A Motto Observed

The Depot Art Space, Devonport, Auckland

www.depotartspace.co.nz

Home of JAM RADIO

Off the Map

But not for much longer.

The little holiday cottage I have recently moved to is located in an area that is literally "off the map": it does not feature on any road maps I have looked at. (It's probably on marine charts, given that we're at the very edge of the water!)

It certainly wasn't on Google, or anywhere else on the net for that matter, as far as I could tell.

But Google are on to it. Last week I saw the Google Camera Car driving around a small settlement perilously close to my own previously relatively unmapped vicinity.

Today I saw the car again, parked in the city, and managed to catch a snap. Gotcha!

UPDATE: Google are well on their way to their goal of World Domination. My house is on the Google satellite map now, the roof shining in the sun (I swear I couldn't find it on Google maps six weeks ago when I first moved there), and as we know, street view can't be far away!

He Can Run, But He Can't Hide

Rodney Hide, the so-called 'perk-buster'

is busted!

Swings and roundabouts

The storm factory also has a sunset warehouse.

A Sparrow Gus

At "Cape Cod" we don't just delight in the herons, spoonbills, spur-winged plovers, gannets, shags, albatrosses, mollymawks, gulls, terns, ducks, geese and swans.

We have sparrows too. And sparrows are just as good as anyone else. So there.

Another song of freedom

"All I ever had:

Redemption Songs"

~ Bob Marley

(Funeral for a friend... too sad. This was one of her favourite songs.)

The Things That Matter

Life is mostly froth and bubble,

Two things stand like stone,

Kindness in another's trouble,

Courage in your own.

~ Adam Lindsay Gordon

The Eve of All Hallows

Trick or Treat?

I say it's a treat to watch Anna Paquin all growed up in the vampire soap opera True Blood.

Happy Halloween!

Crepuscular Rays

Last evening, that classic sign of celestial benevolence manifested, like a child's drawing of the shafts of light radiating from the setting sun.

According to my new cloud book, the phenomenon is called "crepuscular rays"; also "Jacob's ladder".

Earlier I had experienced the vivid sense of living in a McCahon painting, with the green hilly landscape of the peninsula cut up by the rectangular shapes of my window frames.

Next time I looked out it was a Turner painting inviting me to walk out into a squally stormy evening.

I keep telling people how windy and wild it almost always is here, with a storm factory churning out almost constant extremes of weather.

They say things like, Ooh how lucky you are, and, It sounds amazing!

I'm not sure, though, that this place is really fit for human habitation.

Pavlova Nirvana

Here's a pavlova just the way I like it. Home made. Crisp - even hard - shell, that rings when you bang your spoon against it! Under the crust, are pockets of air, a bit of squishy delicate fluff, and the merest touch of sugary stickiness. Perfection. Just like mother used to make, and unless you make your own, it's a very rare example of the genre these days in this era of the mass-produced cowardly marshmallow pav you can buy in the supermarket.

This one is to be had at Tony's Wellesley Street Restaurant in Auckland. I had it after the carpetbagger steak (stuffed with oysters). It's no wonder I'm losing the battle with my waistband!

I like the fact that the cream is served only on one side, and so can be scraped off easily. I don't care for whipped cream as it gives me a headache.

"The Original Tony's" claims to be Auckland's oldest surviving restaurant and it certainly has been there for as long as I can remember. It's great to get a table by the window and watch the world go by. And the world does indeed go by - just off Queen Street, it's one of those places in the world when eventually you will happen upon almost anybody you can think of...

Sylvia Plath's Birthday

What would it have taken for Sylvia Plath to have lived to the age of 77?

If she was on Prozac would that have helped?

If she was on Twitter would that have helped?

Happy Birthday Sylvia, and thanks for the beautiful poems.

I'm sure you've saved a few lives with them, even if you lost your own.

Duck!

A reminder that at this time of year we should drive carefully, as duck families are out walking their young, and our roads and streets intrude upon their traditional promenading grounds. I snapped this sign at Hawera in Taranaki last week.

