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- RALPH WESSMAN
Tasmanian
Poetry Festival 2009
Launceston Poetry Cup evening
By 7.10 pm
there are but a handful of patrons who’ve arrived to listen to and take part in the
Launceston Poetry Cup, the premiere event of the Tasmanian Poetry Festival. A table of
interstate invitees mass at one end of the room, and a small group of locals settle in
nearby. But the kitchen’s busy, where sandwiches are being produced en masse for
inclusion in the $10 entry fee. The query ‘Need a hand?’ is met with a polite
but firm refusal.
By 7:30 though,
the hall’s full and Festival Director Cameron Hindrum commences the evening’s
proceedings. As ever, the keynote - as it’s been since it began under Tim
Thorne’s direction in 1985 – is friendliness and informality. ‘And as
I’ve a habit of saying every year: if you’ve any complaints, keep them to
yourself,’ Hindrum continues. He mentions the quiz which will be run during the
evening and which he now puts in train with his first couple of questions.
‘That was
the first one. Now question two: who was the winner of the 1991 Launceston poetry Cup?
‘Can we
write down who should have won?’ a disembodied voice queries from offstage.
‘No Tim,
that won’t do,’ comes Hindrum’s courteous but steady response.
The first event
for the evening is Tim Thorne’s launch of the poetry collection Far Beyond the
Sun, featuring the work of Andrew Hardy and Chris Rattray. Thorne compares
Hardy’s contributions here to the poems appearing in his first collection, Cornford
Press’ High in the Paw Paw Tree (2003). ‘Andrew’s poems in this
book match the quality of the work in his first,’ he attests. ‘His untimely
death in 1997 deprived us of a very valuable contributor to the running of the festival -
he was always willing to get in and lend a hand – and it’s a matter of
incredible sadness that we’re not able the witness the development of Andrew
Hardy’s poetic career. The release of High in the Paw Paw Tree drew a number
of critical reviews, one of which likened him to a younger Eric Beach, and that of course
is very high praise indeed.’ Chris Rattray, who is present in the audience, is
welcomed to the microphone to read from the current collection.
Cameron Hindrum
returns to introduce the next segment of the evening’s programme. ‘Normally our
festival guests are not programmed to read as a precursor to the Launceston Poetry Cup,
but we’ve made an exception for Kristin Hannaford who needs to catch a 7 am flight
back to Rockhampton tomorrow morning.’ Kristin is an assured performer, completely
‘Relaxed and Comfortable’, (to coin a Thorne poem). Her first offering is an
extended poem moving from the northern Midlands of Tasmania circa 1972 through 1840’s
Victoria, Sydney circa 1880 and various Queensland locations. Next follow a number of
Queensland poems, ‘Displacement, ‘Pumpkin Island Notes’ ("first
published in Tasmania!") and ‘Night Storms’, speaking of the tail end of
the cyclonic storms that sweep down from the north to vent their fury on central
Queensland, ‘sticky with possibilities / of greater than average rainfall’ with
their resulting inventories of ‘windows closed, children in." ‘I wondered
if the poems I chose were too serious,’ Kristin says later, but it's doubtful.
Rappers Choo Choo and Wire M.C. who performed at last year’s festival were deadly
serious, as was ‘scribesisterspeaking’: ‘but we always knew that we were
lucky / lucky country, young and free, this wide brown land for me / so we’d
periodically bake cakes to raise money for those less fortunate / because injustice was
something that happened elsewhere / mainly in Africa actually // full stop. next
chapter.’. Admittedly, their gigs weren’t scheduled for Cup night.
Robin Archbold
from Lismore takes the stage. ‘I’m a sophisticated new age man…’ he
murmurs in what begins as perhaps the gentle serenade of an ideal partner but soon
achieves its discombobulated apogee. It’s time for the Cup….
‘In the
annals of great cupness,’ Cameron Hindrum begins, after the break….
Hindrum’s frequently expansive. Fronting a classroom – day in, day out –
could cure him you'd think, but apparently not. He revisits the rules - ‘Bribery
won’t work, but feel welcome to try: preferably with beer!' – before settling
down to business. ‘For this evening there are twenty-eight entries, a very big field.
Last year there were twenty-two’.
‘People
often ask me,’ Hindrum continues, ‘what is a Cup poem? I exempt myself from the
Cup because I’m the festival director – I mean I know this is Tasmania, but I
have my standards – so here’s a typical cup poem: topical, funny.’ And he
entertains on the subject of Brendon Fevola who ‘thinks he’s a Porsche’.
(Perhaps he’s a Corolla?)
‘To kick
off,’ Cameron continues, ‘here’s Jacqui Williams.’
