JANET UPCHER>
A pivotal tenet of this collection suggests that we are in
transit, passing through, all on different stages of ‘the journey’,
all interconnected in various ways. Natural and human worlds
are interwoven, but sometimes, humans are diminished against
a background of loftier, more enduring forces. This suggests a
strong philosophical undercurrent in Ladd’s approach.
Mankind is diminished not only by contrast with a purer
natural world, but also by an innate propensity to weakness, or
worse, to evil. Although many poems reveal sharp insight into
human foibles (social occasions are often depicted with irony)
there is warmth and compassion in Ladd’s observations. Sociopolitical
comment surfaces in poems like ‘Night and Darkness’,
where he touches on the evils of Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo
Bay. ‘You are tied and suffocated in a bag./ Night and darkness
seep into the day.’ The danger with this sort of comment is that too
often the observations seem facile or strident. This is especially
so in poems like ‘Sky People’ and ‘Housing Estate in the Howard
Era’: ‘Fat-arsed cars are the local gods / and double garages their
shrines.’ The same applies to ‘Headlands 2’: ‘The hill on which
nothing happens / holds its rich, secret lives, / its little universes,
/ until the bulldozers arrive: / the supernova of real estate.’
More successful in terms of social observation is ‘Junior
Football’ where coaches, relatives and suburban parents are
sharply caricatured, while Ladd captures great visual and
aural imagery: ‘The rumble of the boots like horses’ hooves,/
the thump and tumble of the ball…’ ‘Afterlife’ captures the sad
repetitiveness of rural funerals where final tributes are paid with
affection and where mourners are comforted by the unfailingly
maternal women like ‘…Edna, Pearl and Beryl, …’ with their
sandwiches and biscuits.
‘Relief Teacher’ verges on stereotyping, but is astute in
capturing the ‘voice starling thin’ and the ‘too-hopeful grin’
of the hapless ageing male substitute teacher. ‘Reunion’ has
cleverly unified imagery and some unexpected observations, but
the outcome is a bit predictable, even though a nice narrative
tension is established. The half rhymes work better here than full
rhymes which are elsewhere at times slightly contrived, rather
mechanical.
The pervading feeling is that Ladd is fairly disenchanted
with contemporary society, especially bourgeois capitalism; a
mordant haiku, ‘Black’, is an especially powerful indictment of
man’s abuse of the environment.
Sometimes underlying these poems one senses a spiritual
dimension. Ladd, often physically in transit, covers many
geographical locations, only to find a common motif. ‘Mars and
Insomnia’, another
short poem, very
effectively places
the insignificance of
humans against a
cosmic background,
while ‘Morquong’
expands the vastness
of space and time
in the Mallee
salt lake district.
The loneliness of
a sensitive soul
alienated from the corporate urban milieu reaches out from
‘A Window in the Bronx’. In ‘Rhapsody in Port Moresby’, the
‘expats’ are ‘trapped between love and contempt’, while ‘The
seki man, guarding a warehouse of boredom,’ plays ‘a mournful
tilatilo flute to himself’, as ‘A little bat flies under the cargo moon
/ that shines on the bars of the rape-proof room…’
A central element in all these transitory experiences
suggests that there is more to the universe than our banal western
existence; however, a shared humanity can help us endure. And if we open our eyes to the rest of creation, we could learn from
swallows, bats, cormorants, even amaranthine flowers. More
significant, paradoxically, are the ‘insignificant’ creatures who
don’t draw attention to themselves; this is beautifully celebrated
in the poem ‘In Praise of the Colour Grey’: ‘The fur of night
animals/powdery, speckled, moon-strays.// Dull birds with
glorious songs./ Blue Whales, mostly grey.’ Here, Ladd skilfully
masters the rhyme and narrowly avoids didacticism, which
seems often a temptation.
When he’s dealing with family, his poetry takes on a
new intensity as in ‘That Christmas’ a poem where the imagery
controls and heightens the intensity of the experience. Here Ladd
shows without telling, without recourse to abstractions: ‘Their
conversations swim on / trying to get somewhere in the surf, /
old patterns pulling them back. / there are rips out there….’ ‘Love
Song with Swallows’ is a delicately understated yet sensual poem
where he captures the urgency of love. Less compelling is ‘Old
Love Song’ which seems trite and prosaic by comparison, lacking
tension. Perhaps this is intentional, though, given the content of
the poem, dealing as it does, with love that has become wellworn,
yet harmonious in its very dependability.
Returning to the idea of transitory passages and the title
of the collection, one finds an explanation for the placing of
‘London Aubade’ at the very beginning. The unexpected onset
of a daughter’s first menstrual cycle is an unusual choice for
an opening poem, but in context of the collection as a whole,
it’s appropriate as a rite de passage. Set against traffic and rain
outside, a momentous personal transition takes place, from
childhood to womanhood, yet when placed within a larger
canvas, it is seen in perspective. This poem seems to epitomize
Ladd’s work which, as Robyn Rowland suggests, is ‘in rhythm
with the daily material of life, connected powerfully to varied
natural landscapes’.
The incorporation of actual highways, (‘The Bruce’, ‘The
Princes’, inter alia) may seem rather obvious in the context of
transits and journeys but, as metaphors, they embody Ladd’s
preoccupation with inter-connectedness through time, space,
generations. Geography cannot separate human beings who
learn to live within their limits.
The delicate observation of the ‘she-oaks’ and ‘their redgold
autumn tassels’ recalls ‘Headlands 1’ where the ‘peasantthighed’
she-oak, ageless and timeless, ‘leaves a fine rain of
connection’ and its ‘..song will tell you / who you are.’ Unlike
‘Philosophical Autumn’ which seems hackneyed, almost trite,
the observation of ordinary details in many poems is often more
complex than is initially apparent. In ‘The Bruce’ there are everpresent
menaces, reminders of death and other hazards which,
on most highway journeys, threaten our vulnerable humanity:
‘At the crossroads the sky sweats, / a house stands biblically
alone in the clearing- / Under its stilts lies the snake / and in the
frangipani’s shade.’
Even though we are all ‘in transit’, Ladd suggests, there
are ways of becoming attuned to the dualities of living.
Janet Upcher lives in Hobart where she’s a teacher, editor/translator,
reviewer and writer of poetry and fiction.