ON ORIGINALITY

Poets, I want to follow them all,

out of the forest into the city

or out of the city into the forest.

The first one I throttle.

I remove his dagger

and tape it to my ankle in a shop doorway.

Then I step into the street

picking my nails.

I have a drink with a man

who loves young women.

Each line is a fresh corpse.

There is a girl with whom we make friends.

As he bends over her body

to remove the clothing

I slip the blade between his ribs.

Humming a melody, I take his gun.

I knot his scarf carelessly at my neck, and

I trail the next one into the country.

On the bank of a river I drill

a clean hole in his forehead.

Moved by poetry

I put his wallet in a plain envelope

and mail it to the widow.

I pocket his gun.

This is progress.

For instance, it is nearly dawn.

Now I slide a gun into the gun

and go out looking.

It is a difficult world.

Each word is another bruise.

This is my nest of weapons.

This is my lyrical foliage.

You can listen to this poem care of the Electronic Poetry Centre. You can also see a stylish text animation at the Arts Foundation.

Bill Manhire hardly requires any introduction but you can read his NZ Book Council profile here. Manhire’s published books include a Collected Poems (2001) and Lifted (2006), and many anthologies. His most recent book is The Victims of Lightning (2010) from Victoria University Press. He was the inaugural Te Mata Estate New Zealand Poet Laureate in 1996–97, received an Arts Foundation of New Zealand Laureate award in 2005, and in 2007 received the Prime Minister’s Award for Poetry. He directs the creative writing programme at Victoria University of Wellington.

This Thursday September 23rd, Wellingtonians can listen to Manhire's lyrics set to Jazz music by Norman Meehan at Te Papa. Also this week Bill answers questions about musicality, collaboration, lightning strikes and the muse in my Quick Ten Interview series. We also discuss this poem and the anxiety of influence.

You can find more Tuesday Poems at the Hub.