AUSTRALIAN POETS AT WORK SERIES 2
Angela Costi
Selected by Coral Hull
[Above] Photo of Angela Costi by Helena Spyrou, 2005.
CH: When you look into a mirror, who do you see?
AC: In the early morning I try to avoid the mirror because I feel so wretchedly tired from a night of relentless night feeding. I know the mirror will show the eyes and face of a tortured soul. I now wear the face of a sleep-deprived mother and it's a frightening sight first thing in the morning.
By mid-morning though, I can face my face. It shows me exactly who I am. It is so transparent these days. Leaving aside the great range and depth of emotions I may be feeling as I'm looking, there are the constants: experience is etched making me old, yearning is sending the odd sparkle to eye, the tiny quiver of lip keeps me young, and love is hobbling somewhere within the puffy eye sockets and the lacklustre lips. I once wore the face of a blossoming bud, and now it's definitely in full bloom, with a petal or two or three ... withering in parts.
This is all fine because my face and body wisely report my life to date. They both remind me of my past - how I have come to stand today before the mirror. In fact, they go further than my past, they take me way back, they show me first hand my ancestry. They reveal my deceased paternal grandmother to me, and her sister, my Great Aunt, who is edging towards her 90s and living in an obscure village in Cyprus. These women have come to live in my mirror with their furrows and creases, subdued smiles, the strategic scatter of freckles and moles, and above all their gaze. The way it bores into my psyche; my eternal reminder of women made to cultivate the earth.
CH:
What are your primary concerns regarding the world?
AC: There is a severe imbalance in all areas fundamental to existence. In the Western world, the system and its power brokers are pushing capitalism to the brink. Conservatism is given full reign to rule. Consumerism is insatiable. There is an immense gender bias towards the male in areas of power, particularly in politics and business. The ego is unrestrained; it gnashes its teeth from billboards to plasmas, from magazines to school yards, on CD, DVD, ipod and cereal packet - we are fed popularity as daily nutrition. Religion is taken away from the true believers and used as a tool to divide and conquer.
Macro imbalance is a global echo of micro imbalance. All of us, unfortunately, are responsible because as members of the human species, we are pathologically parasitic. We want more of ... and more of ... never ever feeling content and satisfied, never ever sitting still and letting the Earth take over, the way it naturally needs to. Will we inevitably kill our host? I think so. But it seems to be retaliating with tsunamis, hurricanes, earthquakes, floods, droughts, mysterious icebergs, locust plagues ... and Hollywood responds with billion-dollar natural disaster movies.
CH: What is your favourite animal and why?
AC: I've never been one to idolise one animal above the rest. In primary school I had a friend who was frantically obsessed with ponies. Her room was a shrine to horses. It was sad though that she had never actually stroked a horse. Her love for all things 'horsy' said more about her bleak family life. On the other hand, my doctor, whom I've known for many years, is obsessed with zebras. Her consulting room is inundated with the black and white stripe study of the zebra, in the form of photos, paintings, drawings, ornaments, toys ... and she knows everything there is to know about them, and she has been on safari several times to meet them.
On a personal level, I had (and still have) a deep overwhelming love for my cat, Ella, who passed away November 2004. I miss her immensely. I don't think I could ever have another cat after her.
Currently, I have a strong fondness for the pair of pigeons who build their nest annually in my grapevine and who love hanging around my family and I when we're lazing in our backyard. They are generous birds as they leave us more than enough grapes each year.
CH: Do you believe in a power greater than yourself?
AC: I grew up in a traditional Greek Orthodox household, which meant weekly Church attendance, specific days for fasting and obedience to certain social codes. When I left home, in my early 20s, I left the religious practice with my parents. It had suffocated me enough and I needed to feel freedom, as much as I possibly could. After a while, I found the need for prayer, faith and ritual, and explored the religious practices of Islam, non-denominational Christianity and Buddhism. I didn't feel comfortable with any of these religions or their practices. I felt, and still do, that I am more connected to a greater power when I am alone, away from groups and their sway. I have my own personal way of praying and inviting divine light into my life and the lives of others.
I believe in a collective, all-encompassing divinity that we are all a part of, and that emanates from our spirituality. For me, this divine power is not to be found in the pages of the bible (or any other religious text) nor in the practice of a religion. The greater power that I believe in does not preach exclusivity, does not rise above in order to reign, and does not segregate humans, race or species. This power is immeasurable and illimitable; nevertheless it can be contacted in numerous ways. Some of them are: sitting still and silent near a river, snuggling up very close to the roots of a large tree, holding a baby that has just slipped from womb, making words fit one after the other into something that speaks from soul, reading words made from others who speak from their soul, listening to music with closed eyes and open heart, feeling the deep love of another through their eyes, their touch, their mouth, waking up with the first hint of sun's light and walking outside to its kiss on your face.
CH: What are you working on at the moment?
