



a snippet of my veggie garden going wild
It was a bit of shock getting a letter inviting me to accept a New Year’s Honour (Member of NZ Order of Merit). Like Eileen Duggan I felt a bit flabbergasted, embarrassed and touched by the invitation. I was busy reading my way through Eileen’s archives when I got the letter – which seemed slightly uncanny as I was reading her thoughts on her Queen’s Honour along with poetry, books and New Zealand.
I do want to thank everyone in New Zealand who supports poetry: all the poets, publishers, readers, booksellers, festival organisers, media, reviewers and children poetry fans.
It is a special honour and I am grateful.
And I am so delighted to see the very wonderful Bernadette Hall also honoured.
Helen Rickerby’s Seraph Press published poetry books by both Bernadette and I in 2016, coincidentally.
Best wishes for a fabulous year of poetry in 2017.

This is sad news. After a long battle with cancer, Michele Amas died on Boxing Day. A poet and actor, her first collection of poetry, After the Dance, was published in 2006 and was nominated for best first book of poetry in the Montana New Zealand Book Awards.
Her poetry is an exquisite meeting point for domestic experience, self and flickering shards of the wider world. Each poem satisfies, so very much, with images that surprise, juxtapositions that spark and a delicious clarity of line. There is a tenderness, a maternal chord that feeds the poems and ignites every mother cell in your body as you read.
My thoughts go out to friends and family.
A sample from After the Dance (Victoria University Press, 2006):
from ‘One way to read her’:
Above her, look for the angle
of clouds,
deliberate, weather stretched
from ‘Daughter’:
Get off my back
daughter
this is not dancing
you have sharpened your spurs.
from ‘Golden Delicious’:
She is sunny
She is sunny side up, my girl
running to meet me.
from ‘Reasons for ladders’:
I climb on Gaudi’s shoulders
to a windowsill overlooking
Barcelona, but still I see
the daughter from the corner
of my eye.
from Temporary beds’:
I will bring an umbrella ceiling
to hold over you at night
to keep the dark from falling.
from ‘The Caversham Project (ii)’:
I never liked the srtory
Edna told me of her wedding day,
how Charles took her aside
after their vows
making her promise
never to contradict him.
from ‘After the dance’:
After the dance
a quiet love
settles, sleeps
in collars, in clothes
thrown over a chair.
The house is dreaming.
from ‘The Caversham Project (iii)’:
Why do her only two regrets –
never learning
to ride a bike
never spending a night
in a tent –
shake me.
from ‘Repair’:
I am taking all the women
in this family to Japan.
Dead and alive we will
travel by bus
up the archpelago
to sit under the cherry blossom.
This for the end of a year
from a chorus of short-tongued alpine bees
Let us give thanks for the flushes and zones of colour
in the herb-field, for the alpine genera,
the wire rush and the tangle fern, the sheep sorrel
and the cats-ear, the gentians and the astelias and everything
that grows under the edge of a melting snow-bank.
Let us give thanks for the cranesbill geranium and
the mouse ear myositis, for the ranunculus (little frog mouth,
little friend), for the feathered myrrh of the nival zone,
for the bog moss in the tarn,
for all that is and all that has been and all that is to come.
It is for us to keep our courage firm,
to nurse our appointed pain,
to await ‘that which springs ablaze of itself. ’
©Bernadette Hall
(first published under a different title in Life & Customs VUP 2013)
Poplar tree, Tukituki River I
Head-
quarters of this
bird-brained
valley–
early summer–
tui brush
the sky’s blue
a quivering branch
signals another departure
endless comings and
goings–the blueness
of each black bird.
Poplar tree, Tukituki River II
Greenery, blue-
tail, tui
bloomery.
©Gregory O’Brien
Hasta la vista
Things were fatal but not urgent.
We used more make-up and less speed.
We saw the hectic colour on one side
and the blank space on the other.
What went up came down then drilled its way
metres deep into the earth. Under
the turned table we learned to live
on our own chewing gum
while unfamiliar implements played
dinner music above our heads.
We adapted — it was what we knew
how to do — but the sugar cubes kept
getting smaller. Whereas before
we had been known by name,
now we only crept to the watering holes
under cover of darkness, then sat
with chins on our knees and waited while
the new customers declined our terms
in favour of their own impenetrable
argot. Sign met size and came off
second best, bedding down with lice
and livestock in the basement of
the air we used to own. While
they were busy ransacking
the drawers there was still time to rue
our civilised discontents, but now
the sudden silence impends overthrow.
We stare at one another, suspended
in the pause before the shouting
and splintering Hollywood has, as it
turns out, so well prepared us for,
the breathless interval before our new
lives, hat and coatless in the snow.
©Chris Price First published in Sport 38
Island Bay has a new sea wall
The old sea wall was so grey
The new sea wall is so grey
The old sea wall was heavy as plutonium
The new sea wall is warm under my hand
Boats in the bay were from a painting
Boats in the bay wiggle their hips,
no-rhythm, they’re
white and nerdy
Old sea wall
New sea wall
Old sea wall met the sea like a fist bump.
Hello! Why, hello.
New sea wall fits with the sea
like lovers spooning
on and off
The old sea wall was a statue of a wall
The air trembles with sand and salt and light
There was the storm, the ravage, the pieces
Old sea wall was so Marguerite Duras
New sea wall is so Marguerite Duras
Old sea wall
New sea wall
Was curved like a public bar and Italian
fishermen leaned on it smoking
looking out to sea
New sea wall is so straight
glittering in the sun
Old sea wall was so wall
New sea wall is so new
After the storm the city council wanted
no wall at all!
Because all things
Old sea wall was so sea levels
New sea wall is so sea levels
The pieces, the people, the fight
Old sea wall was so gonesville
New sea wall is so concrete
so warm and gritty
island and sea
Old sea
New sea
©Anne Kennedy
North Mole
We see Kupe climb out of his car
at the North Mole, pull his wetsuit
hood over his head, place foot after foot
on the sharp rocks towards where we are.
Hey man, he says, as he reaches the sand.
He’s given up on the gym –
it doesn’t motivate him.
He has more of a surfer’s mind. And the band?
Yeah, yeah, his music is going well.
He times his movements to the swell;
so many things could lie beyond the roll
of water, out past the end of the mole.
And each wave curling in to the shore
is like the sea saying what are you waiting for?
©Airini Beautrais
The mattress
The mattress
dumped
several hot
winters ago
on the dune
is a fantastical
ruin
postgraduate
art students
fevering
in the coastal
cities
with their backs
to the reddirt
desert
the thing
is being
eaten by
fantasise
of making
such an object
with its look
of casual
devastation
its tessellate
padding
its industrial
stitching
its coil
and cushion
insides
rupturing
gorgeously
its once-
whiteness
scuppered
its purpose
brindling
its sense of history
dense
yet
without
statement
(perfect)
anything
is possible
in the white
cube
of the gallery
(not so much
in Nyirripi
Yuendumu
Papunya
Kintore)
between
the sorry
camp
and the
kardiya
houses
Art Mattress
disintegrates
and convolutes
without
audience
back at camp
the wire
bedframe
serves
as a butcher’s table
then later
we sleep
on it
©Joan Fleming
Thousand apologies but I had to take this poem down as I couldn’t get the format right on the blog (crazy to have tried!) and my screen shots didn’t work in all browsers.
I am posting another fabulous Joan-Fleming poem instead.