The Commonplace Odes by Ian Wedde, Auckland University Press, 2001, $19,95, 52pp. Wedde’s first collection of poems in several years is marked by an outstanding first poem, Epode: a conversation a sort of ruminating diallogue with the Latin poet, Horace, sharing his praises of “the commonplace world”. The collection as a whole is in a 1960s revival style though not the 60s of Wedde's own youthful work but rather that of more traditionally oriented authors. Epode employs these conventions with considerable skill and often movingly. The lines are laid out on the page with precise attention to reading aloud or silently. References evoke the Roman world of Horace: garlands, muse, laurels, husbandman, barbarous tribes, the Forum and so on, but not to cumbersome or merely archaising effect. The choice of Georgian ‘poetic’ words has a similar impact: a basket bedecked with laurels, profane glamour, lofty doors, amiable libations, particularly since they are laid alongside down to earth phrases: the malls’ ordinary crowd, shady sofa, roguish snapshots pumping out doggerel. The pervasive alliteration, assonance, repetition of words and partial rhyme avoid being intrusive whilst working as they are intended to on the ear. This is very much a poetry of metaphor, but far from figures of speech serving chiefly as bravura advertisements of claims to linguistic stardom, they usually advance the poetic argument, are interesting, ironic or vivid even memorable:

The nibbled winter ejects itself like birdsong”
...
‘Fires of the deep flare along the flank of darkness where
Sediment packs down under time”

or almost post-modernly unexpected:

‘The taxis are flushed with dawns of backlit peaks”.

The whole poem works as a statement of poetic faith from a writer aware that he is several changes beyond his youthful poetic self.
Nothing else in the collection comes anywhere near this poem nor tries to.
Much of the rest of the collection are well-crafted poems. But although they pick up here and there Epode's references to Horace, metaphors, phrases, topics, they lack the same vigour and conviction. Indeed at times the metaphors can be strident and the rhyming devices insistent, the diction overblown. The least satisfactory are those that are written “to order” – a couple of his annual verses for a friend and a notably weak poem commissioned for the Parihaka exhibition.

The quality of the poetry revives immensely in the third section when Wedde's love of art unites with his poetic preoccupations in this volume with perception and the ironies of time and life. The very best of these poems are ‘To Peter McLeavy’ and ‘To Milan Mrkusich’ in which linkages of images capture the poetic substance:

Where will it end, this lucid notation of colours,
This visual music, this subterfuge, this exact picture
Of time, this contraband clock in paradise’ (To Milan Mrkusich).

Has Wedde's return to poetry after the silence of the past few years been worthwhile? Certainly, there’s a sense of reliable quality. But the initial poem remains the memorable achievement of a regained poetic voice.

Extreme Weather Events. Stories by Tim Jones. HeadworX Publishers, Wellington. $19.95. Reviewed by Trevor Reeves.

These stories, twelve in all, are attractively presented in a pocket-sized edition, easy to read and carry around with you. The stories themselves, which have previously appeared in a number of magazines worldwide, are an interesting mixture of light fantasy and pretty perceptive satire dressed up in a "sci-fi" mode. All through, they are very outgoing and very often quite humorous in a wry sort of way. Tim Jones has seen a lot of life, much through his earlier days as a peace and green activist. Some stories, such as "The Man who Loves Maps" are very approachable and even gripping. Jones perceives very clearly what "possesses" people when their existences have been deprived of the normal human contacts and experiences most of us take for granted. What is real loneliness like? The man who loved maps. The ability to go outside himself distinguishes Jones from many of his prose-writing contemporaries, especially some of the more high-flying ones. His work is not simply a trailer to a self-congratulatory blurb on the back cover. So what happened when Amundsen and Scott met at the South Pole? Nearly a fist fight before both parties gained some repose before the official photos were taken. Does that remind you of the smiling and handshakes at political summits during the cold war – and even now? "My Friend the Volcano" reminds me of a particularly chilling movie I saw many years ago called "Brainstorm". Implants, headsets – all the technology magnifying outside forces and images so that what happens in 'nature' is felt in the head. Deftly done with Jones' typical wry humour. The story concerns a woman scientist researching the "Taranaki Volcano". I am bemused that this book didn't attract a grant to assist the publisher to bring it to us. Okay, so there's a lot of sci-fi in this book and not enough "personality" literature? But the lack of a grant reaffirms to me my suspicion that the assessors at Creative New Zealand, bogged down so much with time constraints, tend to read the cv's instead of the work. However, we have the book regardless – and my suggestion is, go out and buy it. It's a beauty.

