Publications:
  • Campus News: the alternative alternative 1 (4) (1984): 3.







The shaman climbing rungs inside his hut
Could never find the same advanced delight
As Amadeus Mozart, or define
Experiences simple in themselves
As avatars of unextended time.

The vantage of a similar defect
Makes Amazon adventures of no use,
Tahitians gentle shepherds, rather loose
In morals, Alligators friends
And crucifixion death without the noose.

Our common symbols swell to very few
Unless the artist consciously extends
A helping hand, repaints uncoloured men
As ochre, pigment-red or black
With ornamental arches at the end.


(1/82)

Publications:
  • Campus News: the alternative alternative 1 (3) (1984): 10.







Making a virtue of necessity,
hanging an ass’s tail to conflagration –
nagging the buyers to sell out the nation;
sinking a pin in the denuded city.

Riding on wheels of highly-tempered alloy
(making a virtue of necessity):
singing too loud to overhear the city
whispering /
            sending messages without joy.


(17/7/83-18/4/97)






We have reached the 3rd Act
& Pericles
is ranting on the deck

the young Marina
lies in her mother’s arms
(still cold & dark
before revival)

which is coast
which sea?
the billows surge
up to the heavens

bodies bound below
by mortal surges
&   how fares the dead?


(8/6/86-7/1/2025)

Publications:







For the Marriage of Jack and Marianne, at the Church of St. Pancratius of Kraainem, 18th August 1990.
I The Welcome Listening to Pink Floyd on the stereo – 'We don't need no education' – mark Such rapid recrudescences of dark; While, down beneath the duvet The Bride awaits her wedding-day Aghast ... So far, and yet no further, we may go. II Dieu Nous Parle To praise these nuptials' unpropitious time 's Impossible? The river's ceased to run That brought us Hymen and St. Valentine; No longer burning here 'Unchang'd for fifteene hundred yeare' – Stiff cheese! – The 'love-lamps' wicks have lost their easy rhyme. III Dieu Nous Unit And yet, our love transcends the Fictional, N'est-ce pas? (Not 'physical' – those 'black but comely' Girls are gone). The turtle's voice is dumb, we Hear, and yet the roe Still bravely gambols here below In peace – To celebrate the Union Mystical IV The Eucharist ... Of feathered choristers, the nightly Owls And Nightingale, the 'bird of loudest lay,' Finch, wren and eagle; magpie, ostrich, jay, Like Creasey's 'feathered flies' The pompous pigeons all arise In rows ... (They've televised the Parlement of Foules). V Leaving I fear that I fail to drive the message home: Where are the gods of marriage? All are gone Save Roger Waters and Marillion; All easy idiom Of liturgy and sacred hymn Downcast – The Latin crept out of the Church of Rome. VI Toute Une Vie Pour Aimer Not that we wish a tissue of dead speech To stifle our Communion, each to each. The scene is Pollock, Brussels ... then a bed (Whose narrow girth would serve to wake the dead) Safe setting for our sun – all those who scan These verses, pray for Jack and Marianne. May all their days be in such concord spent, 'With their bodies let them worship' – and pay rent! Let them not quarrel over Bread and Wine – Perceiving how impartial's the Divine. (Nor quibble, either, over wine and bread, But end all quarrels where they start – in bed).


(28/4/90)

Publications:
  • For the Celebration of the Wedding of Jackie-Anne and Jack. Church of Saint Pancratius of Kraainem, 18th August 1990.





Tod und Verklärung

(1991)

(for J-A)


Sir Douglas Mawson, the Australian explorer, was in Adélie Land between 1912 and 1914. It is probably the most inhospitable region of Antarctica (he called his account of the expedition The Home of the Blizzard). The idea was that he should survey one side of the continent, while Ernest Shackleton travelled to meet him from the other. However, Shackleton’s ship, the Endurance, was crushed in the ice, so the crossing was never attempted.





I


Snow is so soft and deep
    – Douglas Mawson, the Antarctic, 22nd January 1913


 
Ninnis dead                           A terrible catastrophe happened
    24 miles back,                    soon after taking latitude ... 
Xavier as well – buried in his bag.   I looked behind & saw no sign of 
                                      Ninnis & his team. I stopped & 
Meanwhile, in Germany,                wondered, then bethought myself 
    orchestras attack                 of the crevasse ... Came back, 
the lines of Richard Strauss.         called & sounded for an hour. 
                                      Read the Burial Service
Rilke burrows deep                         – 14th December 1912
    in drifts of office files
(ashamed of hymning war).             Whetter was sick last night, diarrhoea. 
                                      He sleeps all day today though stating 
Futile to despair –                   that he would get up and get ice this 
    discord in the hut                afternoon. Whetter is not fit for a 
as Whetter takes a rear ...           polar expedition
                                          – 11th June 1912


(5/8/91)

Publications:
  • "Four Last Songs". The Imaginary Museum (8/7/2006)
  • “The Great White Silence.” brief 44 / 45 – Oceania (2012): 56-76.







