Poetry Shelf Playing Favourites: Michele Leggott picks Ben Brown

I am the Māori Jesus
A response to Baxter

i AM the Māori Jesus
And i don’t like
mussels and parāoa
Give me fish ‘n’ chips
with tomato sauce
Fresh white bread
and loads of butter
Butter makes
this country great
So feed my whenua
to the cows
for all i care

My father Hōhepa
worked at Watties
where they made the sauce
at least until redundancy
Now mother Mere
works behind the bar
at the Metropol Hotel
and does some cleaning
in the mornings

And you
will know me
by my Kēnana hair and
my wrap-around sunnies
whose eyes
you cannot see
But trust me
they have seen
my other Father’s light
and not
been blinded

So i can say
that i have met
the Devil personally
and been tempted
by his retinue
of sweet-mouthed whores
and silver salesmen
dripping promises
of Mammon
and extravagance

Yet underneath his
snakeskin smile
he wears a bland suit
of a nondescript shade
that fits him quite well
and he spends his days
conducting secretaries
who write infringement notices
demanding restitution

And i have been up to the temple
where i met the moneychangers
who offered me
a competitive rate of interest
and a little pink plastic pig
to put my shrapnel in
and fee rebates and a free holiday
in the Republic of Fiji to go with my
Visa card and my mortgage

But my other Father’s house
has many mansions
and i don’t pay no rent
so i don’t need no mortgage
and anyway the bankers
turned out to be wankers
who didn’t know their numbers
But all that imaginary money
went into somebody’s pocket
Sure as Arabs own oil
and your arse points downhill
and Mom & Dad America
got foreclosure sales
and dead kids in the desert but
STILL THEY BELIEVE

Meanwhile there’s a whale
needs saving
up near Kaikōura
but the bros got there
before DOC did
and they ate the bugger
back at the marae
like so many loaves and fishes
They made taonga whakairo
carved treasures
from his teeth and bones
So honouring the beast
and showing its
true worth

i shot up in a filthy flat
with a skinhead panel beater junky
who had his own name
tattooed on his dick
that you could only read
when he was hard
The implication being he was hard
when the needle bit the flesh
and spelled BARABBAS
i sold him
the last taste of his life
and saved his junky soul
in doing so

i lay down with
a wahine named Mary
Ah sweet Mary
So many Marys
and not enough time
to lie down with them all
And don’t get Freudian on me now
though she does bear

some small resemblance
to my mother
given grace
And bless her anyway
Her willingness to suffer all
the rage of Men
Yet freely shed her tears
with love
upon my tired
feet

i walked the roads
i raised a deadman from
the street beneath a tree
where pigeons routinely
shat upon him
dead or alive
i shared his bottle afterwards
drank a cheap toast to his life
before he told me to
piss off
But before you go boy
give me back my bottle

It don’t matter eh
Coz i got my brothers around me
My apostles twelve in all
or maybe thirteen i dunno
Been a while since i counted
but we’re a righteous crew
Staunch as
Patched up
Yo-fuckin-yo-bro

i got Jake the muss
and Tū the freezing worker
and Billy T James
in a black shearer’s singlet
i got Hone Tuwhare now
there’s a man who likes his mussels
i got a Rastaman from up the coast

ts threadbare weave
The kahukura has no
feathers
Free as death to fall
with grace
before your tired feet

i got several of his brothers, hell
i got the horses they rode in on
i got a slick-suited lawyer
from the city
and i even got you Hēmi
Every crowd needs a doubter

So you won’t catch me
walking on Wellington Harbour mate
Too bloody cold and windy eh
and too many bureaucrats pushing
compliance with occupational
safety and health regulations

Na not me man
i’m off up north with the bros
to the Hokianga
Choice dak eh
and a nice place
forever to leave from
Warmer too bro

Ben Brown


“First publication of I am the Māori Jesus was on a CD I recorded in 2009, for Dogtown. I performed it for two or three years before recording. I recorded Dogtown with Creative NZ funding. It was a 5 track CD with beats recorded independently as Fly on the wall productions. 
Had fun doing that.”
Ben Brown

Michele Leggott Plays Favourites

What is the time of a poem? Or, rather, how many times does it have? When Ben Brown walked to the front of the Old Government House lounge in Auckland in 2010, his signature poem ‘I am the Māori Jesus’ was already well on the way to becoming part of the long conversation that is Aotearoa New Zealand poetry.