Yesterday, home at last, and I'd missed the view out over the bay, I sat all afternoon and watched (through binoculars) a mother and father duck and their six babies go walking far out on the sandflats, at dead low tide, but it was a harrowing business. There was some sort of skirmish way out at the water's edge, with a large winged predator - a skua I guess - and a brave defence from one of the ducks. By the time the family returned close enough for me to count all the ducklings, there didn't seem to be any missing, but Father Duck was limping badly...

No Place like Home

One of the joys of travel is being away from home; another of the joys is the return. The road home passes this boat house on the Otago Peninsula.

New Zealand Book Month

I have been doing my bit for New Zealand Book Month, and I have been spending up large. The haul includes:

Zone of the Marvellous Martin Edmond (AUP)

Anna Kavan's New Zealand: A Pacific Interlude in a Turbulent Life edited by Jennifer Sturm (Vintage)

Godwits: Long Haul Champions Keith Woodley (Penguin)

The Goose Bath Janet Frame (Vintage)

Way back Then, Before We Were Ten: New Zealand Writers and Childhood edited by Graeme Lay (David Ling)

Helen Clark: A Political Life Denis Welch (Penguin)

Strong Language: Very Quotable New Zealand Quotes compiled by Jim Weir (New Holland)

Hypnic Jerks Geoff Cochrane (VUP)

The Cloud Appreciation Society

I found two glorious books this week that have emerged from or owe a debt to the huge database of wonderful clouds and information about clouds, held by The Cloud Appreciation Society. Fantastic!

Found them in a most excellent bookshop in Whanganui by the name of

Paige's Book Gallery
Books, Stationery, Newsagents
68b Guyton Street, Whanganui
New Zealand
06 348 9095

One of the great joys of travelling around is the discovery of indispensable independent bookshops holding firm against the tide of pap and commercialism that has overwhelmed so many of the mainstream stores.

The Pillow Menu

On request your choice

of pillow

can be scented

with lavender

to help relax

and soothe the senses to sleep.

Leisure

What is this life if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare?

No time to stand beneath the boughs,

And stare as long as sheep and cows:

No time to see, when woods we pass,

Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass:

No time to see, in broad daylight,

Streams full of stars, like skies at night:

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,

And watch her feet, how they can dance:

No time to wait till her mouth can

Enrich that smile her eyes began?

A poor life this if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.

W. H. Davies

Planes & boats & trains

I can see my house!

Tooku Maunga

Go the Train!

The past is a foreign country

They do things differently there.

And on this road trip through the past, I have journeyed through several provinces, and it seems they do things differently there too. At times it has felt like Deliverance the movie. And at other times it has been disarming to encounter such friendliness.

This shot is of the cabin we stayed in at Belt Road Seaside Holiday Park in New Plymouth. (Highly Recommended!) A lovely spot, with a reef heron foraging on the rocks below.

New Plymouth has a magnificent coastal walkway and an admirable tendency to celebrate the kinetic sculptures of Len Lye. And of course the beautiful mountain Taranaki stands back and anchors all.

By Popular Demand

I have been asked to provide more puddings.

Happy to oblige!

This is an honest pavlova with proletarian leanings and with surprisingly fruity hench-flavours.

Road Trip

Oh joy. Hit the highway and just go. :-)

Happy 20th Anniversary to Us

With best wishes from the Heron Family

And Congratulations from the Terns and the Gulls

Science Fiction Poetry in Dunedin

It's either a feast or a famine around here, and it's been a feast lately for Dunedin poetry lovers. The legendary Circadian Rhythm on Thursday night this week will host Dunedin's fourth poetry bonanza in just over one week.

This time the theme is science fiction. And there'll be an open mike session so byo spooky alien martian robot killer space plague verse. Or something more esoteric, if you have it.

I'm disappointed that I will be away from home base this week so will unfortunately miss this performance (and the one on Wednesday night at the Public Library). Have fun!

There is more info about this movable feast, this science fiction poetry road show, on Tim Jones' blog Books in the Trees. He has listed the dates of other performances around NZ, and the readers on the 'Voyagers Book Tour', here.

