Ngā mihi ki a koutou for writing your poems for this edition of Given Words. We received 250 poems and have chosen 54 to publish here on Given Words. The winning poems have been selected by Sophia Wilson, Pat White and Charles Olsen. (You can read about us here.)
Charles Olsen comments on the poems on behalf of the judges: Sometimes the five words are so naturally absorbed into a poem that I have to read it a few times before I find them all. This didn’t happen with the mouthful ‘phantasmagoria’, although lines like ‘phantasmagoria fast-forwarded’, ‘a fantasy a fever dream / phantasmagoria’, ‘the phantasmagoria of man turned sepia’ and ‘the flavour of this curated phantasmagoria’, using alliteration, and the play of sounds, came closest. It was lovely to hear from one teacher who invited younger students to come up with their own meanings before they looked up the word in the dictionary. They said: the name of a cocktail, an ancient dance, a spell, a type of bird, among many more. Who’s to say these aren’t all true in the phantasmagoria of meaning?
As I write up my impressions on each poem I look forward to comparing notes later with the other two judges and I’m grateful to Sophia Wilson and Pat White for their thoughtful insights. As always, I recommend you first go on your own journey through our selection of poems and then come back here afterwards to compare impressions… although we try not to give too much away!
There was a wonderful sense of mystery in The Rocket, evoking a future without humans. Sophia highlights its ‘innovative weaving of dreamlike imagery’, where ‘sinister hints of apocalypse and environmental collapse contrast with the resilience of the natural world.’ I ask myself if it is the rocket that is thinking, feeling, that delineates, calibrates, ponders, or perhaps it could be the exploring tendrils. Sophia also highlights the ‘nostalgia and surprise conjured by the ending’.
Putting the reader into the mind of another was also a feature of How bees see us. Pat points to the ‘careful language and restraint’ as the poem focusses on ‘the otherworldliness of the remarkable insects that pollinate our lives in more ways than one.’ Sophia is struck by ‘the progression of images: “these children of the sun / their bodies of fire and ash / on diaphanous wings” are juxtaposed with we (humans) as “barrier[s] of fog and fume”, “marauding blobs of light” and “bull’s-eye blotches” between them and their “darling blooms”.'
I particularly enjoy how the five words are used in such a natural understated way in Wishbones. Although about birds, the word feather is used in an idiom, and ‘A phantasmagoria of wishbones’ to which ‘a lonely song calls’, is a wonderful way to evoke the ancestors of the birds. The poem’s treatment of the different parties with similar language: ‘Thriving locals’ and ‘New neighbours’ invites us to reflect on our individual impact.
Of What were we? Pat comments ‘they have nailed the five words seamlessly’ and the ‘poet knows about using words to surprise’. He highlights the ‘sound and rhythm’ which would be great recited in a spoken word or slam performance, and ‘the sudden twist at the end works a treat’.
We could continue discussing details in all the poems—the charming humble garden of Home Horticulture, the playful humour of a conversation between Watson and Holmes in gothic, the subtle images in Laundry where, as Pat says ‘the humdrum is blown wide-open to confront loneliness’, or having been a rower myself as a teenager, I loved the images in The Release, that have an otherworldliness, the subtlety of the water’s voice…
In the end it was the poet’s voice in Nana that stood out for us. As Sophia says, the opening lines beautifully capture the attention: ‘Nana I come to these mountains / to make noises like the Kunekune / or to build a shrine of deliverance’. Pat comments how it ‘seduces by the intimacy of the conversation’ and describes it as ‘an impressive piece of work using a form and language that need careful attention for it not to become sentimental or unstructured’. As with the poem What were we?, when read aloud, the spaces, pauses, and musicality of the poem, really come alive.
We received a record 148 poems in the Under-16s category this year! It is not always easy to compare poems by younger writers and those closer to 16, however Pat comments that ‘very young poets are just as capable of writing a telling image as those who are older and possess a more extensive vocabulary.’ We hope you’ve enjoyed the challenge and encourage you all to keep exploring the possibilities of language and poetry.
We particularly liked the imagination in Liminal Archive, with its ‘halls of phantasmagoria’ where memories are recorded; archives ‘you can hear’. Sophia says it is ‘a thoughtful poem that “whispers of things, / lost to the wild ocean of time”.’ The doubling up of adjectives in the fourth stanza suggests the complexity of describing each individual experience: ‘biting sting’ and ‘barking shouts’. Pat commented that ‘the poet takes us into a labyrinth of what ifs…’, and is led to ask, ‘what if the neat packages in which we place our history and our hopes for the future are mirages?’
in a faraway land creates a poetic space for imagination and playful alliteration where time clasps at feathers. Curiously it is also one of the few poems to use the past tense of the word eat.
