Here Comes Me - an interview

The following interview uses the questions set out by Here Comes Everybody, which Lance Phillips started in June 2004 & kept up through January 2007, over 130 interviews in all. See them all at http://herecomeseverybody.blogspot.com/

I just trotted these answers out tonight for fun. They would probably change if I did it again tomorrow.

1. What is the first poem you ever loved? Why?

‘Said Hanrahan’ by P.J. Hartigan ("John O’Brien")
Because it spoke wittily, and kindly, about human weakness, and showed the cyclical balance of nature. And because it was as easy to remember as song lyrics.

2. What is something / someone non-“literary” you read which may surprise your peers / colleagues? Why do you read it / them?

The sports pages in the daily newspapers and on the internet – especially during the cricket season.

3. How important is philosophy to your writing? Why?

My daily philosophy of life comes through loud and clear in my writing, but I am not an adherent of any one school of philosophy.

4. Who are some of your favorite non-Australian writers? Why?

Michael Ondaatje for his imaginative, organic style, built of rich language and human insights.

Charles Bernstein for his wit and wordplay.

Sheila Murphy for her creative energy and the constant surprises in her writing.

Samuel Beckett for his unflinching eye on his fellow humans, his timing and brilliant use of English, constantly renewing the power of words by their placement and associative stance.

Bob Dylan for his vulnerability and humanity, his wit and style while reinvigorating colloquial language, and his durability.

5. Do you read a lot of poetry? If so, how important is it to your writing?

Yes, I read poetry everyday, often poetry I’ve read before but through a different set of lens - the New York School or Olson, but then I’ll read a bit of Chaucer or an old ballad, just to hear the song in words again.

6. What is something which your peers / colleagues may assume you’ve read but haven’t? Why haven’t you?

Hmmm, have to think about that one.

7. How would you explain what a poem is to a seven year old?

I would give the child examples from their own experience – if I knew it – and then go through images of the five senses with the child, hopefully keeping them all on one subject, like an orange or a kitten or some such - and together we would create a poem.

8. Do you believe in a Role for the Poet? If so, how does it differ from the Role of the Citizen?

No.

9. Word associations (the first word which comes to mind; be honest):

Lemon : tree
Chiseled : face
I : thou
Of : when
Form : content

10. What is the relationship between the text and the body in your writing?

I believe words are fished out of the brain in the body, and the pace and imagery of the language I use is created by the pulse and library of my body, from where it has stored all the accumulated sensory data of my experience. Therefore, how I apprehend and comprehend the universe through my senses happens on a continual millisecond by millisecond basis and influences not only past experience but the outpourings of my present. This includes reading, viewing and hearing creative works by other artists – and tasting too, perhaps. So, the body, my body, is of paramount importance and the primary source of my writing. (So I should look after it better …)

SAID HANRAHAN
by John O'Brien


"We’ll all be rooned," said Hanrahan
In accents most forlorn
Outside the church ere Mass began
One frosty Sunday morn.

The congregation stood about,
Coat-collars to the ears,
And talked of stock and crops and drought
As it had done for years.

"It’s lookin’ crook," said Daniel Croke;
"Bedad, it’s cruke, me lad
For never since the banks went broke
Has seasons been so bad."

"It’s dry, all right," said young O’Neil,
With which astute remark
He squatted down upon his heel
And chewed a piece of bark.

And so around the chorus ran
"It’s keepin’ dry, no doubt."
"We’ll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
"Before the year is out.

"The crops are done; ye’ll have your work
To save one bag of grain;
From here way out to Back-O’-Bourke
They’re singin’ out for rain.

"They’re singin’ out for rain," he said,
"And all the tanks are dry."
The congregation scratched its head,
And gazed around the sky.

"There won’t be grass, in any case,
Enough to feed an ass;
There’s not a blade on Casey’s place
As I came down to Mass."

"If rain don’t come this month," said Dan,
And cleared his throat to speak –
"We’ll all be rooned," said Hanrahan, "
If rain don’t come this week."

A heavy silence seemed to steal
On all at this remark;
And each man squatted on his heel,
And chewed a piece of bark.

"We want an inch of rain, we do,"
O’Neil observed at last;
But Croke "maintained" we wanted two
To put the danger past.

"If we don’t get three inches, man,
Or four to break this drought,
We’ll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
"Before the year is out."

In God’s good time down came the rain;
And all the afternoon
On iron roof and window-pane
It drummed a homely tune.

And through the night it pattered still,
And lightsome, gladsome elves
On dripping spout and window-sill
Kept talking to themselves.

It pelted, pelted all day long,
A-singing at its work,
Till every heart took up the song
Way out to Back-O’-Bourke.

And every creek a banker ran,
And dams filled overtop;
"We’ll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
"If this rain doesn’t stop."

And stop it did, in God’s good time:
And spring came in to fold
A mantle o’er the hills sublime
Of green and pink and gold.

And days went by on dancing feet,
With harvest-hopes immense,
And laughing eyes beheld the wheat
Nid-nodding o’er the fence.

And, oh, the smiles on every face,
As happy lad and lass
Through grass knee-deep on Casey’s place
Went riding down to Mass.

While round the church in clothes genteel
Discoursed the men of mark,
And each man squatted on his heel,
And chewed his piece of bark.

"There’ll be bush-fires for sure, me man,
There will, without a doubt;
We’ll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
"Before the year is out."