Laureateship gives Turner blank page

Brian Turner

A two-year award has given Central Otago poet Brian Turner the impetus to write a new volume of work, Footfall. He talks to longtime friend, painter Grahame Sydney.

GS: What does the Te Mata laureateship demand of a poet ?
BT: One of the great things is that you can do what you like. They give you a modest amount of money and say that at the end of two years they'll publish a collection of work.

They don't require you to go to anything in particular, they don't require you to write to order; they hope you'll be a good ambassador for literature in general and for poetry in particular and that, at the end of it, something worthwhile will have eventuated — in the interests of poetry itself in New Zealand, and for you personally. Other than that I was unaware of any expectations.

GS: Did this mantle of the laureateship bring with it any change in your attitude to yourself as a poet? Did it make you feel any more professional, for example ?
BT: Only slightly. People took a bit more notice of me, as is always the case when someone else decides a person's work is worth something. I think in the south here many people saw it as a bit of a tick for the south, and some people may have thought it's good to have someone with broad interests. A lot of people believe, even though they may not say so, that poets are a bit odd — a bit precious, a bit effete, maybe. If that is the case then I'd like to think that perhaps I'm the sort of person who might dispel that.

GS: Do you have any feelings about the fact that this laureateship comes from a private patron, rather than from somewhere more official — Government, for example?
BT: No. I think it's a good idea to give awards, laureateships and such to people for a finite period of time. The English system of being conferred from on high, as it were, and for the duration of one's lifetime, appears to me to be rather wrong — there's an egalitarian side of me which likes to see things shared about a bit.

GS: It also demands that it be given to somebody at a very good time of their writing power. The English model runs the risk of the laureate hanging on well into senility. Do you think this came at a good time for you ?
BT: Yes, because I've always been someone who felt quite precarious in all sorts of ways and lacked faith in my own abilities. In terms of the age thing, I think they intend it to be given to people who have produced a substantial body of work of reasonable quality, and it suggested to me that those responsible felt that I must have done that.

GS: Are "those responsible" a mystery bunch?
BT: Yeah, apart from Bill Manhire I don't know who else is responsible.

GS: The only other form of patronage available to writers is that people buy your book, and too few buy poetry. Have you taken any deliberate crusading into this tenure to try to get people more comfortable, more keen about reading poetry?
BT: I tend to believe there are quite a number of people around the country who aren't put off by what I write, who find my work quite accessible, and who see it as often concerned with real things, with which they can make some sort of connection.

GS: Given that every poet has a unique voice, and that you like your work to be recognised as uniquely yours, how would you characterise your voice? What would a reader expect a Brian Turner voice to sound like — what would preoccupy it?
BT: I hope they would accept my work was informed by a strong attachment to places, and to some people — like friendship, for instance. That my work wasn't just decorated by the world around us, but it was written by someone who was well informed about it, and was seeking a greater empathy with it.

They would be able to make connections between my feelings for places and sometimes people, and their own for such places. So they would see me as giving tongue to some of their own thoughts and what they see.

Also, I'm searching within myself for what it is that I either like about something or dislike about something.

GS: And is it the poetry writing that allows you do do that, or is that examining and rumination just a constant part of your nature?
BT: Partly by my nature, but I do not know when I start out where I'm going to get to. Poems are triggered by all manner of things: sometimes a phrase, or someone trying to sell me health insurance over the phone. Or I may be outside, just walking by the river or fishing and a mood will come upon me.

GS: Can you see that the language that Brian Turner's poetry is constructed with is a particular and unique language; do you see your language as being separate and different to other poets?
BT: I've never thought much about that. I like language that seems to be rhythmical to my ear, musical to my ear. If I can't read something aloud and make it sound okay, then I think there's usually something wrong.

GS: Do you always know what your work means?
BT: Well, I can make a fair job of explaining it, but I would not like to have to explain it because there are several ways of approaching or interpreting quite a few of the things I've done and I'm happy if that's the case.

GS: At the end of the laureateship, which this publication marks, are you living a life, and I quote, "of too little gladness and too much grief" (see Jaques Afterlife in Footfall)?
BT: There have been times when that is exactly what I have lived. I've been trying to tip the balance in the other direction. I'm feeling better about certain things and about myself now than I have been in quite a while.

GS: How long is "a while"?
BT: Probably the last year or two. For a whole host of reasons I struggle with — my temperament is such that some people would say that I go through lows, which I don't induce. Some people would say I have a fairly high up-and-down range — there are times when I've been profoundly depressed and I've tried to get myself out of it and learn how to do that. I think I have a better hold on it now.

* Footfall is released this week by Godwit; $34.95