The occasion was PHANTOMS AT LOUNGE, a collaboration between the New Zealand Electronic Poetry Centre (nzepc) and Phantom Billstickers, organised by the late Jim Wilson to launch another edition of his poem posters. Ben was part of the line-up that read poem posters for poets, local and international, who couldn’t make it to the event. Then he launched into ‘I am the Māori Jesus’ and his Auckland audience — students, poets, musicians and general hangers-on — sat up and tuned into the extraordinary echo chamber Ben was creating right in front of us:

“You can’t get through a poetry gig in Aotearoa without some kind of Baxter buzz so this is mine. On the Writers’ Walk in Wellington are cement words facing the sea from the Baxter poem that begins:

‘I saw the Maori Jesus
Walking on Wellington Harbour.
He wore blue dungarees.
His beard and hair were long.
His breath smelt of mussels and paraoa.
When he smiled it looked like the dawn.’

And they are some beautiful words for a good Catholic white boy from Otago with Māori sensitivities. The only problem I have with them you see is:

i AM the Māori Jesus
And i don’t like
mussels and parāoa
Give me fish ‘n’ chips
with tomato sauce
Fresh white bread
and loads of butter
Butter makes
this country great
So feed my whenua
to the cows
for all i care”

Lyttelton poet and performer Ben Brown (Ngāti Paoa, Ngāti Mahuta), takes on the poem James K Baxter published only once in his lifetime, in a little magazine in 1966, opening a dialogue between Pākehā observer and Māori subject that looks straight back at the Jesus figure Baxter posits and which Ben rejects. Detail by detail the younger poet takes apart Baxter’s water-walking Christ and his mission among the urban down and out, putting in its place a different lived experience.

There is humour, cockiness, and harder truths than Baxter was prepared to entertain. Nevertheless Ben’s poem, in the words of Paula Green, jams with Baxter’s from the moment its speaker declares ‘i AM the Māori Jesus / And i don’t like / mussels and parāoa’. It brings on board Alan Duff’s Jake the Muss and Apirana Taylor’s Tū the freezing worker; Billy T James and Hone Tuwhare (‘now there’s a man who likes his mussels’). It might even loop in McCahon’s enormous ‘I AM’ canvas, Victory Over Death 2, with its wall-hung words to  walk past and wonder at.

In 1966 Baxter couldn’t know he was already on the road that would lead to Jerusalem and the commune he founded there three years later. But his poem knows, and Ben certainly knows, and that is why the later poem heads up north to a home place on a harbour that is the equivalent of a long drive up the Whanganui River.

‘I am the Māori Jesus’ is the kind of poem you don’t want to end. It’s rich in texture, amused as well as irritated by the older poet’s construction of a protagonist meant to draw down sympathy for the oppressed, Māori and Pākehā alike. Except, says the younger poet, they aren’t alike and why should we pretend they are.

Does ‘I am the Māori Jesus’ extinguish ‘The Maori Jesus’? Hardly. Instead, it amplifies the earlier poem, widens its circle of reference and provokes its later audiences with wit and graceful substitutions that link back to Baxter’s poem.

Then there are the first lines of ‘The Maori Jesus’ in stone (actually concrete) set into the pool on the northern side of Te Papa as part of the Wellington Writers’ Walk. On the opening day of the walk in 2002, Baxter’s son John McColl Te Wharematangi Baxter (1952-2026) leapt into the pool and threw arcs of water over his father’s words. His mihi was caught on camera by Evening Post photographer John Nicholson and remains one of the most memorable moments of cultural consonance I can think of.

