In 1980, I found myself in Athens. I’d lived the previous five years in Amsterdam, a city of outstanding liberality. The contrast with Athens and living amongst the Greeks was jarring to say the least. In Amsterdam, I’d been on the streets at all hours of the day and night feeling perfectly safe.
But in Athens, any woman who wasn’t rightfully at home at night meant she was fair game. This situation provoked me. Anger is a great catalyst. With the help of a glass or two of retsina, I would scribble away in tavernas on the white paper tablecloths and when the waiter came to clear the table I’d snatch from him my first poetic efforts.
Your background is full of adventure—traveling to Europe as a teenager in the ’70s, dancing as a showgirl in Amsterdam and Paris. If your younger self could read your poetry today, what do you think she would say?
Wow! I reckon I’ll follow in her footsteps.
Do you have a writing routine or do you write when inspiration strikes?
The latter definitely. I don’t consider poetry writing a discipline or something you need to force yourself to do. My ideas arrive spontaneously – an overheard conversation in a bus, someone’s letter to the paper, a stroll through parliament grounds during the anti-vaxxers protest will do the trick.
What’s a poem of yours that holds special meaning for you, and why?
“Soul Baggage”. It best expresses the way I’ve lived my life.
A poem not written by me would be “The Road not Taken” by Robert Frost. I think poetry is an appropriate medium for philosophical thought, and I like the idea of taking an unconventional path through life.
If you could invite three writers (living or dead) to a dinner party, who would they be, and why?
Three writers I’d like to have dinner with: George Orwell because of his seminal essay “Politics and the English Language”, Quentin Crisp for “Manners from Heaven” – a book that heeded to would change the world overnight, and Joe Bennett, whose columns have been a constant delight.
What’s your best piece of advice to aspiring writers?
Keep a diary! You have no idea how much you thought and did that you’ve forgotten, and may come in useful for a poem or short story.
Bio: I began writing poems in 1980, scribbling angry ones on white paper tablecloths in Athenian tavernas under the influence of retsina. Nowadays I write my reflections on paper napkins in the cafes of Wellington under the influence of coffee. I love that you can make a poem out of anything – in my case from a stroll through an overstocked underwear department to pontifications about Putin.
I dislike the esoteric. My favourite compliment about my work is from my sheep farmer brother: “I don’t like poetry much, but I like yours.”
Look out for Margaret’s new anthology coming soon, published by the Earl of Seacliff Art Workshop.
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