February 2011

A New Zealand Literary Showcase

Issue 14 Guest Artist:
Gordon Walters

Past Features:
Glasgow Voices
Volta: A Multilingual Anthology
(One poem: 93 languages)

15 Miami Poets

President: Peter Robertson
Vice-President: Sari Nusseibeh
Advisory Consultant: Jill Dawson
General Editor: Beatriz Hausner
Art Editor: Calum Colvin
Deputy General Editor: Jeff Barry

Consulting Editors
Marjorie Agosín
Daniel Albright
Meena Alexander
Maria Teresa Andruetto
Frank Ankersmit
Rosemary Ashton
Reza Aslan
Leonard Barkan
Michael Barry
Shadi Bartsch
Thomas Bartscherer
Susan Bassnett
Gillian Beer
David Bellos
Richard Berengarten
Charles Bernstein
Sujata Bhatt
Mario Biagioli
Jean Boase-Beier
Elleke Boehmer
Eavan Boland
Stephen Booth
Alain de Botton
Carmen Boullossa
Rachel Bowlby
Svetlana Boym
Peter Brooks
Marina Brownlee
Roberto Brodsky
Carmen Bugan
Jenni Calder
Stanley Cavell
Sampurna Chattarji
Sarah Churchwell
Hollis Clayson
Sally Cline
Kristina Cordero
Drucilla Cornell
Junot Díaz
André Dombrowski
Denis Donoghue
Ariel Dorfman
Rita Dove
Denise Duhamel
Klaus Ebner
Robert Elsie
Stefano Evangelista
Orlando Figes
Tibor Fischer
Shelley Fisher Fishkin
Peter France
Nancy Fraser
Maureen Freely
Michael Fried
Marjorie Garber
Anne Garréta
Marilyn Gaull
Zulfikar Ghose
Paul Giles
Lydia Goehr
Vasco Graça Moura
A. C. Grayling
Stephen Greenblatt
Lavinia Greenlaw
Lawrence Grossberg
Edith Grossman
Elizabeth Grosz
Boris Groys
David Harsent
Benjamin Harshav
Geoffrey Hartman
François Hartog
Siobhan Harvey
Molly Haskell
Selina Hastings
Valerie Henitiuk
Kathryn Hughes
Aamer Hussein
Djelal Kadir
Kapka Kassabova
John Kelly
Martin Kern
Mimi Khalvati
Joseph Koerner
Annette Kolodny
Julia Kristeva
George Landow
Chang-Rae Lee
Mabel Lee
Linda Leith
Suzanne Jill Levine
Lydia Liu
Margot Livesey
Julia Lovell
Laurie Maguire
Willy Maley
Alberto Manguel
Ben Marcus
Paul Mariani
Marina Mayoral
Richard McCabe
Campbell McGrath
Jamie McKendrick
Edie Meidav
Jack Miles
Toril Moi
Susana Moore
Laura Mulvey
Azar Nafisi
Paschalis Nikolaou
Martha Nussbaum
Tim Parks
Molly Peacock
Pascale Petit
Clare Pettitt
Caryl Phillips
Robert Pinsky
Elena Poniatowska
Elizabeth Powers
Elizabeth Prettejohn
Martin Puchner
Kate Pullinger
Paula Rabinowitz
Rajeswari Sunder Rajan
James Richardson
François Rigolot
Geoffrey Robertson
Ritchie Robertson
Avital Ronell
Élisabeth Roudinesco
Carla Sassi
Michael Scammell
Celeste Schenck
Sudeep Sen
Hadaa Sendoo
Miranda Seymour
Mimi Sheller
Elaine Showalter
Penelope Shuttle
Werner Sollors
Frances Spalding
Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak
Julian Stallabrass
Susan Stewart
Rebecca Stott
Mark Strand
Kathryn Sutherland
Rebecca Swift
Susan Tiberghien
John Whittier Treat
David Treuer
David Trinidad
Marjorie Trusted
Lidia Vianu
Victor Vitanza
Marina Warner
David Wellbery
Edwin Williamson
Michael Wood
Theodore Zeldin

Associate Editor: Neil Langdon Inglis
Assistant Editor: Ana de Biase
Assistant Editor: Eugenio Conchez
Assistant Editor: Patricia Delmar
Assistant Editor: Sophie Lewis
Assistant Editor: Siska Rappé
Assistant Editor: Robert Toperter
Art Consultant: Verónica Barbatano
Art Consultant: Angie Roytgolz

Click to enlarge picture Click to enlarge picture. Two Poems by Harry Ricketts  

Quarantine Island, Dunedin

(for Helen and Marc)

Love is and is not the point.
With this high wind filling your sails,
world turns strange and yet the same.

Your craft must be delicate, also tough.
You head for open, unplumbed seas.
Love is and is not the point.

These charts you’ve packed are full of blanks,
bluffs and sounds you must rename.
World turns strange and yet the same.

Tempests, typhoons, the taniwha stowed away
in the hold: all can be weathered.
Love is and is not the point.

There will be days of sudden calm,
nights when stars burn into your head.
World turns strange and yet the same.

The unknown calls. The day is yours.
Hope and trust will take you far.
Love is and is not the point.
World turns strange and yet the same.



At the Getty

(For Brian)

In the half-dark of the Getty,
I peer through glass at Books of Hours,
those late medieval bestsellers.

Calendars, annunciations,
saints and sinners, devotional
aids, dim indecipherable texts.

St Ursula is quite charming
in grisaille, flecked with gold. Saint Luke,
a serious beard, writes, fathoms deep;

there’s an ox in the corridor.
And this is the naughty boys’ room.
A pair of foppish youths ride a goat,

fingering its horns. David, harp
put aside, hand on bare chest, says
how sorry he is not only for

bonking Bathsheba but, even worse,
for sending Uriah to the Front.
Two shapely bare bottoms frame his remorse.

Then, in a corner, a stained glass
crucifixion, South Netherlands,
1490s. There’s a double

skull beneath the cross. Mary stands
to the left, folded in, mouth turned
down. Behind her, a lemon-white sky,

bushy trees, a turreted town.
But it’s the figure on the right
who stops me dead. The slightly curled

brown hair, hollow look, mouth agape
could – this sounds mad, I know – be you.
Not the you I so fondly recall

in some bar off the Piazza
Navona, wryly reflecting
on lost boys, and love gone wrong again,

but the you I glimpsed one Christmas
Eve in St Paul’s-within-the walls,
swinging the censor, eyes wide shut.