The two poems, decades apart, are perhaps best understood in their powerful performances by poets who know how to send waves of sound over any audience that wants to listen. Listen to Ben Brown performing ‘I am the Māori Jesus’ for nzepc’s Six-Pack Sound in 2016 (link below). Listen to David Eggleton performing ‘The Maori Jesus’ against an atmospheric soundscape by Wellington composer David Downs for the CD Baxter released in 1999.

What is the time of a poem? Any time a voice carries it into the future.

My thanks to Ben Brown, David Eggleton, Paula Green, Paul Millar, Tim Page and Philippa Werry for their help with piecing together the layers of this appreciation.

Michele Leggott

A timeline for two poems

1966: James K Baxter publishes ‘The Maori Jesus’ in Eikon, issue 2, December 1966, p. 18. Reprinted in Collected Poems, edited by John Weir, Oxford University Press, 1979, pp. 348-49. Reissued in 1995 and 2004.

1997: Bruce Morrison and Paul Millar include ‘The Maori Jesus’, recorded by Michael Hurst, in their TV documentary The Road to Jerusalem. Commentary and poem at 58:40:

1999: David Eggleton records ‘The Maori Jesus’ for Baxter CD with a soundscape composed by David Downs:

2002: Wellington Writers’ Walk features the first stanza of ‘The Maori Jesus’ in a pool on the northern side of the Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa, facing the harbour.

2007: Ben Brown (Ngāti Pāoa, Ngāti Mahuta) performs ‘I am the Māori Jesus’ for a Green Party fundraiser at the Lyttelton Coffee Company. The poem is recorded in 2009 for his CD Dogtown (2010).

2010: Ben performs ‘I am the Māori Jesus’ for PHANTOMS AT LOUNGE, 28 April 2010.

2013: ‘I am the Māori Jesus’ appears in Ben’s debut poetry collection Between the Kindling and the Blaze, published by Anahera Press. Review by Paula Green for Poetry Shelf.

2016: Ben records ‘I am the Māori Jesus’ at the University of Auckland for Six-Pack Sound, 30 March 2016.

Ben Brown (Ngāti Mahuta, Ngāti Koroki, Ngāti Paoa) writes children’s books, short stories and poetry for children and adults, general non-fiction, freelance articles and memoir. In 2006 he won Best Picture Book with artist/illustrator Helen Taylor in the NZ Post Children’s Book Awards with their book A Booming in the Night. His poetry has been published in various anthologies here and around the world and Radio NZ and The Radio Network have also recorded him. In 2011 he was the Maori Writer in Residence at the Michael King Writers Centre in Devonport Auckland. His poetry collection Between the kindling and the blaze was shortlisted in the 2014 Nga Kupu Ora Aotearoa Maori Book Awards. In 2021 he was appointed inaugural Te Awhi Rito New Zealand Children’s Reading Ambassador. He was the Te Kaipukahu University of Waikato Writer in Residence in 2024. He is also a father of two, which he considers his best work to date.

Michele Leggott’s recent publications include Face to the Sky (Auckland University Press, 2023) and Groundwork: The Art and Writing of Emily Cumming Harris (Te Papa Press, 2025), co-authored with Catherine Field-Dodgson and long-listed for the 2026 Ockham award for illustrated non-fiction.

Poetry Shelf Speaking Out For With: Anuja Mitra

Leap second

It wasn’t for news that we crammed into that room, mouths to the mike like gospel singers at a basement gig. No one listens to school radio stations. Scratch that: no one listens to school radio stations except mothers. Who else would tune in to earnest children sharing their favourite foods? There was no news, but there was Britney’s ‘Toxic’, Jamelia’s ‘Superstar’, Atomic Kitten’s ‘The Tide is High’. Memory shocks with its constancy. On the final night of 2005 I watched the metallic spray of fireworks over my best friend’s roof. She and I were inseparable, as entwined as nesting dolls. We were the reigning stars of each other’s system; everything else was just dust and space junk.

