Fertile ground

David Eggleton confirms his ability to sum up a place.

With the possible exceptions of Airini Beautrais and Richard Reeve, David Eggleton is the living poet who has most engaged with New Zealand landscape and cityscape and has most considered their moral significance. He proved this in his last collection, The Conch Trumpet, and he proves it again in Edgeland.

Its 61 poems take us through Auckland, sometimes seen lyrically and sometimes as crass materialism; Otago, viewed a little more benignly; and to Australia, where the Kiwi tourist is most struck by the stinking heat. The last two sections move into literary parody and more personal matters.

Part of what makes Eggleton’s work outstanding is his ability to assume different voices – a kind of literary ventriloquism. One of his tenderest poems, Distant Ophir, speaks convincingly in the voice of a woman with a very English sensibility. More important is his sheer fecundity in coming up with striking phrases and images. Over Auckland, “burgeoning meringues of cumulus will darken, / rococo cream puffs dunked in thunderheads”. Down south, “rusty prayer wheels of seagulls turn”. Then there is his ability to write longer, discursive poems without getting lost.

Some of his verse heads into the rhythms and structures of rap and might be better appreciated in live performance. But the exuberance of the poet is never in doubt. EDGELAND by David Eggleton (Otago University Press, $27.50)