May God Help us.
    – Mawson, 14th December 1912


 
The landscape makes one think of Greece
(Mawson himself contributes a few lines):
sun-beaten cyclamen, unceasing
    wind on coastal pines.
                                           No light from the Hut, it 
Here darkness, gales, a desert             is difficult to tell when 
without dunes – sastrugi,                  one is on top of it. Outside 
bitter care, crevasses,                    one is in touch with the 
    Ninnis and his dog-team.               sternest of Nature – one
                                           might be a lone soul 
The bursting sun of Wagner –               standing in Precambrian 
    what to dramatise?                     times or on Mars – all is 
This lunar quiet, blind echoes             desolation and hard in the 
in a maze ... huts over the next rise?     durest
                                               – 9th April 1912


(9/8/91)

Publications:
  • "Four Last Songs". The Imaginary Museum (8/7/2006)
  • “The Great White Silence.” brief 44 / 45 – Oceania (2012): 56-76.







It will be generally admitted that Beethoven’s Fifth 
Symphony is the most sublime noise that has ever penetrated 
into the ear of man
    – E. M. Forster, Howards End (1910)


 
Let’s not blame Strauss – this landscape of the Moon    11.30 pm: … Will 
was not dreamed up by Ludendorff or Haig.               the hangar stick it? 
The wind cuts wires, wears down the planet’s skin.      Will the screens 
                                                        stand the strain? 
Making a “beautiful noise” is not so easy               It is indeed 
– the screech of amateurs offends the air.              difficult to 
(how can it move so fast ... relentlessly?)             understand how 
                                                        air can flow so 
Some day the guns will be silenced; not so the howl     swiftly
of the “perpetual anticyclone” of Adélie ...                – 17th May 1912
King George’s land – acceptance with a scowl.	
                                                        The new land east 
                                                        of the Mertz glacier 
                                                        we have received 
                                                        his Majesty’s 
                                                        gracious permission 
                                                        to name King 
                                                        George V. land
                                                            – 1914


(9/8/91)

Publications:
  • "Four Last Songs". The Imaginary Museum (8/7/2006)
  • “The Great White Silence.” brief 44 / 45 – Oceania (2012): 56-76.







Very soft shifting snow, or else I would have done better
    – Mawson, 22nd January 1913


 
You see, my love, this disk of polished steel    amongst those here at 
and Mawson’s Antarctic Notes                     Commonwealth Bay are a 
aren’t far apart.                                number of the very type 
                                                 of men who have made 
Too late, now, for revision –                    Great Britain what she 
Four last songs composed                         is, and Europe what she 
on the abyss.                                    is, and will, I venture 
                                                 to think, – make Heaven 
What do you see when face to face …              out of Hell
with nothing? Who’s to say                           – 3rd May 1912
except our pal?	
                                                 The tent is closing in 
So let’s just listen ¬– something there that’s   by weight of snow and is 
noble,                                           about coffin size now
notes of a man                                       – 25th January 1913 
unbeaten,                                                     
refusing to lie down                             Trust in Providence 
    in the soft snow.                            and my crampons
                                                     – 3rd February 1913


(9/8/91)

Publications:
  • "Four Last Songs". The Imaginary Museum (8/7/2006)
  • “The Great White Silence.” brief 44 / 45 – Oceania (2012): 56-76.





Jack Ross: Killing Time (1997)



(1997)


every man (there’s no remedy) must scamble as he may, and shift as he can; yet Cardan comforted himself with this, “the star Fomalhaut would make him immortal,” and that after his decease his books should be found in ladies’ studies.

– Robert Burton, The Anatomy of Melancholy (1641)


  1. Auckland by Night / Brussels by Day (18/4–29/6/96)
  2. One Version of Pastoral (3/6/81–15/8/96)
  3. The Prospect of the Bungy-Jump (25/8/96-2/1/97)
  4. On the Occasion of Wet Snow (5/6/83-7/9/96)
  5. Morning at a Language School (2/9-5/9/96)
  6. A Road through Pylons (8/9-18/10/96)
  7. Killing Time (10/9-18/11/96)
  8. Recovery (22/10/96-15/1/97)
  9. C. P. Cavafy’s The God Abandons Antony (1/96-7/7/96)
  10. Petrarch’s Laura I-III (4/12/96-1/1/97)
  11. Life in a Chinese Novel (24/4/93-17/4/97)







My life doesn’t fit any more – it’s hors de ligne,
synthetic, forced; high time for me to change
to something kept in stock … and that means – what?
Life-history in marble on the temples
for the edification of youth, or random scrawls
on Atiamuri’s dank urinal walls,
that glade of lying out beside the dam?

I’ve had it with this body – with my stomach
which refuses to grow flat; my pointy nose,
thin arms, thick head, fat butt, ill-fitting glasses …
it’s time to trade it in for one in style:
athletic, bone-bare – fit for a last mile.


