Viewport width =
October 9, 2006 | by  | in Books |
Share on FacebookShare on Google+Pin on PinterestTweet about this on Twitter

Geoff Cochrane (1951- )

Poet and fiction writer, Cochrane was born in Wellington, into a large Catholic family and educated at St Patrick’s College. First published in 1976, by a private press, Cochrane released, Images of Midnight City, Solstice, The Sea the Landsman Knows, Taming the Smoke and Kandinsky’s Mirror. In 1992, Aztec Noon was published by VUP, followed by, Into India, Acetylene, Vanilla Wine and his latest, Hypnic Jerks in 2005. Cochrane’s poetry has been described as pain distilled”, due to its often melancholy mood and sparce, precise and unflinchingly graphic style. Effortless shifts from the grit of a literal setting to the height of a soaring thought or feeling, make Cochrane’s writing thoroughly memorable. That, and his ability to write about his piles, and a Coronation Street character’s engorged penis, without losing any credibility. Cochrane has also written fiction, which is as evocative as his poetry. His first novel, Tin Nimbus, published in 1995, describes, precisely, an alcoholic’s mission toward sobriety. Blood, published in 1997 recollects Wellington as it was in the mid-1970s. Also published is a collection of Cochrane’s short fiction, Brindle Embers.

Share on FacebookShare on Google+Pin on PinterestTweet about this on Twitter

About the Author ()

Comments are closed.

Recent posts

  1. Cuttin’ it with with Miss June
  2. SWAT
  3. Ravished by the Living Embodiment of All Our University Woes
  4. New Zealand’s First Rainbow Crossing is Here (and Queer)
  5. Chloe Has a Yarn About Mental Health
  6. “Stick with Vic” Makes “Insulting” and “Upsetting” Comments
  7. Presidential Address
  8. Final Review
  9. Tears Fall, and Sea Levels Rise
  10. It’s Fall in my Heart
Website-Cover-Photo7

Editor's Pick

This Ain’t a Scene it’s a Goddamned Arm Wrestle

: Interior – Industrial Soviet Beerhall – Night It was late November and cold as hell when I stumbled into the Zhiguli Beer Hall. I was in Moscow, about to take the trans-Mongolian rail line to Beijing, and after finding someone in my hostel who could speak English, had decided