Voyagers is an anthology of NZ science fiction poetry edited by Mark Pirie and Tim Jones. Go out and buy a copy everyone so they have to do a sequel and we can make suggestions about some more great NZ poems they overlooked.

I'll be undertaking my own road trip (yippee!), mostly at opposite ends of the country, but with a bit of luck I might make one of the North Island Voyager performances.

Poetry & Music in Dunedin

Seven Dunedin Poets,

Emmanuelle Gomez, The New Self

and AJ Sharma

Circadian Rhythm, Dunedin

Saturday 10 October 2009

Poetry from 8pm, music from 9:30

$5 cover charge

From the Press Release:

Circadian Rhythm Café is excited to present a rich and varied evening of live poetry and music with readings by seven Dunedin poets and musical performances by Emmanuelle Gomez, The New Self and AJ Sharma.

From eight o’clock, seven disturbingly outstanding and diverse poets illustrating the word-hoard of literary talent that Dunedin has coveted in recent decades. The selection of writers reading their work have all published widely in New Zealand and overseas, exhibiting both international literary success and a fierce loyalty to home.

Readings will be given by:

Rhian Gallagher

Pamela Gordon

Marita Hastings

David Karena-Holmes

Sally Ann McIntyre

Richard Reeve

James Saville

Alluring songstress, Emmanuelle Gomez (vocals/piano), returns to the stage to perform songs from her recent EP, Vegetarian Savage, and debut new material. Gomez fuses folk-dub and pop melodies with theatrical tendencies, and captivates audiences with crystal-like vocal tones as she soars from sweet highs to rich lows through carefully crafted songs.

The New Self is an intense and expressive acoustic 2-piece featuring Laurence Smith (vocals/guitar) and Ed Wilson (mandolin). Smith and Wilson use the minimalism of their approach like a razor. Musical discordance and wide dynamic shifts support purposefully delivered lyrical melodies which focus their songs and weave emotive images around themes such as love, greed, faith and addiction.

AJ Sharma (vocals/guitar) is one of Dunedin’s most highly regarded musical craftsmen. With a career spanning 17 years, and recent album releases on Powertool Records and Nextbestway, Sharma’s music possess an ethereal beauty and entices you into a brooding lyrical journey full of emotion and intimacy. His performances are delivered with tenderness and honesty, and are not to be missed.

Event organiser Laurence Smith says, “Saturday night provides opportunity to sample some of the diversity and talent in the Dunedin arts scene. Combining poets (kindly organised by Richard Reeve) and songwriters seems natural, and will hopefully provide new and interesting experiences for the audience and artists themselves”.

Doppelgangers

Recently I enjoyed reading a very fine blog post called "Identity Theft" by indispensable New Zealand author Peter Wells.

Peter Wells in himself (that is, 'our' Peter Wells) wears many hats. He's not 'just' a writer, he's an anthologist, and a literary mover-and-shaker. Another string to his bow is that, with Stephanie Johnson, he co-founded and co-directs the marvellous Auckland Writers and Readers Festival. And he is of course so much more than that besides, including now, "blogger". But I'm not writing a bio! Go see the Book Council entry on Peter Wells if you want to know more.

The Peter Wells Blog is relatively new, and in an early post he talks of having discovered, in the course of setting up the blog and choosing a name for it, how many others there are out there in the ether, with the name Peter Wells. (Can he really be so unselfconscious as not to have already Googled his own name? It seems so!)

Now I too have my doppelgangers, so I was particularly interested in his response. I hadn't heard anyone else on this subject before.

I first knew there was someone else with my exact same name, exactly 20 years ago, when I was convalescing in a hospital ward after major surgery. Some friends came to see me, and enquired at the ward desk, as to my whereabouts. When they said My Name the nurse on duty said, "She's not here this week, she's away on leave."

But, but, but. It turned out that a nurse in the exact same hospital ward where I was recovering, had my exact same name. But for the exact same term of my stay, she was not there, so I never met her. I had a strange feeling, like one of us was matter and one was anti-matter, and that we had to be kept apart or the universe would implode, or one of us would disappear.