AC: I am working on a series of dramatic monologues from the perspective of Goddess Aphrodite and placing her in a contemporary context. For instance, I have her attempting to resurrect her body image on a catwalk in Milan; I place her in the Khindi Hospital in Baghdad, Iraq; and I have her searching for her contemporary counterpart at an International Poetry Festival. There are a total of eight poems so far, and I have been slowly but steadily working on them and revising them for the past ten years. Why I have fixated on Aphrodite is that what she symbolises - love, beauty, brazen feminine leadership and sexual mother - seem to have lost their power in our world. Society worships beauty on a superficial skin-deep level, and love is not courted and chased as much as career and ambition. There are instances of brazen female leadership - such as, Suzanna Arundhati Roy (global activist and Booker prize winner), Su Su Nway (Burmese heroine), Michelle Bachelet (President of Chile) - but on a world scale, this sort of leadership is a stifled minority. As for the 'sexual mother', there is still a repressed societal code that tends to segregate sexuality and motherhood. So I propel Aphrodite and her worship into our contemporary times to remind us of her thoughts, wisdom, wit and cheek, and to inspire her relevance back into our lives. By saying this, I am by no means pagan, although I have a profound respect for the ancient myths; their storytelling, drama and underlying meaning continue to have modern value.
In regard to the actual drafting and crafting of these dramatic poems, I keep them in the voice of Aphrodite and steer clear of rewriting the myths. Rather, I am interested in transforming the myths, as we know them, into modern day epiphanies. Anne Sexton and Anne Carson, are two of my favourite poets who are able to amazingly rework the fairytales and ancient myths, respectively, into direct points of connection with our current existence.
CH: What would you do if you won a million dollars?
AC: If I was given a million dollars I would probably go hysterical with rapture. For so many years now, in fact for most of my life, I've been living on a very tight budget. I live with my father's advice booming in my ears - brebee na kanees eikonomee-es - which means, you have to watch your pennies, tighten your belt; you have to be frugal with the little money you get ... These words have registered so deeply in my psyche that I have rarely experienced another type of existence, one that entails lots of expendable cash. Although at one point in my life I was a practising lawyer albeit specialising in environmental and community law, rather than money-spinning commercial law. Nevertheless I was on a pretty good salary for a young graduate. I left this before I could get financially comfortable though, and took off travelling overseas to further my studies in Classic drama and to become poor.
With a million dollars I would: 1. buy a decent house for my family, which comprises 1 babbly crawler, 1 rambunctious toddler, 1 penniless partner and 2 semi-retired and restless parents 2. get decent health cover for all of my family 3. open an untouchable account for my children and put a reasonable amount in towards their education and their lives 4. set up a not-for-profit community arts organisation which is focused on engaging with marginalised, culturally diverse communities and nourishing the artists and their art from these communities, assisting them by producing, directing, dramaturging, and enabling them to put on performance events, exhibitions, plays, readings, forums ... and having a publishing arm which publishes their writers 5. take all of my family back to Cyprus to visit my Great Aunt who is ailing and for my parents to see their old homeland and for my children and partner to understand Cyprus and know what it means to me.
CH: What makes you happy?
AC: Another thing I adopted from my father is his tendency towards intense emotions. Happiness is an emotion felt strongly in my family, along with anger and grief. When I was a child and teenager, I couldn't understand my father's immense happiness when the family got together for a birthday, name-day, christening, wedding or for no reason other than to feast, drink, dance and talk nonsense. Now, I experience a similar level of happiness when I'm with my babies and partner, and we're just hanging about together.
Some other things that bring on joy, elation, laughter and inner smiles are: when I find time to write, when I am writing (like now), when I am reading, when there's a peacefulness in the house, when my sister tells one of her over-the-top stories, when I'm walking around Coburg lake, when somebody gives me an opportunity to share my writing and/or thoughts with the wider community (like now), when I'm feeling connected to something that is greater than myself and is profound.
Feeling happy comes to me like ripples some days, and some days in great currents and waves, but there are days where I don't feel it at all. I'm as flat as the Dead Sea.
CH: Why is poetry important to you?
AC: Apart from poetry, I also write plays, essays and stories. It is poetry though that challenges me the most and heartens me the most. Apart from the crafting, drafting and editing, there is an elusive, nebulous and divine aspect to it. There is that part of it that is soul-inspired and that resonates across cultures, generations and time. And so I place poetry on the highest pedestal because I expect so much from it, and I'm not sure that I ever reach it.
At the same time, poetry is my anchor. Whether I'm reading it, writing it or experiencing it, I connect with it in a grounded way. In a way that brings me face-to-face with life, the world and us. Finally, I love how I am absolutely absorbed in the creative process when I am writing a poem. The minutes, hours and days fly by and I am completely oblivious to anything but the sequence of words before me on the page.
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Women on the Rock
Anna sees her Ancient Greek counterpart
sweetly shimmering in the sea's spray
dressed in the delicate thread of sorrow
Ariadne, she calls, how can I ever let him go?
Ariadne was destined to soak the rock of Naxos
with the saltiest of tears, it took thousands of years
for her rock to become the largest sea sponge
in the Aegean, bloated and buoyed
from other sobbing, aching hearts.
Anna rests her chin in the seaweed
takes her tired heart and shelves it
among the coral and oyster shells
the jagged cracks find solace.