(10/9-18/11/96)

Publications:
  • Killing Time (Auckland: Perdrix Press, 1997): 8.











Nightingale Fever
(i.m. Ruth Dallas)







Fever, nagging pain: ingrown
    toenail? Catarrh
        swimming inside your head?

Rhythm? No, a shape
    sound – melody
        a certain catch

repeated. Phrase?
    A state of heightening
        pain between your eyes

creased, not swollen – something
    there to say. To whom?
        God? Never

quite – next time, perhaps


(22/10/96-26/7/2000)

Publications:
  • "Nightingale Fever". Some shells in a tobacco tin: Ruth Dallas. Ed. David Howard. nzepc (17/3/2009)







A million ways
    of failing
        Time to set it off

Bob    See you later
    Alligator
        Blues    log ladies

So when’s the time for
    Chapeaux bas
        Messieurs?

Inside a mine    at midnight
    Underwater    lost to all
        good feeling    gutted

in the dark?


(31/12/98)

Publications:
  • "Nightingale Fever". Some shells in a tobacco tin: Ruth Dallas. Ed. David Howard. nzepc (17/3/2009)







I don’t have
              any more
to go on
              than you do
turn aside
              grey-suited
lady turn
              your head he’s
writing wait
              ing for the
buslane to
              light up not
green or red
              or amber
but B blue


(15/6/99)

Publications:
  • "Nightingale Fever". Some shells in a tobacco tin: Ruth Dallas. Ed. David Howard. nzepc (17/3/2009)







Sorry for the long silence; it was caused
by many things: hard work?  – the barrier
that seems to stand between us (not the sea;
it’s like a mist.  I can’t remember you
at all: your face, your body, laughter, clothes).
I feel as if this were another life
I’d been born into – died into, perhaps.
[A car with zebra stripes hoons by,
a Westie at the wheel].  Two months ago
is all the vista I can contemplate.

Two tries I’ve made so far: the bungy-jump
to see if that mad terror would revive
me.  Well, it did – in a strange way.
And then last night, the swim at Muriwai;
foolhardy, a rehearsal for a death
I found I hadn’t wanted, hauling back
against that excessive force.  Can there be joy
in a life that’s lived alone?  Christ, don’t ask me!
I keep myself busy here on Mount Despair.
I miss you.  Do I mean, myself with you?


(13/11/96-24/1/97)






Burn old diaries, rip out title-pages,
fly-leaves, sticks of chewing
gum.  She’s left me hooked on
    caffeine.

Take up hobbies: weights, the Territorials,
swim each morning.  Fool,
to think you’ll flush your system
    clean

like that.  Whinge on.  Take up the trade
of killing – Murder Inc. – burn down
old houses for a living:
    “Sentimentalist –

one who thinks angels
are watching out for him” … Scarring 
serves a purpose we’ve all
    missed.

Turn again, Whittington.  Perhaps
I’ll be the fucking Mayor
of Auckland – nuke the city
    fast!

Whirling dervish,
Scourge of God – Your
shelter from the
    blast


(30/11/96-27/6/2000)

Publications:
  • Spin 38 (2000): 35.







Of course the fault is mine, my fault
for loving totally, without reserve
(I don’t know how one holds back from
    assuming
everyday attentiveness is love).

Next time (if there’s a next time), I’ll be ready
to jump before I’m pushed – leave the stone lip
before I’ve wept and begged my way
    through terror;
falling’s easy when you mean to slip.

My place is on the sea-shore with the sea-shells,
looking for kelp and pipis by the rocks;
yours is, it seems, to look for
    “self-fulfilment”:
stone streets in winter snow, fast-frozen locks.


(15/12/96)






Auckland from above: beach-midden
shell-fragments – white rooftops.  Why so white?
The sky-tower bisects the islands neatly,
Rangitoto lapping sheaves
    of basking wharves.

The statues’ pricks point upwards – Mt. Aspiring
(Donald MacLean), down onto Lion Rock:
lingam and yoni?  Knotty-pine Visitors’
Centre, murals, mirror-lakes …
    by Sony.

We walked down to the dam: crew-cut
bush, trimmed number four; full reservoir.
My father photographed three tourists
¬– South African – who boxed us in
    at the next lookout point.


(28/6-9/11/97)

Publications:
  • Valley Micropress 9 (4) (2006): 8.







Self-pity,
    self-dramatisation,
        being boring –
That’s what my Daddy told me
when I was ’bout knee-high …
	What did I do?
	Became a poet …

When my sister killed herself,
    it hardly matters
    what we said then –
the thing that got me most
    was leaving her behind
    in a wood box

When my wife said: “It’s over,”
    who’s to say
    what I felt then?
Perhaps, inside, a tiny spark of triumph
    at being so prepared
    for tragedy

The whole armour of God:
    chew on your nails
    until they flake away
then on the quick, till that’s gone too,
    then bat the air
    with the sore stumps

Self-pity,
    self-dramatisation,
        being boring –
That’s what my Daddy told me
when I was ’bout knee-high


(20/8-4/11/97)

Publications:
  • Where Will Massey Take You? Life Writing 2. ISBN 0-473-09551-3. Massey University: School of Social and Cultural Studies, 2005. 126-27.

