‘‘put poetry in a straitjacket’’, and the
printed form is like reading a composer’s
score from sheet music.
He much prefers to deliver them in
person.
unt, in his own way, is a little bent,
like the rail line destresser. His
penchant for booze was never a secret,
although he is quick to point out he spent
seven ‘‘valuable years’’ sober, of his own
volition.
‘‘I just got sick of it. Sick of not being
able to stop when I wanted to.
‘‘They always jump on that,’’ he says
of the drinking, famously satirised by Jon
Gadsby in McPhail and Gadsby.
‘‘But it’s no big deal. I’ve actually been
thinking about starting a male escort
agency – Rent a Bent Gent!’’
The chugging Hunt train of thought
stops in at another station: drugs (he’s
tried one or two), and he dismissively
includes fashion among them.
He’s no slave to it, of course, clad in
his usual stove-pipe trousers, collared
shirts and handmade boots, and
describes fashion as ‘‘a cancer’’.
At the suggestion of his doctor, Hunt
has also ‘‘destressed’’ his life, hence the
decision not to perform after 8pm and no
more national tours. Part of the stress
was ‘‘turning up too early for shows’’ –
sometimes 90 minutes before going on
stage – and after years of driving large
American cars, he now has a reliable
Mazda stationwagon that cost him $1000.
‘‘If it breaks down, I just hitch-hike to
the next town and buy another one!’’
One thing still missing from Hunt’s life
is another dog.
It’s been more than 20 years since his
famous dog Minstrel died – an event that
pipped Sir Roger Douglas’s removal
from the Labour Party in late 1988 in the
headline news – and Hunt has not
sought another.
‘‘I believe very, very strongly, based
on personal experiences, that the dog
chooses the man.
‘‘So I am hoping a good old retired
heading dog – short-haired, strong-eyed
– will come strolling down my driveway.
I’d like that. One of the poems in the book
is about that, people coming towards me
asking, ‘Where’s the dog?’ They’re right –
where is he?’’
The subject of death distracts him
momentarily.
‘‘Have you heard about this new
website, it can calculate your exact time
and day of death? I couldn’t think of
anything worse! You’d be on
countdown, wouldn’t you?’’
‘‘It might compel people to write a
bucket list,’’ I offer. ‘‘You know, the list of
everything you want to do before you
die.’’
Hunt shoots back: ‘‘Oh yeah, I’ve done
all that!’’
H
THE PEOPLE’S POET
Above, Sam Hunt at Bottle Creek in 1982
with Minstrel. Since Minstrel died, Hunt
hasn’t had another dog, but ‘I am hoping a
good old retired heading dog – short-haired,
strong-eyed – will come strolling down my
driveway’.
Photo: FAIRFAX
Hunt has pared back his level of
performance in recent times.
He had ‘‘a horrible meltdown’’ in
Havelock North a few months ago when
he was too worn out to do the show. ‘‘An
early, long day, a few too many wines,
too tired, and some grief-struck f...ing
woman wanting to tell me her life story.’’
He won’t work after 8 o’clock at night,
and says his booking agent often has to
explain to venue management why that
is. ‘‘I’ve got to be offstage by 8 o’clock. It
suits me: I wake up early and prefer
doing afternoon shows and pre-dinner
shows.
‘‘In fact, my son Alf calls me Mr Eight
Squared, because I’m 64, and eight is the
square root of 64. Cheeky little bugger.’’
An ensuing joke about ‘‘square roots’’
is hilarious, but not fit for publication.
The early shows actually suit some
venues – staff don’t need to be rostered
on until the wee hours – and Hunt
prefers them ‘‘because the audience is a
bit more together, they’re not that
trashed’’.
Neither does he venture too far out of
Northland to perform, preferring to do
shows on the local circuit – Mangawhai
Heads is a popular spot.
To help promote Chords & other
poems, he’s making a rare foray into
Auckland to do an in-store promotion.
The cover features Alf’s photograph of
a bent old iron New Zealand Railways
destresser that sits on his log-burner. He
didn’t like the original cover design – it
10
YW
SATURDAY, MAY 28, 2011
Sam Hunt is New Zealand’s best-known poet, whose accessible
material has made him more popular than any other the country
has produced.
He has written more than a dozen volumes of poetry – Chords
& other poems being his latest – since the early 70s and his work
is taught widely in schools and universities.
Waikato University English lecturer Sarah Shieff, also editor of
Journal of New Zealand Literature, says Hunt has ‘‘a rare gift as a
communicator and makes poetry come alive’’. ‘‘Combined with
that, he has got a marvellous clarity – people think about things
differently when they read his poetry.’’
She describes Hunt as ‘‘completely unstuffy’’ in a field that has
reputation as being ‘‘for pointy heads’’. ‘‘But Sam’s work is not like
that at all. It’s approachable.’’
Hunt’s rough-around-the-edges persona is what makes him so
charismatic, she says. ‘‘He’s been upfront about his past, his
demons, and they’re important for his work. The persona he
presents is of someone you’d like to meet and enjoy the company
of – and that’s how it comes across on the page.’’
Hamilton poetry reviewer Peter Dornauf says Hunt’s poems are
‘‘not difficult or hard to understand’’.
‘‘It’s not experimental or esoteric,’’ he says. ‘‘His poetry is often
quite emotional, heart-on-the-sleeve stuff and quite confessional.
Ordinary people warm to that stuff.’’
Dornauf believes New Zealanders are attracted to Hunt’s
rugged charm, ‘‘the wild hair, the 1950s jeans’’.
‘‘He’s created a persona writ large. The wandering troubadour
– very romantic. He has a very distinctive speaking voice when
reading his poetry. He’s a showman. That’s why they’ve made a
film about him.’’
Dornauf says Hunt has ‘‘contributed immensely’’ to the
understanding and appreciation of poetry in New Zealand.
Hunt could legitimately crown himself the people’s poet,
Dornauf says.
Hunt can make poetry come alive, particularly for young people,
and he is represented in every anthology of New Zealand poetry.
Shieff adds: ‘‘He’s really on the map of who has made an
important contribution to New Zealand literature.’’
–JEFF NEEMS
‘My son Alf
calls me Mr
Eight Squared,
because I’m
64, and eight
is the square
root of 64.
Cheeky little
bugger.’
was meant to be ‘‘retro 1970s’’, but Hunt
considered it ‘‘so f...ing awful’’, he
demanded it be changed.
‘‘I’m quite pleased with that,’’ he says,
showing off a print of the cover.
‘‘It’ll be nice to see the real thing – 86
pages of new poems.’’
He’s a bit of a loner when it comes to
his poetry.
He’s only ever been able to ‘‘compare
notes’’ with Kiwi poets Alistair Campbell
and James K Baxter.
Few have delivered poetry the way
Hunt has and although he’s part of the
‘‘poetry industry’’, he’s a little disdainful
of the way academia took it from the
people.
Universities and lecturers, he argues,
The documentary Sam Hunt: Purple
Balloon and Other Stories is now
screening. Review on p16.
Sam Hunt’s book Chords & other poems
is out next month.
■