Vilsoni Hereniko
Mauri Ola: Contemporary Polynesian Poems in English, edited by Albert Wendt, Reina Whaitiri and Robert Sullivan (Auckland University Press, 2010) 304 pp., $49.99
In Wendt’s 1976 essay ‘Towards a New Oceania’, he wrote the following about Oceania, of which Polynesia is a part: ‘So vast, so fabulously varied a scatter of islands, nations, cultures, mythologies and myths, so dazzling a creature, Oceania deserves more than an attempt at mundane fact; only the imagination in free flight can hope – if not to contain her – to grasp some of her shape, plumage, and pain.’[i] It is hard to believe that this influential essay was written thirty-five years ago because it is just as relevant today as it was then, when a cultural renaissance was beginning to spread throughout Oceania. Wendt was one of the major catalysts for the arts during this time, and his influence in fostering and encouraging poets to create and publish was just as intense then as it is today.
Mauri Ola (a made-up title that means life-force) exists because the editors, Albert Wendt, Reina Whaitiri and Robert Sullivan, wanted to share with the rest of the world the struggles as well as the achievements of Polynesians, whether they reside in Polynesia or in other parts of the globe. Albert Wendt is the best-known Pacific writer from Oceania, whereas Robert Sullivan is a published and well-respected poet from Aotearoa. Whaitiri is an editor and researcher of Maori and Pacific literature. Wendt and Whaitiri are ‘retired’ in Auckland, while Sullivan is head of creative writing at Manukau Institute of Technology. An additional reason for Mauri Ola is the publication of poetry that is informed by local traditions; publishing poetic innovations that are influencing and being influenced by local and global art movements is a third reason. As a collective of voices from Polynesia, this book’s life-force is stronger and more palpable than that of its predecessor Whetu Moana 1[ii], also a highly successful collection of poems, edited by the same three Polynesians.
Mauri Ola (also known as Whetu Moana II) is 281 pages long, contains 222 poems, and has a helpful glossary of Polynesian words and phrases as well as an index of titles and poets by country. All the poets have some genealogical connection to Polynesia, although the vast majority are of mixed heritages. They all cover a broad spectrum of occupations, experiences, interests, and educational backgrounds. There is a Polynesian principle at work in this collection, with well-established poets and emerging poets co-mingling like one big Polynesian family.
As someone who has taught Pacific literature at the University of the South Pacific and the University of Hawaii for many years, I am pleasantly surprised to find in this collection my favourite Pacific poets (Albert Wendt, Hone Tuwhare, Konai Helu Thaman, Tusiata Avia, Sia Figiel, Haunani-Kay Trask, and Robert Sullivan, to name just some), and at the same time be introduced to fresh and young new poets that I have never heard of before. Though their voices may not be as confident or assured as those of the established poets, I marvel at their innovative use of languages. I hope that one day I will meet them in person.The range of topics covered in this volume is remarkable for its diversity. Many of the poems are about cultural change and loss (e.g. ‘How Things Change’ by Serie Barford); many others are about the environment and its relationship to humans (e.g. ‘Waiting for the Sunrise at Haleakala’ by Brandy Nalani McDougall). It seems there are few topics that are not explored in this collection. Themes covered include cultural change, identity, romance, childhood, sexual abuse, development, globalisation, resistance to colonialism, death, alienation, racial prejudice, environment, diaspora, and so on. In trying to identify all the themes covered, I realised that I would have benefited from a categorisation according to themes as well as one according to alphabetical order (surnames of poets) that emphasises the names and talents of the individual poets.
There are as many different styles (voices?) as there are poets. Some of the poems are painfully personal, such as Trixie Te Arama Menzies’ account of an uncle offering a little girl ten dollars before raping her (‘No Smoke Without Fire’); others are political, such as Konai Helu Thaman’s plea to the colonel on behalf of the poor (‘letter to the colonel’). Some voices are lyrical (e.g. ‘Ode to a Blowfly’ by Hone Tuwhare), some others are gritty and hard-hitting (‘Thank You Colonialism For:’ by Tafea Polomalu). There are critical voices of protest (e.g. ‘Speaking Out’ by Roma Potiki) as well as mocking voices (e.g. ‘Blood Quantum 2’ by Naomi Losch). Quite a few voices invoke the language of desire (e.g. ‘Pau-stina’ by Tusiata Avia, ‘Virgin Loi’ by Karlo Mila, and ‘Ship Girl’ by Briar Wood), while some others are playful (e.g. ‘Jerry, Sheree, and the Eel’ by Dan Talaupapa McMullin).