The Shade of Ariadne never leaves
despite the wind pushing, the sun burning
Anna feeds on eternal whispers of betrayal
Never give your heart before your mind
- Theseus took both as sunken treasure.
Anna holds an empty Marlboro box, inside
the scrawl of Christo's promise fades in weak ink
- see you at the beach, my baby -
two, three, four days of searching for the baseball cap,
the easy wink, the hands that made her body soft clay.
The low tide allows Anna to take her ancient hand
run it through the ripples as she wades to the horizon
she can now see Christo on his motorbike
sailing into Theseus' sunset
his back cast in marble, forever facing the other world.
Cat-Walk, Milan: Aphrodite attempts Resurrection
I reveal my breasts before their perceived judgement
firm, upturned, nipples so pleased to be suckled
they squint, perhaps, they shrug, on the small side
so I disrobe down to the very place my worship begins
where eros nests, a mere fold away
and so much to fall into before then
the rich spread of my skin
curve of grace from waist to hip to navel
a touch designed to tremble the most ardent of fingers
but they of meek persuasion reek into a shudder
so heavy, they swallow distaste, rotund, disfigured.
Before I play with thought to lay my robe at their feet
one squawks, Stop her from showing more
who wants to see thighs smacking into each other
like loud cymbals - the universe rises within me
all the Gods of earth, ocean, air, life ... roar in silence.
They who created chaos and baptised the world
in utter pleasure at mere suggest of my sway
towards their path and today, the little brittle bones
of height but no station conquer Latin's robes
walk the thin line, make hunger their pet,
while I peek from drawn curtains
at older, fatter, faces, sitting in neat rows
stroking desire for that knuckle strapped fledgling
striding by within reach if they could only pounce.
Single Women's World Forum: Aphrodite delivers Commandments
The silent bed lament
one woman's night cry
became a world's chorus
chant - women of the East
sing - women of the West
pray and wait, wait and pray ...
When will destiny mark his side
by our pillow? An ever pleasing
harmonic rapture, his smell
our moans, the dance
of entwine and discover
the applause of rise and fall
the sigh of love's fill
in sleep; kiss, smell, touch trail
fingers, lashes, lips, sun rise
new morning - they plea, When?
I agree, a bed was never meant
to be an abandoned trench.
Still, ponder the following
when your arms ache
from lack of canoodle -
One: Time is beyond love's grasp
it has its own mysterious detours.
Two: Silence is a true gift
bringing sleep without snores.
Three: Bang your lust cymbals
to the drum of your imagination.
Four: Take heed from Sappho and Pasiphae
male genitalia can be replaced.
Five: Savour your personal commune
with the moon, in all its forms.
Six: Count fantasies like sheep,
one after the other until sleep.
Seven: Do not ever wait
for The One.
Eight: Keep The One at bay
while enjoying varieties of Two.
Nine: A hot water bottle, once cooled
has several purposes.
Ten: Life without sleep and dreams
is far more tragic
than life without sex.
24 Hour Love Line: Aphrodite worships Mr. Wrong
On the phone you sling words of shrapnel and shard
how he tires your purse, he punctures your psyche,
he leaves crumbs in your bed that scrape like claws
he is Pan, all hairy hide, idle and carnal, he is Icarus,
in arrogant sweeps he melts your wings, he is Paris,
a tactless infidel, Theseus, a footloose conqueror, Zeus,
a flippant god, Apollo, in for the chase or the kill… and
he is your Dionysus, pouring mania into your loins.
You tear shreds off his reputation for me to stitch
in some beatific order, I warn you, my needlework
is deliberately reckless - I envy how you two met.
A bar abuzz with smoker's cough, cheap wine stench,
sanguine species, you spot something rare: thick hair
closer you notice how it's tangled in all the angles
of jagged departures, you arrive with a metal comb:
a taunt to tame, making your cleavage his spectacle.
I declare your current hurt is utterly blessed,
ten years from now you will drink from honesty's cup
like sweet tea it will nourish your senses,
you will cry a little, or sob a lot for your Mr. Wrong,
your teacher of pillow tactics, scorned
for holding you against the drench of responsibility
you will touch your ear, your neck and remember
how you prodded him to bite your bruises.
Acknowledgments to: Visible Ink (Australia). |
About the Poet Angela Costi
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Angela Costi's poetry and other writing have been widely published, broadcast and produced. Since 1994, she has been freelancing full time as a writer and editor, completing commissions for organisations including, "ReLOCATED" a full length play and text exhibition for Melbourne City Council based on her writer's residency at the Kensington Housing Commission Estate, "Shimmer", for the City of Darebin and a play inspired by interviews with girls from the working class suburbs of Melbourne. She has written seven staged plays, two of which have been produced for Radio National. She is the author of poetry collections, Dinted Halos (Hit&Miss Publications, 2003), and Prayers for the Wicked (Floodtide Audio, 2005). |
[Above] Photo of Angela Costi by Helena Spyrou, 2005.
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Thylazine No.12 (June, 2007) |
