New Film Release: Hunt for the Wilder People (PG) 93 minutes

This New Zealand film, written and directed by Taika Waititi of Boy (2010) fame, was released today in 75 Australian cinemas. It is a quirky modern day appropriation of Barry Crump’s classic novel Wild Pork and Watercress (1986). The film is beautifully shot and enjoyable to watch in a feel-good, outsiders can win in the end too way.

It is the story of Ricky Baker (Julian Dennison) a twelve year-old incorrigible Maori delinquent who was abandoned as a baby by his teenage mother and who has since been shifted several times through foster families by child welfare officers. When placed with the Faulkners, Bell (Rima Te Wiata) and Hec (Sam Neill), he connects with his foster mother and he begins to think that he belongs, as crassly symbolised by the hot water bottle he finds in his bed- but tragedy soon strikes.

Ricky sets fire to a shed and heads for the bush to escape the authorities who want to place him into another unknown home. Some police incorrectly believe Ricky has been taken against his will into the bush and this fuels wild commercial media speculation. What follows is a crazy, fun-filled adventure tale with obvious nodding references to Rambo, Thelma and Louise and others.

Sam Neill is brilliant as the distant, grumpy ‘uncle’ but gradually he empathises with Ricky as they together share hardships in the bush. Dennison is represented as a reckless smart-ass from the start but also develops a greater sense of awareness of himself and others in this coming of age film.

Waititi’s script is sometimes cartoon-like in its view of the world and the characters who inhibit it. He moves away from the realism of Crump to a world of myth, hallucination, caricature and overworked fat jokes- but that didn’t stop the Kiwi bros in the row behind us from laughing their rings out, especially during the first half. 

See my recent review of Barry Crump’s original novel Wild Pork and Watercress: http://georgedanderson.blogspot.com.au/2016/05/book-review-barry-crump-wild-pork-and.html

New Release: Dreaming Inside: Voices from Junee Correctional Centre Volume 4, 2016 (132 pages)

Tonight I attended the Black Wallaby Indigenous Writers' Night at the Wollongong Art Gallery in which they released Volume 4 of Dreaming Inside which includes stories, poems and drawings by Aboriginal inmates in Junee Correctional Centre. The project was initiated in 2012 by the South Coast Writers' Centre and has been supported by a variety of organisations including Arts NSW, and more importantly, the prison authorities.

The first speaker of the night, Aunty Barbara Nicholson, states very clearly in the book's Introduction, the bold dual intent of the project:

"Embarking on this journey to bring Aboriginal inmate voices to an outside readership, the dream was to develop a project that would grow to become an important contribution to the burgeoning Aboriginal literary canon. Coupled with this vision was a passion to provide a medium where hidden voices would be un-silenced, would be inscribed permanently not only as literary, but also as historical documents; primary sources if you like."

The writing in this collection is raw, often highly personal. Nicholson admits that the Black Wallaby editors "do not ruthlessly edit the inmate contributions" and have retained the original spelling and grammar used by the disadvantaged Aboriginal inmates to add authenticity. She says bluntly, " It is not in our brief to conduct literacy training but to offer them an opportunity to experiment with the medium of creative writing, to get them thinking and writing creatively."

Despite the tragic personal circumstances of many of the Aboriginal inmates represented in this collection, there is a strong ray of hope, of one day positively reconnecting with family and community. Notable on a first reading are contributions by Dash, Shayne Wynne, Tevita Murphy, Dennis Gibbs, Tyson Little, Robert Taylor, Brad Jones, Robert Clark and Lance Strachan. In Part Two of the book you will also find work by five members of the SCWC Black Wallaby Indigenous Writers Group, headed by Friederike Krishnabhakdi-Vasilakis.

The key note address was made by the ex-NSW Labor politician Col Markham who praised the project but lamented that since the 1987-1991 Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody, Australia has gone backwards: http://www.als.org.au/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=185%3Aroyal-commission-into-aboriginal-deaths-in-custody-20-years-on&catid=22&Itemid=57

Unfortunately, the headline indigenous guest, Tony Birch of Melbourne was unable to attend the function due to personal reasons. On the positive side, I was able to purchase his first collection of short stories SHADOWBOXING which I found difficult in the past.

