Small Change Press

Julie Beveridge is the current programming coordinator for Queensland Writers Centre and Stage Manager of the Queensland Poetry Festival: spoken in one strange word. Home is where the Heartache is promises that her transition to haibun poet will be equally rewarding for her audiences. A first collection of haibun, Home is where the Heartache is reflects a mind well able to give verbal representation to subject matters that are not easily dealt with, namely: abuse, both mental and physical, and domestic situations that get beyond control.

This volume contains 17 poems. Their themes and insights carry the same intensely personal hallmark, a voice that holds the contraries of hope and despair, loss and self-location in precarious balance; pages that come alive with a sense of the shadows of life. These are the preoccupations of poems with titles like “The Voyeur”, “Stolen Kisses” and Fresh Sheets”.

Told from a persona’s point of view and set in various places such as a house, a car park, an apartment, a barbecue, these gruelling experiences are situations many women like to pretend do not exist, mainly for the reason that they will fare even worse if neighbours or family learn about them.

This is an extraordinary sequence of haibun, in which the simple, straightforward haiku which Beveridge intersperses within, or at the end, of the prose, a complex contrast. The poems observe and muse with a rare honesty, totally free of condemnation or pity. They are sceptical, astringent and lively. Beveridge has no time for hypocrisy or meaningless conventions. In particular, the poems dealing with self-abuse are profoundly moving as are those observing the effects of partner abuse and world-weary fatigue. Here’s naked, even raw, poetry. Honest, meaningful and resonant.

Beveridge weaves a moving and profoundly recognisable picture of women at their lowest ebb, in situations often beyond their control and from which they can see no escape. The author ably scrutinises the contemporary situation of women and the necessary strengths they require to withstand harsh circumstances (see “Solitude: the end and the beginning”). These experiences are examined in a fluent style.

In the first haibun, “Someone Else’s Party”, the persona is at a party where “joints and glasses of wine” are freely available and, “cheeky with the prospect of the night”, she observes “the birthday girl / passed out beside us”. These are dangerous times and Beveridge’s poetry confirms this realisation.

“New Girl” shows us “history” caught in the pained music of a girl’s exploration of “someone else’s memories” contained in a photo album. The poetry revealing not only an able writer, but also an individual who is able to phrase plaints against a world none of us wants to visit, a modern world often of our own making.

“Twin Pink Lines” focuses on a young woman checking a pregnancy kit “One pink line and a shadow forming”. In “Ash”, a girl runs away from her burning house “Her hands search in the night for her mother”. In “Last Cigarette”, the persona is with a loved one, who is dying. She confesses, “I want to wear him like a ring”. These poems amaze us as we recognise certain situations fresh from the world of chaos and despair – unwanted pregnancy, a partner’s other lover, a child’s despair. People in the poems are angry, frightened, anxious and full of hopelessness.

The collection is perhaps rather an unlikely project to have embarked on, given its adult themes. But love, relationships and enmity are themes of high importance, many of the scenarios all too familiar, and the excessive statements, as well as the imagery of the haiku, seem to express very well the heightened emotions.

In the poem that lends its title to the collection, “Home is where the Heartache is”, the persona’s lover physically abuses her:

She spits shattered tooth back at him. He clenches and releases his bloody fist. Kicks her in the stomach. Steel cap boot in soft young belly. Muscles contract to soften the blow. She buckles, doubled with pain, close and immediate.

The poem engages us in an idiom that is rich and layered, attentive to the reflective facets of language, memory and imagination. This menacing reminder of society’s raw, impersonal ills is a symbol of humanity’s failings and lack of concern for the violence that occurs every day in our homes. The woman’s fate underscores Beveridge’s sense of the threats that overtake many young women:

The small flat closes in around her as the front door slams. It is getting more difficult to tell whether he is locked out or she is locked in. She grapples at the fading green carpet and skulks her way to the bathroom; pushing open the door with her forehead.

The poem leaves us with this melancholy, heart-wrenching image: “a heartbeat later - / the heat of her insides / hits the floor”.

Another longer poem, “Cold Hands Touch My Face”, is divided into three parts. Part I prods and plays with everyday expressions, taking them apart and reassembling them, giving the reader the feeling that everything is as it should be, “The heat of the day lets me drift into sleep. I feel him driving next to me. I will wake up fresh, a whole new road ahead.” Part ii opens with the realisation that all is not well, “I poke my tongue through my lips and taste the glue that keeps the tape across my mouth”. Sceptical, probing, the poem twists and turns in search of a solution the poet already knows will only be temporary, an inadequate solution to the enigma of existence. Part iii is ominous as the captive girl begins to recognise her kidnapper – “His unkempt mustache tickles my neck. My thoughts leave my body, heavy as stone. There is something familiar about his face, something I cannot identify . . . sunlight glints off his mirrored glasses”.

A later poem, “Gun Smoke”, concerns the shooting of a woman. After her murder, he thinks, “She has never looked so beautiful” and ends with the haunting haiku

Another poem, “Walking on Eggshells” considers an observer watching a woman being beaten in a neighbouring house, “Soon I will leave this street and the woman from number 48. The madness of her everyday will continue thump after thump”. Subject and pitch merge easily, without over-dramatisation. Whether Beveridge is writing about drunkenness, mayhem, or murder, there is a colloquialism here that is accessible, frightening and truthful.

A world of imminent, impersonal violence is the perfect setting for Beveridge’s restrained and thought-provoking scenarios. The danger that lurks on the margins of even the most mundane lives in these extreme situations are held in a finely tuned tension with her investigations into violence, rape, drugs and death. In the last poem “Solitude: the end and the beginning” we see the way in which the persona is affected by the what has happened to her loved ones: “A small portion of myself replaced with a dial tone after every lost friend has hung up”. These are poems inhabited by women who have nothing left to live for, whose very lives are threatened by those closest to them. Their stories will haunt our imaginations for a long time after the book has been closed.

