A single word forms the title of Jake Arthur’s second poetry collection. But it’s an evocative one. The Tarot card pack, dating from the 15th century, was (and is) used by practitioners to draw conclusions about past, present, and future.

Your scepticism about such prophesying may be well founded, but you can cast it aside for a perusal – I’m going to avoid the word ‘reading’ – of Tarot, which comprises extraordinarily compelling poems based on this ancient card pack and its preoccupation with matters spiritual, amorous, and prosaic. We are going to get a reading, though, in the form of revelations and advice for a young man.

“We’re bequeathed youth / and slowly it’s repossessed / Like a reversed equity mortgage” from His Mien illustrates Arthur’s characteristic juxtaposition of images to make an observation.

I loved Lost Bantam, a ballad recounting Jim the sailor’s fate. Jim suffers “the hurdy-gurdy of his sealeglessness”, falls overboard and is stranded on an island. “He knew the map of the world was complete / But here he was on an oversight”. His encounter with another human being on the island leads to an encounter of a special kind, superbly rendered by our poet with language that simultaneously describes and conceals.

Of the many memorable poems here, one stands out as bound to give you shivers down your spine. This is Life hack, a mixture of prophecy and lament. It begins “Apt it would end in a fit of pique. / The world I mean.” and goes on to tell us what fate we may be headed for. But the language! It’s mind-blowingly beautiful in its wistful imagery, even when describing horrors. And Arthur concludes it with a despairing question for us all. This is our poet at his finest.

Jake Arthur has a PhD in Renaissance literature, and his erudition shows. But he’s not showing off. On the contrary, Tarot is an extraordinary display of the poet’s gift turned to devastatingly salutary and heart-wrenching effect.

Kitten by Olive Nuttall is a slice-of-life narrative about Rosemary, a trans woman in her early twenties trying to find her footing whilst battling grief and figuring out what she wants. Rosemary’s knee-jerk decision-making as she tries to feel something accelerates the pacing. Forced to revisit the place of her youth, she does all she can to navigate her past as she returns to Hamilton to be with her dying nana. She knows she’s doing the wrong thing most of the time, but just can’t seem to stop herself from doing it, like watching porn while her nana is dying in the next room, or getting into the car with the person who abused her. 

Rosemary is a vibrant character who feels as if she lives beyond the page, like the girl in one of your uni classes who was always late because she had to get an iced coffee and always had the shortest skirt on no matter the weather. Kitten packs personality, charm, and draws influence from internet culture, written with the same kind of self-aware lens you might find on an influencer’s post. Nuttall’s writing style is like a delicious mix of text messages, stream of consciousness, and perfectly encapsulated tweets as she delivers punchy, laugh-out-loud one-liners and poetic moments while exploring sexuality, abuse, and grief. 

Fuelled with a pink Y2K anime nostalgia, Rosemary dissociates on the internet as if repainting her youth, desperately searching for what her teenage years could have been. She navigates the cocktail mix of enjoyment and disgust at being subjected to the male gaze as she figures out how she feels in her skin. But as she dives into virtual realities, online dating, exploring BDSM, queer kinks, and her sexuality, she can’t ignore the glaring truth of the traumatic events that she has to confront. 

Kitten is sexy and clumsy, delving into the complexities of family dynamics, self-love, and forging a path forward while dealing with trauma.

Turbulent Threads was the perfect accompaniment to a languid weekend, of which lately, there seem to be few. The main protagonist stands tall on the cover with her pensive gaze and violin in hand with the promise of a tale to tell. Set in Victorian Dunedin in the last decade of the 19th century, Turbulent Threads was a fulfilling read that took me back to a different time – one so vivid, it was easy to imagine early life in New Zealand.

In Greer Gillies, author Karen McMillan has brought to life a young and spirited woman who is an accomplished seamstress and violinist, educated and wise yet simultaneously naive, sheltered, and inexperienced. Left to fend for herself at Larnach Castle, Greer’s talents and desires seem destined to crumble as a humble servant after the sudden death of her beloved father.