The new poets (to me) that I would like to meet and discuss their work with are Alohi Ae`a, Audrey Brown-Pereira, Karlo Mila, Christy Passion and David Eggleton (he’s Rotuman, so that’s a plus). Other new poets I have met already but would relish another encounter with are Valerie Bichard, Naomi Losch, Brandy Nalani McDougall, Dan Talaupapa McMullin, Selina Tusitala Marsh, Tafea Polomalu, Roma Potiki, John Pule, Rosanna Raymond, Alice Te Punga Somerville, and Briar Wood. Reading the works of these poets moved me in some way, whether it be a feeling of recognition, empathy, anger, or amusement. These poets feel strongly about life and people and are able to express them in language that is colourful or precise. The worst poems are the ones that leave me feeling nothing, perhaps because they are too obscure (or is it pretentious?) – these poems must be intended for readers other than myself.
There are forty-two poets whose names or work I am familiar with – the rest are unknown to me. There are some well-known poets in this collection whose work, through no fault of their own, does not appeal to me. This doesn’t mean their poems aren’t any good. It simply means that I prefer to receive my poetry a certain way, in much the same way that I like fish and chicken, but am not so keen on beef or mutton. However, I do know a few who love beef and mutton over fish and chicken, and I have the deepest respect for their choice of food. I also know some vegetarians, and these friends don’t eat meat at all, much like some people who would never be caught dead reading a poetry anthology, let alone one by Pacific Islanders, written in many different kinds of Englishes and pidgins. My choice of favourites is nothing more than a personal preference.
I like poetry that is unpretentious, which means poetry written in clear, simple English. But the ideas or the thoughts and feelings expressed or invoked should not be simple at all. In fact, I like poetry that captures complex or profound feelings and emotions in fresh and innovative ways. The way a gifted poet strings words or phrases together or uses imagery or symbolism to express an idea, experience or event can make me grateful that I have invested my time in poetry. Most poems in this collection are relatively short, and their impact on me is not as profound as I would have liked. This is why I am more attracted to the novel, the play, or the screenplay. In these genres, I can get lost inside a whole universe of characters, relationships, ideas, and worldviews. Sometimes I can be carried away on a long and pleasurable journey that lasts for days if not weeks and the emotional experience, if the work in question is very good, can be devastating or transformative. This is harder to do in a poem that is only half a page long. The best poems, however, have a deeper resonance than one would think possible in half a page. The joy of finding such a gem is reward enough for anyone interested in Polynesia and what Polynesian poets today are saying about this culture area that has fascinated Hollywood and other image-makers (including writers) for more than a hundred years now.
The poem ‘Prepare to Move Into the White House’ is a particularly good example of what I mean. The poet, Christy Passion, captures my hopes and dreams, and I suspect for millions of people around the world, when Obama became President of the United States. It is particularly observant and eloquent, and expresses a feeling that transcends Polynesia, and yet it is rooted in Polynesia. Its embrace is global, but its voice is personal and specific. Having lived in Hawai`i for twenty years, and having projected onto Obama and his quest for presidency what his win would mean for black (and coloured) people such as myself who lived then in the United States (I am now in Fiji), I am deeply moved by this poem, which is the one poem in this anthology that best captures the intentions of the editors when they dreamed about compiling this collection of marginalised voices. It is also the one poem that helps me understand and accept the subtitle of this collection: ‘Contemporary Polynesian Poems in English.’
The poem is worth reprinting in its entirety:
There are as many different styles (voices?) as there are poets. Some of the poems are painfully personal, such as Trixie Te Arama Menzies’ account of an uncle offering a little girl ten dollars before raping her (‘No Smoke Without Fire’); others are political, such as Konai Helu Thaman’s plea to the colonel on behalf of the poor (‘letter to the colonel’). Some voices are lyrical (e.g. ‘Ode to a Blowfly’ by Hone Tuwhare), some others are gritty and hard-hitting (‘Thank You Colonialism For:’ by Tafea Polomalu). There are critical voices of protest (e.g. ‘Speaking Out’ by Roma Potiki) as well as mocking voices (e.g. ‘Blood Quantum 2’ by Naomi Losch). Quite a few voices invoke the language of desire (e.g. ‘Pau-stina’ by Tusiata Avia, ‘Virgin Loi’ by Karlo Mila, and ‘Ship Girl’ by Briar Wood), while some others are playful (e.g. ‘Jerry, Sheree, and the Eel’ by Dan Talaupapa McMullin).
