Showing posts with label HeadworX. Show all posts
Showing posts with label HeadworX. Show all posts

Tuesday

A Clearer View of the Hinterland (2014)



[Cover design: Ellen Portch & Brett Cross /
Cover image: Graham Fletcher]

A Clearer View of the Hinterland: Poems & Sequences 1981-2014. ISBN: 978-0-473-29640-7. Wellington: HeadworX, 2014. ii + 190 pp.

Contents:
  1. Tanera Beag (1981)[p.9]

  2. Antipodes (1998)[pp.10-11]
    Midsummer Xmas
    Strange Meeting
    Morning Swim
    Commuter

  3. Except Once (1998)[p.12]

  4. from Travel Sonnets (1998)[pp.13-16]
    Reading U. K. Le Guin
    Simple
    Rental
    After Supervielle & Apollinaire

  5. A Clearer View of the Hinterland (1998)[p.17]

  6. God’s Spy (1998)[pp.18-22]
    1 – Cover
    2 – Code
    3 – Stories
    4 – Safe House
    5 – Signs
    6 – The Opposition
    7 – Inside
    8 – Blown

  7. Withdrawal Symptoms (1999)[p.23]

  8. Out Being Alienated (1999)[pp.24-28]
    1 – Came here the other night for a sticky
    2 – The perfect mixer for the perfect city
    i – Viaduct Basin
    ii – Whiplash
    iii – The Street-Vendor
    3 – Be honest
    4 – Give me a reason to boogie down
    5 – The perpetual time of never coming back

  9. Auckland Girl (1999)[p.29]

  10. The Britney Suite (2000)[pp.30-47]
    Paul Celan, SCHNEEPART
    SNOWPART
    Wendy Nu , keith partridge y yo
    Paul Celan, ERZFLITTER
    ORESPARK
    Nouvelle vague
    Paul Celan, KALK-KROKUS
    CHALK-CROCUS
    Wendy Nu, mr darling writes to penthouse forum
    Paul Celan, DAS GEDUNKELTE
    DARK
    It’s always too late …
    Paul Celan, BEIDHÄNDIGE
    BOTH-HANDED

  11. After Apollinaire (1999)[p.48]

  12. from Tiger Country (2001)[pp.49-54]
    Tiger Country
    Dumb
    Civil War
    Disorder and Early Sorrow
    [your name here]

  13. Quasimodo’s Last Poem (2000)[p.55]

  14. Seven Levels of the Waterfall (2002)[pp.56-70]
    Letter (to Lien Stevens)
    Trekking
    I – Hill Country
    In the Opium Museum
    II – Golden Triangle
    On the Frontier
    III – Air-con Bus
    The Débâcle
    IV – Ayutthaya
    To the River Kwai
    V – Rafthouse
    Erawan
    VI – Erewhon
    The Massage Parlour
    VII – Bangkok

  15. Stone Pine Lavender (2002)[pp.71-72]

  16. The Return of the Vanishing New Zealander (2003)[pp.73-86]
    I ♥ NZ
    NZ Golf (and English) Academy
    Boi-Boi on Karaoke
    Language School Picnic
    Journey to the West
    Index
    Mysteries: A Christmas Poem
    In the Days of The Lord of the Rings
    A Question of Faith
    Bonfire Gothic

  17. Samsara – Breaking through (2003)[p.87]

  18. Love in Wartime (2003)[pp.88-98]
    Carl sniffed
    1 – Porphyry skyline
    2 – Rhinoceros
    3 – Entering the world again
    SEX is natural
    4 – Bright Flowers
    5 – You just don’t have the sympathy
    6 – Stops when you watch it

  19. The Miracle (2006)[p.99]

  20. Three Sisters (after René Char) (2004)[pp.100-103]
    blue pharos love
    1 – in the urn of the second
    2 – twosies
    3 – shoulder your children

  21. Zen and the Art of America’s Next Top Model (2006)[pp.104-6]

  22. from Roadworks: Auckland Geography (2006)[pp.107-18]
    O Canada!
    Tentacles of Destruction
    Asbestos Hands of Dr. J.
    DEATH & BEYOND
    Refrigerium
    Birkenhead
    A Sunday Walk
    This DVD contains everything you ever wanted to know …
    Newmarket
    Unsuccessful Applicant for Neighbourhood Watch
    Coromandel
    Blinds

  23. Zero at the Bone (2008)[p.119]

  24. Papyri (2007)[pp.120-34]
    When you walked in …
    The Villa of the Papyri
    Sappho to Anaktoria
    Recipe for Making a Dadaist Poem
    Ode to Aphrodite
    Life among the Surrealists
    Atthis
    Mnasidika
    Fragments (1-7)
    To a girl who doesn’t care for poetry
    Juicy Root
    Virgin
    Sappho’s Epithalamion

  25. Eel (after Montale) (2008)[pp.135-36]

  26. from 31 Days (2009)[pp.137-53]
    April Fool’s Day
    Hiding the Lunch
    “The archaeologist of the present day”
    Three fits
    New Zealand’s Next Top Model Speaks
    Substitutes only need apply
    The Assassination Weapon
    The Darkness
    Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz
    Mayday

  27. Last Conference before Passchendaele (2009)[p.154]

  28. The Jay Poems (2012)[pp.155-69]
    Jay & the Mail-Order Bride
    Jay as Line-Manager
    Jay & the Great Storm
    Jay Addresses the Troops
    Jay & The Economics of Happiness
    Jay on a Friday Night
    Jay’s Fear of Retirement
    Jay at the Pataphysics Conference
    Jay Finds a ’40s Photograph
    Jay on Fate
    Jay at the Glowworm Caves
    Jay Checks His Father into a Home
    Jay Gets His Hair Cut at the Mall