At Larnach Castle, Greer easily falls prey to the charms of a wily and handsome swindler but is blinded to the merits of a genuine suitor, patiently waiting in the wings. Her resilience tested time and again, she is spurred on by the dream of a different life where her talents, desires, and skills know no limits.

Greer finds hope in friendships and love as she dares to be different in a time when attitudes towards women were slowly starting to change, but not soon enough. Women were fighting for the right to vote, to be seen as worthy contributors and people in their own right. Turbulent Threads offers a transformative glimpse into an era of change.

In what became a one-sitting read, I found myself wanting a little bit more drama, but was still engrossed all the same by the muti-layered characters and detailed prose.

Turbulent Threads is a sweeping coming-of-age tale of a young woman succeeding in the face of adversity, forming enduring friendships, and forging a progressive path.

Still Is, the final collection by one of New Zealand’s most acclaimed poets, is redolent with recollection, nostalgia, and resignation. How wonderful that the medium of poetry is so uniquely suited to such moods! Here are 90 poems ranging widely over everything from washing lines to a night at the movies to nature in all its glory. Erudition comes near to obscuring meaning at times, but closer acquaintance brings rewards.

In these troubled times actually features hanging out washing! From such a banal-sounding activity, O’Sullivan muses about the messages that might be sent under cover of camisoles, vests, and shirts. “our taut lines / stretching their crisp goodwill / one city, one continent, to another…” represents a grand poetic vision – even if it’s a vision comically undermined by the last three words.

A note of resignation appears in No choice much, any longer in which the poet laments some of the challenges of his vocation and invokes nature and the change of seasons as a comfort. Indeed, nature is celebrated in several other poems, and we are reminded that O’Sullivan lived and gloried in Port Chalmers.

I am bound to revel in To be fair to the Sixties – tempted as I am by the capital letter that justifiably signals such an era – to a prose piece recounting a 21st at Makara Beach with friend Herb “who took a psychedelic starter as we did in those days” and in the company of “a junior lecturer who these days would be cancelled”. O’Sullivan gifts these words to the one of the party left standing: “Silence is poetry bareback, without the horses”.

The National Network gets a going over with Life on air, for example giving O’Sullivan the opportunity to catalogue those birds whose songs are sacrosanct.

Finally, we have The obituarist, our poet’s wry comment on what may be written about him on his death. Vincent O’Sullivan can take comfort from his literary legacy: he’s no longer with us, yet he still is.

Jane Keller and Michael Nicholas Williams have been collaborating for 25 years and produced five shows together of which Leave ‘em Laughing is a celebration. Bedecked in her characteristic sparkles, Keller is a captivating raconteur and singer of lesser-known and often hilarious songs, while Williams tickles the ivories with aplomb alongside her. The intimate and beautifully dressed (Keller and Meredith Dooley) Circa Two stage with lush lighting (Deb McGuire) is the perfect place for this dynamic duo’s scintillating swansong.

Topping and tailing the show is Alto’s Lament, a nod to Keller’s students and torch song for all those musical theatre types with voices that are always consigned to the boring harmonies, ever longing for the melody.

Deftly weaving her own history into the song choices, Keller reminisces about her high-school years with Last One Picked, a funny but angst-ridden remembrance for all those terrible at sport. Bad and sad relationships come under the spotlight with the laugh-inducing 15 Pounds (Away From My Love) and Shattered Illusions, and a heartbreaking Hello, Tom which elicits a sympathetic “Awww” from the audience at the end. The first half closes with a lovely, lovelorn medley of four songs followed by Simple Christmas Wish.

The second half bursts onto the stage with Keller’s trademark knack for the bawdy. The saucy Speaking French, unashamed Getting It, and self-explanatory S&M have us all in stitches and the fun romps on from there.

