James K Baxter at Chatto Creek

I have a dark unpolitically correct
secret. I don’t like most of James
K Baxter’s poetry.

I hear disapproving harsh, often
unfair voices from his past, and
mine. A judgemental voice that has
not been able to escape its denying
daunting framework. It’s also a
painter’s vision, a New Zealand
one of squashed drama at Ohakune
in mid-winter. The place of John
Mulgan’s Man Alone.

Mike’s got his hands on a flimsy
booklet put out by a small
Wairarapa Christian community.
What a great way to go out. He is
in love with Jesus. Songs To The
Spirit is the point in his journey; of
Hone Tuwhare’s “Time and the Child”
where all roads converge. Bless.
Did you stand at the counter of
Kinney’s sister’s tiny post office
writing? Lord Holy Spirit, You blow
like the wind. In a thousand
paddocks. Inside and outside the
fences, You blow where You will.