  29. Lounge Room Tribalism (2011)[p.170]

  30. from Jueju (2013)[pp.171-77]
    Transcultural Imaginaries
    Make-Up
    On City Streets
    40 Bogan Anthems
    Inferno 13
    Thinking of My Father

  31. 12-12-12 (after Dante, Inferno 1: ll. 1-30) (2012)[pp.178-79]

  32. The Other Side (2013)[pp.180-82]
    1914 – The Elberfeld Horses
    1966 – The Unknown Guest
    2013 – Rare and Obscure

  33. Howard (2014)[pp.183-84]



Blurb:
Leaving Town


or coming home
either I suppose

pausing to look
down the hill

at the bay
and the houses

boats moored not
too far out

from the shore
the road is

the centre though
those foreshortened cribs

have lost their
meanings the shadow

and weight
of their everyday

the wide grey
road a weathered

fence to stop
you falling off

into the dark
plantation of trees


Jack Ross’s publications include four full-length collections of poetry, three novels, and three volumes of short fiction. He has also edited numerous books and literary magazines, including – with Jan Kemp – the trilogy of audio / text anthologies Classic, Contemporary and New NZ Poets in Performance (AUP, 2006-8).

The first of the 33 poems and sequences reprinted here was written in 1981, the latest in 2014. As Paula Green put it in 99 Ways into NZ Poetry (2010): “Jack Ross writes poetry like an inquisitive magpie, a scholar, a linguist and a hot-air balloonist … The end result, in contrast to some experimental work, promotes heart as much as it does cerebral talk.”

HeadworX

978-0-473-29640-7



Graham Fletcher: "The New Order"
[from King of the Wood (2002)]



•


Acknowledgements

The earliest poem in this book was written in 1981 – and published in a large soft-backed anthology called Tango, “a literary rage.” Auckland University Literary Handbook 1982, compiled by David Eggleton, who now edits Landfall. The latest was written in 2014. That’s thirty-three years I’ve been trying to write poetry – longer, actually, since it was quite some time before I succeeded in getting any into print.

I’d like to thank a number of people for their help with this book:

My wife, Bronwyn Lloyd, always my best and most astute critic; the Bookshop (later Eye Street) Poets, Raewyn Alexander, Rosetta Allan, Stu Bagby, Lee Dowrick, Alice Hooton, Leicester Kyle, Jacqueline Crompton Ottaway, Gwenyth Perry, Ila Selwyn, Michael Steven, and Wensley Willcox, who’ve had to listen to most of them in our workshops over the years; Graham Fletcher, for his generous gift of a cover image; Scott Hamilton and those other Salt alumni, Michael Arnold, Hamish Dewe and Richard Taylor, for general aiding and abetting; the inimitable David Howard, for his permission to include his part in our joint translation of René Char (pp. 100-03); my brother K. M. Ross, who’s helped out so much early and late; my mother and father, Drs June and John Ross, for figuring in and inspiring so many of them; Gabriel White, for the neverending stimulation of his work and talk; and all the various editors and publishers who’ve shown faith in my work at one time or another:

Bill Ayton at Narcissus Press; Elizabeth Caffin at AUP; Christine Cole Catley at Cape Catley; Brett Cross and Ellen Portch at Titus Books; John Geraets and his successors at brief; Paula Green and Harry Ricketts for 99 Ways into NZ Poetry; Dean Harvard at Kilmog Press; Jan Riemenschneider-Kemp at the AoNZPSA (Aotearoa New Zealand Poetry Sound Archive) [http://aonzpsa.blogspot.co.nz/]; Jenny Lawn at the SSCS Monograph Series (Massey University); Michele Leggott and Brian Flaherty at the nzepc (New Zealand Electronic Poetry Centre) [http://www.nzepc.auckland.ac.nz/]; Theresia Liemlienio Marshall at Pohutukawa Press; Alistair Paterson at Poetry NZ; and – last but not least – Mark Pirie at HeadworX, who agreed to take on this project out of the kindness of his heart (as well as his pure disinterested zeal for poetry); and too many other people at too many journals and websites for me to list them all here.



David Howard: in Christchurch Public Library (10/6/19)]


Online Textual Notes:

Papyri


Samples:

HeadworX


Available:

HeadworX

4C/19 Cottleville Tce
Thorndon
Wellington 6011
New Zealand
http://headworx.eyesis.co.nz/

RRP: $NZ30.00



Reviews & Comments:

  1. Graham Beattie, "New poetry release by Jack Ross, Auckland." Beattie's Book Blog (September 30, 2014):

    The first of the 33 poems and sequences reprinted here was written in 1981, the latest in 2014 – a time-lapse of thirty-three years. As Paula Green put it in 99 Ways into NZ Poetry: “Jack Ross writes poetry like an inquisitive magpie, a scholar, a linguist and a hot-air balloonist … The end result, in contrast to some experimental work, promotes heart as much as it does cerebral talk.”

    A Clearer View of the Hinterland is Jack Ross’s fifth full-length poetry collection, and his most substantial to date. It reprints four complete poetry chapbooks, as well as including extracts from numerous others. The poems on offer here include love lyrics, experimental texts, and translations from a variety of languages.

  2. Mark Pirie, "HeadworX Releases New Books By Jack Ross And John O'Connor." Mark Pirie Blog (October 23, 2014):

    In September, my publishing company HeadworX released two new poetry books by John O’Connor, of Christchurch, and Jack Ross, of Auckland.

    O’Connor’s book is a nifty collection of his poems and prose poems called Whistling in the Dark with a neat cover by renowned Canterbury artist Eion Stevens.

    Ross’s book, A Clearer View of the Hinterland: Poems & Sequences 1981-2014, is essentially a major retrospective of his work, and something of much anticipation in New Zealand poetry circles.