Keller’s facial expressions are masterful, whether showing us the teenager’s pain at being turned down by a prospective prom date or pouting with the ecstasy of European passion. Her enunciation is impeccable, with every word she sings crystal clear, even when accented in French or Russian. It’s also a joy to hear the snippets of Keller’s own life given narrative verve by K.C. Kelly’s fine dramaturgy.

As the culmination of a quarter-century creative relationship, Leave ‘em Laughing delivers on its promise and is a fitting finish to the one-woman-show career of a musical maven.

Lili Boulanger’s D’un matin de printemps (Of a Spring Morning) was a lovely opening to the evening’s programme. Filled with the usual images of spring, the piece begins with birds singing and new growth bursting forth on trees and flowers. Then, as if the sun rose over the hill and the air warmed rapidly, the mood becomes joyful and lively, signalling the day ahead.

We were pointed east. Just a couple of bars into Maurice Ravel’s song cycle Shéhérazade, Virginie Verrez’s voluptuous mezzo-soprano voice flowed towards us, rich and full and seemingly effortless. The acoustics in the Michael Fowler Centre are excellent but surely, they cannot balance one voice against 60 instrumentalists unless the voice is something special. Verrez used physical and facial expressions to strengthen her illustration of the scenes and atmosphere Ravel described. She was very slightly overwhelmed by the orchestra once or twice, but only for a moment. Guest conductor Stéphane Denève, a storyteller par excellence, guided us through Ravel’s scenes and drew the best from Verrez in a magnificent, high crescendo followed by rich, sumptuous waves of sound from the orchestra.

The storytelling continued with Richard Strauss’ Ein Heldenleben (A Hero’s Life). Six ‘chapters’ tell us about the hero’s life and Strauss uses the power and parts of a large orchestra to great effect. The stage was packed, including a full complement of brass. Nine French horns gave a clue to some of the heroism we would hear. And, as they always do, the NZSO rose to the challenge set before them by Denève. The music told the story but the performance filled out the picture. I could sense euphoria from the musicians on stage at being part of the immense sound they were making, and we could see the satisfaction in Maestro Denève’s stature as we listened to the tale he and his orchestra told.

Gritty and nostalgic, raw and tense, The Bikeriders delves into a slice of American history that has fascinated the world for decades.

Adapted for the screen and directed by Jeff Nichols, The Bikeriders is based on the book of the same name by journalist, activist, and photographer Danny Lyon, who documented and shared the lifestyle of bikers in the American Midwest from 1963 to 1967. Lyon followed the Chicago chapter of the Outlaws Motorcycle Club to capture the life of the American biker gangs, a counterculture movement gaining traction in this period with ramifications that can still be seen today across the world with the likes of the Hells Angels.

Starring Austin Butler as Benny and Jodie Comer as his partner Kathy, the film is made in a pseudo-documentary style with emerging talent Mike Faist as the young journalist. With Tom Hardy as the club’s founder Jimmy at the epicentre of the story, The Bikeriders takes audiences on a journey down the open road, capturing the Vandals’ innocent beginnings through to their eventual criminal transformation. A perfect picture of 1960s Americana, Chad Keith’s exquisite production design is made all the more evocative of the era by Adam Stone’s dusty and faded cinematography.

Though a snapshot of a specific historical movement, The Bikeriders captures an aspect of American culture that can be traced all the way back to the pilgrims. This thread of outcast resilience, of fierce individuality, of carving out one’s place in the world has cropped up time and again throughout the nation’s fraught timeline. From the first immigrants braving the seas to the first gunshot of 1776, from the cowboys to the robber barons, from Manifest Destiny to the Civil Rights Movement, the crux of The Bikeriders is woven through the story of the United States. It’s not unique to these Midwestern motorcycle gangs but something belonging to everyone who has called this land home, inherent in their brave new world and the fabric that makes up the American Dream.

Flawed as she is, since the dawn of her colonial history, America has always represented a dream. A collective ideal, a world full of possibility, a promise that is captured with exquisite sincerity and rawness in The Bikeriders.

