I Am A Human Being

Jackson Nieuwland is a very cool human being. They are also, like we all are, a number of different things, real and imagined. And even the imagined things are true, in their own way. Poetry so often straddles that line between fact and fiction, which is why it's always causing drama as to whereabouts it should be shelved.

But looking through the cracks of the fictional still gives you a bit of insight into the soul of the person behind the words. And yes, I know some poets who would gently but excitedly agree with that statement, and others who would crow with laughter but also silently swallow heavily because they know it to be true.

So Jackson is a human being. And an ant. And a river. And a tree, twice. And a careers advisor. Every poem follows the same format as far as the title goes, but beyond that, all bets are off. Some poems are a short and snappy sentence – usually some wonderfully deranged pun.

'I am a skyscraper'

I have so many flaws

(p10)

or even the one word

'I am a beaver'

Damn

(p4)

How can you not read that and chuckle to yourself? How can you not read that and chuckle to yourself and then sweep your gaze over to the next page and feel your heart clench as you read something at once powerful and peculiar and maybe just plain weird? It's ups and downs and introspection and outrospection.

'I am a ventriloquist'

The right lobe of your brain

is the left lobe of mine.

(p46)

The final poem in the collection, 'I am a... well I'm not quite sure yet.' explores in the most explicit way the journey that Jackson has been taking that this collection arose from – their finding a label, a name for themselves, descriptors that fit who they feel and who they are. Half a page is dedicated to yet more lines that could each have led to their own poems (and perhaps at some point that did/will?). They are statements of impossibility, of duality, of being everything and nothing.

How beautiful and affirming is this?

'Eventually, you figure out

that there isn't a word for what you are

because you are the only one of you so far.'

('I am a... well I'm not quite sure yet.', p69)

Speaking of beautiful, the book itself is a little treasure. Compound Press favour discrete covers, dark green collections by different authors hiding among each other on the shelf like trees in the forest. The paper inside is luscious. The illustrations (from Wellington tattoo artist Steph Maree) are scattered throughout the book and always make for delightful surprise when you flip to a page that features one.

Jackson is part of the new generation of poetic voices coming out of Pōneke in the last few year, self-assured in their uncertainty. This is a collection that allows you to try on the clothing of all kinds of people and beings and things on a journey of figuring it all out – and ultimately coming to understand that figuring it all out isn't a necessary factor in being true to yourself.