But that wasn't enough. Some time after that, I had a phone call from a local rest home. They enquired after My Name, and then said, they were very sorry to tell me, that my father had died. Fortunately for me, they named the poor deceased man, and it was not my father's name. (My father was fit and well at the time, so his death would have been a terrible shock.)

I don't know if it was the nurse's father who had passed away. Because I went on to learn that there are more people (in my city!) who have my name.

I am occasionally telephoned by someone searching for one of the other ones, so I have learned quite a bit about them. There is one who had a milk run; one who ran a service station; one who went to the Olympics; one who teaches English; one who plays in a brass band; and of course the nurse.

I don't think there are as many as six, I mean seven, of us though. But there are at least three of us, because apparently the nurse did not go to the Olympics. (It's a little like those children's page riddles where you have to match up the names and the attributes, only in this case all the names are the same!)

One of the others with my name attends my same GP and two of them bank at my bank, so I am always asked "which one" I am.

I suppose the other My Names also get phone calls looking for me, too. Some of the enquiries are probably just as interesting as the ones I get. Last year someone from the BBC was trying to contact me by phone, and when they finally found me, they said "Did you know there is someone else in your town with your name?"

Occasionally we get each other's mail. I have spoken to one of them once, on the phone, but I have never actually met any of them. We could form a small club, I guess.

Since I've been the Internet, I've discovered there are a lot more out there, with my name. One of them was even the head of state of a small nation. Many of them are authors and academics. One is a famous Hollywood actor, and she's the Google Queen. There are so many of them on Facebook I even forget which one is me.

I find it strangely comforting to know I'm just one of an army of me. And if there is any bad publicity or a terrible rumour, I can just say, "It wasn't me, it was one of the other ones."

Moonbow

"The moon sometimes exhibits the extraordinary phenomenon of an iris or rainbow, by the refraction of her rays in drops of rain during the night-time. This appearance is said to occur only at the time of full moon, and to be indicative of stormy and rainy weather. One is described in the Philosophical Transactions as having been seen in 1810, during a thick rain; but, subsequent to that time, the same person gives an account of one which perhaps was the most extraordinary of which we have any record. It became visible about nine o'clock, and continued, though with very different degrees of brilliancy, until past two. At first, though a strongly marked bow, it was without colour, but afterwards became extremely vivid, the red, green, and purple being the most strongly marked. About twelve it was the most splendid in appearance. The wind was very high at the time, and a drizzling rain falling occasionally."

~ The Illustrated London Reading Book, 1851

(Courtesy of Project Gutenberg)

I didn't even know there was such a thing, but having seen it with my own eyes on Saturday night, I can vouch for the existence of the lunar rainbow. (I have often seen the white or coloured "ring" around the moon - but this was a real rainbow, a huge perfect arch stretching across the Otago Harbour from Port Chalmers on one side to Portobello on the other.)

The photos of lunar rainbows to be found on the internet seem mostly to be associated with waterfalls, and are coloured rainbows. The one I saw was white. I wasn't able to attempt to take a photo because of the extreme storm conditions at the time. The full moon was behind me as I looked towards an approaching southerly tempest, and the rainbow was set across in front of it.
It seemed an auspicious and lovely way to be greeted by the new environment (fortunately I like storms!) The cosy little house - which, it's becoming clear, is an ex-government building of some sort, likely a school house, that was moved here in the 1970s to serve as a holiday cottage - stood up well to the night of screaming gales with waves breaking against the sea wall and splashing up over the road, and sea spray being blown against the big front windows. The glass in the windows was being sucked in and out as the violent wind hurtled head-on against the house, which was rocking like a boat. A couple of times as my ears popped, I would open a window at the back of the house to ease the pressure, and hope the roof didn't lift... And it snowed and hailed all night. Weather courtesy of an unseasonal blast from from the Deep South.

This is how it's done, on the end of the Otago Peninsula. It's elemental, and wild. The birds and the seals are at home here, and the people are only guests.