Notes:
  • Published under the pseudonym 'Claire Talbot'.







Quoting oneself is infra dig, no doubt:
non-u, chichi, and other outdated
slang – and yet, the poetry in action
of that girl’s tight cords ... Bedtime
        for Bozo?

You see my point?  Shop-soiled phrases:
Rag-and-bone shop of the tart,
Manuel the Mexican as lexicon
(“the Order of St. John has taken
        to the air

to save more lives”) ... Smale’s quarry
sits idly by.  Watch out, old man
– beneath your broad-brimmed hat –
quite soon enough a corkless night will fall,
        and swallow all.


(3/10-8/11/97)






My suit looks better than I do … rough day
on the Gulf; the ferries are holed up
by Kauri Point.  That hand laid – oh so casually –
sur le cuisse, upon the thigh: attesting what?
        Fidelity?

Young lovers chatting lightly (public-
transport types: black jeans, white
supermarket bags) make me recall
my hand upon a thigh, promising what?
        Fidelity?


(10-19/11/97)

Publications:
  • Valley Micropress 8 (9) (2005): 4.







Cooking idiolect: a dash of bitters.
That’s clear enough.  Here’s pansies, that’s for ...
So what is the equivalent of curry?
mixed herbs? … Irruptions on the lawn?

The lake’s roiled up like sulphur.  I don’t
eat enough, right now, to savour tastes;
still, chillies leave me with a sense of closure:
tears, nose, pores purged – at peace – all passion spent.


(10-19/11/97)






We walk into what we’ve made already: Zapiski
iz podpol’ya – underground; red spot on the right cheek,
then the left, flecked off.  More spacious gestures,
opening to wide boulevards, the cars (Daihatsu, Hyundai),
Nikkei index – minutiae of day.
The renovations here fall into legend; we plot their progress,
waiting, day by day.

Dürer’s self-portrait in the Prado: “Can self-love
go any further?" intones canned Kenneth Clark.  Self-loathing,
rather – through the frame dry summer, Central
Otago moon-landscape ¬– six huhus rubbing together.
A lake though, not these bomb-craters of metal,
light-blue and red t-shirt over hipster slacks, skewed platforms.
One more line completes it,

your breasts rhyme with the cloudlessness of day.


(27/11-6/12/97)

Publications:







Your worst fear will be realised,
you’ll realise it yourself:
fear of falling, of
    the telephone,

loss?  They said I was forgiven
there, last night – High Anglican
sepulchre – how could they
    know?

Beeswax candles dribbling light,
trestle-stacked choir, pro-
digious censer-swinging
    by a pro.

I close my eyes, shake hands,
murmur responses, cringe
to hear my singing
    praised.

Je viens de te revoir partout,
ma chère, je viens
de te revoir – to see you
    everywhere.


(26/12/97)

Publications:
  • Spin 32 (1998): 37.





Theresia Liemlienio Marshall, ed.: When the Sea Goes Mad at Night (1999)



Poems by Alison Denham, Robin McConnell, Theresia Liemlienio Marshall, Jade Reidy, Jack Ross & Apirana Taylor

(1999)


  1. Ashley Gorge (18-19/1/98)
  2. Travel Sonnets
  3. The Longest Day (22/12/98)
  4. Orpheus in the Bays (5/8/97-27/2/98)
  5. Sonnet (2/98)
  6. Freeman’s Bay (20/2-25/3/99)







For Jim on His Fortieth Birthday

Suis-je Kiwi? Estoy aquì – Akaroa bakes its own French bread …
Grounding canoe on streambed – dappled stones, milk-light white quartz. Sun climbs down hot from depthless cwms. Rubber boat, spinning aground. Did I say “dappled”? Water clear as trout, rough round the bend. Bridge. Road-bridge? Difficult to tell, reciting onomastica of signs, five years ... another me, you, water, rubber boat; that afternoon, my knees on stone, paddle askew; instructions shouted from the shore (rough logs, I think); my brother, Cath, Jean, Chris: blue crystal day.


(18-19/1/98)

Publications:
  • When the Sea Goes Mad at Night (anthology). Poems by Alison Denham, Robin McConnell, Theresia Liemlienio Marshall, Jade Reidy, Jack Ross, and Apirana Taylor. Ed. Theresia Liemlienio Marshall (Birkenhead, Auckland: Christian Gray New Zealand, 1999-2000): 88.





Travel Sonnets







Hairtrigger upthrust, giant’s bone,
eald enta geweorc
– “They look like standing stones,
don’t they?” – the Weka
Pass, Nth Canterbury.

