From the editor

I often feel like I’m late to the party. Films, TV shows, Netflix specials, bands… It can take months, sometimes years, of recommendations before I bother to see what all the fuss was about. I was 23 when I saw Sam Hunt perform live. I knew he was a poet, and I knew he was my colleague’s dad. The friends I attended the gig with owned Sam’s then latest book, said it was good. That was all I knew. Sam, in fact, has long been known to scores of New Zealanders – he performed at our designer and our sub-editor’s high schools, to name a few. In this week’s cover story (page 7), exquisitely written by Philip Matthews, readers will learn what lasting impressions these visits had for some. When I saw Sam on stage at Wellington’s San Fran club, his swashbuckling persona, flowing white shirt, black stovepipes and mulletty hairdo surprised and delighted me: who knew poets could be cool? And who knew a poem could be more than a pretty ditty printed in a greeting card? That it could be as thrilling as a blockbuster novel, as captivating as a Broadway show? As a journalist, it was a strange and magical thing to watch someone take the same basic building blocks of our craft – words – and use them to construct a piece of art. Like I said, I’m often late to the party. For those who know Sam, or know of him, pour yourself a glass of Chilean red (maybe wait until noon) and greet him in these pages like an old friend. For those who don’t, meet New Zealand’s wordsmith emeritus. Better late than never.