Semmens interacts with the impressive intellect and accomplishments of his great grandfather in a way that extends his legacy rather than simply paying homage to it. It is the book of Issac. It is Aidan Semmens’ book.
We tracked down the Gods / to their offices by the sea, / behind their unclimbable walls. / So far they’ve refused all our calls.
in the necropolis/ countless small artefacts/ of undetermined age & use:/ the broken steering-column/ of a 1968 Ford/ a double-edged knife/ intricately worked blade/ cut & shut
Marge, let’s send a sadness telegram. / I roamed under it as a tired, nude Maori. / No trace, not one carton...
Powell delights in double entendre, and emotes a paradoxically subtle campness. His voice often flits between in-the-know audacity and spiritual earnestness.