Book Review: Sidelights – Rugby Poems, by Mark Pirie

Available in bookshops nationwide.

cv_sidelights_rugby_poems.jpgRugby is often regarded as New Zealand’s national sport; although analysis of sporting options and participation rates in schools and clubs may render this assertion as contentious. Nevertheless, rugby has played a crucial role in New Zealand’s economic, social, and political development over the last century or so. Rugby is a looking-glass on New Zealand; the glorious, the despicable, the fatuous, and the fortuitous can be discerned.

Mark Pirie’s work Sidelights – Rugby Poems serves as a personalised account of his relationship with rugby; several poems are remembrances to family members that played rugby in New Zealand at various levels. One suspects that these family members are, as Ron Palenski suggests, in his instructive foreword ‘not himself a great player but a player of a type which made the game great.’

The book is divided into three sections: The Open Side, The Blind Side, and The All Blacks.

In broad-brush terms the poems that feature in The Open Side section relate to the pre-professional era. An era without scientific analysis of every footstep a player makes on the paddock. There is reference to the supposed simplicity of rugby in the poem Rugby Explained. Pirie makes comment on the female rugby experience in the poems Women Playing Rugby and Portia Woodman as a result of his experience as a spectator.

The late Sir Colin Meads was regarded as a chief exponent of the great values of rugby; solitary dedication, humility in victory and defeat, rugby’s after-match function camaraderie. There is reference to this in the poem Heartland Rugby.

Rugby served as a vital morale-boosting pastime during wartime. Pirie recounts that experience of some servicemen during a match in the poem A Letter About The War. Schools are the nurseries for young players in New Zealand. At high schools keen, fit, strong, and fast young players vie for selection into the prestigious First XV. In older and especially boys’ schools, support for the top team is fierce. The poems Two Rugby Epigrams show this. Pirie completes the section with dedicatory poems to his grandfather and mother.

The Blind Side section relates to Pirie’s personal experience of rugby players and matches. As Pirie is a Wellington poet, Hurricanes players, feature as poem topics. The demise of Jerry Collins, the success of Piri Weepu, the crowd adoration of Ma’a Nonu all feature in poems. The poem Patu ’81 is a reference to Merata Mita’s 1983 documentary film on the 1981 Springbok Tour. The last three lines: ‘a girl / watching her parents / cried in my film class’ is indicative of many New Zealand families at the time; fractured, tense, and forthright.

The poem Super Final exposes the common problem of ticket profiteering in the professional era. The poem Sevens recounts a comment that was indicative of the demise of the Wellington Sevens tournament that was ruined by the ‘fun police.’ The poem The Divided Country illustrates the tribalism between the provinces in New Zealand. Chris Laidlaw once wrote that ‘beer and rugby are more or less synonymous.’ Pirie continues this theme in the poem Ode To Molly Malones.

The last section is dedicated to The All Blacks. Prominent modern-day All Blacks feature in a number of poems in this section. Dan Carter, The Exquisite Cory Jane, Kieran Read: Tape Man, and Jonah Lomu are all titles of poems that present and extol the virtues of these players. The poem The Cup describes the time Ritchie McCaw lifted the Webb Ellis Cup in 2011. This poem signifies a major national moment for many New Zealanders. The poem Covered In Boks’ Glory is testament to the All Blacks greatest rival and the muscular battles over nearly a century. The poem Ode, In the Bellevue captures the viewing experience of many followers watching matches in pubs and clubs throughout the country.

The book ends with an epilogue: Two Poems For Tom Lawn. These are ruminations on a grandfather ‘the man I never knew.’ The book is dedicated to Pirie’s late grandfather.

Rugby has changed over the decades and generations to be what it is today. Mark Pirie’s poems are the result of being a match observer, enthusiast, crowd listener, player, and thinker on the effects rugby has on families, players, and New Zealand society. This work is, as the late Bill McLaren often declared, a ‘thundering run.’

Reviewed by C.A.J. Williams

Sidelights Rugby Poems
by Mark Pirie
Published by HeadworX Publishers
ISBN 978047340868-8

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Book Review: Aboriginal to Nowhere, by Brentley Frazer

Available now in bookshops nationwide.

cv_aboriginal_to_nowhere.jpgAboriginal to Nowhere is a love-letter to a world that ultimately rejects its people. It is a celebration of grunge, and a roll call of those things that are lame, cast-off, defunct and unlovable. It is about people divorced from the places they inhabit, and people who are disorientated in their own homes. Like those Talking Heads lyrics, ‘And you may tell yourself / this is not my beautiful house’, its people are bewildered. It also speaks to the profound loneliness ‘of the post-modern dispossessed’, the sort of grubby solitude that finds itself in a throng queuing for the Portaloos.

Frazer’s poems find beauty in the brokenness of things. Like Kintsugi, the Japanese practice of repairing fractured pottery with gold, Frazer conjures rich images from the ‘buckets of colonial rubbish’. While much of his poetry is sprawling and untethered, there are hushed moments:

‘The sky bruised over
slate roofs, the wind
moaning through louvres
leaves brown as coffee
rings.’