Rhyme Before Reason. Poems by Scott Kendrick. HeadworX Publishers. $19.95. 80pp. Reviewed by Trevor Reeves.

This is a really good-looking first collection of poetry by a young New Zealander (born in 1969). Scott Kendrick appears to be a really modern media person and deals with manners and behaviour in a interesting declamatory way, as in "A Millionaire Hippy is Something to Be": "….while knowing the future will come with a fee - / A working class hero is something to be". Kendrick is currently studying politics at Victoria University. This shows up in the ballad-type structure of many of the poems. Most are anchored to expressing the normal person's apprehension of the political system and how it's doing them wrong. Nothing wrong in this, even if James K. Baxter did it better, perhaps. We need poets like Scott Kendrick. He is really tuned in to the paraphernalia of 'spin'. To know whether or not he believes in the process, you are going to have to buy the book, which I thoroughly recommend. "Inner Strength, it's more than just a saying" he says in No.5 of 'Commercial Breaks'. In "City Cycle": "I am inhaled at dawn / To be exhaled at dusk ' I habitually practice / Holding my breath". Much of this book is eminently quotable: "The hangover is wearable / The weekend has begun". This is poetry of a man on the run. Publisher, Publisher Mark Pirie is to be congratulated on helping to drag poetry like this out of the declining morass of Post-modernism, and into the 21st century.

No Joke. Poems by Mark Pirie. Sudden Valley Press, Christchurch, New Zealand. $22.95. Reviewed by Trevor Reeves.

This is a subatantial volume of poetry – some 160 pages' worth. In the space we have here it is hard to do justice to the importance of the work in this book. Pirie is 'older' in poetic maturity than many of his contemporary poets who are captured (by poetic conservatism) in mature careers – being mostly twenty-plus years older than Pirie, and who move little in terms of style and innovation. I believe the weaker poems in here have to be considered in context with the stronger ones. There is a 'flow' here that will undoubtedly be subject to an editor's careful selection in many years to come. This is a good opportunity to see the development of Pirie as a poet and at the same time enjoy all of the poems in their entirety. There are no failures here – simply, some are stronger than others. Like "The Tryst" – the ultimate meeting of the irrevocably unmatched! There are many others that draw wry amusement but never are they self-indulgent. This is hard to achieve when words tend to often get away from one. Not so from Mark Pirie. A solid control, good images and almost a 'short story' approach to often, short poems, is a feature of this promising poet's work. Political activism is something I suspect Mark Pirie would care to hide under his bushel, but his poem "Necessary Murder" is highly charged. Being close to writing course instructors in the course of proceeding through his academic requirements, "A Writing Course Poem" is somewhat revealing: "Remember: anger / or emotion are strictly / forbidden" displays how many such courses are egocentrically rather than perceptively orientated. From such writing courses come the personality cults, perhaps, as a retaliation. There's no egocentricity like that in Pirie's writing. I dare to say that he is a populist whose work may transcend all those who are presently making "comebacks". Many of these poems are 'reading poems', flying in the face of some post-modernists who say that language and reading are rubbish. Pirie is helping to bring the whole thing of poetry back to basics again. He trusts the reader to get the point in his poems. There's no puffing up of his poems with historical literary allusions. His style is distinctive, assured, and like many who will, or ought to read this book, I will look for more of it in the future.

