This is Perth resident, Paul Harrison’s second collection of
poetry and it almost did not see the light of day as he explains in the
interview which follows this review. Corrugator
consists of fifty short pared down lowercase underground poems. The writing
is raw but highly accessible. Many of the best poems are first person
confessional narrative poems which document Harrison’s misfortunes, in
particular, his failure to sustain love, his self doubt as a poet, his abuse of
alcohol and his deteriorating physical and mental health. The epigraph from
Thomas Hardy’s The Mayor of Casterbridge
suggests to the reader that Harrison, like the tragic character Michael
Henchard, is his own worst enemy, ‘It was a part of his nature to extenuate
nothing, and live on as one of his own worst accusers.’
The book’s title Corrugator
is an obscure reference to the corrugator
supercili muscle which is located above the eyes and is also known as the
frowning muscle. The cover’s black and white photograph of Christ, taken by
Harrison, furthers this suffering motif. Despite the grim misery of much of the subject
matter, Harrison never demeans himself by grovelling in self pity, and instead, he carries with him a glimmer of hope and a defiant dignity as he stares down and smirks at the abyss.
On Relationships
About a dozen poems in the collection represent different
takes on Harrison’s relationships with women. He characteristically sees these encounters
as initially intense before the ‘spools’ inevitably unwind and the pair go
their separate ways. In ‘i dump my cum’ Harrison graphically describes a heady
affair with a voracious woman and wonders ‘how long will this one last.’ In the micropoem ‘cock raw’ he quips matter-of-factly,
‘I lie here/ early morning/ thinking of someone else’. In the aphorism ‘she was
the one’ eventually/ he wasn’t’. ‘With hindsight’ uses an extended metaphor of
a boat to describe the failure of yet another relationship, ‘a boat that never
set sail// a boat not even/ moored.’
There are a couple of tender moments in Corrugator when love rises
above its transitory state and endures. They provide us with a brief reprieve
from Harrison’s relentless laments. One of the better poems is ‘there will be
no sadness’ about a couple who sit together and take in the immensity of the
blue sky. The poem concludes, ‘just us// the 2 of us// & to our right/ a
wide open expanse of light// the sky/ so blue/ &/ limitless.’ In ‘reasons
to go on’ Harrison reveals another side to him- his love for his daughter, ‘and
this time round/ i can only think/ of one// i’ll see her tomorrow/ this sunday/
forever.’
On Writing
Harrison writes tributes to Kerouac (‘memory babe’) and to his
late friend and poet F.A. Nettelbeck (‘outpouring’) in which he asks him ‘to
keep/ us a barstool/ BRO.’ On his own writing, Harrison is full of self doubt-
sometimes to the point of self loathing. In ‘to write poetry’, he infers
that it is ‘worthy’ to write about those heroes who stopped the tanks in
Tiananmen Square but ‘not this’. Similarly, in ‘i think’ after reflecting on the
writing process and the reasons why he writes, he concludes, ‘even this is
pointless/ a ritual before the death’. In ‘for the record’ he explicitly states,
‘i don’t believe in poetry/ anymore.’ Furthermore, in ‘tonight’ he tells the
reader ‘you/ are reading/ a gravestone// walk on’. In an early poem in the collection, ‘this
ain’t’ he even questions whether he is writing poetry at all: ‘this ain’t the poetry/ of despair// addiction// or love//
because/ this ain’t/ poetry// it never/ was.’
In this vitriolic spray of negativity about his writing, when
asked if he is on his last legs as a poet, Harrison is upbeat, ‘Well at times
i've felt that way. who knows ? i'd like to think not. i'd still like to write
that one good poem, to influence someone in the way that many poets have
influenced and touched and affected and comforted and renewed me and continue
to despite all my doubt and ambivalence and cynicism... still, the fact remains
that some things are more important than poetry and sometimes we get pissed off
with scenes or ourselves or the things and people we love... i went thru that,
might be coming out and some of the poems merely reflect and report back on
that place.’
In ‘i drank’ he provides another take on his writing, on how alcohol has fueled his creativity. He images his own death and cynically quips to the reader that he has drunk for years in order to gift us his ‘break thru’ poem:
i drank
15 beers
every night
for years
to bring
you
these poems
the better ones
laced
with gin
& vodka
cones &
pills
& this
is my break thru
poem
my legacy
my gift to you
a so so career
cut short
(reprinted with the poet's permission)
(reprinted with the poet's permission)
On the Abyss
Perhaps the best writing in the collection relates to
Harrison’s frank admissions about his alcohol abuse and his tortured descent
into depression and ill health. They show a man suffering intensely, confused,
sometimes fearful to the point of paranoia.