Easter Island 
sockets, topknots,
grass greyed to sand-dune.
Titicaca say the hills.

Trouble in front, beside, behind
– tears, tantrums, fist-fights –
Accelerate
           your stasis!
Mountains saw the sky.


(26/1/98)

Publications:
  • When the Sea Goes Mad at Night (anthology). Poems by Alison Denham, Robin McConnell, Theresia Liemlienio Marshall, Jade Reidy, Jack Ross, and Apirana Taylor. Ed. Theresia Liemlienio Marshall (Birkenhead, Auckland: Christian Gray New Zealand, 1999-2000): 89.







Cheryl’s poem, ten years ago:
turning myself like a wheel.  Yes,
everything is in the dance: hill,
hairpins – accelerator,
brake & clutch, gear-lever, go …

Tourist cunt slides by on legs.  Like Clint
in Heartbreak Ridge (studying Vogue
to sensitise himself), I listen to
The Corrs: “Leave me alone!”

It’s an Old Norse saga sentence:
“She I loved best, betrayed me most.”
Playing the glad game,
Turn the light out? – Yes.  The light?
– Not yet.  Ten minutes more.


(30/1/98)

Publications:
  • When the Sea Goes Mad at Night (anthology). Poems by Alison Denham, Robin McConnell, Theresia Liemlienio Marshall, Jade Reidy, Jack Ross, and Apirana Taylor. Ed. Theresia Liemlienio Marshall (Birkenhead, Auckland: Christian Gray New Zealand, 1999-2000): 91.







Nearby radios nagging, singing –
self-satisfied with sound
perhaps? 

Green & blue-splashed drive
laid out in tiles – above: the hills,
slabs, falls,

fog-bound like Dartmoor:
                         Mr Holmes,
they were the footsteps of a gigantic hound!

Feedback loops
distort reception.  Above: one tree.
The sky arcs over to the sea.


(2/2/98)

Publications:
  • When the Sea Goes Mad at Night (anthology). Poems by Alison Denham, Robin McConnell, Theresia Liemlienio Marshall, Jade Reidy, Jack Ross, and Apirana Taylor. Ed. Theresia Liemlienio Marshall (Birkenhead, Auckland: Christian Gray New Zealand, 1999-2000): 92.







Pale – growing the orange out
highlights of brown
on brown

No fashion victim, lines
define the nose,
white blouse

“Not Megan that’s been changed”
– or charged?  Pale –
Madras St

Hot as India, blue knitted
top, white tight
trousers

I 94 FM thanks you
for listening


(5/2/98)

Publications:
  • When the Sea Goes Mad at Night (anthology). Poems by Alison Denham, Robin McConnell, Theresia Liemlienio Marshall, Jade Reidy, Jack Ross, and Apirana Taylor. Ed. Theresia Liemlienio Marshall (Birkenhead, Auckland: Christian Gray New Zealand, 1999-2000): 94.







Today I saw the ghost of Smithyman
at the traffic lights, squinting up
at the ossing sky, backpack slung
over one shoulder, anxious,
hurried.  He was there.

Just a momentary thing.  Oh, is he
still alive? one wondered, looking so
self-sufficient, off on an
afternoon round of shops.

It’s true that the bus was empty –
phantom of a commuter line
defunct?  The light a little strange.
Perhaps I expected it.  There was no particular
shock.
      Today I saw Kendrick wait for the green man.


(11/2/98)

Publications:
  • When the Sea Goes Mad at Night (anthology). Poems by Alison Denham, Robin McConnell, Theresia Liemlienio Marshall, Jade Reidy, Jack Ross, and Apirana Taylor. Ed. Theresia Liemlienio Marshall (Birkenhead, Auckland: Christian Gray New Zealand, 1999-2000): 89.







The longest crawl
    of cars across the bridge
    The longest fall
from Sky-tower to harbour

Why do you keep
    the windows closed?
    It’s so we won’t
need bars

Building K
    is leasing now
    Quite hard to chew
and talk


(22/12/98)

Publications:
  • When the Sea Goes Mad at Night (anthology). Poems by Alison Denham, Robin McConnell, Theresia Liemlienio Marshall, Jade Reidy, Jack Ross, and Apirana Taylor. Ed. Theresia Liemlienio Marshall (Birkenhead, Auckland: Christian Gray New Zealand, 1999-2000): 97.







Coming back, he felt like ice;
like a sawn-off limb, the past was just
a twitch –
	       I power-walk, discuss
    ‘the pump’ with chance-encountered friends.

Eurydice was successful, too,
in Hades
         Brussels. 
                   Stopped sending letters
after a while (forgot to write
as her old life rotted away?)

    I told her once she always held
    a grudge.  She’s proved it.  As for me,
    I climb around the rocks to Campbells
    Bay – blue slate, coffee-ground sea.