Dialectic of Mud. Poems by Richard Reeve. Auckland University Press, New Zealand. Reviewed by Trevor Reeves.

Richard Reeve is a poet who has a classical approach to the craft of poetry. Young (26 or so), he has had the benefit of a sound academic education and probably, a solid grounding in human experiences. These poems are very much reading poems, reflecting the present enthusiastic culture in Dunedin of live readings. I could practise in front of the mirror for ages with these ones, and highly entertain myself. This is the way it should be. Although ideal for reading, these poems are tightly structured, and many remind me of the careful construction that the late R. A. K. Mason conferred on his poetry. Reeve has his own distinctive style, however – more racy perhaps. In the title poem the words are wrought and pulled this way and that – imagism to the point of hyperbole and tautology abound, but the overall impression is of a lusty work that had me captivated. Many of his contemporaries wouldn't even attempt this kind of expression. I kept thinking of Ezra Pound, Yeats and Hopkins when reading some of these but I don't find them derivative of them. Only slides shades of self-indulgence show here and there – in Spider": "maker of shadows / shimmering and spiralling down / my own dark hole". Mitigated, however, by, in "Song": "Through puddles shatter / the footsteps and, in the / weir, quiet eyes of water / pulse, flicker". Some poems, such as "Roadkill" leave me preferring to watch the drink-drive road accident ads on TV. There's life and fire in all of Reeve's work and he is making a substantial contribution to the emergence of a number of distinctive and highly exciting poets in recent times.

JOURNALS

Winter Spin 2001. An annual short poems issue of Spin edited by Pat Prime and Bernard Gadd.

The note whivch arrived with this issue announces that Tony Chad is the new organisational person at Spin. He is very efficient, I must say. Every thinking poet should subscribe to this enduring and enlightening magazine. See the advert on page 22 of the print edition. Spin is becoming more international in its approach, in a pleasing cross-cultural and ethnic mix. There's some nice work in here of poets from USA, Australia, the UK and India. Some bio notes would have been nice, though. From pretty sensual nature images the variety flows to more concrete matters, as in Karen Butterworth's "side by side / in the sun, / our mobile phones". Lovely. Back to the tactile in Tony Chad's "the smell of her shoulder / as we dance / at your best friend's wedding". I could go on but you'd better subscribe as see for yourself.

JAAM 15

At 206 pages Jaam is certainly becoming a substantial New Zealand journal. I find the poetry more convincing than the prose. Maybe good short stories are harder to find than I thought. The 20-page memoir by Stephen Oliver is interesting, but not gripping, to me. Oliver's work has some traction in Australia where he now lives, and where is great competition for attention. Nice to see though. Not many poets talk about themselves in memoirs, they prefer to do it in their poems. Harry Johnson's "A Poet Looks Down into the Well" appeals with its humour and implied resignation. Johnson is always good value. So is Jenny Powell-Chalmers – nice whimsical stuff.. Maggie Grant's graphics are impressive though I feel the poems that accompany them don't really connect for me. Tim Jones impresses as a poet "Walking Down and Out" is an impressive calm perception unmatched by many of this issue's contributors. His other poem, "Action Man is Sleeping" is good too. A good selection of Mike O'Leary's poems are welcome – a real bonus! Plainly, Jaam is helping to lead the way in new – and some of the writing from older writers, too, in New Zealand today. Subscribe now – see the advert on page 9 of the print version of SOR.

ANTHOLOGY

Something Between Breaths. (version of 'Creative Forum") published in India by Bahri Publications and edited by Patricia Prime (Guest editor of the New Zealand work in this issue.)
This Indian-based publication of New Zealand poetry is welcome in that it contains some very good work indeed. Perhaps this is partly due to the fact that many, or most of these poems have been previously published. The extended biographical details are also very welcome. Although not expected to be readily on sale in New Zealand, enquiries should be directed to Bahri Publications, 997A/9, Gobindpuri, Box 4453, Kalkaji, New Delhi, 110019, India.