Critical Corner: Still Is, Tarot

In this edition of Critical Corner, two short reviews of two new books of poetry: Still Is by Vincent O’Sullivan and Tarot by Jake Arthur.

As I’ve mentioned before, 2024 is a year where I’m trying to expand my horizons and read things I haven’t read. I am distressingly – by my own standards at least – under-read when it comes to New Zealand poetry. This year I’ve managed to read a few new ones, including the excellent Killer Rack by Sylvan Spring, and now, Still Is by Vincent O’Sullivan and Tarot by Jake Arthur.

It is embarrassing to come to Vincent O’Sullivan, one of New Zealand’s most famous and prolific authors, this late in life, but hey! It’s what happened. My only encounter with him thus far was skimming the play Shuriken (good!) and also knowing that he was a person who I should have read. It turns out that Still Is, published a mere two months after his passing, is a pretty great place to start.

Still Is features 90 poems – just over one for each year of his life, coincidentally – that range wildly in style and content. At 120 pages it’s pretty thick for a poetry collections, but can easily be read through in one sitting, which gives it the warm air of listening to a series of especially eloquent strangers ramble to you at a bar.

There is no aligning theme, purpose or frame to Still Is, however. Even the order of the poems feels random, even though it most certainly is not. Some poems are directly to the reader, others are descriptive of situations, of locations, even. Remarkably, there’s not a single bad one amongst the 90; all at least have a moment or one line that sits with you (so I would recommend not rushing through it in a sitting, actually.) 

My favourite in the series has to be for the obituarist, which opens with this cracker:

“Thank you for being so kind about my life.

Thank you for making out my good was better,

While best was never really on the agenda.”

Oof. Just… oof.

The fact that it feels like a bunch of different, eloquent, strangers is a testament to the breadth of O’Sullivan’s experience and also his style. Even beyond poetry, he was the master of many artforms – novels, short stories, theatre, non-fiction – so it makes sense that his poetry would be similarly wide-ranging. It also feels appropriate, as the last book of poetry to be written during his lifetime. It feels if not an ending, then a eulogy. And who better to write it than the man himself?

On the other hand, Tarot feels undeniably like the output of one laser-focussed author. Jake Arthur’s second poetry collection (after 2023’s A Lack of Good Sons) starts with a tarot reader speaking directly to us, instructing us to read the book. And hey, it’s a pretty reasonable instruction to follow, given how great this collection is.

Each poem has two names – Bird of passage or The Fool, Her caller or Seven of Cups et al – and is loosely inspired by illustrations of the famous 1909 Rider-Waite tarot deck (I take it as a given the blurb on the book’s back is telling the truth). However, the actual subjects and protagonists are delightfully varied. A woman takes a young lover, doctors treat the King of Canaan, a bird on a girl’s finger all take centre stage in these poems, and yet the book never feels like it loses focus.

It’s not often that I read a book and know for sure that the author is much smarter than me – mostly because I tend not to think about my own intelligence or lack thereof when reading a book – but I have no doubt that Arthur is, in fact, much smarter than me. The breadth of his references, and the depth of his language is stunning. Take how different, and gorgeous these two passages are:

“I was one of those children

That keeps the word precocious alive,

Smart but with a maturity disorder.

I was one of those children

That thinks factoids as good as cash.

At the bank of adult approval.”

(from Regifted or The Magician)

And then this one:

“The hurdy-gurdy of his sealegslessness

Had become his shipmates’ favourite tune

To ape, in the bunks or at pissed dinners.

They wobbled after him, chest-heavingly effete.”

(from Lost bantam or Page of Wands).

A good book of poetry feels like being inside someone else’s head, lightly bouncing around it. A great book opens the edges of your own mind, opening it up to a bigger world. Tarot is the latter. As beautiful as it is to be gifted Arthur’s poetry and his sense of place and image, it’s even more a pleasure to feel just a bit smarter, and richer after reading it.

Still Is by Vincent O’Sullivan and Tarot by Jake Arthur are both available from Te Herenga Waka University Press. 

Other Things I’ve Consumed

• It’s been a pretty hectic week due to prepping my playreadings (information below!), but the two things I can heartily recommend are Trixie Mattel and Katya’s podcast The Bald and The Beautiful (also filmed for YouTube) and Tony Gilroy’s 2009 follow-up to Michael Clayton, Duplicity. The closest thing to a screwball comedy you’ll find in the 21st century and Julia Roberts’ best work since Erin Brockovich.

Things I’ve Read

• This short but surprisingly broad interview with theatre director Tina Landau and playwright Paula Vogel had me feeling extremely optimistic about the artform for some reason!

Self-Promo

• If you happen to be in Auckland this week, I’m doing three readings of new work at Basement Theatre. One of these is This is My Story of Us (a queer love story which just won the Adam NZ New Play Award), one is The Boy Trip (a very silly and very gay adaptation of The Lady Eve) and another is Boy Meets Man (a play I am currently writing!). You can book tickets here. I’ll be announcing casts next week!

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