    I’m very pleased to be publishing both of these well established New Zealand poets.

    For more details on each book, please visit the HeadworX website:

    Jack Ross, A Clearer View of the Hinterland
    http://headworx.eyesis.co.nz/poetry/clearer

    John O’Connor, Whistling in the Dark
    http://headworx.eyesis.co.nz/poetry/whistling

  3. Tracey Slaughter, Launch speech for A Clearer View of the Hinterland (May 25, 2015):

    ... If there’s one thing I constantly stress to my students it’s that Art is About Paying Attention – there’s no better illustration of that truth than the poems of Jack Ross. He is “an archaeologist of the present day.” Jack notices everything – the sleepless watcher of his poems is God’s Spy, always Baudelaire-style “out being alienated”, restlessly drifting the streets “photographing things, trying to trace patterns in the gaps.” He’s a sly postmodern neighbourhood watch, playing with the splinters of image that filter through the city, a place of atrocities, cheap thrills, kitsch, all the grace we’ve got. No one’s awake to the hinterland like Jack Ross, or can give you a clearer more haunting view. I’ve called him the King of Alt before, and no one can threaten his title - he’s a shape-shifter and a codeswitcher ... no one can jump cut from the sublime to the sub-pop in an electric instant like Jack. Tender, dirty, clever, lonely, wry, he’ll lead you from the existential longing of Celan to the “plastic voices” of NZ’s top models, from peepshows to pilgrimages, ancient scrolls to ads for lubricant. ...

  4. Mark Anthony Houlahan, "When Jack Ross came to town ..." (May 28, 2015):

    When Jack Ross came to town the sky split open raining ice and fire.
    A blizzard of small press books scattered by the lake &
    greedy reader seagulls fell upon them.
    When Jack Ross came to town a boy with wild red hair and a boy with towery
    black hair played mad guitar and looked happy in their work.
    When Jack Ross came to town a concrete bunker filed with pastries,
    wine and paintings was lit with joy.
    When Jack Ross came to town there was fond recall of mythical scenes
    from Hamilton early in its holocene era:
    landlines, faxes, test cricket and another uncaring government in power.
    When Jack Ross came to town people bought little pieces of Slaughter & Ross
    with $50 notes showing faith in the future of cash and the printed word.
    When Jack Ross came to town Joel spun round & round & round
    & round & round & round & round & round and round & round
    listening to the happy squawk of grownups mingling
    and we wondered what will he speak & sing?

  5. Robert McLean, "A Wind Through the Stays of Syntax." Landfall Review Online (August 1, 2015):

    So far as voice goes, in its shiftiness and gamesmanship, and how it relates to authorial identity, from the bulk of the poems in A Clearer View of the Hinterland one could make a case that Ross is Dr Jekyll to Manhire’s Mr Hyde. Manhire deals in whimsy and nostalgia, his compassionate tongue in his cheek; Ross ups the ante with kitsch and the ever-erstwhile contemporary, his incisive fangs bared. His modus operandi mash-ups are ‘like’ ideograms, which instead of humming in discordant harmony, shatter into each other, resulting in a spiky co-mixture of shards from shop-front windows and cathedrals’ stained glass alike. ...

    It’s lean and mean, no doubt about it – flesh is cleanly flensed from bone, from the marrow is then sucked. My time in the Hinterland has left me more with feeling than thought, which I hope excuses this clinching review-by-analogy: picture yourself on a Gold Coast beach, the wind idly leafing through the pages of a much-annotated copy of Benjamin’s Arcades Project on your lap; as ‘Baudelaire’ flashes by in your peripheral vision, you disinterestedly observe a sleek conferential shark feeding – though far from frenziedly – on a smorgasbord of swimmers, whose names end with unstressed vowels and whose togs are at least a size too small. The water is the colour of an $8 bottle of rosé. I find reading Ross – to borrow his victims’ parlance – kind of like that.

  6. Peter Dornauf, "Arts: Dark and Stormy." Nexus (August 4, 2015):

    The poetry of Jack Ross’s, Clearer View of the Hinterland, coming in at a hefty 190 pages, is difficult to summarize since it is multifarious in every respect. Experimentally eclectic, sometimes allusive, at other times didactically direct, there’s a lot going on in this volume, from Dadaesque, to ad posters, to lists, assorted prose, italics and double entry bookkeeping: a cornucopia from the last 30 years. The best are ones with a wicked sense of humour.
    Unsuccessful Applicant for Neighbourhood Watch

    I like to see
    What people do
    In private
    In secret
    In the dark.
    It was a dark and stormy night.

  7. Dr Matthew Harris, "The Places Behind the Place." Poetry New Zealand Yearbook 2 (October, 2015): 244-47.

    Call me a lazy reader, but I tend to most enjoy Ross's later, more self-contained, narrative poems such as "The Darkness", "Asbestos hands of Dr. J", and "Howard". The first of these, which tells the story of his father's journey down the Waikato river on an air-mattress, deftly shifts perspective to give the reader a sense of the dread his mother must have felt, and makes the point that being caught up in the main action can sometimes be less memorable than by-standing. The ending of "Asbestos hands of Dr. J" is both touching and funny as it scorches the writer’s devotion to his craft, and sums up his desire to condense words into something combustible - the poem as a coal nugget, perhaps. The last poem of the collection tells the story of a noisy neighbour who grieves his mother’s death by playing Led Zeppelin through the early hours of the morning ...