It’s never
easy to be called to read first, and Jacqui’s brief piece – cleaning: ‘I
hate it!’ – is met with polite applause, as is Jocelyn Cooper’s reflection
on the inherent dangers of gardening roses. Then follows a poem on junk mail, followed by
perhaps the first serious contender for the evening, Kevin Gillam complete with his cello.
Above the music’s pitch appears to be a reflection on ‘wet … is the colour
of thinking’. ‘There goes Kevin Gilllam: what a very fine cello he is,’
Hindram intones as Kevin departs.
It’s left
to Sheila Burchill this evening to introduce the topic of the pulp mill, with her
reflection on Gunns’ little Green book: in Sheila’s view it's not so very
dissimilar from Mao’s little Red one. Clara Murray asserts that in the beginning
‘all was iambic pentameter’ before Valerie Tinmouth takes off where Sheila left
off. ‘You may think I’m rather queer / cos I made love to a Finnish pulp mill
engineer’, a reference to the interest of Finnish firm Jaakko Poyry in the proposed
Tamar Valley pulp mill. Evidently it wasn’t a relationship made in heaven for
Tinmouth because following the lovemaking his little Finnish feet ‘vanished into Finn
air’.
‘Okay,
I’m game enough to go there,’ Hindrum adds. ‘ When he was in bed, did he
Finnish early?’
Rob Morriss
gets plenty of support with his panel van perceptions, while Joy Elizabeth takes another
swipe at political support for the pulp mill which she fails to see as sexy in the least.
Mentioning the Libs, the Greens and Gay, she openly wonders about ‘intersex’:
‘Not quite Jack and not quite Jean’
‘What if
you have sex with a Finnish pulp mill person, what’s that make you?’ Hindrum
teases.
‘Traitor!’
comes the rifled response.
Vicky Riette
visits Tasmania’s fox dilemma – ‘it’s tallyho, a hunting we go’ -
Ron Moss offers a cricket haiku, and the competition’s first duel entry tackles a
survey of Aboriginal education. Yvonne Lewis is convinced her cat can speak, and Ian
Howard declares himself a defender of rhyme. ‘Faster than a speeding metaphor,’
adds Hindrum.
Ross Donlon, visiting from
Castlemaine, gathers immediate support with his entry. ‘To be born, press 1. / To
know your mother and father press 2. / To speak to either parent, press 3....’ But
though there’s plenty of support for Ross, there’s plenty too for Ros Lewis, the
next contestant. ‘Sixty-four days to Copenhagen / nineteen hours forty-five minutes
and twelve seconds.’ Does Tasmania care, she asks? Does Princess Mary know
what’s going on?
Zenobia Frost takes the stage -
Cameron lowers the microphone - with a spiel about her namesake, the Warrior Queen
Zenobia. Nick Fittler wonders why we spend so much time in supermarkets, those
‘cathedrals of consumption’. Tony Rayner makes an intelligent point with his
cleverly composed creation questioning the island’s forest agenda- ‘yet we cut
down the trees / acidify the seas’ - while Ross Coward capitulates to the
‘descent into twilight’ and the unrecoverable dreams of the mind. Jenny Neill
garners support with her ditty of the perfect couple, who’d be awesome together
‘if I wasn’t a poet / if you didn’t hate haiku’, Belinda Jeffrey
alludes to hardships in Kings Cross, Long Bay Jail and Steve Davis caricatures cows and
cars. Robin Archbold declares his is the best f****** poem ever written, ‘all the
great poets: Shelley, Keats, Thorne / wish they’d written this little rhyme’,
concluding with ‘I will say without any fear / that the meaning of life is in
here.’ Tim Thorne offers a dark piece about the re-education possibilities for the
members of Timber Communities of Australia, and the final Cup entry concludes with the
razing of a relationship over stealing someone’s boyfriend.
Judges move to adjudge the Cup
winner, and to the astonishment of each there’s almost universal agreement. All three
judges have placed Ian Howard third. Two have Ross Donlon first and Valerie Tinmouth
second, while the other has placed Donlan second and Valerie Tinmouth first. For only the
second time in twenty-five years, a non-Tasmanian resident – Ross Donlon - has won
the Cup, (the winner the other occasion being Lauren Williams).
‘It’s a tradition of
course for the winning poet to repeat his or her poem,’ says Hindrum.
‘Thank you,’ says
Donlon. ‘Thank you Launceston, thank you Tasmania, this lovely little island in the
Bass Strait, thank you…’
‘Don’t thank
Gunns!!!’
‘Oh no, not Gunns! Mmm: do
I still have to recite it in under a minute?’