Marty Smith

Marty Smith grew up on a steep hill country farm in North Wairarapa with weather terrible enough to make tough going for one man and his kids. One of the narrative strands of her poems is her father’s war with almost everything; the other is the world of horse racing and the strangeness of creatures that ride on top of each other. Her poems have been published in Best New Zealand Poems 2009 and 2011, and in the anthology Best of Best New Zealand Poems. The manuscript for her debut collection Horse with hat was short-listed for the 2011 Kathleen Grattan Award.

Bloody well doing

What do you think you’re bloody well doing? It’s obscene. Let’s stop this monster exploding right now. Its glass throws up a sharp and cutting light you know, colossal columns and monuments and Money to Remember Them. We do remember …

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I eat my learning all up; except maths. I mash it into my potatoes, paste it under the table. I am eight. I hold all the cards. I will sit there all night. I will never climb down. Dad lets …

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