Complete Essay:

Matthew Harris. "The Places Behind the Place." Poetry NZ Yearbook 1 (2015): 244-47:

Jack Ross. A Clearer View of the Hinterland: Poems & Sequences 1981-2014. ISBN 978-0-473-29640-7. Wellington: HeadworX, 2014. RRP $30. 192 pp.
Walter Benjamin, in his 1936 reflections on Nikolai Leskov, classified two kinds of writers: those who readers imagine as the “trading seaman”, bringing stories from afar, and those “resident tillers” whose craft depends on a thorough knowledge of the local soil. Jack Ross, I think, is first and foremost a writer of the latter tradition. As a writer who has lived most of his life in Mairangi Bay, Auckland, he has done a great deal of graft in promoting writing in the region, from co-editing Golden Weather: North Shore Writers Past and Present in 2004 to initial selection work for what became known as ‘The Trestle Leg Series’ – a sample of North Shore writing which has graced the underside of the Auckland Harbour Bridge since 2012 (not to mention his support of numerous local journals, and nationally significant publications and poetry events).

For those familiar with Ross’s work, this is probably needless to say, but his resident tilling can also be clearly seen in both the subject matter and the form of the poetry collected here – which, I should note, brings together 33 poems and sequences from a time span of 33 years. The North Shore figures in miniature records of place (I like to see the islands in the gulf, driving / down the long hill, ships floating / down the sky [“Except Once,” p.12]); in humorous tweet-sized lines which sum up the changing nature of Auckland (If you can’t park in Birkenhead / where can you park? [“Birkenhead,” p.112]); and in more atmospheric descriptions:

That scent of air-conditioned air
as you pass a door,
cave-cold; fur
of condensation
on a beer:
Auckland midsummer.
[“God’s Spy,” p.18]
And if the subject matter of the poetry is frequently localised, it could be said that the form is too. To raise something of an old chestnut, fans of the North Shore writing might also see something in the way Ross extends a typically Sargesonian interest in the cadences of everyday speech and pushes it to breaking point, by his inclusions of what appear to be verbatim records of conversations. From a poem set at North Head in Devonport:
– I’ll scrub them when I get home
– Whatever
– Have you had an inspiration?
– Uh
– Get up and stop being stupid
– to a fallen child –
[“A Sunday Walk,” p.113]
While there are plenty of Easter eggs for North Shore readers (one might want to play spot-the-reference-to-Sargeson’s-bach?) I should note that any suggestion Ross’s use of the local might result in a kind of inward-looking parochialism wouldn’t stand up. He is also one of the most well-read poets in the country, conversant in several languages (translations are another feature of the collection), so his body of knowledge means he also writes, in Benjamin’s terms, “from afar” – or, at least, from a perspective which includes – occasionally to a reader’s frustration – reference to diverse and sometimes obscure sources. His allusions to figures such as Celan, Thomas Mann and Britney Spears – not to mention lesser-knowns like Bishop James A. Pike and Alexandra David-Néel – provide a colourful, and occasionally disorienting, juxtaposition to local subjects.

Are you thinkingabout them
ducking round thisplinth
in Eden Crescent?
[…]
Of course one wearsa thong
to pick up kittyStella Maris
Lady of the Seaora pro nobis
As in Th. MannUnordnung
und frühes Leid
cry yourself to sleep
[“Disorder and Early Sorrow”, p.53]
These allusions are more frequent in his earlier work, and over the three-decades of Ross’s writing covered by the collection, it may be possible to detect a drift toward more relational and experiential – rather than pointedly experimental – forms. Certainly, in the latter half of the collection, he isn’t always so determined to complicate his storytelling with external references, and his penchant for literary rarities and the exploration of conceptual archaisms takes up less of the foreground. This, I suppose, will variously please or irk readers who have previously lauded or criticised his leanings toward the avant-garde: Mark Houlahan has called Ross’s writing “slippery” and “quixotic”, Michael Morrissey a “challenge”, Lisa Samuels “uncomfortably interesting, richly literary, and intensely sympathetic”, and Harvey McQueen “a tantalising maze”. But I don’t think one could say Ross’s hyper-connected synapses are any less active in the later poems. The recording of curious text-types, say, in the first half of the collection (the overpass graffiti, bumper sticker, or job recruitment ad) continues to tap into sundry folk-wisdom right until the end of the book (in references to Albert Street signage, t-shirts, and text from a Massey University staff toilet). And the early allusions to Calvin Klein and Miss New Zealand’s head are no more surprising than the later nods to Hosanna Horsfall, Clever Hans, and Slash’s anus. It’s just that the latter are given more context in the poems.
Hosanna is an idiot
I’m going to New York
I’m going to be a star
If they tell me to eat myself
I’ll do it
[“New Zealand’s Next Top Model Speaks”, p.146]
Call me a lazy reader, but I tend to most enjoy Ross’s later, more self-contained, narrative poems such as “The Darkness”, “Asbestos hands of Dr. J”, and “Howard”. The first of these, which tells the story of his father’s journey down the Waikato river on an air-mattress, deftly shifts perspective to give the reader a sense of the dread his mother must have felt, and makes the point that being caught up in the main action can sometimes be less memorable than by-standing. The ending of “Asbestos hands of Dr. J” is both touching and funny as it scorches the writer’s devotion to his craft, and sums up his desire to condense words into something combustible – the poem as a coal nugget, perhaps. The last poem of the collection tells the story of a noisy neighbour who grieves his mother’s death by playing Led Zeppelin through the early hours of the morning:
the fuzz turned up in force
we heard them knocking first

then going round all the doors
finally they broke in
cuffed him

and took him off to jail
(“Howard,” p.183)
It might be said that Ross sacrifices a little attention to form in these more personal narrative poems. For instance, one might query why, in “Howard”, Ross reveals who has called the police so early in the poem, rather than saving that point of tension for the end. Or one might wonder whether the details about his parents’ medical occupation were necessary to the story in “The Darkness”. But these are minor points in otherwise memorable and affecting pieces of verse. If I have any real gripe about the collection, it’s to do with formatting. The Table of Contents is missing page numbers, which makes the book difficult to get around. And the pain of this omission is in no way lightened by the irony of including the poem “Index” which purports to provide contents information on a 1966 edition of The Teachings of Buddha.

