This year in Salient, I’ve forced a lot of poetry on you. I’m not ashamed. Poetry deserves to be read by more people. It longs to be read by young people just like us.
There are two types of Haruki Murakami novels. One is the surreal story in full magical-realist style, narrated by an alienated urban man. The other type is the story of an alienated urban man with some surreal descriptions or anecdotes thrown in. Colourless is of the latter type, but I wish it was the former.
waha | mouth is Baker’s third poetry collection. True to its title, it’s full of sounds and spoken words and stories passed from mouth to mouth. Reading these poems on the page is different from listening to them, but one word springs to mind: texture.
This is the special circle of internet hell where you’ll find a book called Aardvarks After Dark by Michael Gould. I use the word ‘book’ liberally. It’s a 140-page-long list of ‘imaginary book titles’, drawing on some kind of wordplay. Except wordplay is usually witty and clever and pun-tastic. Aardvarks After Dark is none of these things.
On a windy Thursday night in Wellington, Jenny Bornholdt read to a crowd gathered around her at Vic Books: “somewhere beyond the manuka/ the creek makes a low whicker/ as though the soul of the valley was a horse.”
“Stories of the women who died are important because otherwise their voices remain silent.”
Sebastian Hampson is an English and Art History student at Vic, and he’s also a published novelist. Last year, his debut novel The Train to Paris was picked up by Australian independent publishers Text Publishing.
“Yeah, but the book’s better.” A phrase heard only too often. A phrase you’ve probably uttered before in an attempt to appear literate.
New from Auckland publishers Hue & Cry Press is this gorgeous, haunting book of prose poems. It’s an autobiography in verse – or a series of biographies threaded together.