In a similar vein, the poem Phantasmagoria creates a fantasy world with its dreamlike vision of ‘smoke whispering to the trees’ Much like the acrostic poems inspired by the meaning of the word phantasmagoria, this doesn’t try to explain what it is but rather uses the word as a springboard to create the fantasy space.
Pat describes The bush as ‘a conservative verse, except the twist at the end throws the contents wide open. Without saying so the poet asks, what is happening to our world?’ I found it playful and expressive and was left wondering what is going on ‘Unseen, / Outside of time’.
Among poems by younger poets we particularly enjoyed My Grandad is a Wizard, Pat describing it as ‘an imaginative delight’ where the contents ‘at no stage over-reach their task’. Each of the five words is treated in an original way, adding something creative to the story and playing with the idea of phantasmagoria.
In the end we were drawn to the originality and creativity of the poem Gallery Exhibition No. 73.16. with its three rooms (echoing perhaps the different rooms in the video-presentation of the word made by Malcolm Doidge). Sophia describes it as ‘a rich and evocative poetic dream sequence with surprising images and shifts.’ In Pat’s words the poem ‘takes on a form and expands our appreciation of the gallery contents by the way the poet views the exhibition,’ and he notes, it ‘doesn’t tell us what to think about what is going on.’ We are inside a dream space where meaning fades in and out of focus. Sophia comments how ‘the last stanza poignantly conveys climate urgency: “only time can tell us / the duration it will take / for dreamless dust to prevail”.’
After all our reading and deliberations over 10 days or so, we come to the moment where I look up the names of the poets. There are always lots of surprises. We are delighted to announce the winning poets. The winner of Best Poem is Jason Lingard for his poem Nana and the winner of Best Poem by Under-16s is Miranda Yuan for her poem Gallery Exhibition No. 73.16. This edition we would also like to award a Special Mention to Bhaarati Sharma for her poem My Grandad is a Wizard. The winners receive books courtesy of The Cuba Press and Massey University Press. Congratulations to all on behalf of Given Words, The Cuba Press and Massey University Press.
Below are the winning poems and Special Mention. We also invite you to read our selection of the rest of the poems from adults here and from under-16s here. All entries had to include the following five words: feather, whisper, time, eat, and phantasmagoria.
Nana
Nana sometimes I come to these mountains
to make noises like the Kunekune
or to build a shrine of deliverance—
I sit and eat with alpine spirits
and tell the manu
things I can’t think about.
At night the rangiora leaves are like little moons
lighting the way whispering
Do you still feel me in your bones?
I do
and yes the adult me still grabs
the leaves of the rimu trees
to feel if they are masculine or feminine
because as a child you told me females are softer
and that made sense at the time
but in the future it will not.
So I lie down on the forest floor
and play dead letting the huhu and wētā caress me
under a phantasmagoria of stars
the ground is feminine—
Papatūānuku holding me because you’re gone.
So I’m hiding semi-obscured
slivers of flesh poking through ponga ferns
stuffing feathers in my ears
—but still I hear you whisper your favourite song:
It’s so funny, how we don’t talk anymore.
Your words fading I wave to your wairua walking backwards
softly on rocks of green teenage flesh
mimicking every move the wind makes—
in a silken effort
to disappear.
Te Whanganui-a-Tara Wellington
Gallery Exhibition No. 73.16
a sequence of dreams
how many plucked birds
does one need
to fill a space with feathers aflight?
still, does any of that matter?
when face to face with jade and pearl
suspended on almost invisible
strings of gossamer.
colours harsh, soft to touch,
downy, never down,
never touching the ground.
but don’t you ever forget
the chords are still there.
neon lights fizzle from on to off
off to on—
cues to the silent dancers.
splitting smiles on, inhibitions off.
bring in the whispers of sweet nothings
plated with sweet everythings.
it’s time to eat
gloss and glitter.
the roast pig at the centre
speaks of the heat in the oven.
he is met with disregard,
my condolences.
after passing an oasis,
the desert always feels drier—
endless expanses
drenched in gold
worth less than a single cent.
only time can tell us
the duration it will take
for dreamless dust to prevail,
the number of epiphanies it will take
to come to terms with the
permanent haze.
to begin and to end
Ōtautahi Christchurch
My Grandad is a Wizard
Grandad lives in a mushroom.
He has a phantasmagoria
of spider jars with dreams and candy
that makes you sick,
a charm that whispers,
a book of secrets made from feathers…
and the scariest of them all
is a haunted doll that eats unicorn horns.
He has a brush that can take you anywhere
any time,
a pirate’s ring filled with mermaid’s hair,
and dragon teeth.
I love my Grandad
and his phantasmagoria!
Ōtautahi Christchurch
About the Poets
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