Buy Dreaming Inside here to support our indigenous brothers in prison: http://southcoastwriters.org.au/

Charles Bukowski On Writing (Edited by Abel Debritto) London, Canongate, 2015 (216 pages).

The title of this recent Bukowski book is somewhat misleading because you would expect now that it is over twenty years since the American writer died to find a wider sampling of his work, including poetry, short stories, excerpts from his novels, letters and perhaps extensive interviews with John Martin and other publishers and friends. In this volume you only get the dregs of Bukowski’s letters not previously published, in particular, in Seamus Cooney’s excellent three volume collection of Selected Letters: Screams From the Balcony 1960-1970, Living On Luck 1960s-1970s and Reach For the Sun 1978-1994.

The editor of this collection, Abel Debritto, who has a PhD in Bukowski studies, mentions in his Afterwood that he searched through “some two thousand pages of unpublished correspondence to find Bukowski’s most insightful letters on writing.” Interestingly, Debritto structures his book of letters in the same way Cooney has in his trilogy. Chapters are recorded in the years the letters were written, followed by whom the letter is addressed to and the date. Minimal explanatory detail is also included if deemed relevant by the editor.

Debritto does uncover some good stuff, notably highly fascinating letters by Bukowski to Henry Miller, John Bennett and John Fante, A.D. Winans, John William Corrington and many others, but admittedly, Seamus Cooney has already published the cream of Bukowski’s letters, especially in Volume 1: Screams From the Balcony. A quick glance reveals that Debritto also printed parts of letters not previously culled by Cooney, including Bukowski's letter to John William Corrington (1 May 1963) and to Steve Richmond (23 July 1965).

The title of the book Charles Bukowski On Writing is used very liberally by Debritto and the letters cover a diversity of topics related to the notion of writing. They include Bukowski’s discussion of his methods of his writing, his role as an artist, censorship, his disdain for writers and teachers of poetry, his view of fame, his solid defence of his often perceived sexist writing, his explanation of his non-political stance and dozens of other insights and rants into his craft and of writers and writing in general.

On Writing provides a goldmine of quotes by the master on a shitpile of topics. If you are a Bukowski novice, stay clear of this book. You are far better off starting with his poetry and short stories, especially if written before his death in 1994.

Update: 12 November 2016

Recommended: Abel Debritto talks about the rationale behind his editing of Bukowski’s On Writing and some of the research he undertook behind it in ‘Literary Hub’. He also offers a few fascinating anecdotes which he later included in his critical study Charles Bukowski, King of the Underground: From Obscurity to Literary Icon (Palgrave MacMillan, New York City, 2013) 

Find the article here: http://lithub.com/lets-not-get-too-holy-editing-bukowski/

Worst/ Best Australian Tattoo?

Speaking of tattoos, I reckon John Kenney's above would certainly rate up there amongst the most debauched I have seen. Notice how his eye lids are closed? Ironically, John never considered inflicting his body to the stinging tongues of tattoo needles until he had given up the booze and drugs.

Find his humbling story here: http://www.abc.net.au/news/2016-04-28/one-man's-life-of-domestic-violence,-crime-and-homelessness/7349284

Also remarkable, is Kylie Garth's eyeball inking tale. She had hers done by the Melbourne artist Luna Cobra three years ago. She was recently surprised that the NSW had legalised the practice.

Find the ABC article here: http://www.abc.net.au/news/2016-02-23/eyeball-tattooing-dangerous-says-tattoo-artist/7193942

By the way support ABC News. It is free and impartial:http://www.abc.net.au/news/

Book Review: Barry Crump Wild Pork and Watercress (1986) 202 pages

The highest grossing New Zealand film of all time ‘Hunt For The Wilderpeople’ (2016) is set for release in Australia on the 26 May 2016 in more than 75 theatres nationwide. The film, directed by Taika Waititi of Boy fame, and starring Sam Neil (Hec Faulkner) and Julian Dennison (Ricky Morehu Baker) is based on Barry Crump’s (1935-1996) classic novel WILD PORK AND WATERCRESS.

