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July 20, 2009 | by  | in Books |
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This is a rather smashing tome of Kiwi-esque poetry, with a sci-fi slant—but it’s not only sci-fi. In this instance, the sci-fi genre expands and encompasses all manner of thought pertaining to our modern fears, apprehensions, excitements, discoveries, prophecies, and imaginative forays into both darker, lighter, paler, androgynous worlds within worlds. Don’t for a second think you need to be some über-trekkie sci-fi freak to enjoy this, it’s something for everyone.

Of course, to enjoy poetry, you can’t just suck it down like a vacuum cleaner, you have to savor each one, let it roll around, chew it and say ahhhh… and these poems are eager and waiting for you.

There’s some cracking use of language here too, let me give you a wee smidge from David Eggleton’s piece 60 Second Warning: “Muroroa, you evil genius, your hell’s teeth mouth spews fried flourescent fish”. Or what about this from Louis Johnson’s To a Science-Fiction Writer: “In your apple, man is the maggot who has not learned to live with abstraction…”; oh believe me, I could go on! I’ve never been too much of a poetry abuser, but I might just start.

Voyagers is divided into six chapters, so if the satiation of your mood requires a poem of turbulent extra-terrestrial encephalitis, a cornucopia of visions of a greying earth, or just perhaps some paradoxical space-time oneness with dollops of existential existences exciting exits into extra-spectral extravaganzas, there’s a poem in here with your name on it. Maori, Polynesian, and Scottish kiwi place names are woven beautifully into these babies, like pine nuts in a salad.

274 words, including the secret message.

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