On my desk this morning* sits “Collected Australian Verse”, “Banjo Paterson’s People” and “Joe Wilson’s Mates” by Henry Lawson. Underneath those, loved but not revered, are “The Plays and Poems of Oscar Wilde” and “The Complete Works of William Shakespeare”. I had to put Ginsberg in the cupboard. Larkin’s on my bedside table and the bookshelves are full. I don’t remember the first poem I read, or even the first poem I wrote. I remember being five or six and reciting Banj

Soren Kierkegaard said “Once you label me, you negate me”, and I believe this to be true for poetry as well. A good poem (and I’m well aware that there are many bad ones out there, I’ve written plenty myself) does not have one single, linear and easily explained meaning. For a poet to say, “this line means x” precludes any authorship of meaning for the reader and also assumes that the reader is incapable of fathoming meaning from words him/herself. This may be fine for rea