The novel was recently republished by Penguin for spin-off sales to coincide with the anticipated success of the film and includes 24 full page colour photographs of scenes from the film. Ricky is a 12 year-old disadvantaged city Mauri boy who commits a series of misdemeanours (stealing a packet of chips and caught riding a stolen bicycle) and is given “one last chance to straighten” himself out. He is offered to be fostered on a trial basis at his Uncle Hec and Aunty Bella’s farm on the East Cape of New Zealand.

Uncle Hec is a tough, grouchy fifty-three old bushman who eventually warms to Ricky and teaches him how to hunt and survive in the bush. When Aunt Bella dies from a sudden stroke, social welfare plan to place Ricky in another foster home. They take to the bush and disappear in the dense Urewera region of the North Island, tramping and hunting and staying a few days at a time in the dozens of forester’s huts scattered in the remote, heavily mountain ridged area. The authorities wrongly surmise that Ricky has been abducted by his uncle and a search by forestry workers and police ensues. The rest of the novel follows the duo’s journey and their struggle for survival over the next nineteen months through a variety of humorous and sometimes tragic anecdotes. The writing is simple and sparkingly clear.

Crump uses his vast knowledge of the New Zealand bush and his practical bush skills to add considerable credibility and interest in his narrative. On several occasions I have gone pig hunting with the locals in the heavily forested area south of Opotiki and stayed in the forester’s huts and Crump brings this way of living alive with zest and colour through his wonderful descriptions of the bush and its wildlife. Consider this amazing description of the land:

“All this bush- there was so much of it. You could stand on a high ridge and as far as you could see in every direction rose other high ridges of bush, disappearing into the distance, split by slips and creeks and bluffs, but always with the bush growing in and on and around everything. There were times when I really didn’t think I’d ever see open land again. Sometimes the country we travelled through was so steep and broken up you noticed every flat area, even if it was only big enough to put your foot on. In other places the ridges were long and easy and open under the trees, and the rivers wide and flat, but I soon found out that you never travel far in the Urewera without coming across rough going.”

Crump is at his best when he describes the rush of the hunt and its dangers and the triumphs or failures. In chapter 4 ‘A Tin of Peaches’ he describes a fascinating encounter with a fierce boar. The language has a spontaneous, immediate sense to it and we tremble in Ricky’s worn boots.

“I was going to yell out to Uncle Hec when something came crashing down like a falling boulder through a ferny vine-filled gully and out through a stony place to the riverbed where it suddenly stopped, right under the bank I’d just slid down. It was a huge grey boar, like a big piece of elephant, with pricked-up hairy ears and dark sullen tufts for eyes. Its mouth was frothing and chomping on its big white tusks and its tail was slapping from side to side while it stood there.

“ If you’d never heard or seen a pig before you’d know this one was definitely dangerous. And there I was standing right out in the open, thirty feet away from it, and I couldn’t tell if it had seen me or not. We stood like that forever, then suddenly this great big thing let out a WHOOF and ran downstream, bigger than ever, through the creek with a shower of water and round the corner, heading up into the bush on the other side.”

The story is told from 12-13 year-old Ricky’s point of view and he often directly addresses the reader to create a greater sense of intimacy with his audience. The last chapter ‘Epitaph’ is written by Robby Barton, a friend of Hec and Ricky’s, who has “found Ricky’s story”, amongst scattered papers and has decided to edit and publish it. 

The novel Wild Pork and Watercress is an enjoyable and highly engaging read. Crump is a smart and insightful writer who knows how to keep his reader entertained. Although he has sold more than a million of his books in New Zealand, he has never been able to translate his sales overseas. It should be interesting how director Taika Waititi’s vision of Crump’s world 30 years on is accepted outside NZ and how it may evoke future sales of Crump’s bush tales.

UPDATE

See my recent review of the film: http://georgedanderson.blogspot.com.au/2016/05/new-film-release-hunt-for-wilder-people.html

Resources:

The Official Barry Crump website: http://barrycrump.com/

The Official Trailer for the film: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n8Xvsjy57X0

Facebook hype: https://www.facebook.com/huntforthewilderpeople/

Featuring Thom Young

Tigers

when

the

tigers

broke free

we

loved

to

feel human

again

and

now is

there

a god?