All in all though, this retrospective is well and truly worth the effort spent in navigating it. Thirty years seems a good amount of time to draw on for a clear view of Ross’s personal hinterland – and being his fifth collection, it does a thorough job of covering the many of the most important themes and influences behind his large body of work. I would concur with Graham Beattie, in saying that this is Ross’s “most substantial” collection to date. It’s certainly a book I’d recommend to those who haven’t read Ross before. Many pieces will give pleasure in future re-readings, and there are plenty of fascinating allusions to add to one’s reference-chasing wish-list. For those approaching it for the first time, starting at the end, and reading through backwards might be a good idea though: beginning at the place of arrival before moving back to the places behind the place.




•




Friday

Chantal's Book (2002)


Cover illustration: Anne Ross / Cover design: Timon Maxey

Chantal’s Book. ISBN 0-473-08744-8. Wellington: HeadworX, 2002. 112 pp.

Contents:

Bronze
Melting the Ice-Block
E-Mailing Venus
A Woman Named Intrepid
There’s Something about Chantal …
Situations i: Albany
1 – Edge City
2 – Between OR and Main Campus
Situations ii: CBD
1 – Auckland nach dem Regen
2 – Between “The Newton Boys” and “The Big Hit”
Situations iii: Tauranga
1 – Poetry Festival
2 – Girls on Film
Situations iv: Coromandel
Chantal at an Opening
Chantal’s Housewarming
Christmas Cards – Tension Headache – The Madwoman in the Bus
– Her Plastic Shopping Bags – Thoughts of Jackie-Anne
Lock, Stock , and …
All at Sea
Proverbial Philosophy
Not the Director’s Cut
Body Fictions:
1 – Water-marbling
2 – Insight in
3 – The music of the rain
Valentine’s Day ’99
The Consolations of Chantal:
1 – Mute
2 – Walk Back
3 – The Mask of Zorro
4 – Bound
5 – Aztec
Freeman’s Bay
Sound Culture
The Reason Why
Idyll
Phoenix (after Giordano Bruno):
1 – Tell Briar I got a hammer
2 – … life is not in our hands …
3 – les sages et beaux paysages
Dream-Chantal:
1 – ACTS
2 – Whatever you do
Life-Mask
Chantal: A Creed
Beloved

Lessons of the Genji: Around the South Island at New Year

Gathering I: Motueka Midday
Gathering II: Canaan Downs
Gathering III: Zone Five
Shades of Meaning at Cape Foulwind
Time and Space on the Okari River
Perseverence Rd
Gematria on the Great Divide
ART
Death and The Maiden
Approaches to Aoraki
Tautuku Bush Walk
Waituna Gorge
In the Footsteps of Ice Giants
Extreme Green
Der Berggeist
Now Entering Parnassus
Christchurch from the Air
Chaos AD
What You Read in My Diary
The Bachelors of the Quintessence




Blurb:

Jack Ross's new book is a witty addition to our genre of experimental poetry. It explores the male perspective of love in a contemporary relationship, using postmodern styles/forms of analysis of the text, Romanticism and traditional thoughts and feelings. Rich in detail, typography and quotation, the book finishes with a long sequence 'Lessons of the Genji' (extracts from which were first featured in Poetry NZ 22).

'Prose sections and widely various poetic formats meld into each other creating a kaleidoscopic pattern of references and images ... [Ross's work] represents L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E poetry at its best ...' Alistair Paterson.

Jack Ross lives in Mairangi Bay, Auckland, on the North Shore. He has published the book of poems City of Strange Brunettes (Pohutukawa Press, 1998) and the novel, Nights with Giordano Bruno (Bumper Books, 2000). He has been an editor of The Pander, and more recently of the poetry magazines Spin and brief. His articles, reviews and interviews have been widely published.

Cover illustration by Anne Ross
Book Design by Mark Pirie
Cover design by Timon Maxey

ISBN 0473 08744 8

RRP NZ $19.95
RRP Aus $17.95


Online Text:

Chantal's Book

Samples:

HeadworX

Available:

HeadworX Publishers
97/43 Mulgrave St
Thorndon
Wellington

RRP: $NZ 19.95


[Tracey Slaughter: Poetry NZ 25 (2002)]

Reviews & Comments:

  1. Alistair Paterson. "Launch Speech." The Birdcage, 10 November 2002.

    ... Chantal’s Book shows him for the outstanding literary figure he is and the book itself – and I speak without puffery or pretence – is a landmark in contemporary poetry writing – of a similar quality but very different in kind to Baxter or Curnow’s poems at their best.

  2. Bernard Gadd. Spin 45 (March, 2003): 61-62.

    This is ... a book of love poetry for Chantal, but very much of the 21st century, with a keen sense of the ambiguities and contraries of love, a questioning of its permanence and capacity to change the lovers, an almost edgy ambivalence ... A variety of poetic techniques are employed, often giving the page the appearance of a layered modernity. But the poetry is essentially accessible and direct.

  3. Hamesh Wyeth. Otago Daily Times (26/1/03): n.p.

    Most importantly of all, Ross is often amusing. Ross is a soul consumed with vagaries of the heart. Using examples of film, music and literature Chantal’s Book ends up being a charming book. I even like the strange bits.

