Picture humanity crammed into a gigantic kick-ass double cab ute burning through fossil fuel like there’s no tomorrow our symbol of what’s important — crucifix tractor Buddha furry kiwi bullet dollar sign fluffy red dice — bouncing under the rear-view mirror as we drive like crazy veering right then left indifferent to the roadkill ...
Ranging from an individual’s birth to the death of the planet, this urgent collection reflects back to us the perilous state of our world. Written by a fed up boomer determined to call out our collective stupidity, Out of the way world is simultaneously justifiably cynical, cavalierly mocking and bitingly realistic.
“Up-to-the-minute reportage on our fraught zeitgeist, conveyed with vitality and satirical humour.” — Hugh Major
“Pertinent to some of the world’s biggest challenges. A thought-
provoking and incredibly poignant read for anyone grappling with the climate crisis.” — Alva Feldmeier, Executive Director, 350 Aotearoa
“Hauntingly on the nose. I love this collection. I think everyone should read it right now! Many lines bear rereading and copying for future quotation. I stopped making my list before the end and just enjoyed. It is wonderful!” — Judith Hoch
“New Zealand literature has no one quite like Keith Hill. Always surprising, a genuine original.” — Roger Horrocks
120 pages, 5.5 x 8.5 inches / 140 x 216 mm ISBN Paperback: 978-1-99-115707-2 Ebook: 978-1-99-115709-6 Hardcover: 978-1-99-115708-9
Top 10 Poetry Book for 2022, NZ Listener ‘A satirist in the tradition of Juvenal and Swift. Hill shoots his barbs in many directions. Irony, really heavy irony, is Hill’s most constant weapon. Addressing the problem of species becoming extinct, his poem We Need to Stop Dithering suggests we put these animals out of their misery by eating them and maybe storing their DNA for future use. You may guess what tone he strikes in dealing with imperfect democracy, Donald Trump, climate change, workers’ rights and the unequal distribution of wealth. What did I eventually feel after reading this melange of anger, irony, accusation and Juvenalian satire? Frankly elated. Okay, it’s raucous and ranty in places, but this collection is hard to put down. A great holiday from more polite and cryptic poetry.’ – Nicholas Reid, NZ Listener
Sample poems
A WORD TO THE YOUNG
Let’s start with some friendly advice. It’s offered with the best intentions but you may wish to follow your elders’ lead and consider nothing this serious in a state of sobriety. The truth is your elders hate you. They have written promissory notes for the future and crossed their fingers they will be long gone when nature comes to collect. And that’s the good news.
You have surely noticed by now your elders’ approach to solving today’s most intractable problems is to employ experts who closely analyse all relevant data then blame those they won’t allow to respond. The blamed when I was young included hippies students communists unions workers the unemployed radicals liberals immigrants unmarried mothers abortionists the PC feminists homosexuals transbetweeners out of touch old people and the young. Having identified the requisite causes the experts then write up their findings in bulging reports that contain copious data analysis graphs and footnotes the principal purpose of which is to show value for money. With suitable ceremony these reports are presented to the authorities who skim read the executive summaries then recite with great fervour a speech recycled from the year before noting the need for “all of us together” to energetically address X Y or Z. Months later a media release put out late one Friday night states the report has been filed in a cabinet labelled For Future Consideration.
This is how the modern world advances— in a stuttering two-step performed to music played by an om-pah-pah band marching in a gleaming town hall where if you look behind the scenes you’ll see the walls are constructed from imported plebiscites propped up by poles extruded from hydrocarbons precariously tied with contested agendas. The impressive gleam is produced by lacquer blended from ambition dissolved in pragmatism painted on by minimally paid migrant workers who are blamed both for being and for not being in the country but business leaders in private admit they need because cheap labour drives their profit margins. The conclusion is we should be grateful because things could be worse.
As your stint in the education machine comes to a close you are likely wondering what your own future promises. From my educated perspective gained by having screwed up my own life several times I have just three pieces of advice. Don’t get distracted by what’s in front of you. (The big decisions are happening elsewhere.) Don’t be naive. (When have words and actions ever aligned?) And don’t give in to despair. Because things could be worse. (Actually they soon will be.) I guess that’s it. Otherwise chin up stay positive don’t slouch. And don’t make any long-term plans.
THE POLITICIAN
The politician scratches the audience’s back with their favourite slogans left over from the last election.
The politician is a centrist who hangs his right shoe on his left ear and speaks out the side of his mouth.
The politician first denies a problem exists then blames the opposition then wants it left for the next election.
The politician ignores the students outside chanting “Dinosaur!” as he studies the latest polling numbers.
The politician is gob-smacked when told his policies align exactly with the prejudices of voters who back him.
The politician blows up indignantly when he’s accused of wanting to win more than do what the country needs.
The politician projects himself as the last great hope in a world where hope has replaced having a future.
THE MILLENNIAL
The millennial wakes each morning to stare glumly into a hole that was once the promise of a life.
The millennial orders a double shot decaf almond milk latte and hunts for prophecies in the froth.
The millennial seeks solace in spirituality because their parents’ neoliberal capitalism is crashing the planet.
The millennial zooms seminars and masterclasses hoping to meet the person they would like to be.
The millennial coats themself in probiotic goop and surrenders to the process of transformation.
The millennial tries to beat depressing emptiness by learning the Tao of mindfully being without having.
The millennial has a satori they’ll never be trapped by possessions because boomers have taken everything.
THE INDIVIDUAL'S SOLILOQUY
I’m the individual. For a long time I floated in warm darkness feeling nurtured and loved. Then I was ejected into a world of harsh light and hands that beat me till I screamed. I’m the individual. People loomed in my face jumped me on their knees jabbed fingers into my cheeks. I learned to grit my teeth. I’m the individual. By giggling and crying I found I could get what I wanted. I learned to manipulate the oohs and aahs that flitted all day before my face. I grew chubby on my new skill. I’m the individual. Next came language. Through a natural process of neurological and cultural osmosis sound merged into the names for people and things. I especially liked the names for me. I’m the individual. Simultaneously I discovered legs. I learned to walk towards what I wanted and run from what I didn’t. I felt the consequence of being caught. I’m the individual. Soon after I discovered the difference between what is mine and not-mine. That just because I held something didn’t make it mine. Or stop others taking it. Or me taking it back. I’m the individual. Without being asked I found myself being educated. My tongue and mind were stuffed into a pedagogical meat grinder and mashed into predetermined shapes to help me say and think what everyone else said and thought. I’m the individual. Later I was dumped on the streets and instructed to wrest a living from the whirl of commerce. If I did not willingly take part I would be stigmatised a loser. I didn’t realise it then but work is institutionally structured to make other people rich. I was forced to work not to avoid stigma or to make others wealthy but because I would go hungry and cold. I’m the individual.