Samoa mon amour

Tusitala

RLS: his visits

to the islands

were 'less reality

than dream'

these islands

slumber on

at dawn -

a cool time

before the sun

cuts itself

free

to soar

the little

islands are

canoes we

pass

hulls

spilling

out

fruit

so

full

of

people

Tiavi Falls

Call it a bluff

we stand on

the edge

of,

perching

on

the

rail

pretending

not to be

skimming

surfaces

swift white

birds

honey eaters

ferns

of course the

mist

the water

falling

but most

of all

the

silence

The Black Swan Event

According to Nassim Nicholas Taleb's theory, a Black Swan is a highly improbable event with three principal characteristics: it is unpredictable; it carries a massive impact; and after the event we concoct an explanation that makes it appear less random.

Tomorrow I move house again - from the beach house in the bush perched on the estuary, to the crib on the beautiful Otago Peninsula, yards away from the sea. Quite close to the albatross and penguin and gannet colonies.

We call it "Cape Cod". We don't just see the birds there, we will live amongst them. Godwits, gulls, herons, stilts, ducks, oystercatchers, spoonbills, and of course: the black swans.

The agency

I've been missing the tabby. And as if on cue, The Agency has been sending potential replacements. They come wistfully to the back door and look in, searchingly.

Their look tells me that they understand that this household has a vacancy.

Off the rails

On the subject of small presses...

"The Earl of Seacliff Art Workshop" is a small press that has been there when it counted.

ESAW celebrates 25 years this December, a remarkable feat, and is to release the above collector's edition to commemorate.

To pre-order your copy, contact details for the indomitable Michael O'Leary are on the ESAW website.

I have to admit sheepishly that I'm among the tribute-payers included in this volume. I've contributed a couple of tongue-in-cheek poems (including "Blood on the McCahon" - based on a true story) and some seemingly improbable anecdotes.

O'Leary likes trains almost as much as I do, and we have over the years shared many a happy rail journey together. Probably the best of my memories are from when we both lived in the small village Seacliff, North of Dunedin, and we used to flag the long distance passenger train the Southerner down so we could catch it into town.

Drinking Liberally Dunedin

Yesterday I received my invite to the next Dunedin meeting of DRINKING LIBERALLY:

Tuesday September 29th,

7 PM,

Circadian Rhythm.

This week we are Drinking Eco-Socially!

Green MP Sue Bradford

will be here to speak about her past involvement in grassroots activism,

its effectiveness, and the need for more of it NOW!

Come armed with the energy, passion, and courage to do something!

And of course bring questions for one of New Zealand's

most socially active and courageous politicians.

Indeed. It was great to hear that Sue was coming to Dunedin. She is one of my heroes.

But today the news comes, that Sue Bradford has resigned from Parliament, effective at the end of next month. She's been disillusioned because of being passed over for the Green co-leadership.

I applaud her choice. Who can blame her for wanting out? From a left wing perspective there's been far too much cosying up to the right wing from the Blue-Greens.

There'll be a lot of disillusioned citizens too, who will be looking for a new home for their vote...

The H Bomb

OPPOSING TEAMS ON THE LINGUISTIC PLAYING FIELD

In arguments about language usage, often the loudest voices cry out about "linguistic correctness" and "language purity" and "preserving standards".

But language is about identity, not about some inherent value of one form versus another, and the triumph of a linguistic form tells us more about which speaker has the most powerful friends.
It's never about what's "right" or "wrong". It's about who has the authority to impose their version of the truth. On the day, it's about who wins the territory.

WHANGANUI ~ WANGANUI

There is currently a hot debate about whether the name of WANGANUI city, which has long been afflicted by a typo (a missing "h"), should be corrected to the spelling WHANGANUI which more accurately reflects the Maori name for the locality.

In trying to seek a solution, it would be more useful, rather than appealing to what the "real" name of the city might be, to speak in terms of justice and of community, of mutual tolerance, and of the attempt to eradicate the toxic effects of racism and an imperialist arrogance.

It might also help to realise that this is just one more of a string of explosive social situations triggered by differing habits concerning the letter "h".

