Courtney Meredith is an English Major from the University of Auckland with a successful background in public speaking, composition and performance. She recently won the Going West Poetry Slam 2008, the Montana Poetry Slam 2008 and she opened for Sam Hunt at the Parnell Festival of Roses.
Courtney is an event coordinator focused on local music, youth performance and cultural expression. Through art exhibitions with her collective 'Forward Frangipani' she evolves the written word via performance poetry on film and acrylic musings.
She co-edited Spectrum 5, which was launched by the University of Auckland in October 2008. She has studied under Witi Ihimaera, Emily Perkins, and Selina Marsh.
Courtney is of Samoan, Cook Island and Irish ancestry. She is working on a collection of poetry and prose.
Cause Fishing
That chic in my office with the ponytail
better stop mincing her church skirt
red dirt in Uganda, red Earth on skulls
the mouth is a revolver, shooting letters back home
blackened
children
my gut is green with peas
catholic silver beet
& dusty whales
huts in the lounge, plaid sheets
thick with crumbs
we’re up against the mirror
pony backing height
still, you bear plagues
still, I don’t see in the dark..
I want a mentor who won’t whore me out
New York swoop
-
I’ll empty my pockets for short trips to memory
trying to stay friends
with names in my phone
trying to fall
in love with brains.
Another hall/ community jaw
families smiling in their debt
how grown
the credits are
when the show ends.
Nestled against my collar bone
red beads from the city of Tonga
all words I want for myself
turn in the night
the tide has no father.
When I’m old my sisters will carry umbrellas
& beat
the sun
& bait
the moon
give my scattered organs
a breast to come home to.
I’m calling it
‘cause fishing’
pink flames dancing
every body wants
a monster
in the kitchen
a voice
heating oil.
Stop bringing your body round home
hiding it in under my sheets
saying the roads are too bruised, this time of year
I’m no good at giving change
I would not time travel
give my younger self
advice
a chance.
Wakefield Street
Wakefield Street
go out with me?
You’re the nicest hill I climbed since the devil’s back
& someone’s
husband whimpered in satin
fed me Kahlua/ painted Fiji
on my back with his hands in the light
& the back of an island looks quite
melancholic to a woman
with his hands in the light
scaling palms & coves & wings
all things
we built upon me
& the back of an island looks quiet
like a wave before it breaks
For John and the dog gone
I never been the business
been his mistress & a seamstress
picking greenish seeds from chilli gum
I've held the wicker basket
where silver planets fit the mouth
& men have no
India to roam
I never done the business
I pull out
before the mountain pen
lines my head a target
& Margaret wants a dollar for the birds she's scaring off
you should've known me
before I was an icon
back with curly hair & fear & stripes
no dollars knew me to undo me
I never spat I carved a marble tongue
a doorway feature where the omens pass
I never look the sad man in his eyes
or tell him how his tag is sticking out
just waiting for the bus again
& paying for my girlfriend
to make the weekend light as twilight
spiders in their sacks come beading down
the concrete grass & squares on sticks are keeping all my Christmases alive
I pass the business on
my heart is very young like snowy ash
my lies are very beautiful & coastal
went fishing when I had a line to spare
I couldn't feel the nip or shark
I never been what he is
what she thinks she is
or how a nun might say 'insecure' instead of 'monster'
