Tendering

New Poems

Ian Wedde

• Publisher: Auckland University Press
• Year: 2013
• ISBN:
  9781775581659
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Poetry
• Index: Literature

Steeped in the brilliance of the banal and the daily splendours of language, Wedde presents a beautifully controlled and ordered sequence of verse in Tendering: New Poems. The book was written, he says, 'in the ghostly presence of my great grandfather Heinrich Augustus Wedde, the last ship-rig pilot on Wellington harbour'. Powerful visions of ships, the sea and of Pacific voyages of exploration pervade the collection, as does that mean city to where the ships return home.

ONE

The Relocation of Railway Hut 49

1

Yet why shouldn’t I aim with “tender”

the best stories begin

“you’re not going to believe this but”

I’m still just a taut sailor

on shore leave in life

(time to get back in the tender)

like my tempest tossed great grandfather before me

“Tend to th’ master’s whistle”

two white doves flirt by the water

Heinrich Augustus and Maria Van Reepen

Barnacle Bill and the Scandinavian Princess

I couldn’t either live away from

how light stirs in the surface

(time to attend to the water)

sounds bound once in the braids and weeds of seas

or how the waves wash my spring head in sun

fishscales glittering on my dead father’s arms

through how many lives’ gentle propulsion

his sea man ship escorted me here

(pit ease sake against sea men)

and you can see

how the pitted concrete face of the city

begins to show the short history

of an early disenchantment

(certain material securities have not stood up)

drown the books

let purpose buckle against something of no substance

the rainbows that fall into our open months

our legal tender of breath

(here’s just a pet food kingdom)

and the kids in the Fun City

aren’t going to walk in one day and say

“Enough Space Invaders, it’s the revolution”

(it’s just a dog food factory)

it’s the first few ships

Cooked Breakfast, Bad Karma and Gaga in Toto

stirring light into the water

whatever acids history serves us to fling

that I can’t live away from

(imaginary mountains won’t budge either)

just heave to live ear

listen see man pen meander

the moon drips light through my roof

wind croons in my ear

wherever I am there’s no where to go

(chance is just another iron butterfly)

2

And you easy mark for the sick

vertigo of underemployed responsibility

better look out!

Know where to go!

Is the light fading

will the Cruise Ship ram the atoll

how do you read your musical watch in the dark

and what happens next?

Way out west among black iron dunes

contenders are shooting up katipo venom —

now there’s nationalism for you!

Heinrich Augustus sailed through

the Dangerous Archipelago

beneath unfamiliar stars —

hanged if he was born to drown

on an acre of barren ground.

No vertigo.

Mid ocean reek of reef

mermaid’s braids uncharted smell of weed

stellar sound of grief’s wreck

passion’s gentle helm

“Must our mouths be cold?”

3

Nose to tail in the pool

the swimmers turning and turning

I enter the tainted bowl of my affections

my chemical chalice

eyes grape pulped by chlorine

Through how many lives’ genital propulsion

his sea man’s tender helm engendered

to end here to prosper

This line I heave to Heinrich Augustus

This mouth I warm for him

4

As ship-rig pilot to this harbour

that the craft not founder

as reef and bar tender I sköl him

founder of my line

disenchantment and an end of meandering

here he found her

by sea man’s nurture to tend her

his delicate dove by the wind’s waves

shoving moonlight up the bay

outside the door of 49

the fast clouds roar

their shadow steers the sea

I tendered for the relocation of hut 49

single men’s quarters

Thorndon Quay Railway Yards

you’re not going to believe this but

$50 and got it.

5

Outside the door of 49

will be a slender almond tree

pohutukawas will scratch the panes

Past all realism the pet food kingdoms

green ache of barren drowned

broken knowledge of disenchanter’s art

grave few whirled

The nearby smokehouse leaking mists:

eels, trout, chicken

49 dim in smoke and autumn dusk

the delicate almond whirling its leaves

Ships tended for weather tides turn

keeping tides to leeward of their pick

and 49’s the bower I line on

while everything under the moon swings

Heart’s vanity to prosper

brave new pastoral acre

in tended 49 my praise

pilots the smoky light through pain.

6 der Fischer

Hanging today the glass door in 49

Heinrich Augustus born in 1840

balance and an easy swing out

spliced his own tackle with a sewing needle

light casting its lures in

fouled the line and plunged in after it

sound of rain squall on the pane

double pneumonia in Blenheim in 1916

jammed any door I ever tried to hang

a...

Table of contents

• Cover Page
• Title Page
• Acknowledgements
• Copyright Page
• Contents
• Dedication
• 1
• 2
• 3
• Back Cover