There was no news, except of course there was — Bush back in power, Charles and Camilla hitched, Hurricane Katrina wrecking the Gulf Coast. The Kyoto Protocol committed us to shrinking emissions, and everyone thought: there’s still time left. The first video was uploaded to YouTube, the internet closing over us like an oil spill, and no one thought: some moments aren’t meant to be immortal. Radio became something of our parents’ yesterdays. No waiting and flicking through channels, no wading through what we didn’t want to hear. It was a new age of productivity. Speed was a virtue and we all aimed for sainthood.

We wouldn’t learn about the leap second until later. Rather than less time, the year gifted us more. Which is to say that on New Year’s Eve, the sky crumbling like a mosaic, my friend and I had held each other for one more breath. It didn’t matter if the coming months were unkind. We were queens of the switchboard and its blinking ocean of lights, playing the songs we loved but couldn’t have forever. You’re so desperate to leave your youth that you romanticise the escape. You grow up before you know and you lose more than you can save. The tide is high if you’re not holding on.

Anuja Mitra
First published in Turbine | Kapohau (2023)

Anuja Mitra is a writer from Tāmaki Makaurau/Auckland.
Her work has appeared in New Zealand and overseas publications including LandfallCorditetakahēPoetry AotearoaTurbine | KapohauSweet Mammalian and Starling, as well as several anthologies. She can be found on Instagram at @anuja_mitra

Poetry Shelf Monday Poem: Picture by Brent Kininmont

Picture

Lynda sends a photo of lilies she bought
for the gravestone our parents share.
61 years, her text says. I haven’t kept
tabs on their wedding anniversary.
Hadn’t our father stopped counting after
our mother was gone? That spot on her
lung he couldn’t divorce himself from.
It had legs and means to crawl over her.
They couldn’t isolate it, like he could:
Janice in the doorway, blocking his
escape from what she was saying. A hole
filled with the length of her confessing
what had been happening under
her nose. Framed, for not looking.

Brent Kininmont

Brent Kininmont has written two books of poetry: The Companion to Volcanology (2025) and Thuds Underneath (2015), published by Te Herenga Waka University Press. He is based in Tokyo, where he leads seminars in intercultural communication for Japan-based companies and organisations.

Poetry Shelf noticeboard: Helen Lehendorf poetry launch

Event by Helen Lehndorf

Palmerston North City Library

You are cordially (and green ginger wine-ly) invited to help me launch my fourth book (second volume of poetry) The Bruise Palette (Firestarter Press).

Come at 6pm, share a glass, there will be (brief) kōrero from me, writing friend Carly Thomas, publisher Anthony Behrens and a special treat from local legend Abi Symes-Button. I’ll read a coupla the poems, too.

I entered this book into the Kathleen Grattan Poetry Award (for an unpublished poetry manuscript) last winter and it was longlisted…a boost which gave me the confidence to proceed with publication.

Here’s an excerpt from the blurb:

‘With the grounded lyricism readers loved in The Comforter and A Forager’s Life, Helen Lehndorf captures the beauties and burdens of entanglement with people and with place.

The poems of The Bruise Palette move through the demands of care, complexities of community and raw radiance of deep nature connection.’

Hope to see you there. x

Firestarter Press, Manawatū, Aotearoa.
Release date – 29/5/26

Poetry Shelf noticeboard: Fast Fibres call for submissions

Call for submissions: Fast Fibres 13

This year, Fast Fibres Poetry has the theme 

Harikoa | Happiness

Te hari i roto i ngā kupu Happiness within words

We invite poets with a strong Te Tai Tokerau / Northland connection to submit 3 of your best poems that resonate with this theme. Please include a two-line bio statement.

Deadline: 29 May, 2026. Email submissions to: fastfibres@live.com

Editors: Piet Nieuwland and Olivia Macassey.

Each poem should be single spaced and typed in 12 pt. Times New Roman. Poems must be submitted together in a single Word document, with the poet’s name on each page of the document. PDFs and handwritten submissions will not be considered. Please note: no contributor copies provided.