An interpretation for the Bridgerton generation, Penny Ashton’s Sense & Sensibility is a comedy tsunami to crest the Austen wave that has surged through Wellington theatre in recent years.

Ashton takes a highly theatrical approach to staging, eschewing the lavish drawing-room sets others have opted for. She instead uses a few simple props, chairs and set pieces on casters that the actors often employ to great comic effect and deftly manoeuvre between scenes with the slick assistance of stage crew (Fay Van Der Meulen and Chenae Phillips). This lack of complexity gives free space to a highly talented cast to create the larger-than-life characters and fully express the wit that inhabits Austen’s pages.

Casting only women to “celebrate a woman denied so much because of her sex” is another brilliant comic touch as four of the six ensemble cast play the men (and women) in the lives of the Dashwood sisters, stoic Elinor (Adriana Calabrese) and emotional Marianne (Lily Tyler Moore). Amy Tarleton, Heather O’Carroll, Bronwyn Turei (Ngāti Porou), and Aimée Sullivan are endlessly creative with the handful of parts they each play. Sending up male stereotypes as only women can do, they bring a new level of entertainment to a classic story. The chemistry between the Dashwood sisters is authentic and Calabrese and Tyler Moore are perfectly cast.

The soundtrack (Ashton again) plays a strong supporting role with its rousing classical music and shameless plundering of the Bridgerton playbook with string quartet versions of Katy Perry, Eurythmics, Bonnie Tyler, and more. And in true Ashton fashion, the script slips in references to Dickens, a sneaky homage to Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, and a hilariously meta aside to Bridgerton itself.

Ashton has managed to walk the fine line between making a two-and-a-half-hour show continuously engaging and preserving the emotional heart of Austen’s timeless story. I’ve never cried at an Austen performance before but must admit to a wee tear in the eye at the end of this one, such is its magic.

In the words of the great Antonio Bam-bino Go-Figaro Caravan, the world outside is cold, dark, and complicated. But inside, it’s hot. Oh, so hot!

Revel is a brand-new variety cabaret and cocktail experience by Wellington contemporary circus company Inverted Citizens. Featuring pre-show entertainment served up with cocktails by The Tasting Room, it marries drag and dance with clowning and chaos, harmonies and hoop with music, madness, and merriment to spectacular, sparkly effect.

Performers each deliver an act per half, with introductions and interludes by MC Antonio Bam-bino Go-Figaro Caravan (Nino Raphael) and his trusty assistant, Booth. Some transitions are so charming, silly, and fun that they become highlights in and of themselves, particularly when other performers get involved (here’s looking at you Selina Simone, segueing and sashaying away). In addition to the sheer talent on display, the flow of this cabaret, punctuated by electric interactions between acts, sets it apart from other variety shows I’ve seen in the past.

And now, onto the acts!  Drag queen Selina Simone slays with a luminous (in more ways than one) rendition of Thunderstruck from AC/DC, while Laura Oakley as Lulu L’amour on hula hoop (sorry, ‘oola ‘oop) makes our heads spin. I’m still struggling to comprehend how one person can get so many hula hoops to orbit their body with such grace, showmanship, and apparent effortlessness.

Jade Merematira as vocalist Seraphina Night handles mic issues like a pro and delivers some truly stunning renditions of popular songs, with her performance of …Baby One More Time putting me in mind of Postmodern Jukebox. Her live accompaniment of Kiera Fitzgerald as Kiera Narise on aerial hoop (Rolling in the Deep) and chair (If I Ain’t Got You, with Raphael on guitar) adds a shimmer of je ne sais quoi. Fitzgerald’s gravity-defying acts are jaw-dropping. And we cannot forget Booth’s sultry ode to the microphone, I Want to Know What Love Is.

When I close my eyes and think of Revel, I see rouge, sequins, smiles. I hear laughter, lively chatter, upbeat swing. And I feel joy, warmth… nay, hot! Oh, so hot! Here’s hoping this becomes a permanent fixture on Wellington’s events calendar.