Poet Ian Rockel's new book tackles apocalyptic themes and transcends dimensions. Photo / Supplied, File
REVIEW
Ian Rockel launched his new book A lash of last words, described by Steele Roberts publishers as “spiced with dreams and apocalyptic visions of this life and the next” and containing doses of surrealistic humour. It’s his sixth collection of poems.
John Weekes is a Herald online business editor.
New Zealand’s Friendliest Man at a chance encounter outside an art gallery asked: “Are you here for the book launch?”
“What?”
“Ian Rocket, the poet,” the stranger seemed to say, before talking about many other things enthusiastically.
Googling what NZFM said, it emerged he was talking about a man called Ian Rockel. Still I knew nearly nothing about Rockel but decided there was nothing to lose by attending.
Inside Depot Artspace in Devonport, a man with regal bearing and slightly disgusted look reclined on a chair, one ankle on knee, leaning back with black coat on and collar up. Next to me a woman said: “That’s Ian Mune. Do you recognise him?”
“Sure.”
That was a lie. Squinting and trying to look through his beard, only when Mune spoke did I really recognise him. He summoned the attendees and paid tribute to Rockel, apparently his former flatmate.
The two Ians and publisher Roger Steele engaged in good-natured ribbing. Steele called Mune, now Sir Ian, a “rascal” and paid homage in te reo to the Māori wooden sculptures in the gallery.
Mune introduced his friend as “Rock”. Rock told the crowd he was 85 years old.
You might half-expect pretentious hobnobbing and postmodernism at a poetry book launch but wow, what a revelation.
Rockel’s poetry is cosmic, an antidote to the parochial navel-gazing that turns some open mic nights into freak shows, far from the attention-economy apps of the current age, the social media douchebags demanding your attention.
“Spring flowers, autumn sulks
in a year too hot to love.
Wars vacuum the population,
nurses gather remnants,” Rockel writes.
“Rockel-world juxtaposes the commonplace with the cosmic,” Mune said.
Rockel’s new book is A lash of lost words with a cover painting by another Devonport denizen, Robyn Gibson.
He writes of “asinine leaders” guiding us to ruin, and speaks of relief when waking from a dream about a bloodthirsty Trump and Putin.
His work, Steele says, requires revisiting. Readers have the freedom to interpret what Rockel means, but his poetry is not overly abstract or even cryptic, and most who read him will probably reach similar conclusions.
It is Rockel’s sixth poetry collection, and his earlier work includes This was then, a memoir his publisher described as containing “brushes with death, bizarre characters, mental meltdowns and the paranormal”.
Rockel in A lash of last words writes sharp and tight, tackling natural disasters and climate change, war and devastation. He talks about immortality and eternity, love and universal desires.
He also writes about animals - spiders and fleas and flies, sea animals including a character called the Chief Barnacle. And a bird.
“Woodpecker at the walls of the universe,
collecting planets at it goes,
no one knows when we’re next.”
Rockel read 10 poems at the launch, even dipping into a few alter ego characters and voices for the poem about the spider.
His wife Jean Rockel played a major role in creating the book too, and in organising the launch. Jean is also a writer, working on a book about early childhood education and the origin of kindergartens.
Mune in the interludes seemed to stare at me for so long, I wondered if he’d featured in some salacious Sunday story from years back. His gaze was unnerving and resolute. I wondered how to appropriately approach a Knight of the Realm and ask: “What the hell are you looking at?” before turning around and seeing a flickering TV screen behind me.
Mune also closed his eyes through many of the readings and later maybe revealed why he’d been observing the crowd.
I noticed how many of you had your eyes closed when he read, Mune said.
It was true - when Rockel reads, the usual dimensions fade and you focus, wanting to hear every syllable and catch the meaning.
Mune and Steele seem to understand the transcendent nature of Rockel’s work - it is beautiful, profound, poignant.
Maybe it’s something close to the meaning of life, as understood by a man with much lived experience now mindful of his own mortality.
Ian Rockel, A lash of last words. Published by Steele Roberts Aotearoa.
John Weekes is an online business editor for the Herald and has covered court, politics, crime and consumer affairs. He also writes about lifestyle and culture in New Zealand, recently reviewing Jimmy Barnes’ Auckland show, meeting people behind New Zealand Mint’s new pop-culture collection, and talking to Chand Sahrawat and industry leaders about challenges facing the hospitality sector.
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