Poetry Shelf cafe reading:  Pot Luck: Poems about food

Pot Luck: Poems about Food was published by Landing Press in 2025. Ninety-three food-related poems to get our taste buds salivating. Yes, the poems celebrate the sweet sour savoury delights of food that nourishes and uplifts, food that brings people together at a table for physical and heart nourishment. Food that crosses family trees, cultural choices, vital memories. Inventive, traditional, satisfying. Food as part of mourning or significant occasions. Every day food. Illness food. Composting food. Food chains. Holiday food. Wellness food. Recipes.

Yet importantly the anthology is also mindful of a world awry, of empty bellies, of the starvation and food queues in places such as Gaza, of eating disorders, of toxic food. This book makes me re-feel the world. And that matters.

The seven editors sought a range of voices that showcase the vital range of poets in Aotearoa, from the well known to the emerging, those living here and those overseas. Landing Press also held workshops to extend the range of voices as much as possible.

I am a big fan of food in poetry – I have always, for example, loved how food enhances the collections of Ian Wedde! My links with poetry and food reach right back to my very first collection, Cookhouse (AUP, 1998). I used food as titles for the poems, and food as a metaphor both for the caring experience of mothers (myself), and my concern for language and those who work with words.

And today, in 2026, as much as I love simmering poems and nourishing our poetry communities through the joy and reach and connecting power of words, I love cooking and baking every day, stretching how food nourishes and connects us.

Pot Luck is special! A culinary and poetry delight. A book to get us reading and writing poetry, and to get cooking and sharing food. To celebrate I invited a few of the poets to read their poems. I would have loved to have been at a banquet hearing them all read!

Thank you poets – it is a treat indeed.

Meanwhile submissions are open for the next Landing Press anthology on the theme of water. The submission guidelines are here  and if stuck for inspiration, check out  these water-related ideas. Note that the email for submissions is landingpresswater@gmail.com. You have until 30 June – lots of time to get thinking and writing. 

The readings

Etienne Wain 黃義天 

Etienne Wain 黃義天 (he/any) is Peranakan Malaysian-Chinese (客家人Hakka, 海南人 Hainanese, 福建儂 Hokkien) and Pākehā (Scottish, English). He is in his final year of PhD study with Te Kauhanganui Tātai Ture (the Law Faculty) at Te Herenga Waka (Victoria University of Wellington), researching what it means for tauiwi (settler/migrant) communities to understand ourselves as “Tangata Tiriti” (people whose belonging in Aotearoa New Zealand is based on Te Tiriti o Waitangi). Etienne writes poems on being Tangata Tiriti, his experiences as Malaysian-Chinese diaspora, and hope.

Hanadi Hammad Al Bakhas

Hanadi Hammad Al Bakhas is a Syrian-born writer now living in Aotearoa New Zealand, with a deep love for her hometown of Homs. Her poetry draws on memories of home, culture, and tradition, often using food as a way to explore identity, belonging, and connection across generations. Through her writing, she reflects on the stories carried in everyday moments and the ways they travel across borders.

Diane Brown

Diane Brown runs Creative Writing Dunedin and specialises in hybrid forms.  Her ninth book, a collection of poems, Growing Up Late, will be published in March 2027 and she is now writing a prose/poetic exploration of female ancestors, Straight as A Pound of Candles.

Githara Gunawardena

Githara Gunawardena is a fourth year English literature student at Victoria University. She moved from Sri Lanka to Wellington in 2020 and has since had her work featured in Starling magazine’s 20th issue, as well as in the 2nd issue of Nine Lives journal. 

Helen Lehndorf


Helen Lehndorf is a writer, editor and teacher from Taranaki who lives in the Manawatū. She is the author of The Comforter, Write to the Centre, A Forager’s Life and has a new volume of poetry, The Bruise Palette, coming out in late May 2026. Helen’s website

Tui Bevin

Tui Bevin is a former medical researcher from Ōtepoti  Dunedin who was born in Lower Hutt to Danish immigrant parents. She enjoys the freedom and challenge of writing poetry, memoir and essays as a way of processing her understanding of the world and preserving stories for her grandchildren. She has been placed in poetry and writing competitions and published in MINDFOOD, Tui Motu, Flash Frontier, The Otago Daily Times, and Landing Press, NZ Poetry Society and other anthologies. 