The new poets (to me) that I would like to meet and discuss their work with are Alohi Ae`a, Audrey Brown-Pereira, Karlo Mila, Christy Passion and David Eggleton (he’s Rotuman, so that’s a plus). Other new poets I have met already but would relish another encounter with are Valerie Bichard, Naomi Losch, Brandy Nalani McDougall, Dan Talaupapa McMullin, Selina Tusitala Marsh, Tafea Polomalu, Roma Potiki, John Pule, Rosanna Raymond, Alice Te Punga Somerville, and Briar Wood. Reading the works of these poets moved me in some way, whether it be a feeling of recognition, empathy, anger, or amusement. These poets feel strongly about life and people and are able to express them in language that is colourful or precise. The worst poems are the ones that leave me feeling nothing, perhaps because they are too obscure (or is it pretentious?) – these poems must be intended for readers other than myself.
There are forty-two poets whose names or work I am familiar with – the rest are unknown to me. There are some well-known poets in this collection whose work, through no fault of their own, does not appeal to me. This doesn’t mean their poems aren’t any good. It simply means that I prefer to receive my poetry a certain way, in much the same way that I like fish and chicken, but am not so keen on beef or mutton. However, I do know a few who love beef and mutton over fish and chicken, and I have the deepest respect for their choice of food. I also know some vegetarians, and these friends don’t eat meat at all, much like some people who would never be caught dead reading a poetry anthology, let alone one by Pacific Islanders, written in many different kinds of Englishes and pidgins. My choice of favourites is nothing more than a personal preference.
I like poetry that is unpretentious, which means poetry written in clear, simple English. But the ideas or the thoughts and feelings expressed or invoked should not be simple at all. In fact, I like poetry that captures complex or profound feelings and emotions in fresh and innovative ways. The way a gifted poet strings words or phrases together or uses imagery or symbolism to express an idea, experience or event can make me grateful that I have invested my time in poetry. Most poems in this collection are relatively short, and their impact on me is not as profound as I would have liked. This is why I am more attracted to the novel, the play, or the screenplay. In these genres, I can get lost inside a whole universe of characters, relationships, ideas, and worldviews. Sometimes I can be carried away on a long and pleasurable journey that lasts for days if not weeks and the emotional experience, if the work in question is very good, can be devastating or transformative. This is harder to do in a poem that is only half a page long. The best poems, however, have a deeper resonance than one would think possible in half a page. The joy of finding such a gem is reward enough for anyone interested in Polynesia and what Polynesian poets today are saying about this culture area that has fascinated Hollywood and other image-makers (including writers) for more than a hundred years now.
The poem ‘Prepare to Move Into the White House’ is a particularly good example of what I mean. The poet, Christy Passion, captures my hopes and dreams, and I suspect for millions of people around the world, when Obama became President of the United States. It is particularly observant and eloquent, and expresses a feeling that transcends Polynesia, and yet it is rooted in Polynesia. Its embrace is global, but its voice is personal and specific. Having lived in Hawai`i for twenty years, and having projected onto Obama and his quest for presidency what his win would mean for black (and coloured) people such as myself who lived then in the United States (I am now in Fiji), I am deeply moved by this poem, which is the one poem in this anthology that best captures the intentions of the editors when they dreamed about compiling this collection of marginalised voices. It is also the one poem that helps me understand and accept the subtitle of this collection: ‘Contemporary Polynesian Poems in English.’
The poem is worth reprinting in its entirety:
I imagine you would take us with you,
perhaps rolled up in a Persian rug
or tucked in hidden pockets of your luggage
carrying white socks, and underwear.
There is no need to take us out
right away, no need to show us around.
Forget about us as you do your spine or spleen.
But when old chains begin to rattle
in your mind, or on the lips of suits
lining red carpeted hallways
that no longer seem new to you
we will be there; trade winds twisting
down the Ko`olau, fragrant fallen mangoes,
nests of salt. Let us offer you respite, let us
be a toehold in the craggy wall you climb
treading a new path to a new country.
Let us remind you of when hope
was measured in pocket change
after a long day of body surfing –
just enough for shaved ice and the bus ride home.