  4. Trevor Reeves. Southern Ocean Review (2003, January 12): 62.

    Congratulations to Mark Pirie and his HeadworX Press for helping to keep poets like Jack Ross in print. Ross is one of quite a number of poets in New Zealand to develop and publish since 1990 whose work is striking, innovative and deeply satisfying. Chantal the pretty, but an enigma ... Chantal, the image of eternity and universality. The persona of the known and the unknown ... Chantal moves amongst history, timeless ... Oh Chantal is a heavenly creature. Read more to find out why. An excellent collection.

  5. Tracey Slaughter. "Points on a Graph of Chantal." Poetry NZ 26 (2003): 100-07.

    This obsessive collection of linguistic specimens of love results in poems of rare technical perfection. Poems assembled sparsely, installations of precise syllables, yet maintain a poignant ability to convey vast energies and regions of desire. The form of the poems takes on the translating potency of love itself – in the aura of the loved-one the anecdotal becomes the sacred, any grain of light or landscape that contains her, any sound-bite from her mouth, even the structure of the city through which she may enter or exit, take on an emotive depth of reference, a ‘sound culture’ (49) which filters all echoes of the language through the point of origin in her body, her heart.

  6. Owen Bullock. New Zealand Poetry Society Newsletter (March 2003): 9-10.

    To me it really is as if this voice isn’t quite sure that it’s awake and has various pinching to discover so. He reminds me of the character in the Hitch-Hiker’s Guide series who talks to a table for two weeks just to see what it’s like. No wonder that Ross enjoys and quotes Chuang-tzu’s paradoxical masterpieces. And he has his own play with puzzles: “the more we talk, / the less / it happened”.

  7. Harvey McQueen. JAAM 19 (2003): 260-61.

    A disapproving critic might say a hodgepodge. But on the whole I find it thought-provoking and challenging, a tantalizing maze, clashing ideas and images, mixing old and new forms, with wit, candour and self-mockery.

  8. Olivia Macassey. "Jack’s Book." brief 27 (2003): 101-2.

    He skilfully – and with almost an appearance of accident – lays bare the twitching nerves of the genre ... By virtually stapling his romantic, ironic heart to our collective post-structuralist sleeve, Jack re-situates both, in what I have to call (thinking of David Wills) the post-prosthetic. His work reveals how the structures of this thing both inform, and predetermine, the forms it will take.

    It should come as no surprise, then, that the book itself is enjoyable and accessible. That flexibility serves it well, the ability to skip effortlessly from the heartbreaking to the ridiculous with a swift kick reverberating against the fourth wall as it does so. But all of this sounds rather bloodless, doesn’t it? Somehow, though, it manages not to be; there’s passion, as well as skill, in this work. And ultimately this is what makes Chantal’s Book worth reading. Nothing really detracts from it, not the textual acrobatics and stylistic suavity, the rotting trees and newspaper headlines; no, not even the DEADHORSE itself. It really is a book about love, after all.

  9. James Norcliffe. "Referencing the self." New Zealand Books 13 (2) (June, 2003): 4-5.

    He is a literary magpie, gathering together his shiny objects with a remarkable eclecticism: in the final 10 pages alone we get Tolkien, Dr Seuss, Lady Murasaki, Leonard Cohen, Cordwainer Smith, Bunan, Henry Thoreau, and Raymond Carver. Ross is erudite: we have Latin, German, Spanish, Italian, French, and Kiwi vernacular – although to be fair he is kind enough to translate the most intractable of these. He is ever inventive, experimental and self-referential in the best postmodern manner, finding language everywhere – in conversation, on walls, on street signs, in books – and layering and re-contextualising it with an obvious relish. Smart and self-aware, confident and searching, Chantal’s Book is a protean and highly entertaining ride. It’s also, despite itself, a sweetly tender love poem.

  10. Terry Locke. Hyperpoetics (20/10/04).

    If we take Frost's famous definition of the poem as a momentary stay against confusion, we might think of these poems as momentary displays of disjunction. What is elided is the commonplace notion of language as referential ... The second part of this book ("Lessons of the Genji: Around the South Island at New Year") undercuts the notion of story in time by disordering the diary entries, as if it is the entry only that matters and not some world that just might be knowable. Indeed, the world of phenomena, to the extent that it enters the poems, dissolves almost immediately in a mist of language (Mt Cook becomes "Mt Cock").


[Tracey Slaughter: her body rises (2005)]

Complete Review
[reprinted by permission]
Tracey Slaughter. "Points on a Graph of Chantal." Poetry NZ 26 (2003): 100-07.

In ‘Game for One Player,’ a poem enticingly sealed at the back of Ross’s novel Nights with Giordano Bruno[1], a voice speculates ‘Maybe Jack should write more directly / about his life. To explore companionship / more directly in his writing.’ The ‘Game,’ closed with the instruction ‘[not to be opened till you’ve read the book],’ takes the form of a fragmented dialogue between Ross and co-author Gabriel White, the two writers dissecting Ross’s novel, opening its complex anatomy of system and chaos. It is an examination of the infrastructure of thought which animates Ross’s text, a novel intercut from a sequence of strange anti-narratives, the disjunct stories further interrupted by vision-like tables collected from obsolete but beautiful ancient theorems. Ross’s discontinuous stories confound all the rules of conventional fiction, suspending action in ‘impenetrable screens’ of signs, bursting violently from the referential; diagrams of dead sciences encrust the page with the algebraic mystery of cells: the effect of both is to unbalance the linear reader, to collapse metaphysics into pornography, graph into anarchy, systems of knowledge into subjective codes of the unconscious.

The postmodern power of the text lies in this uncanny fusion of rigorous codes and geometric principles with the aura of ‘falling into a morass of phantasms’ which the figures and narrative fragments generate. Like the controlling grids of thought which erupt though the storylines, language itself is exposed as an apparatus which cannot organise regions of experience or encode reality. The subject is the principal construct of language which Ross’s text disconnects; his ‘characters’ are ‘visitors,’ utterly cut-off from the grammar of narrative logic and the myth of cogent identity.