Janice Marriot

Janice Marriot has written many books, stories, plays and poems for children. She has co-authored four books examining the differences between women’s lives in urban and rural environments.  Her preoccupations now are poetry and storytelling, and helping other people to perfect their own writing. 
She lives in inner Auckland in a small garden and spends a lot of time learning from her grandchild.

Desna Wallace

Desna Wallace is a poet, flash fiction writer and children’s writer. Her work has been published in various anthologies and her micro fiction has been short-listed a few times. Desna enjoys the challenge of word limits and trying to find the best words. She works as a school librarian, teacher aid and tutors creative writing to students at Writeon the School for Young Writers.

Poetry Shelf celebrates Ockham NZ Book Awards Best First Book of Poetry: Sophie van Waardenberg

Sophie chooses favourites

From my Poetry Shelf review:

The middle section of the book, ‘Cremation sonnets’ resembles a grief casket, where the poems lead in multiple directions, carrying us between presence and absence, letting go, and unable to let go. This lost love. This elegiac memory.

The final sequence of poems, so utterly moving, are written with the ink of love. The poems are addressed to ‘you’, written across a distance between here and there, between hunger and satisfaction, dream and reality, turning away and moving close. This is love. This loved and loving woman. This is ache and this is a yearning to love and be loved. Such gentleness, such a slow perfect unfolding of what is special, with only so much revealed and gently placed in the pockets of the poems. And if this is a love that is over, such deep sadness, it seems to me, that love finds a way to linger in residues, traces, scents.

The word I write in my notebook in my latest reading is bridge, the way poems become a bridge, establish vital bridges. Think sweet and sour crossings, fluid and awkward, here and there, good and not good. Not as a restrictive dichotomy but as a series of movements, like music, like the way personal experience resists pigeon holes. Traversing the myriad bridges in Sophie’s sublime collection makes me both think and feel the world. Yes I am thinking and feeling a version of her world, but also a version of my world. And this moves me.

Rhythm, voice, bridges. I hold this book out to you so you may find your own self-affecting crossings.

A stagger of lemons and a goneness
I can’t swallow. Hello the same feeling,

didn’t I wash you off,
you get everywhere, sog up my arms

and droop me. It’s something alien
in my gut that knows you so well.

I say it again: I am not a creature of sorrow.
But I could be proper sad if I put my mind to it,

if someone dropped me from a height.

from ‘The Getting Away’

Sophie van Waardenberg is a writer from Tāmaki Makaurau. She holds an MFA from Syracuse University where she was editor-in-chief of Salt Hill Journal. Her first chapbook, ‘does a potato have a heart?’, was published in AUP New Poets 5 (2019). Her poems about eating carbohydrates and kissing girls can be found in Cordite, Sweet Mammalian, The Spinoff and Best New Zealand Poems.

Listen to Sophie read two poems on Poetry Shelf: ‘Self-Portrait as Adolescent Covered in Flour’, ‘Hymn to the Insomniac in Fool’s Spring’

Auckland University Press page

Poetry Shelf congratulates Ockham NZ Book Award Poetry Winner

Warm congratulations to Nafanua Purcell Kersel for her awarding poetry collection, Black Sugarcane (THWUP).

Moana Pōetics

We build a safe around our birth stones.
Craft it with a dream, a gourd, a drum-made
chant.

Pile it high with frigate bird bones,
song bones, bones of
cherished names.

We rub sinnet along our thighs and lash
our cache. Our stories kept sound, where words
and names and songs are not forgotten.

One day before, now, or beyond, something
with a heart drops a hank of its flesh
before us. It sounds like a drum and we know

it’s time
to undo the rope, iron-rock and bone-sand.
The stories, they tell us

that if we are the dark blue seas then we are
also the pillowed nights and days, soft with
clouds, spread half-open.

We are a tidal collection, hind-waters of the
forever we rally on, to break the staple
metaphors from the fringes.

Safe.
We sound together on a dance or
bark an intricate rhyme.

