A new poem by Vincent O’Sullivan. Once Once in my life I’ve been fishing. A brother- in-law assured, ‘You don’t need to talk out there,’ so we didn’t. After an hour or so he lifted this reluctant silvery strip from its hook and walloped its head against the ridge of the … Read more
New verse by Dunedin writer Vincent O’Sullivan. After Lucy Tinakori’s Famous Party I love it that poetry now so possesses the world it is not possible to play ‘pin the tail’ at a children’s party without every child being the winner wherever the tail’s pinned. Space is guaranteed compliant the way thumb’s fumbling’s inevitably … Read more
Vincent O’Sullivan admires Caroline’s Bikini by Kirsty Gunn, who continues to write and shape novels like no other New Zealand author. A few years ago Witi Ihimaera gave the New Zealand Book Council Lecture, which he called “Where is New Zealand Literature Heading?” He ticked us off, in his engagingly vague way, for writing fiction … Read more
New verse by Dunedin writer Vincent O’Sullivan. Lines from way back The Senate seethes, as in an emperor’s reign. The deals are done, speeches endorse the corpse. Pussy and circuses stake out their claim. Immigrants, bankers, slip their varied hoops. Maggots exult that nature bred them white, Their slither vermicules to get it … Read more
Vincent O’Sullivan assesses the 1957 Chrysler of New Zealand writing, Allen Curnow, the subject of a 700-page biography by the late Terry Sturm. “A big one.” It’s a phrase you’ll come across several times in reading Allen Curnow. It could be a fish caught off Kare Kare, a talent another writer didn’t have, an implied assessment … Read more
We asked the distinguished Katherine Mansfield scholar Vincent O’Sullivan to comment on the recent attempt by Wellington’s mayor to repatriate the bones of Katherine Mansfield. I once heard of an artist whose partner believed her legal status, even in life, meant “owner under all circumstances.” As a widow, there was even more to own. Not … Read more