He secretly desired those Thracian
girls, of course –  to kill him?
                                 Better
    that, than nothing at all.  The sweet, 
    complacent singing-voice grew still …

Bobbing downstream, at peace, transfigured,
Orpheus sidestrokes out to sea.


(5/8/97-27/2/98)

Publications:
  • When the Sea Goes Mad at Night (anthology). Poems by Alison Denham, Robin McConnell, Theresia Liemlienio Marshall, Jade Reidy, Jack Ross, and Apirana Taylor. Ed. Theresia Liemlienio Marshall (Birkenhead, Auckland: Christian Gray New Zealand, 1999-2000): 98.













(for Brian Turner)


In a corner of the old Capitol
    cinema
        Balmoral

Now an indoor rock-climbing centre
    track-suited straight
        arrows

Working their way up the walls
    they’ve left up one poster
        Wes Craven’s
	
The Hills Have Eyes
    a black cut-out hillside
        studded with lidless red eyes

Of course it’s too late to convince you
    it’s always that
        friend of a friend

Who hoons off downriver
    veers off the state highway
        ends up getting fucked like a pig

or mown into road-spoil …


(28/3/98)

Publications:







I

This morning dawned overcast
north, fluorescent belts
    language was used up

screech of exotic birds
fog-horn of coffee
    language was used up

counting my change, cash-cards
ring-ring of phone: Ken Wood
    language was used up

the knights slept in their harness
under Mt. Eden – Sauron defeated
    language was used up


II

I didn't know you very well – that's my excuse.
Classes this morning, got to label
paragraphs  and ^ and = and F and 
    in Massey @ Albany.

You were a kind woman, came to see me
when I was sick – we talked about ...
I can't remember.  So long, Miriel,
    ashes, now,

gone to take up your ecological niche
in the sky.  By now you'll be waking up.
Is the red chamber dream a nightmare, broken
    abruptly

by approaching day?			


(1/4/98)

Publications:
  • Takahe 35 (1998): 13.







Imagine a tongue. It’s red. Or is it red? Plum-purple, shading to off-cream, tufted with taste-buds (minute sensors), veined, mottled, pursing in to form a tube, rough up a gum … break the silence. Unruly member. Finger it in your mind; work it around. Do exercises with it. Yes, it’s yours – forever. If it’s not plucked out. No imminent risk, perhaps? Now bite it. Ah, that stings! Harder. You really felt that. What’s it done – or tasted – since you were last here? Was it sublime? The tang of pâté, pussy, poisson cru? Why, nothing. What is nothing? It’s your tongue.


(5/5/98)






Daylight moon – silkprint
half-stamped on eggshell blue.

Mare tranquillitatis.  When you reach
the end of yourself, it’s time

– for a million things.  Not Mickey
Mouse, Vanessa.  One two three.


(6/5-9/7/98)

Publications:
  • Spin 40 (2001): 56.







I

If a pretext’s needed, green sea
tends to mean land – white
tassels, like a Belgian rug –

cloud eruptions, starburst shell
of snow: fixed wiring,
manufacturing

nothing.  ‘His air
of lost connections.’  Rocks
aren’t scared of bombs.

Back to
deep blue, the hostesses all thumbs


II

brown fan of silt
denotes a river; clouds
mass over peaks


III

that’s no city, it’s the sea
the clouds are waves
a ditch is rock, though
everywhere the rain


(3-10/7/98)

Publications:
  • Valley Micropress 8 (10) (2005): 17.







Persistence of tussock
                        tires out Mastercard
Barns raise rooftops
                        in reverse
The scenic guard-rail’s
                        whited out
Charming Creek
                        takes an awkward turn
A naked tap
                        for Miner’s Dark


(9/7/98)

Publications:







Told yesterday
I had a ‘city
        face’

this morning
            I spent
        practising
before the glass

        insouciant sneers
        atrocious leers
        insolent stares

till I noticed
    the espresso
        had gone
            cold


(9/7/98)

Publications:
  • Valley Micropress 1 (11) (1998): 6.
  • All Together Now! A Celebration of New Zealand Culture by 100 Poets. Edited by Tony Chad. ISBN 0-473-07325-0. Wellington: Valley Micropress, 2000. 85.
  • "for Leicester Hugo Kyle, b.1937". The Imaginary Museum (28/6/2006)
  • brief #34 – war (2007): 6-12.

Notes:
  • Originally titled "Kylesque" - in imitation of the Rev. Leicester Kyle.







Plastic arrows broken off, DOC plaques erode to native yellow. Detour, they said, back on that tramline fuelled by gravity. Irrupting from fern- bush: creek, stream, rill, foam- berged, peat- stained. No further forth – no rain (as yet). We sat, said: What does one do with this? Cite Rilke? Prate about milady’s favours? Fail to


(9/7/98)

Publications:







“What’s this place called?”
    – small boy going into the toilets


The pisshead chuckles
    as the bus rides by
a breathalyser checkpoint

Mein Gott, was hast du mir getan?
    exclaims the damsel
as Simon sprays her ass

Pallor of girls’ brows
    in perspex, chewing a snagnail
shattered by the vibe


(17/7-13/10/98)

Publications:
  • "Shorts." Poetry NZ 40 (2010): 76-81.