Love

you did

it

to yourself

love hurts

the

most

when only one

heart

feels the way

forever

should

while the other

is drifting

among

the choppy seas

of

regret

and hate

nobody told

you

things fall

apart

1978

the sun

it

sets

Los Angeles

in

1978

escape with a smile

and

death

if you're lucky

as

I pull the car

over

at the midnight

fried chicken

stand

and

when

is

the moon

going to

go

down?

The City

the city

at night

seems

like an old friend

you know

its bars

its whores

its alleys

the cheap beer

the pills

the neon

flashing

and

saying

go somewhere

better

than

this.

Goodnight

the sidewalks

scream

her

name

death

waits in the other

room

even she

must wait

on

her

and being good

will get you

a cherry lipstick

kiss

goodnight.

BIO: Thom Young is a writer from Texas. His work has been in the Commonline Journal, 3 am magazine, Crack the Spine, Word Riot, 48th Street Press and many other places. A 2008 Million Writers Award nominee for his story Perico. He is one of Amazon's most popular poets hitting #1 in Poetry Anthologies and Short Stories and his latest A Little Black Dress Called Madness hit #1 in Germany.

From Serbia With Love: Another Bukowski Tattoo Narrative

I recently received an email from an ardent Bukowski fan in Serbia who was keen to show me his Bukowski tattoo. When trawling the net last year for my post The 15 Best Bukowski Tattoos Online, I briefly considered including it: https://georgedanderson.blogspot.com.au/2015/03/the-15-best-bukowski-tattoos-on-line.html

The three legged tat is a photo realistic representation of Mark Hanauer’s circa 1981 photo of Bukowski. The original photo can be found in Abel Debritto’s article in Jacket Magazine Big Time: Charles Bukowski in Evergreen Review: http://jacketmagazine.com/40/debritto-bukowski.shtml

I asked the Sebian bloke, Predrag Almazan, why the fascination with Bukowski.

His reply, “Well...you know how some things and moments in life help define who you are? I always loved to read, and one day, when I was 15, at my grandmother’s apartment I found a book with an interesting cover picture : It was Ham on Rye by Bukowski.

“I asked what that book was about and my mother said that I was too young for that but my grandmother said that I wasn’t and told me to take it. I read it in three hours, and I was hooked. Then, I discovered his poetry, simply written but beautiful and strong.

“I was writing poetry myself up to that moment for about 2 years, but I followed forms. Then, I discovered that you don't need forms, or rhymes, you have free verse. So, about that time, 1999, puberty, first sexual experiences, alcohol and drug abuse, NATO bombardment of my country (Serbia), I was changing in what I am now in part thanks to him, or you might say, my fascination with him. I have his every novel, and poetry book published here, even his comic - The Day it Snowed in LA, which only came out once in 500 copies in my country.

“I still write poetry, though I found my own flow, but I still use free verse, and I still love reading poetry mostly thanks to him. So, as years passed, and I got to know one of the best tattoo artists in Serbia Ivan Sabo "La madre muerta" https://www.facebook.com/lamadremuerta I had to do Buk’s portrait, so I found a black and white picture of him, that not only represented him well but also was a great picture by itself, and got it tattooed.”

The tattoo five years on:
  

Bukowski is either hoisted on a pedestal or maligned for opening up poetry to the masses and encouraging the widespread writing of poetry. There is certainly no curbing of Predrag’s enthusiasm for Buk. His leg is a testament to his love of Bukowski's writing.

Predrag Almazan is presently preparing a book of poetry called Crn Pan (Black Pan). Here are few of his Bukowski inspired poems from Serbia:

ANTIMUZA

Noć je

i Antimuza krklja

dok se smeje

dok dovlači klitoris

do kreveta

u tri do pola devet

zinula je na sva usta

ali su bar ptice umukle

obućari

verovatno

drkaju na njene cipele

U radiju se čuje

lomljenje kostiju

panterovo oko

izgleda kao mesec

ako je ludilo sreća

onda sam srećan

a ako nije

pronaći ću

nešto drugo

neku

srećniju sreću

koja će me veštije ubiti

ANTIMUSE

It is the night

and Antimuse is gurgling

as she is laughing 

while she’s dragging her clitoris

to bed 

at three to half past eight

she gaped with all of her mouths 

but at least the birds have gone quiet

shoemakers are

probably 

jerking off on her shoes

radio is playing 

breaking of the bones

panther's eye

looks like the Moon

if madness is happiness

than I’m happy

if it’s not

I’ll find something else

some happier kind of happiness

that will kill me more cunningly.

