you see a photo of yourself / pressed behind plastic / three years old in a white skivvy
In Plastic, Stacey Teague reaches beyond the frame of her known world to find a way back to te ao Māori. Hers is a complicated, joyful route, full of conversations with ancestors, old places and herself. In form these poems range from plain-speaking prose and concrete poetry to odes and spells; in mood they are just as restless, taking in those times when life feels as big as a movie screen and times when it is more like ‘a loose stone to kick down the path’.
Gathered here are names that travel through time, failed photos of the moon, and love like a feather in the throat. There are encounters with Hine-te-iwaiwa, the bird-woman Kurangaituku, Hine-nui-te-pō, and Hinemoana as she erodes the land with her wildness. This whole-hearted collection shows us how many ways there are to search for one’s bones and at last get to know them.
you see a photo of yourself / pressed behind plastic / three years old in a white skivvy
In Plastic, Stacey Teague reaches beyond the frame of her known world to find a way back to te ao Māori. Hers is a complicated, joyful route, full of conversations with ancestors, old places and herself. In form these poems range from plain-speaking prose and concrete poetry to odes and spells; in mood they are just as restless, taking in those times when life feels as big as a movie screen and times when it is more like ‘a loose stone to kick down the path’.
Gathered here are names that travel through time, failed photos of the moon, and love like a feather in the throat. There are encounters with Hine-te-iwaiwa, the bird-woman Kurangaituku, Hine-nui-te-pō, and Hinemoana as she erodes the land with her wildness. This whole-hearted collection shows us how many ways there are to search for one’s bones and at last get to know them.
Reviews from real-life readers (caution: spoilers may lie this way!)
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