In ‘today’ he sees himself as unable to escape the pain, as ‘an
insect/ without its wings/ an insect before/ the heel.’ In ‘i drank myself’ he
expresses his disgust how he drank himself ‘out of arms/ out of hearts/ out of
touch…drank myself/ away/ squandered it// drank myself to death.’ In ‘self-portrait
before the mirror’ Harrison concisely sums up his physical and mental collapse,
‘i am covered/ in rashes and skin disorders/ scars and sweat/ my neck and
heart/ both broken/ i am almost 20 kilos/ overweight/ smoke 50 a day/ and
drink/ like the ghost of Dylan.’ In the powerful poem ‘there is an emptiness’ Harrison
explores the insatiable hunger of emptiness ‘greater than any stadium’ and the
futility of capturing the essence of its sad ‘cloying’ embrace.
Yet Harrison never throws himself over the edge. He hangs on
long enough to realize that ‘no fucking higher power’ (‘been an addict’) is
going to save him and that he ultimately needs to accept and take
responsibility for his behavior and the decisions he makes (‘there’) . In ‘the abyss’
he tells himself calmly as he enters the void, ‘now flick your hair/ &
practice/ your very best smile.’
Conclusion
This is a tight, highly worthy collection of confessional
poetry. It is easy to follow and deserving of multiple readings. The writing is honest, and at times, confronting. Despite the overwhelming
tone of gloom in Corrugator, there
are poignant shades of light and humour which counterbalance the arrival of more
of Harrison’s ‘black ships’. This is an important short collection by an Australian writer which blows rings up the ass of the usual unreadable academic excrement which passes as poetry.
It is a coup for an Australian to be published by the American small press publisher 48th Street Press. Paul, how did you score the gig and how have your dealings been with publisher Christopher Byck in the lead up to publication and afterwards in the distribution of Corrugator?
chris was a
friend and publisher of the late, great f a nettelbeck and i believe fred
talked about me when chris used to visit or call him. from there chris started
following my stuff on the old blog and then i remember he invited me to
contribute to the series of broadsides that he's been publishing for a few
years now. of course that in itself was quite an honour when you consider that
a lot of the poets he's published were and are legends of the small presses...
(which reminds me, john dorsey has a chapbook forthcoming from 48th street
press later this year...) anyway i think we started communicating after fred's
death...
to be
honest, corrugator almost didn't happen because i'm pretty poor at
corresponding and for a while there had pretty much withdrawn when out of the
blue i got a very short message from chris like 'hey man' or something which i
almost didn't reply to but i did and then suddenly we were talking about doing
a chap which of course came as quite a shock because (a) i was kinda over the
whole poetry thing or at least full of doubt and (b) chris had previously
published work by the giants douglas blazek and nettelbeck and now he wants to
publish some of my shit... anyway i sent him a couple hundred poems and
over a few weeks we discussed and selected what appears in corrugator. i gotta
say chris has been a pleasure to work with and has a great passion and
knowledge of the whole history of underground and small press poetry and a lot
of goodwill and friendships therein. i hope he won't mind me saying this but
when he's not teaching 'oil and diplomat kids' in caracas hahahha he's usually
visiting poets all over the world. as i write he's in wales giving a copy to
peter finch, last week it was LA and into the hands of fred voss !! i couldn't
be happier with the distribution chris has arranged with some of the best
independent book stores in the states and of course like i said he's getting
copies into hands and sending it out to other poets...and yea, chris has always
been very encouraging of my stuff and has told me that he's really happy with
the book that we 'birthed'... i think i replied the eraserhead you mean
!!
that's a bit
about how it happened by chance or almost didn't and yes, i'm grateful. very.
I’ve been trying to
work out the meaning of your title ‘Corrugator.’ According to Wiki, the corrugator
supercili muscle lies above the eyes, is also known as the ‘frowning muscle’
and ‘may be regarded as the principle muscle in the impression of suffering.’
If I can correctly join the dots, does this mean your book is essentially
focused on the notion of suffering?
you're
quite right in your deductions and research about the title george. i wasn't
sure if it was a bit of an obscure reference. to my mind it sounded like a good
made up word/name to describe someone who suffers. and yes, corrugator, like meet me, has a fair bit to do with
suffering but also other things. some of your readers may also be interested to
know that each and everyone of us has another corrugator muscle located in our
assholes... ha !
I wasn’t aware on
that! The cover photograph taken by you appears to have been shot though household
curtains. It features a statue of Christ with out-stretched hands holding fairy
Christmas lights. Why did you select this photo for your cover?
it just
seemed appropriate for some reason and hopefully it suggests or provokes
different responses, associations, ideas or memories in different people that
might read the chap. the image was taken on 12/12/12 at midday. i used to
notice this statue which sits in the front yard of a big fuck off mansion on my
way to housing appeals. back then i wasn't taking photos but when i did get
into taking pics, one day on the way to another appeal i thought i'm going to
snap this because i'm always looking at it, reacting to it each time i drive
past... anyway 12/12/12 was the day. i like it. and yea fairy lights, but also
the statue of liberty hooded and tortured like a prisoner in abu ghraib... now
there's suffering.
You include less
narrative poems than your first collection and the overall style is pared down
considerably. Many of the poems are 40 words or less. Some only a few lines.