The narrating ‘I,’ present in many of these sequences, is itself an artefact which wheels between appearances as disembodied textual machinery and source of untranslatable cognitive noise and somatic bad dreams. Relationships appear, even bodies, but the ‘characters’ who drive their segments of text are narrative components which conduct their (often disturbing) intercourse with a form of functional sexual syntax that empties it of erotic meaning, or, as one character comments, ‘emotional temperature.’ It is this ‘emotional temperature’ which Ross’s poetry, in Chantal’s Book, articulates with coherent and unsettling beauty. For Chantal’s Book is a volume of love poems which record the passage of a personal relationship, taking up the tasks of ‘writ[ing] more directly’ and ‘exploring companionship’ even as the poetry continues to use the powerful semiotic techniques which (de)construct the earlier novel.

More than any other of Ross’s texts, Chantal’s Book maintains a ‘narrative’ in its study of a love-relationship between the recording ‘self’ of the poems and the object-of-desire – Chantal. Yet the sequence of falling, doubting and flourishing in love is not simply executed, nor straightforwardly inscribed, as the writing lover constantly examines the perceptual qualities of love, and the linguistic processes of recog­nising and rendering the self ‘in’ it. Like the sci-fi character from Nights with Giordano Bruno who accumulates and sorts ‘every minute detail of the room’ in order to calibrate levels of emotion, the narrating ‘I’ of Chantal’s Book scans and classifies all the details of the environment he loves in, all the minutiae of his existence shared with or parted from his love, each sense and setting acutely attuned to the data of her presence or absence.

This obsessive collection of linguistic specimens of love results in poems of rare technical perfection. Poems assembled sparsely, instal­lations of precise syllables, yet maintain a poignant ability to convey vast energies and regions of desire. The form of the poems takes on the translating potency of love itself – in the aura of the loved-one the anecdotal becomes the sacred, any grain of light or landscape that contains her, any sound-bite from her mouth, even the structure of the city through which she may enter or exit, take on an emotive depth of reference, a ‘sound culture’ (49) which filters all echoes of the language through the point of origin in her body, her heart.

The poems are often solely concerned with observations of the outer life, their images wholly contextual, clusters of data from the urban streets or the tourist path as banal as fridge magnets or hotel signs. Yet these details become the indices of an attachment extending in intensity to transfigure even the passing traffic or a cheap B-movie into a question of most urgent subjective philosophy. The brilliance of a cycle such as ‘The Consolations of Chantal’ (38) – where quotations from Boethius’s meditations on eternal life face brief, thinly rendered poems listing random observations or shreds of personal history – is that the juxtaposition of ‘eternal’ philosophy with light sensory data dramatises precisely the balance between infinite and defined moments which Boethius articulates. Ross’s use of language in these muted contextual poems plays out ‘the simplicity of presentness’ Boethius speaks of, demonstrating how words, base elements that bind to our ‘experience . . . of this tenuous and fleeting moment,’ enclose within their frail temporal structures echoes of ‘an infinite quantity of future and past.’ The lightest particle of language then, ‘since it carries an image of that abiding presence, gives this benefit to everyone who possesses it, that they seem to exist.’ The mysteries of love and of the language thus illuminate each other: for the lover, the most ephemeral incident occurring around Chantal is registered as endless in consoling value, in resonances of loss and hope; for the poet, the most delicate fibre or low phrase of the language enacts infinite matrices of meaning within itself, and within the reader.

As in his earlier volume of poetry City of Strange Brunettes (1998)[2], Ross’s work places the speaker as an acute and sardonic watcher of the city and its inhabitants, and much of his verse wanders the architecture of urban consciousness, sifting the signifiers of the Auckland ‘lifestyle’ for any trademarks of meaning that can re-locate the ‘this-ness’ of personal context amidst the ‘synaesthesia’ of the city (18-19). His compositions of ‘cranial music’ draw from the typography of urban detail, from litter, concrete and commercialized space, until as poet Philip Salom writes
each sign
is given if not always understood,
each brand-name like a perfect crime,
or a post-modern essay …
[3]


Ross’s seemingly thin sketches of city living, of consciousness caught in ‘the glass arcade’ (21), in ‘planned landscapes’ (18) and ‘plastic shopping bags’ (30), are deceptive structures whose slim joints of words hide a centrifugal force / power. Like the quietly detonating vision at the core of ‘Chantal’s Housewarming’ (28), many of Ross’s poems turn on the silent tension of a single detail:
Nothing changes
in sidereal time
except the concrete
grows
Exploding into
theatres


On first skim perhaps the passage seems static or over-slight – but to read too fast is to miss the point of explosion, to overlook the con­centration of atoms in the image. Semiotic poetry at its most acute, Ross’s poems tend to emit complex nerveways from each unit of sound, and such work repays contemplation: from concrete icons vessels of memory can bloom, indexical networks shiver in the mind or senses.