We, are the filaments of a devoted rope. We,
who contain a continuance and

call it poetry.

Nafanua Purcell Kersel

Let me say this. There is no shortage of poetry books published in Aotearoa this year to love, to be enthralled and astonished by. We need this. We need these reading pathways. Sometimes I love a poetry book so much I transcend the everyday scene of reading (yes those bush tūī singing and the kererū fast-swooping) to a zone where I am beyond words. It is when reading is both nourishment and restoration, miracle and epiphany . . . and that is what I get with this book.

Begin with the physicality of a scene, a place, an island, a home. The scent of food being prepared and eaten will ignite your taste buds. Pies filled and savoured, luscious quince, the trickster fruit slowly simmered, a menu that is as much a set of meals as a pattern of life. Move into the warm embrace of whanau, the cousins, aunties, uncles, parents, grandparents, offspring. And especially, most especially, the grandmother and her lessons: ‘”If you want to learn by heart, / be still and watch my hands” (from ‘Grandma lessons (kitchen)’).

Find yourself in the rub of politics: the way you are never just a place name and that where you come from is a rich catalogue of markers, not a single word. The question itself so often misguided and racist. Enter the ripple effect of the dawn raids, or the Christchurch terrorist attack, or poverty, or climate change, crippling hierarchies. And find yourself in the expanding space of the personal; where things are sometimes explored and confessed, and sometimes hinted at. I am thinking pain. I am thinking therapist.

Find yourself in shifting poetic forms, akin to the shifting rhythms of life and living: a pantoum, a found poem, an erasure poem, long lines short lines, drifting lines. Find yourself in the company of other poets, direct and indirect lines to the nourishment Nafanua experiences as a writer: for example, Lyn Hejinian, Kaveh Akbar, Karlo Mila, Tusiata Avia, Selina Tusitala Marsh, Serie Barford, Konai Helu Thaman, Dan Taulapapa McMullin. So often I am reminded we don’t write within vacuums. We write towards, from and because of poetry that feeds us.

Bob Marley makes an appearance so I put his album, Exodus, on repeat as I write this. It makes me feel the poetry even more deeply. This coming together, this ‘One Love,’ this getting together and feeling alright, as we are still fighting, still uniting to make things better in a thousand and one ways.

I give thanks for this book.

From Nafanua picks some favourite things:

One question:  Why or how does your poetry book matter to you?
“It mattered to me to have something to pass on to my children, something they could hold with our family names and stories in it.” 

Nafanua Purcell Kersel (Satupa‘itea, Faleālupo, Aleipata, Tuaefu) is a writer, poet and performer who was born in Sāmoa and raised in Te-Whanganui-a-Tara, Aotearoa. Her poetry has been widely published. She has an MA from the IIML at Te Herenga Waka—Victoria University of Wellington and won the 2022 Biggs Family Prize in Poetry for Black Sugarcane, her first book. She lives in Te Matau-a-Māui Hawke’s Bay.

