It’s What He Would’ve Wanted
By Nick Ascroft (Te Herenga Waka University Press, $25)
Nick Ascroft continues to be a master of irony. Certainly he makes fun of some current foolish fashions in his poems Dress Code and Opulence, and his Bad Cookbooks puts together 44 one-liners about revolting meals people might concoct. Some of his work may seem flippant, but he always comes back to what is serious. The Centaur for Women ticks off men who prey on women. It’s What He Would’ve Wanted riffs on the common cliché at funerals. Ascroft turns it into a riotous suggestion of all the ways we can go. Then, in other poems, he shows what things really preoccupy him: death and sorrow, remembering his late mother; awareness that life is short; the gradual decay of the human body; how the human brain works; and the attractions and pitfalls of sex. Laugh as much as you can, but see that there are real matters being presented here.
No Good
By Sophie van Waardenberg (Auckland University Press, $24.99)
In her debut collection, Sophie van Waardenberg’s style is in part almost classical. She writes in neat stanzas, preferring to produce either couplets or 14-liners which are almost sonnets. No Good is both a self-examination and a psychological journey. Why did van Waardenberg call her collection No Good? People who are depressed often feel, irrationally, that they are “no good” and much of this collection is built on that mood. Her poems go through adolescent awkwardness, youthful uncertainty about her sexuality. Her father is always depicted positively, but there is a sense of guilt about family and perhaps about having left her family’s religion. But after this, there are also happy memories and she is able to navigate her way through personal relationships. One can’t help admiring how apparently candid her work is.
The Venetian Blind Poems
By Paula Green (The Cuba Press, $20)
Seasoned poet and critic Green spent several years battling a rare form of blood cancer, with lengthy periods in hospital. Her experience was often traumatic, with pain, discomfort and the lack of focus that came with the infusions she had to have. She writes her story in two parts. The Venetian Blind Poems take place in the hospital as she tries to see the world outside, has a “morphine nightmare” and “some days the pain is so / intense, like a clinging dressing / gown”. But there are also days of listening to podcasts of children’s stories and dreaming of flowers and other soothing things. She can face the day and like it. The second part, The Open Window, has her at home. She can “Look at the wildflowers in the long grass / Look at the blue umbrella dripping spring / Look at the green hills and the kererū in the cabbage tree”. Many such thoughts make her think of her childhood, but she finally comes to “… the sweet Lake of Calm … the rock of Contemplation … the river of Self Awareness … the Ocean of Belonging …”. It would be wrong to call this confessional poetry, but it does work towards a sense of calmness, overcoming prolonged trauma.
