I thought I would finally join all the parts of Volcano City together to show the full sequence for the first time (I added two lines by the way).
Volcano City
(or, my adventures in Auckland)
1
my arrival was a speeding taxi
along the airport highway &
Manukau Road
with a driver from somewhere
in Eastern Europe
I have been here five years
& has changed so much
he says in a thick accent
it has been eight years since
I was passing through to Opua…
then my luggage is in a corridor &
the Poet appears & shakes my hand
we go in search of coffee
among the tangled streets –
the porn shops, tattoo parlours,
& bars of the central city
we talk about poetry
New Zealand & elsewhere,
its movements & cliques
we compress the literary scene
into a ball
to roll around the table
while chain-smoking cigarettes
& gazing out of windows
where the world is full
of people I have loved
he says:
I have lost that little voice
the little voice
inside my head
that enabled me to write
the next day I find a second hand copy
of his book & buy it
2
in a car we quibble about
geological classification
Lyttelton is extinct (I say,
he disagrees)
while most of the volcanoes
in Auckland are dormant
there are over 30 volcanoes
in this sprawl of a city,
we only have the two
back home
I think I suffer from
volcano envy…
none of the volcanoes have erupted
during European colonisation
& only Rangitoto has during
Maori habitation
but I am told the real danger –
the real danger
is that a new one
might suddenly appear
imagine a volcano
coming to life
in the middle of Queen Street
or Ponsonby Road –
all those wine bars
suddenly engulfed in
liquid lava
3
my dreams are feverish
I’m in a garden
bordered by tall
dark green cypresses
in the centre a white
marble fountain &
stone statue
I’m slowly unwrapping
a friend peeling off
items of her clothing
& then layer after layer
of her skin…
I wake stewing in
sweat-drenched sheets,
the shrill buzz-saw of
mosquitoes circling above
there are large swollen
bites all over my arms
& legs
outside an unending
procession of foot traffic &
a woman laughing
underground
underneath
the layers of earth
there are boiling
magma streams
4
I’m taken to the zenith of Mt Eden
to see a panorama of the city
the Sky Tower a giant hypodermic needle
shooting straight up into the arm
of a vibrant azure sky
I’m shown the cones of volcanoes:
Mt Albert, One Tree Hill, the Three Kings,
Mt Roskill, Mt Hobson, Rangitoto…
they rise like points of scar tissue
on the city’s living skin
I look for threads of steam
coiling up into the sky
5
I arrive at Mataitai Bay
by ferry from central Auckland
& she is waiting for me
Waiheke Island
rocky coastlines & sheltered marine-blue bays
a group of hippies with
long dreadlocks play hacky sack
waiting to travel back
Waiheke Island
haven for artists, poets, & potters
on her veranda we have
a cup of tea & the noise from
the cicadas is deafening
Waiheke Island
native bush & kauri forest
after the ringing ends
she gives a tour of the inhabited
part of the island
Waiheke Island
vineyards, olive groves, & rugged farms
we go to a café for lunch
& I spill fresh orange juice
all over her new white pants
Waiheke Island
sawdust slopes & new hotels
6
Christchurch has straight lines
but here everything folds in
upon itself, I try & sort out
the spatial geography but
the streets follow their own
logic, they spiral around
like quarreling serpents,
as though you have walked
into a quantum paradox or
Escher drawing, I may walk
down one street & end up
in a parallel universe…
7
the poet drives me to the airport
on the way I notice
a raised green hummock –
another volcano bursting
through the suburbs
the poet doesn’t know its name
I tell him I write to communicate
& I like poetry because so few
care about it now
so it doesn’t matter
what I say…
at the airport my luggage
is unloaded, the poet says
goodbye
I try to take a picture
but he turns & walks away
after two weeks
I miss Christchurch
& my bed
home is only an hour away
Joanne Fisher
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Buy me a coffee! 🙂
joanne the geek 