Blah    blah    blah
        blah    blah
        blah

my wife & I

        blah    blah

my cats

        blah    blah

& Bach
        blah
            (oh, & Sartre,
    Dostoevsky, Jung)

The rest of youse is dung


(24/7/98)

Publications:
  • Valley Micropress 2 (1) (1999): [3].
  • Micropress New Zealand 4 (2) (1999): [9].







Poke your tongue
    in the side of your mouth:
goodbye

Pause, in tight leather skirt
    on the dais
with long hair

Laugh, as you say “puffed out”
    forget the
party

A Friday night needs
    two weeks,
    Thursdays
one


(22/8/98)

Publications:
  • Valley Micropress 2 (1) (1999): [3].
  • Three Poems for Annora Gollop, on the Occasion of Her Birthday [pamphlet] (February 26, 2000).







Blue lights above the car Rigel – Aldebaran shadows through the streetlight LEXX: “The Giga-shadow is the end and it is the beginning” Scott’s made a list of thirty names NZ Literature could do without Richard’s composing (“No-one writes like me”) the infinite regress; Hamish is … Miriam’s reconciling architecture with … and Anna Sol. “If Satan starts a journal up in Hell, I’ll send him something.”


(22/8/98)






Hoist your tracksuit bottoms, look
around
       il est très doué, mais il
ne travaille pas
            When I was in
Papua, in the Customs service

Eileen knows Athol
Fugard
       Liane’s a colleague
– whom I’ve never met –
whose job’s to publicise
me

Here I went to school, Tom Brown
    Outstretched arms
of Rangitoto – clear-felled
round the rugby field –
    Here I ran cross-country, bogged
in laughing crowds of helots

It’s the same


(12/10/98)

Publications:
  • Valley Micropress 8 (8) (2005): 5.







I am double fool, I know
      Dr Jerk-off
    & Massa Hide

A man today, met in a garden:
“My granddaughter is five years old
(with cerebral palsy)
                      she says
‘I want to be a drummer.  But for a real
job, I’ll shift maths equipment.’”

Point taken
    Doan’ whup me, Massa
Time to be all right
    I’ll wear my cricket whites
start cadging smokes
    Once more with attitude
fucked in the head


(7/11/98-26/2/2000)

Publications:
  • Three Poems for Annora Gollop, on the Occasion of Her Birthday [pamphlet] (February 26, 2000).





A Patina of the Antique







A patina of the antique
    over which picture?

David Lean’s dead cameraman
    today [4th December ‘98]

O’Toole as Lawrence, Alec
    Guinness, Lara

or that deviant boy
    in purple windcheater

crushed up against his car
    by rush-hour traffic

Tailgated? broken down?
    Car Broken Down

An oval earring
    in the lobe ahead


(4/12/98)

Publications:
  • A Patina of the Antique (Auckland: Perdrix Press, 1999).
  • A Patina of the Antique.” Trout: online journal of arts & literature from aotearoa/new zealand and the pacific islands 14 (2007): 52.







Tom Courtenay parting the crowds
    at the Sventitsky’s
Christmas party

Leaves scudding across her grave
    as Yuri’s eyes
look up

Intensity of affect
    Still the same?
More stagey?

Twenty-five years between
    I’ve lived them
Haven’t I?


(30/4/99)

Publications:
  • A Patina of the Antique (Auckland: Perdrix Press, 1999).
  • A Patina of the Antique.” Trout: online journal of arts & literature from aotearoa/new zealand and the pacific islands 14 (2007): 52.







You put about 70% in of the information says Damian – The information – “Car Broken Down” (wrote that twelve years ago) My Lara fantasies (the paperback that parted in my hands) The point? Is the point time? Un mauvais quart d’heure for Mr Breakdown leisure for me to fiddle in the bus


(4/12/98)

Publications:
  • A Patina of the Antique (Auckland: Perdrix Press, 1999).
  • A Patina of the Antique.” Trout: online journal of arts & literature from aotearoa/new zealand and the pacific islands 14 (2007): 52.







i	Strictly speaking
	there’s no such
	thing as
	line

	in nature
	or a word
	or silence
	dint

	of overlapping
	colours
	chords
	membranes

	perspex
	slide effects

 
ii	Nature’s curved
	we’re deaf to
	stillness
	girls wear

	buttoned shorts
	black silver-buttoned
	skirts
	striped

	tops
	we fail
	to stipple off
	the pattern

	burger-fuel
	it up


(30/12/98)

Publications:
  • Flint 1 (1999): n.p.







