Terrier, Worrier. A poem in five parts
by Anna Jackson
It never occurred to me before that creating a poem and creating a molecule had very much in common, but I’ve changed my mind. Jackson’s wonderful collection of parts, of poetic bits, leads us into any number of shapes – depending on how we position the electric spark we start out with.
If we wanted to, we could start with this:
I thought, it tells us something about poetry that when we need to talk to ourselves about something we don’t know, we tell it to ourselves when we are asleep, in images we struggle to remember when we awake, and often take more than one reading to fully understand.
‘Summer: Terrier, worrier’ p 8
The whole first section is very much centred on the first-person (ignore the odd chicken) ‘I thought…’ over and over again. But by the next section, we are aware not only of an electric charge but that electricity itself is an external force – perhaps not geared to any unvarying agency but certainly involving others (parents, for example):
If sometimes I think of thoughts as being behind the eyes, sometimes I think
of them more as floating, in a kind of cloud around the outside of my head.
‘Autumn: Lounge scale’ p 29
And then, thanks to the dimensions granted us by Hilbert spaces, we start to see that there are many kinds of power out there – not just us. Could this be something separate forming?
I thought, if a moment with someone only counts if it will be remembered, what
about when the people we spent those moments with die and don’t remember
any of them anymore. Do they not count for anything?
‘Winter: Hilbert spaces” p 37
Third parties start cropping up – they aren’t us but they seem to well and truly exist … you never know what’s out there:
I thought, maybe the female whales are singing silently to themselves.
‘Spring: Matchbox beetles’ p 55
And then, as chickens are replaced by falcons, the world fills up with all sorts of variable things:
I remember sitting in the back seat of the car and hearing my parents talking in
the front seat and realising I was understanding what they were saying. This was
a revelation – until then I had thought they needed to be talking directly to me
for me to understand them.
‘Summer: Memory palace’ p 68
After reading this book, this poem, there’s not much to say about what definitely is and what isn’t or even what form it is taking, but perhaps that’s the point. Poetry is like the universe … we don’t know when/how/why it developed, but now it’s here, we can’t but notice. And we can only rejoice that it says so many things to so many people.
by Anna Jackson
It never occurred to me before that creating a poem and creating a molecule had very much in common, but I’ve changed my mind. Jackson’s wonderful collection of parts, of poetic bits, leads us into any number of shapes – depending on how we position the electric spark we start out with.
If we wanted to, we could start with this:
I thought, it tells us something about poetry that when we need to talk to ourselves about something we don’t know, we tell it to ourselves when we are asleep, in images we struggle to remember when we awake, and often take more than one reading to fully understand.
‘Summer: Terrier, worrier’ p 8
The whole first section is very much centred on the first-person (ignore the odd chicken) ‘I thought…’ over and over again. But by the next section, we are aware not only of an electric charge but that electricity itself is an external force – perhaps not geared to any unvarying agency but certainly involving others (parents, for example):
If sometimes I think of thoughts as being behind the eyes, sometimes I think
of them more as floating, in a kind of cloud around the outside of my head.
‘Autumn: Lounge scale’ p 29
And then, thanks to the dimensions granted us by Hilbert spaces, we start to see that there are many kinds of power out there – not just us. Could this be something separate forming?
I thought, if a moment with someone only counts if it will be remembered, what
about when the people we spent those moments with die and don’t remember
any of them anymore. Do they not count for anything?
‘Winter: Hilbert spaces” p 37
Third parties start cropping up – they aren’t us but they seem to well and truly exist … you never know what’s out there:
I thought, maybe the female whales are singing silently to themselves.
‘Spring: Matchbox beetles’ p 55
And then, as chickens are replaced by falcons, the world fills up with all sorts of variable things:
I remember sitting in the back seat of the car and hearing my parents talking in
the front seat and realising I was understanding what they were saying. This was
a revelation – until then I had thought they needed to be talking directly to me
for me to understand them.
‘Summer: Memory palace’ p 68
After reading this book, this poem, there’s not much to say about what definitely is and what isn’t or even what form it is taking, but perhaps that’s the point. Poetry is like the universe … we don’t know when/how/why it developed, but now it’s here, we can’t but notice. And we can only rejoice that it says so many things to so many people.
Review by Mary Cresswell
Title: Terrier, Worrier. A poem in five parts
Author: Anna Jackson
Publisher: Auckland University Press
ISBN: 9781776711666
RRP: $24.99
Available: bookshops
Author: Anna Jackson
Publisher: Auckland University Press
ISBN: 9781776711666
RRP: $24.99
Available: bookshops
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