A PUFF OF HOT AIR

An "h" is just a puff of air - an "aspiration". But what we do with our "H" seems to be particularly well suited to distinguishing "you lot" from "us lot". And some of these disagreements can get very hot-headed.

It's not the actual use of the "H" that matters, it's which side of the H we have chosen to stand on. Some of us drop it, and some of us pick it up, and it's not intrinsically "in" or "out" to do either.

It's who is doing the dropping that matters. If they're with us, then whatever they do is OK. We're human and we want to be part of our group and there are powerful pressures on us to sound like the other members of our group. That's why language can change so swiftly.

THE AITCH AND THE HAITCH

Here's an example of the mainstream culture dropping the "h" and the marginalised group speaking it out: the very name of the letter "h" is pronounced "aitch" in 'proper' British English.

So in the early years of European settlement in Australia and New Zealand the poor Irish (who say "haitch") stood out like a sore thumb. The story goes that groups of bullies would challenge some poor hapless lad to spell a word with "h" in it, and if he said it the wrong way, he was apt to be beaten up.

AN HOTEL

And now here is another instance of it being flash NOT to say the "H": in NZ it is becoming rather old fashioned to insist on the "an" form of the indefinite article before certain words starting with "h". When I was at school we got in trouble for writing or saying "a hotel". Now, decades later, I'd say it would be considered rather affected for a younger person to attempt such an archaic usage.

Where did this so-called "grammar" rule come from? (It does make sense to use "an" before a word starting with a "silent h", such as "hour".)

I'd guess this "rule" dates back to the latter stages of the Norman French invasion of England, when French was pretty well established as the prestige dialect and the ruling classes and their collaborators communicated either in French or in a heavily French-influenced English. The French don't pronounce the initial "h" so the practice of imitating the high-class h-drop would have set the local speaker apart as being conversant in the oppressor language, as upwardly mobile or as a collaborator.

The effect of this social stratification is still felt in English vocabulary today, with Anglo-Saxon words for the live beast eg ox, pig and the French-derived word beef, pork for the cooked version of the animal, served at table. (The peasants tended the flocks and the upper crust ate the banquets.)

And even now if an English speaker wants to sound educated or sophisticated there's no better way to add a certain je ne sais quoi than by throwing in a little piece of French.

'ORRIBLE

In My Fair Lady the superior attitude of many a middle class speaker of the "Queen's English" when confronted with lower class Cockney "h-dropping" is well established.

But as we've already seen, it can also be very "posh" to drop your "h". Hmmm.

WHICH WITCH?

My Dad, a Southern New Zealander of Scottish descent, who would have turned 93 next week, carefully distinguished between the two words witch and which. He was part of an older New Zealand generation who pronounced "wh" with an aspiration.

This "phonemic" distinction has been lost in contemporary Kiwi English. (As has the difference between "ear" and "air", but that's another story!)

I remember at primary school the teachers tried to train us in to pronouncing "which" and "witch" differently, but we weren't having any of it.

Which leads to another important truism about language change: it's almost impossible to legislate it, unless you have the population behind you, or an army to enforce the "rules".

Language change "from the top down" has been achieved, of course, with military force, eg in North Korea, or with popular support, as with the successful introduction of the form "Ms" to western culture.

SHIBBOLETH

Probably the most dangerous experience of the disadvantage of pronouncing your "h"-word the "wrong" way, comes to us from the biblical tale of the word "Shibboleth" used by the Gileadites as a test to detect the fleeing Ephraimites, who could not pronounce the sound "sh" (Judges 12:4–6).

The Ephraimites pronounced the word as "sibboleth" and thus revealing themselves to be inable to aspirate the "s", were slaughtered.

And the word shibboleth today is used for such a linguistic phenomenon, that separates the sheep from the goats.

Currently in NZ, the shibboleth is the way you choose to spell Whanganui. If enough of us just do it, it will become the dominant form.

The first tulip

We complain about winter, and we complain about summer, but I never heard anyone complain about spring.

(After a Mulla Nasrudin story)

Springtime Snow

Never leave home, if you live in Dunedin, without your winter gear, no matter what time of the year...

