Dinah Hawken's seventh collection of poetry, Ocean and Stone, is released this month. We talked to Dinah about her new book, which will be launched at Unity Books in Wellington this coming Thursday 10 September.
 |
| Dinah Hawken |
Your poetry is, and always has been,
concerned with the natural environment. Stories and ideas seem to rise up out
of an image from nature – the ocean in particular is a starting point. Is this
something you’ve chosen to do consciously or are poetry and nature interwoven
for you?
No, I don’t set out deliberately to write
about the natural environment. Well not unless I’m asked to. (I’m thinking, for
example, of ‘The uprising’, a poem in Ocean
and Stone that was a commission from the Griffith Review, for the edition
of New Zealand writing called 'Pacific Highways'. Or the response to McCahon’s
beach walk painting, also in the new book.) But generally I begin a poem with a
phrase or snippet of language that comes to mind spontaneously, or is a
response to something that is happening around me. Around me is the natural
world and I love it in a strong and natural kind of way. I’m amused when I look
back to the launch of my third book, where Greg O’Brien described me as a ‘nature
poet’. I was amazed – I hadn’t thought of it, but realised it was true. I
should have known since the book was called Water,
Leaves, Stones!
Some of the poems in Ocean and Stone talk about climate change and are, quietly,
political. In particular ‘The Uprising’ speaks about powerlessness in the face
of rising tides and lack of political will for positive change. Is it difficult
for you to balance politics in a poem? Do I read anger in there also?
It feels similar, but not the same, to be
described as a political poet. I’m concerned about social and political issues
and so it’s natural to try and write in response to them. But I sense something
in the poetry air (at least in the Western world) that sees poetry and politics
as incompatible. And true, it is dangerous territory – not in the way that it
can be truly dangerous in a repressive regime – but in danger of being seen as
too didactic, too emotional, too simplistic, too negative. And so writing a
political poem is something of a balancing act for me. It works best when I’m
in touch with both my thinking and my feelings about an issue so that what is a
political poem is also a personal poem. And yes, I hope you do hear anger in
‘The uprising’: because why are we so slow to face up to climate change? There
is so much at stake.
Myth turns up in your poetry – the female
deity Inanna, a retelling of the great Flood – what is the attraction of myth
for you as a poet?
I'm attracted to myth because of its universality and timelessness. There's always something to be learned from other times and cultures. But I'm particularly intrigued by the Sumerian myths because they were some of the first stories ever to be written. As well – having been in an undecipherable script and scattered round the world on clay fragments for centuries – they have only fairly recently been pieced together and told again. They have been lying low. I am trying to spread the word.
The poems in Ocean and Stone throw up a lot of philosophical questions – the
biggest being, “How do we live within the knowledge of our limits”. Can you say
why you ask that question? Also, is this, for you, the consolation of
poetry – you can’t change much, but you can write about change?
'How do we live within the knowledge of our
limits?' Yes it is a big question. I
think of the limits of a single life-time, the limits of a ‘few months left’,
the limits of human talent or capacity, the limits of a deteriorating mind, the
limits of the earth’s resources, the limits on economic growth, the limits on
population growth, the limits on power and ambition, the limits, even, of a single
page of paper. Limits, understandably, have a bad name but they are also the
frame or sphere in which we thrive. It’s good to know what they are. It’s hard
to accept them but acceptance, surprisingly, seems to make room for something
new to happen. And it is, as you say, a consolation when you can’t make large
changes to make small changes on a sheet of paper or a screen. Anyway, expression
does change something – in the writer, if not the reader – and you know what
they say: ‘if enough people…… .’ Change seems – most often – to follow a slow
accumulation of expression from more and more people.
Joan Fleming said in an interview recently "that I believe poetry comes from psychic places that we can't fully understand." I wondered what you made of that comment?
I agree with Joan about the ‘psychic
places’ that poetry can come from and I admire that in her writing – the depth
and originality and mystery that can arise from faith in, and access to, the
part of the psyche that Jung called the unconscious. Would some people call it the
imagination? It’s spontaneous anyway, not something we have much control of. I
used to use imagery and scenes from dreams, or daydreams, in my poetry but I do
it less now because I don’t have the same degree of access – I don’t remember
many dreams. I have to live within my limits!
You've been writing for many years now, Dinah. Do you think your approach to writing a poem has changed in those years? Are there aspects of writing you think you've gotten better at?
Another limitation, now that I’m older, is
not having immediate access to a range of vocabulary. Fortunately there is
something I can do about that, but in fact I seem to have an urge towards
simplicity. In writing and in life. I love one syllable words with strong
vowels. More and more I like single words for their own sake. I still like to try something new but at
the same time I’m letting myself indulge in my pre-occupations with less
hesitation. I still have to work hard at the craft and hope to increase my dexterity
in the future, rather than lose it, but who knows?
Ocean and Stone, released 10 September.
p/b, $35, includes colour drawings by John Edgar
No comments:
Post a Comment