Most of his verse has a sort of musical harangue feel to it. The first poetic set, Aboriginal to Nowhere – Song Cycle of the Post Modern Dispossessed, pairs the technological and the ecological, through anxious reflections about man-made worlds and the alienation they can create. Frazer’s characters are watched by CCTVs and crows. They chart a course through a shifting Australia, one where ‘The indigenous goddess exits / stage left’ and people ‘bulldoze dream time for a freeway’. It is a rousing, rambling, and often irreverent, address to the nation. ‘Are you my mother, Australia?’ his speaker asks. The Australia that we find in the poems is more insouciant parent than maternal presence. And yet there are images, beyond the ‘broken hopes’, ‘generational displacement’ and ‘collapsed footpaths’, a sort of nostalgia for an Australia that may never have existed.

Aboriginal to Nowhere explores existential themes. Freewill and determinism wrangle in the cityscape. ‘Man, I didn’t get a choice where my consciousness / landed’. Cultural appropriation is prised open, xenophobia explored. There are questions of meaning in a world where the ‘Eternal Being’ is ‘an angry cynic’. ‘I don’t know what I am doing here’, the speaker exclaims. People depersonalise, aliens in their own skin. ‘Most days I feel like an actor ‘. And in a nod to Plato:

‘You are a piece of nothing,
shadows on the factory wall’

Frazer invites life’s dissonances to the table. Sometimes ‘the music and the lyrics / don’t match the visuals’. He entertains a ‘happy drowning feeling’. In all of this he steps lightly, capering around concepts, toying with the reader’s ability to hold two contrary ideas in mind.

Mostly, though, Aboriginal to Nowhere is about people – all sorts of folk. We meet hipsters and junkies, the mentally ill, beer guzzlers, strippers, rednecks, millennials, academics, immigrants, city slickers and farmers. Frazer’s is a world populated and full of noise, but ultimately nobody’s.

This is a thoughtful and fierce collection. Frazer is a visionary at a time when humanity risks losing touch with its core animality, and the real-world places in which it finds itself.

Reviewed by Elizabeth Morton

Aboriginal to Nowhere
by Brentley Frazer
Published by HeadworX
ISBN 9780473365677

Chapbook Review: Broadsheet 16, featuring Stephen Oliver

cv_broadsheet_16Available in selected stores nationwide.

Volume 16 of Broadsheet, November 2015, is an instalment in honour of Australasian poet, Stephen Oliver, for his contribution to trans-tasman poetry. The volume therefore features Oliver’s work, along with poetry from his friends and contacts and a few contributions outside of the theme.

Oliver’s poems are placed in the middle of the volume, with other poets and their writing flowing out of this central feature. One of these poems was Pavel Arsenev’s Translator’s Note, a lovely piece at the start of the issue that worked through the processes of thought. Similar to the way in which a translation is undertaken, the poem explores the way we try to comprehend and understand: “I feel fear. / I am afraid of something, but I don’t know what.”

Oliver’s own poems are both sweet and quirky. This Way Out describes a lush landscape, from fossil to mountain range, and ends with the beautiful image of “Orpheus as he plays / so high and sweet on his moon bone flute”. Another one of his poems included, Lace, has the same light and airy tone as it captures the image of a woman in her home. It is an everyday scene, but Oliver alights it with touches of beauty; the curtains are made of lace and she, too, is described as bright as a dream.

The selection of Oliver’s poems in this issue are proof that he can pull off both the comical and the more poignant side of poetry. Poetry Day Blues is a more casual piece of work, with Oliver using rhyme to create a jaunty little poem about the happenings of National Poetry Day. In a Doctor Seuss-esque rhythm, he describes “Poems on pavements, poems on walls, / Poems at bus stops, poems in halls”. His poem The Departed Guest, meanwhile, returns to more serious themes and encompasses an empty mind as “an abandoned amphitheater”; it describes an intangible loss of knowledge and memory that goes beyond the physical.

Other poems of note were two pieces written by Nicholas Reid. The poem King of Comedy contemplates how time seems to forever click onwards, taking the scene from antique skyscrapers to Vespa scooters and then to the city traffic of Los Angeles. Reid’s poem Ars Amoris was one of my favourite poems in Broadsheet 16, and talks about art and love and the inevitable way they twist and turn around each other. He describes how the art of love can be sonnets, a “plumage of birds in a downriver drift”, the sound of Mozart. And in the final verse, Reid finally talks of how love is also “old you, old me, old us”, a soft and precise ending that closes off the poem nicely.

Broadsheet 16 is a wonderful instalment of various poets, with many writers I had not come across before previously. This little and affordable chapbook promises a collection of new New Zealand poetry and it does not fail to deliver.

Reviewed by Emma Shi

Broadsheet 16
edited by Mark Pirie
Published by The Night Press
ISSN 11787808