Kittyhawk (named for a cat and a bird!) seems to be watching with bemusement.

World Carfree Day - Get the Train!

22 September is World Carfree Day - check out the World Carfree Network.

Here in Dunedin we have marked the day in a most exciting and acceptable manner - by putting on commuter trains in a city that normally has none.

So this morning I commuted (from Waitati to Dunedin) in a lovely old wooden excursion train carriage courtesy of the magnificent TAIERI GORGE RAILWAY.

The trip took an hour and travelled over some of the most beautiful scenery anywhere on this earth. Yay!

Here are just some of the views from the train window, only minutes from the beach house where I have spent the winter:

This railway event was agitated for and promoted by Dunedin rail revival group GET THE TRAIN. (Here's a link to their blog.) They've been very successful in persuading the powers that be to run a few experiments with short rail journeys from Mosgiel, Port Chalmers and Waitati to Dunedin. There have been commuter trains at the beginning and end of the day, and trains timed more for middle-of-the-day excursions.

Recreational 'suburban' rail outings were held most recently in the July school holidays, and more are scheduled for next week - Wednesday 30th September. (This is quite apart from the excellent tourist rail ventures which leave Dunedin daily.)

Along with about 300 other people, I took the July return trip from Waitati to Dunedin. Here's a link to the Channel 9 TV report on it.

Some of the children on that trip had never been on a train before.

Today's trip was supported by the Dunedin City Council, so in the spirit of "giving credit where it's due" some suck-ups gave the Mayor (not a well-loved civic leader because he has bulldozed into being an extremely unpopular stadium that most ratepayers don't want) a bouquet of flowers to thank him for the subsidy. The good-natured train lovers were grateful for a chance to have one day's worth of train travel and most of them dutifully applauded.

But the local and central governments refuse to even consider suburban rail for Dunedin. "There just isn't the population to support it" they say. Funny how they have felt justified in committing this poor small population to outrageous levels of debt in order to fund their STUPID STADIUM.

We absolutely don't have the population to support that white elephant stadium. We'd much rather support train travel, and the cost of the stadium would be much better spent on facilities that would build communities rather than overburden them with debt for the sake of a very few.

International Small Presses Day

Sandwiched in between all the other "Days" that raise the profile for worthy causes, comes the International Day for Celebrating Small Presses.

Well, no not really. As far as I know there is no such thing as "Celebrating Small Presses Day".

But there should be.

Who knows, maybe there is such a thing. (I haven't Googled to check yet.)

Because there should be.

Why are so many of our good authors published by small presses? Is it because the gatekeepers at the small presses have a lower standard and so it's easier to get your work printed (as long as you belong to their clique?)

Well hell no. In many cases, au contraire.

The large presses do fortunately still publish some great poetry, but not enough. And well - so it seems to the scorned outsiders - they are the cliquey ones. They also tend to err on the side of the safe and the bland too, don't they?

At the other end of the spectrum, the quality of self-publishing and of vanity publishing is fairly variable (a little like open mike night when the convenor is a little too lax).

But the small presses are often in the hands of eagle eyes and good judges.

From what I've seen, Kilmog Press is such a one. It publishes the likes of Jack Ross, Sandra Bell, and Peter Olds.

Another reason to choose to do your chapbook with a small publisher, is you possibly get to have a level of creative control that larger publishers don't allow, because their marketing teams insist on sitting in and replacing a creative imperative with a "concept".

The money minions are right of course. Hardly anyone makes a profit publishing poetry, and nobody got rich running a small Press. It's all done for the sake of Art.

And often the books are very fine, little treasures. Purty.

Praise for Kilmog Press and its books is dotted around the godzone blogiverse - see Art and My Life, The Imaginary Museum, Tim Jones and I swear that Reading the Maps also has been heard to exclaim how good Kilmog Press is... (Can't find an example on a quick hunt.)

Now Kilmog has decided to come into this strange virtual space where there is no smell of ink and no fine porous endpaper or a woodcut in sight.

Kilmog Press has a brand new blog.

Don't forget to put your earthly contact details somewhere guys, so the punters can buy some books!