NZEPC - Capital of the Minimal - Jeanne Bernhardt - Not as it was. NZEPC - Capital of the Minimal - Jeanne Bernhardt - TO HERSELF. NZEPC - Capital of the Minimal - Jeanne Bernhardt - SAD TREE. Best New Zealand Poems 2003. Best New Zealand Poems 2001. NZEPC - Seeing Voices - Glenn Colquhoun. Glenn Colquhoun, born in South Auckland in 1964 and currently living in the Hokianga, follows in the great doctor–poet tradition. He began training early as a minister but he became disillusioned with organised religion moments before organised religion became disillusioned with him.
He never went back. Instead, he took an English degree from the University of Auckland and worked as a builder, a cook and in emergency housing before deciding at the age of 26 to become a doctor. Half way through his medical degree, he took time out to learn more about Maori who featured prominently among his patients but about whom he knew little. A kuia from the North took him to several Maori communities she was connected to including Te Tii, where Glenn decided to live for a while, closely involved in the local community and learning Maori.
He returned to his studies, finished his medical degree and worked at Whangarei Hospital and in Intensive Care at Waikato Hospital. The first second we met. Rob Allan - Poem. Michelle Arathimos. Andy Armitage. Nick Ascroft - poems. Saul Williams – Coded Language. When You Get There | Poetry The Literary Bohemian. Spray Can Romance. By Stuart Snelson. His first crime of the night yet to be committed, he considered the circumstances through which he had arrived at this point. They had met a few months previously. At a party, both bored, they had fallen into conversation. Instantly struck by her look, he had attempted to summon a flirtatiousness he didn’t possess. His guard reluctantly lowered he proceeded to babble. Discovering she was studying art, sensing connection, he divulged more than he would have wished when she had asked him what he did. A graffiti artist, she had repeated, a wry smile upon her lips.
They talked exhaustively, eventually realising that they hadn’t even exchanged names. They drank themselves deeper into conversation until they were the only ones left in the room. From such shaky beginnings, a relationship struggled into existence. He had not lived in London long, had arrived to make his mark upon the city, to impress himself upon the landscape. What was she to do?
What of his future? Clatter. The Shout We went out into the school yard... Myth I was asleep while you were dying. It’s as... Como Conservatory, St Paul, Winter. Leaving Sonnet. When your fourth love leaves you, you will want to... When she gives up on you, You musn’t kill me. You don’t love me. The Convention. The Five Years After Punk. Aurora. Some nights I hear her say “I love you,” and some...
Days Like This | Teapot of Solidarity. It’s supposed to be Frivolous Fridays, but this week is Fragile Friday instead. The following is a poem I wrote in an optimistic moment, thinking about world-saving possibilities. Poetry sharing generally feels pretty fragile, and I’ve never done it on line before. Be nice, internet. Cartoon by Michael Leunig (prophet for our time). Note: the flying angstmobile is a one-off experimental two-seater aircraft fueled only by anxiety and tea, which appeared briefly during the poetic career of Riaan Daglish.
Days like this Let’s take all our night shift ruminations and paranoid fabrications Our worst headlines of the week, our I-don’t- save -the-world- enough- restlessness First class, first world loneliness Come out to Hagley park at that time of day when everything glows, I’ll have flying angstmobile waiting Because in a city this flat you make your own mountains and maybe that’s dumb, but now you’re lost in them and the only way to go is UP There’s even a pear tree and lots of bok choi! Like this: Days Like This | Teapot of Solidarity.