Like Obama, most of us have come from humble beginnings. But through the support of catalysts such as Wendt, some of us have moved into our own ‘white house’, metaphorically speaking. Others are preparing to move into their own, and a few others are working hard so that one day they could reach their full potential. Because of Wendt and his co-editors, many more have now been given an opportunity to speak in their own unique voices. Their humble beginnings are no longer an obstacle to publication. Publication, particularly in a volume co-edited by Albert Wendt, is tantamount to validation and the promise of acceptance by one’s peers, maybe invitations to conferences and writers’ festivals, even the hope for a book contract. This is one of the reasons this anthology is so important to those who have been given voice in this volume, particularly those who are being published for the first or second time. I’m thinking particularly of those who have written just a few poems and do not have enough for their own collection. For them this anthology is a promising start.
As the editors make clear in their introduction, apart from all the indigenous languages in the Pacific, there is French, English, Portuguese, Spanish, Japanese, and others. It is therefore impossible to include poetry in all the different languages so they have chosen to focus on poetry written in English. A significant number of poems, however, use vernacular words or phrases in their poetry, particularly poets from Aotearoa, Hawai`i and Samoa. I found myself searching for the meanings of words in the helpful glossary, and am disappointed when I can’t find the word (such as haumea and feifafa). I fear that my appreciation of a poem is diminished when I don’t understand the meaning of a word or phrase in the vernacular. I also suspect that translations of words into English are shorthand translations that often focus on just one or two meanings, and do not attempt to unpack for the reader all the layers in meaning that may be embedded in a single word. Aloha, haole, korero, mana, aitu, naau, and talofa are such words. I wonder then if one’s appreciation of a poem is also diminished if one is not a fluent speaker of the native language and only understands the shorthand meaning in a glossary, compared to another reader who may be a fluent speaker of the language, even from the culture, and has a deeper and experiential relationship with these indigenous words that pepper many of the poems in this collection. These are issues that are common to all publications of this nature and I raise them here only to draw attention to how reception of a poem could be enhanced or diminished and not because there are solutions to these compromises that we make when we translate from vernacular to English.
When I first saw the term ‘Polynesian Poems’, I had mixed feelings about this label ‘Polynesian.’ Does this suggest that there is something distinctive about a Polynesian poem, as opposed to a Melanesian or Micronesian poem? Passion’s poem answers this question for me. It is a Polynesian poem not necessarily because the author has some genealogical connection to Polynesian ancestry, but because the poem itself is rooted in the islands of Polynesia, specifically the island of Oahu in Hawai`i. The references to ‘Koolau’, ‘fragrant fallen mangoes’, ‘nests of salt’, ‘body surfing’, and ‘shaved ice’ ground the poem in Polynesia, even though the poem itself is about a hope and a dream that is universal. Once I understood this, the use of Polynesia as a defining feature for this anthology is no longer an issue for me. This acceptance allowed me to focus on the poems and to see how they might help me better understand what is going on in Polynesia today.
Thirty-five years ago, when Wendt was writing about the cultural renaissance that was emerging in the Pacific, he explained why the arts (including poetry anthologies) are so important. He told us then, and I repeat them here to conclude this essay, that when poets are given the freedom and the opportunities to publish their work, that they are: ‘enriching our cultures further, reinforcing our identities/self-respect/pride, and taking us through a genuine decolonisation; it is also acting as a unifying force in our region. In their individual journeys into the Void, these artists, through their work, are explaining us to ourselves and creating a new Oceania.’
References:
Wendt, Albert Whetu Moana. Auckland, Auckland University Press, 2003.
Wendt, Albert Nuanua: A Pacific Anthology. Auckland, Auckland University Press, 1995.
Wendt, Albert Lali: A Pacific Anthology. Auckland, Auckland University Press, 1995.
[i] Wendt, Albert, ‘Towards a New Oceania’ in Mana Review Vol. 1. No.1, Suva: Mana Publications, 1976, pp. 49–60.
[ii] Whetu Moana: Contemporary Polynesian Poetry in English, edited by Albert Wendt, Reina Whautiri and Robert Sullivan, Auckland: Auckland University Press, 2005.
VILSONI HERENIKO is Professor of Pacific Studies at the University of the South Pacific, Fiji. He is a Rotuman playwright and film-maker. He wrote and directed the award-winning feature film The Land Has Eyes (2004).
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