Romances, and parables, or fables that have no truth in the matter, but honesty in the design, as also enlargement of stories by variety of phrases and manner of expression, or handsome oratory; the better to inculcate the virtue, or express the vice they design to represent, are of singular use in all discourses. – Dr. Charles Morton (17th century)
Scorpio: deep passions thinly veiled Venus associates with Pluto dark volcanic god Andrew: Pluto was only spotted fifty years ago so’s scarcely of astrological significance if you press for an outcome things resolve themselves sounds ominous Alan & Corinne walk on endeavouring to ignore their scribbling companion


(3/1/99)

Publications:
  • For Lisa Bieleski: New Zealand Golf (and English) Academy (Auckland: Perdrix Press, 1999)







Hidden in the grass, wait for a large cumulus cloud to drift over the hated city. Then shoot a petrifying arrow; the cloud will turn to stone … – Julio Cortázar, Around the Day in Eighty Worlds (1980)
BLUE Fuck it, Jewel, stop whining! AnAll I need is a good …Enemy finger, was it? Pencilling in the They contours. All you people seem Can’t the same: sad sacks. See WHITE The anorexic look? Fiona Apple? Pretty in ringlets, A asks … (I play with the cat, Nation too, sometimes – resolving Under not to mention that Siege to other Jules). RED Tonight I lay down under a tree beside the Avon, and you can’t get A wetter than that (BENNY HINN, Crime faith-healer). I will sleep in They tomorrow (“if I’m Can’t spared”); Death’s too good Control for this [Abruptly shattered by the aproned man: “Another glass of “Are you right wine there, sir?” there, sir?” “No, fine here, thanks” I’m fine, thanks” (rent paid for two more minutes) twenty minutes) let’s face it, free for these last minutes free of these last minutes sick of these last minutes caught for these last minutes sick of these last minutes sick of sick of sick of sick sick sick …]


(6/2/99)

Publications:
  • Spin 35 (1999): 46.





    Christchurch Revisited







    braided rivers Avon
    ladies yes that snooty
    bitch in the Bon Bolli
    last night I feel compla
    cent here is it Yeats or
    young James Joyce John Alli
    son asks me as we loi
    ter in the cloisters of
    the Arts Centre no sea
    gull grotto where the sun
    can never shine
    


    (9/2/99)

    Publications:
    • Takahe 56 (2005): 13.







    Crossover hits. Jack sees himself in denim,
    with guitar. Crocodile Shoes, perhaps.
    Wailing. Did it happen then? I had it
    sussed – no dice, just friends
        finally, out to see
    The Thief (that sexy Russian girl),
    
    but then we kissed: “I want to hug you,”
    “You’re a good person to know.”
                                    No,
    not even then – this morning. I’m so
    slow
    


    (9/2/99)

    Publications:
    • Takahe 56 (2005): 13.







    “The next service is at …” but the board is
    blank – a strong, stone-buttressed
    church, though (founded 1863)
    
    In the store, buying jumbo-sized
    sunscreen: “You must be expecting
    a lot of sun,” opines the man
    
    with the crooked hand
                          Down on the beach
    Pacific breakers roll in from
    “the largest sea in the world –
    5,000 miles”
    


    (9/2/99)

    Publications:
    • Takahe 56 (2005): 13.







    “… it is as if the very modernity of his intelligence
    has goaded a primitive stamina in his imagination.”
        – Seamus Heaney on Derek Mahon
    
    
    Fuck-dumb … Do you have to be dumb to fuck? No music. Why does the sun shine in the sky? Why does a bear have fur? No abstruse congeries of pre-preschool TV. Remind me it’s not in vain – talk, talk! – I want it: lips skin smile, can’t have it frozen cruciform, hog- tied, immobile, ankle- tethered – on the brink.


    (9/2/99)

    Publications:
    • Takahe 56 (2005): 13.







    Alas, it is too late!
        – Edgar Allan Poe
    
    
    FORT    Enacting a game of control, pretending    DA
     DA          baby’s lost, the cliff’s been       FORT
    FORT              cleared, bashing                DA
     DA                                              FORT
    FORT     the sod you love, to prove that love     DA
     DA          to breaking point, so when it       FORT
    FORT                    shatters                  DA
     DA                                              FORT
    FORT               it was never there             DA
    


    (26/3/99)

    Publications:
    • Spin 34 (1999): 50-51.

    Notes:
    • Inspired by Bernard MacLaverty's novel Grace Notes (1997).







    (10th- 14th September, 1999)
    
    Avarice
    Pride
    Envy
    Carnality
        – Columbus Coffee Shop, High Street (26/8/99)
    
    
    There must be public
    coin-operated funny things
    done waste in some
    of these disposal city
    pubs jack looking down
    trash comparison sun deflects
    from buildings four buffalo
    girls bill has gone
    to practise his last
    rest fingering tai the
    shaft chi sweet skin
    at carmel oh funny
    things done in college
    cheer-leaders some of
    these maybe city pubs
    


    (30/7-4/8-14/9/99)

    Publications:







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