"THERE is poetry in the air around us," remarks Gabriel Fitzmaurice in an introduction to his Poetry Now anthology; "in the games we play, in the daily intercourse of our lives." His poetry echoes and reaffirms this philosophy. And there is a marked affinity with the early work of fellow Kerryman Brendan Kennelly; the straightforwardness of theme, the everyday and the ordinary elevated to a singable uniqueness, the application of memory as a tool in the poetic process, the sense of the poet as recorder and maker in one.
Fitzmaurice's work is lyrical in the truest sense; song is everywhere here, unashamedly, directly. The link between poetry and song, and especially between folk ballad and written poem, is unbroken.
Poetry for its own sake has little function here, where stories need to be told and a sense of local history consolidated. Hardly surprising, therefore, that the very first poem in this collection is dedicated to the memory of a singer and outlines clearly the nature of the poetic task as Fitzmaurice sees it: Hence the songs - The mighty deeds the tribe sings in the bar... "Hence the Songs" Fitzmaurice, like Kennelly and Keane, is aware that the myth and local history of Kerry find their Homeric resolution in the Kerry pub. In this atmosphere, song and retold tale kindle a solid folk poetry which is outside and beyond academic reach and influence. Some of Fitzmaurice's poems have a folk poetry quality about them, an informed and crafted accessibility which does not at all diminish their status as poems. Fitzmaurice writes poetry, however basic and simplistic his the me or style.
Not surprisingly, many poems are dedicated, to singers, other artists, musicians. A sequence of eight sonnets is dedicated to John B. Keane and contains one sonnet further dedicated to George Szirtes. There are poems to other poets, footballers, even one to Fintan O'Toole with the slightly dizzying title, "2-D, 3-D": "So much that I must realise:/To cube it truly is the test./More is than there is est." Fitzmaurice has set down a world for us here and invites us to pore over it, become acquainted with it. The co publishing of this book raises interesting questions: can we look forward to, say, Bloodaxe Dedalus collections, Faber Gallery collaborations? BARBARA PARKINSON'S voice has a slightly folksy ring to it but doesn't always carry the same poetic cadences. Parkinson has also written poetry in Irish (The Salmon magazine, autumn 1989) under the name Bairbre Ni Pharkinson, but alas, none of it is included in this collection. Some poems here are excellent and fine poetry pushes through, for example with the lines "Her suitcase/opens like a lotus/in the Soho Hotel ..." ("Mona Lisa in Soho"), or the opening deceptive plainness of "With the energy of a thief/I kneel away the night/in the language of prayer." ("Leaving is the Price"). But one wishes Parkinson had tried a little harder to craft poetry from themes such as are approached in "Some Mud Phone Booth", or the intriguing "Auntie's Not In". The poem to her father, "Death's Door", is quite beautiful, simple and elegiac.
KEVIN HART grew up in London and Brisbane and, among other things, is the editor of The Oxford Book of Australian Religious Verse (1994).
Good poetry here, if a little bland, and very concerned, perhaps not surprisingly, with being Australian. Nonetheless, Hart is often an engaging poet. But anyone expecting his Australian poetry to be novel or different in some way will be disappointed. John Greening seems to have had a somewhat less academic career; the poetry reflects this, is more involving and alive and even musical. Both poets were born in 1954. Both editions are of 250 copies. Nice introductions. Greening somewhat more worth the effort.