I’m writing this a week after the whirlwind that was the launch of The Six Pack 2008 amid the assortment of events that kicked off New Zealand Book Month. It all seems surreal and distant now, but I remember feeling petrified, especially about reading my work. I remember the generosity and friendliness of my fellow six-packers. And I remember a three-year old boy called Matiu, who is so cute he should come with a warning, traipsing around Wellington’s bookstores with his mum and aunty and the maturity of a boy four or five times his age.

Overall, it was a fun and frantic day, although a somewhat foreign experience. My poetry comes from a deeply personal place, even when it doesn’t reflect a true event. The idea that I am, or have been, a closet poet is unsurprising then. Yet I was surprised to have that idea confirmed by Donna – friend, mentor and role-model of more than twenty years – who was astounded that she did not I wrote poetry. I guess reading my work aloud and publicly was a bigger, more frightening step than even I realized. I really can’t remember ever feeling more vulnerable and afraid than in the few moments before I stepped up to read as part of the launch. It doesn’t seem logical for someone who lectures for a living, but the truth is that there’s always a degree of nervousness for me when I’m required to speak publicly, and when it comes to my poetry, it’s proximity to my personal life seems to intensify the feelings of dread.

The fuss, flurry and trepidation of the launch quickly faded into the background as work resumed its starring role in my daily routine. But right now everything that’s going on for me is completely eclipsed by the weekend I just spent on Matiu Somes Island in Wellington Harbour. Wow. What a powerful piece of Aotearoa that is, made all the more so by the fact that my impromptu visit was at the invitation of two Te Atiawa tangata whenua, Alice and Terese. In short, my Matiu Island experience rendered me speechless. I could attempt a gorgeous descriptive piece about the solitude, the expansive sense of space and time and fluidity, the heroism of Wellington’s mountains, but I can’t help but feel my words would soon be reduced to watery clichés. And I think Alice was right: at Matiu Island I reached the limits of language. So the best I can offer is a recommendation that you all go see for yourself.