 LAŽNO DNO BEZ DANA

Spojeni pljuvačkom ili mislima o njoj

s komšija voajerima ili bez njih

s njenom svetom Vodicom i mojim ejakulacijama

s njenim bolestima

i mojim bolestima;

spojeni pseći

dok ona grči lice u nežnu grimasu

dok nam bog mater psuje

a ona očekuje izbacivanje

mesečne larve-

šake pune krvavog

čijoj sahrani neću prisustvovati jer

kaže: Nisam;

dok je bez dna ovaj bez-dan u koji smo sa dna pali

dok sutrašnjica abortira i baca svoj fetus među nas

dok sveti mučenici svojim životom proslavljaju mazohizam

mogu reći da je

a i ne moram

to ništa neće promeniti

dok spavamo nožu ispod jastuka

dok ona leži pored mene

a besno sunce nam ponovo otima mir

ne bi li ga zamenilo nečim

nazovimo-

Božanskim...

FALSE BOTTOM OF ABYSS

Joined together with saliva or with the thoughts about it
with voyeur neighbors or without them
with her holy Water and my ejaculations
with her illnesses
and my illnesses;

joined like dogs
while she’s convulsing her face in a tender grimace
while god curses our mothers
and she’s expecting an ejection

of her monthly maggot-
a handful of a bloody child
whose funeral I won't be attending ‘cause
she says: I’m not;

while bottomless this abyss is into which from the bottom we have fallen
while tomorrow aborts and throws its fetus between us
while holy martyrs praise the masochism with their lives

I can say it’s…
but I don’t have to

it won’t change a thing

while we're sleeping under the knife’s pillow
while she’s laying by my side,
and the furious sun is taking our peace once again
in order to replace it with something
let's call it-

Divine…

TAČKE

TAČKA 1

Sunce se još tu i tamo snalazi.

Oblaci idu negde drugde.

Adam je donirao rebro.

Jedan i jedan su još uvek.

Ko može i dalje se oduševljava ljudima.

Da me ne mrzi i ja bih bio normalan.

Neko svoje noge naslanja na zid pa tek onda seda.

Mrtvi drugari su popili svoje.

Sanjaju me košmari jednog po jednog.

Nisam još dovoljno sjeban da pišem bolju poeziju,

ali ima vremena.

TAČKA 2

Možda je pišanje po njenoj mokraći izvestan vid ljudavi.

Uključim svetlo - svetlo ti se uključi.

Možda ima nečega u vezama među ljudima.

Antimuza čeka dete,

a ja joj dadoh:

srce na dlanu,

govno u ruci

i bukete cveća

koje je u ćošku sažvakala.

Izvukao sam kućicu i sunce.

Bio je vedar dan.

Srećne su priče bez kraja.

Hajde da ga onda ova ipak ima.

POINTS

POINT 1

Sun is coping now and then.
Clouds are going elsewhere.
Adam donated the rib.
One and one are still.
The one who knows how can still be amazed by people.
If it wasn’t so hard I too would be normal.
Some abuts their legs on the chair before they sit.
Dead friends drank their share.
I turn, I spin, the nightmares dream of me,
one by one.
I’m not yet fucked up enough to write better poetry,
but there’s time.

POINT 2

Maybe peeing on her piss is some sort of love.
I switch on the light – your light switches on.
Maybe there is something about relationships between people.
AntiMuse is expecting a child.
and I gave her:
heart on a palm,

shit in a hand
and bouquets of flowers

which she chewed up

in the corner.
I snorted a small house

and the sun.
It was a beautiful day.
Happy are the stories that have no end.

So let this one have it anyway.