Home is where the Heartache is ultimately becomes a testament to the survival of the human spirit made possible through a combination of the prose and haiku sung so softly but strongly here.

Review by Patricia Prime (first published in Stylus Poetry Journal)

Thin book, rich pickings. Such is the poetry offered in Graham Nunn’s Ruined Man. A gritty, obsessive, sometimes neurotic eye and voice examines life in inner Brisbane, the images and thoughts raw and unfiltered – “And still-born poems waiting/at the doorstep wrapped/in filthy newsprint” (‘Brisbane Love Poems’). The shocks aren’t orchestrated, just given as what is, what will be. Poetic technique shows attention to first line ‘grab’, creative metaphor and well crafted choice of form and detail.

The invitation into any poem is the first line or couple of lines. Here rest the pull, rejection, tempts, shy no. Nearly all of the poems in ‘Ruined Man’ begin as if having been stripped of any politeness – we’re straight into the dough, crust forsaken:

Abrupt, alert to moment, arresting. The writer knows the terrain, is aware of the need to set mood and intent, demonstrate an efficiency of word choice. These poems are the out-takes, the edits from life, and the openings convey this seeming randomness, haphazardness. Other examples include, from ‘Seasons of Desire’:

and, from ‘The Morning After’:

These lines reflect Nunn’s ability to know intuitively when to begin the poem, what to leave behind as read.

Use of metaphor, too, is a writerly choice. What to bridge to, how long to sustain the commonalities of technical diction so as to enhance plausibility and clarity. Nunn prefers the quick, the move in and out of linkage. ‘Start Over’ begins:

I saw myself in the sky last night
pulled apart
scattered
a dot to dot of a man
with no substance
a black hole
screaming
deep into the night

Obviously the link between the seen (night sky) and observer (mind space) is alive with possibilities. However, the night sky also serves as both a mood and setting. Elsewhere, metaphor is employed in other thoughtful and evocative ways. From ‘Prophet’:

and remember the perfection of the city
the idea of a glittering machine
built with the logic of butterflies
profitless from the beginning

Here, the juxtaposition of natural and man-made worlds immediately focuses upon the intelligent design of both.

In terms of form, the poems in ‘Ruined Man’ are sparse, almost skeletal. The poetic mind/eye moves quickly, and in recognition of this, many poems are presented in thin mono-stanzas. However, paired linings and numbered lists of images are other forms of favour, allowing Nunn the freedom of seemingly ad-hoc snapshots, their juxtapositions creating the resonance. From ‘Brisbane Love Poems’:

A young musician wearing beautiful
dark glasses, inhaling the scent
of quarter past four in the morning

Interestingly, this poem and others like it are devoid of any authorial voice, adding to the sense of detachment. A few poems feature more dense lining, again with the usual list/’hand-held camera’ approach. In ‘Lessons’ the reader is asked:

take yourself
for a walk
you’ll see
clouds still eager to be clouds
spider webs that catch the faces
of passers-by
artists and cats
walking that thin line
between arrogance and grace
and wide-eyed girls with hearts
the size of the ocean

Ruined Man demonstrates the work of a skilled, considered and societally aware writer. These are poems that don’t shirk grunge or dross, angst or blood. If the author were a photographer, black and white would be the preferred mode, the gradations of shadow ever important. Nunn concentrates on details:

ants drown
in plastic cup
the ex-wife is pinned
to the dartboard
the dog has jumped the fence
the fence holds its emptiness
morality is covered in dust

(‘The Party’s Over’)

allowing the reader to absorb, then pan back, make associations beyond the text. Highly recommended.

Review by Kevin Gillam

Ruined Man is thematically consistent and has the reflective strength of an autobiography, but, of course, retains the language of poetry. Ruined Man and Brisbane Love Poems make perfect centrepieces, and Ruined Man has an unbeatable finish.

On One Hand and On the Other Hand are powerful opener/closers, and would work just as well as one piece. Stanzas 2 and 5 (from the first and last poem respectively) link them brilliantly, the 'men' in 2 could be the 'man' in 5. Together, these poems add up to leave the reader with the impression of hope.

My Earliest Sin has the excellent surprise second-sin, and the memory of the gun seemed vivid to me. I thought Childhood Poem was funny but gentle, and the line about the lunch hour spreading on forever is exactly the way I remember school. In Seasons of Desire the line 'a galaxy of fossils beneath my skin' is a work of art by itself.

I like The Morning After's opening and the search for lipstick on glasses is another great touch. Notes to Self has some amazing lines 'undressing I reveal nothing' and I loved the ending of Shotgun. I also enjoyed the idea of a 'beautiful menu of poems' from Lessons and the closing, 'withering minds' reminded me strongly of the Basho haiku

perhaps because of its regretful/accepting tone - which is complimented, with the almost hopeful feel to Start Over, especially the ending, however despairing for the present it seems.

Ruined Man really packs a punch, it's very self-contained and delivers a lot across 25 pages. Nunn's work does what I expect from poetry; it has a level of unflinching honesty, it reveals a detail and beauty but the writing itself never gets in the way.

Review by Ashley Capes

Ruined Man is taut and scarily falling, where you're waiting to splatter to the concrete but somehow never do. The poems are all edgy in themselves but are made more urgent and desperate in the whole. Shades of Peter Bakowski, Philip Levine (he's great on city scapes) and Dylan's 'mercury sound'. Some memorable lines:

'desire has made migrants/of us all'
and a bitter laconicism:
'and for what it's worth/I saw it coming'