‘It’s bigger on the inside than the outside’ Ross clearly feels of language, a quote from Doctor Who, which appears in a later poem from Section II, where the couple move through the well-travelled veins of the South Island experience. It is an epigram which could equally well front any of Ross’s poems, but which ‘Time and Space on the OkariRiver’ (75) elucidates with arresting levels of sound and feeling, implications from serenity to menace folded into the fluid precision of the lines:

Relative to the singing wires
Dimensions foreshore sedge and tussock
In a gnarled white tree-trunk
Space to share
in shallow waters

Here the pared back words are like an X-ray of the scene, a bony structure which yet reveals, with study, a hidden and moving interior. Language as a medium of longing is seldom so sparely, yet so completely evoked. It is a practice of culling ‘dimensions’ from the simplest detail that the poet pursues as he drives with his new lover around the end of the island at the end of the millennium, a setting in an ominous time and space which is not lost on him. As he journals off-hand incidents from their travels his consciousness is anxiously attuned to the cheap ironies of turnoff signs saying ‘Mt Cock’ (86) and the more fatal shimmer of a ‘car strewn / with leaves’ (79) or of ‘backward skies green seasons / and their aftermaths’ (74). As the achronology of the diary sequence dawns upon the reader, the undisclosed doubts that have seemed to jar the poet’s lax wit and sardonic observations, to cast their reflection across the image of each shore and roadsign (‘Track washed out ahead turn back unfinished’), are made distinct. An entry from early in the trip features as the penultimate piece:
[Monday, 27th December – 10.45 a.m.]
In Ohakune. Woke up this morning & looked at Chantal (wrapped in her sleeping-bag – too sulky last night to speak to me) & realised that I didn’t care. It is, to all intents and purposes, over. .. a useful discovery for the beginning of a stressful five-week Odyssey around the South Island.

‘I wrote Chantal / I love you / but do I? / Alexander fights Persians / in the sky.’ When she asks me, it is (or seems to be) so. Are these doubts real, or chimerical? I need to be cleansed – away from tension-knots in the stomach, fear of loss, of damage – fear of the other. (106)

These sections of journal or prose appear throughout the text, as does a fascinating scaffolding of references to other texts, most notably the Diary of Lady Murasaki from whose Tale of Genji Ross’s Lessons of the Genji (section II of Chantal’s Book) takes its name. Often the blocks of prose or journal function as auto-analysis, studying the psychic phenomena of ‘love’ and diagnosing the lover’s fixed illusions of passion, his strategic despairs as ‘a list of clichés . . . each suggesting a dark alternative’ (27). Such interventions of sensible prose also disarm the reader when the reader begins to pick up the circuitry of self-­interest, the writerly psychological profile at work in the ‘love’ of the poems, a page appears which prosaically bares this facet of the lover, querying whether he may have imagined an erotic counterfeit in order to fall in love and to textually examine the process. Reviewing the poems, the writer notices:

They’re all about me – my feelings, hopes, despairs – not in the least about you.

It’s not that you’re entirely absent – just that you’re not really allowed to speak, express a concrete point of view.

Did I start pursuing you because I knew it was safe? Because you constituted no threat to my way of life? It must have been clear to me from the beginning (the way these things always are clear) that you would never feel about me the way I felt I felt about you. (29)

Chantal’s representation troubles him: he knows his writing of her might touch only the lineaments of his own nervous longing, that his gaze might commodify, cheapen or exoticise her dark-skinned body, that his lexicon of desire can never catch the outline of her immanence, let alone connote her inner life: ‘Your soul evades those nets, / black, crusted fogs. / You go out singing in the pouring rain’ (57). His language constantly re-enacts this issue of the loved-one’s distorted interpretation: the poem sequence ‘Phoenix’ is written in a foreign and romantic language then disfigured in translation. In the ‘Phoenix’ sequence, as elsewhere in Chantal’s Book, Ross balances an awareness of himself as a masculine subject working in a ‘kind of gutless language / dirtying everything it touches: Perky tits, arse, tush’ (57), with a drive to somehow signify the impact of Chantal’s presence, her otherness, and her electric self possession:
You are what you were, I am …
nothing that I was
what I never was …
I can’t see what I’ll see;

You. You’re guided back by your own light. (55)

The book, that wants to say the female subject’s name, knows its own ‘fatal lack’ (27), and constantly sounds a linguistic despair at inscribing her elapsing image, at locating only points on a graph of Chantal:
‘What do you write about?’
Chantal.
Of course.
But I can’t can’t can’t can’t can’t can’t …
(26)

These are ontological love poems, always questioning the linguistic reality the lovers inhabit.[4] The poems’ strength lies in their capacity to test the subjective limits and delusions of being-in-love, yet to never become so cerebral that the skin doesn’t register authentic pressure, that the ‘loving heart / (can I say that?)’ (17) never gets past the querying of its own semiotic parameters. From the volume’s outset, Ross’s poems examine the shared relational qualities of love and of language, the ‘reciprocation’ and loss of meaning implicit in the subjective frame­work of each; his first poem shows the lover caught in the endless deferral of language and desire, his ‘I’ defined in an ever expanding sequence of references, which shift from the specificities of Chantal’s skin (‘Is Chantal bronze? / That makes me – what?’) to the vast elemental horizons (‘If water, / land. If sea, / I am the sky’) (10). Chantal’s ‘you’ becomes the pronoun which both enables and evaporates his personal discourse, an absence filtered through the flawed possibilities of language that both sustains and empties the lover’s sense of his own locution in time and space. If the meta-text of Lady Murasaki’s Genji is anything to read by, a haunting inscription in a copy of Murasaki’s text included in Ross’s earlier volume of poetry City of Strange Brunettes may have initialled the moving elusive shape of the woman and the book to come:
Last night the raindrops tapped upon my window
till, looking out, I saw you were not there.



Notes:

1. Jack Ross, Nights with Giordano Bruno (Wellington: Bumper Books, 2000).
2. Jack Ross, City of Strange Brunettes (Auckland: The Pohutukawa Press, 1998).
3. Philip Salom, ‘Hunger,’ Feeding the Ghost (Victoria: Penguin, 1993) p.57.
4. See Ross’s account of ontology in ‘Necessary Oppositions?: Avant-garde versus traditional poetry in New Zealand’ in PNZ 21.




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