Te Herenga Waka University Press page

Listen to Nafanua read here

Poetry Shelf Playing Favourites: Anna Jackson chooses Amy Marguerite

drives and drops

we were hitting the shuttlecock 

and it started to rain and you 

started singing and all of a sudden 

i knew what i had to do to be good 

at this game and the girl sat 

beside the net complaining about 

her body and the tide came 

closer and sleep seemed further 

away and the book i was supposed 

to have finished was still on the couch 

and i love the way you put your arm 

around me there and i want you 

to do it again and we are so wet now

it is time to get undressed and the 

clothes stay on and the girl puts on 

an accent and the net falls onto 

the grass and this is so convincing 

i might never read again and the boy 

brings us beer and badminton is easier 

when you’re drunk and i am getting 

so good at this and i am never 

good at anything and everything 

smells like the dinner we forgot 

to take out of the oven and the ocean 

that is so close i am already 

swimming and let’s just drop our 

racquets

Amy Marguerite
from over under fed, AUP, 2025

drives and drops

I have been thinking about voice in poetry, and a student, Erina French, pointed me to Alice Notley’s observation that “a good poetic voice must have … something like vividness, actual presence of the live poet in the dead words on the page—the poem is very little without that.”  I don’t know if words on a page are ever dead to me, but I do know that any writing I have ever read by Amy Marguerite is somehow more vividly, urgently alive than almost any other writing I can think of, including even those writers Amy Marguerite loves for their aliveness, Grace Paley and Eileen Myles (I love them too).  “To make that transference is a mysterious thing to do,” Notley says, but this poem, “drives and drops,” being, as it is, about finding a way to live with the vividness and presence of a good poem, tells us something about how this transference might come into being.  It is a poem about playing badminton with such abandon that everything becomes part of the game, and the game becomes part of everything around it – the book left unread is part of the game of badminton, the girl complaining about her body, the dinner forgotten in the oven, the tide coming in… Of course everything and everyone is going to get wet!  In a poem like this, you are already swimming before you have even dropped your racquets.  Are we in love?  The desire coursing through the poem, out of which pours forth the poem’s dizzying trajectory, somehow languorously slow and heart-stoppingly fast at the same time, in a very badminton-like way, cannot possibly not be felt by any reader of the poem who knows how to love.  Who, reading this poem, could help but love the poet, the players, the game itself and everything the game encompasses, which is nothing less than the whole world?

Anna Jackson

Amy Marguerite (she/her) is a poet, essayist, and peer support worker living in Pukekohe. In 2022, she completed an MA in Creative Writing at the International Institute of Modern Letters. Amy’s debut collection over under fed was published by Auckland University Press in March 2025. Her essay on the new generation of Aotearoa poets features in Te Whāriki: Reading Ten New Poets from Aotearoa, published by Auckland University Press in October 2025.

Anna Jackson is a poet and Professor of English literature at Te Herenga Waka/Victoria University of Wellington, whose latest book Terrier, Worrier came out with Auckland University Press in 2025. 

Poetry Shelf Monday Poem: ‘Anselm 3D’ by Claire Beynon

Wim Wenders on the 3D Artistry of Anselhm Kiefer -His new documentary

Anselm 3D

Anselm Kiefer was born in a bomb
shelter two weeks before the end
of WWII. Immediately, his mother

pressed plugs of softened wax
into her son’s newborn ears
to shield him from the enemy.

Above ground the broken
voices of another
unwinnable war.

At 78, an arc-welding wizard
unmasked against the fierce
toxicity of memory, Anselm

treads a tightrope between
burning straw and molten
lead. Paint pot, brush

or flaming torch in hand,
he cycles the twin hallways
of density and weightlessness.

His studio’s vast, a contained
yet infinite space, itself
a portrait of this man

in whom life’s disjunctions
(even when he does not speak)
are in perpetual conversation.

Trapped in the copper
lining of his eye, the reflection
of a winged palette, feathers

a-tremble, emblem of service
held up to the sky. A smear
of colour threatens, disappears

down the jagged path
into a forest of birches
where stiffened white

ballgowns stand stock-still
and silent among the trees.
Glass shards arrested

in fabric folds prevent
them/prevent us/prevent
Anselm from taking off

across the unscarred landscape
back to the bomb shelter
in Donaueschingen,

his mother’s lullaby above
the falling bombs a constant
that never leaves him.

Claire Beynon | Ōtepoti Dunedin

Anselm Kiefer | Das einzige Licht (2006) 

Claire Beynon is an artist and writer living in Ōtepoti Dunedin. Her poetry, flash fiction and short stories have been widely pub-lished and anthologised in Aotearoa and abroad. She has been a runner-up in the Sunday Star Times Short Story Competition and in 2002 was the winner of the NZ Poetry Society’s International Poetry award. In 2021 her poem ‘Today’s Sky’ was awarded the Takahē Monica Taylor Poetry Prize.  Claire combines the contemplative rhythms of writing and art-making with a range of interdisciplinary collaborations. Two summer research seasons in Antarctica continue to inform her work. Her most recent collection is For when words fail us: a small book of changes, The Cuba Press, 2024. Website