Can you explain this shrinking of language in your poems?
i'm
disappearing man !!! but seriously you're right on all counts. why ? well, i
was finding it difficult to write or express myself in any other way. i've also
always been interested in the short poem form and haiku. i'm not a big fan of
really, really, long poems to be honest, and long poems at readings, well
unless it's outstanding someone like me will probably zone out after 44
seconds... i guess i was experimenting with the idea of less is better and
maybe more immediate and direct...maybe also the place/head space i was in only
allowed that form. like i said before i don't over-think my poetry so i can't
really explain why the paring... just is. for now. maybe i'll go back to longer
more narrative driven poems. i know some people think i should !
In a few of your poems
‘as the rain’, ‘so fucking drunk’ and ‘thirsty work’ you mention your day job
as a tenant advocate for a community legal centre in Perth. Can you tell us
briefly about your work and especially why so many Housing Commission tenants
are being evicted by the RTA (Residential Tenancies Act)?
for the last
8 years i've worked in community legal centres as a tenant advocate advising
tenants of their rights and responsibilities in both public housing and the
private rental market. if a client for whatever reason or disadvantage can't
advocate effectively for themselves i'll assist them with letters, appeals etc
and court representation. i believe in social and economic justice and that
affordable, appropriate and secure housing is a basic human right, in fact
that's what keeps me going in a poorly paid and at times stressful job. i've
nearly burnt out on a few occasions over the years but hey i'm still carrying
the flame...
why so many
public housing evictions ? ultimately because neo-liberalism is in ascendance,
because the government finds it expedient to play to and stoke populist 'law
and order' sentiment rather than admit WA has been in the midst of a housing
affordability crisis for years because of their policies and their continual
under-funding of state housing and that by evicting the most dispossessed and
marginalised and traumatised people in our community they're doing something
about the massive waiting lists they are ultimately responsible for. there's
got to be a better way to support and deal with these tenancies, the vast
majority being aboriginal. every wednesday and thursday i see 10 or 12 public housing terminations at various
stages listed in the Court that i attend most regularly. btw there are 4 other
metropolitan Courts and plenty of regional ones. so yea, state housing
evictions by the housing provider of last resort are escalating as directed by
government which is obscene in a resource rich, boom state like WA.
Thanks for your
insights. In many of the poems in the collection, you create the impression
that your writing is ‘pointless’ or unworthy and that your reader is ‘reading a
tombstone.’ In one of the last poems in the collection ‘for the record’ you
write that ‘I don’t believe in poetry/ anymore.’ Are you on your last legs as a
poet or is there something deeper in the well?
well at
times i've felt that way. who knows ? i'd like to think not. i'd still like to
write that one good poem, to influence someone in the way that many poets have
influenced and touched and affected and comforted and renewed me and continue
to despite all my doubt and ambivalence and cynicism... still, the fact remains
that some things are more important than poetry and sometimes we get pissed off
with scenes or ourselves or the things and people we love... i went thru that,
might be coming out and some of the poems merely reflect and report back on
that place.... now, writing this response removed from a lot of the pain, hurt and
doubt that the book came from i'd like to think the well is half full ! and
legless, yes, sometimes no doubt, last legs we'll see...
Paul, you used to
write hundreds of poems on your blog ‘The Last Disciple’. What happened to that
project?
it went into
desuetude. i just stopped. all things end. 3 years is a long time to write a
'poem' every day and when i decided to pull the plug about a year and a half
ago i was in a dark and painful place and feeling very fucking ambivalent about
poetry and certain poets. ha. never say never again tho, right ? i think
facebook now holds the copyright to my shit. hahahha...
well, about
4 years ago my brother gave me a pocket digital camera as a present. of course
it sat unused for years until one day about a year ago, god knows why, i
decided to start using it. what i do know is that taking photos caused me to
see things anew and that it was truly therapeutic... i started to appreciate
the now, the moment, started to go for walks, started moving from a place of
pain to one of acceptance and how, life, can be beautiful, goes on and always
will...
i only have
a basic camera and very little technical know how but i'm glad i picked that
gift from dave up, started using it to see, record, remember, write 'poems'
without any words...
as for
cruciforms i see them everywhere like garth madsen describes in his poem ha !
i'm also very conscious of the mythology and symbolism of the cross and its
effect within our culture and myself but no george i'm not obsessed with
crucifixs, i'm a fucking proddie !! then again... corrugator.
Thanks Paul. All the
best with Corrugator.
i look forward to seeing what you've made of corrugator. thanks again, george.
best
paul
best
paul
To purchase Corrugator contact Chris Byck here: 48thstreetpress@gmail.com
Further Resources:
Here is a recent review of Corrugator on MemeoMemeo. Also discussed is Christopher Byck's outlaw poetry broadside project.: http://mimeomimeo.blogspot.com.au/2013/08/exile-on-48th-street.html
A review of Corrugator by Karina Bush: http://www.karinabush.com/close-up#!other
Further Resources:
Here is a recent review of Corrugator on MemeoMemeo. Also discussed is Christopher Byck's outlaw poetry broadside project.: http://mimeomimeo.blogspot.com.au/2013/08/exile-on-48th-street.html
A review of Corrugator by Karina Bush: http://www.karinabush.com/close-up#!other
