More poetry
Apr. 18th, 2005 03:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
labellementeuseGlenn Colquhoun
The Trick of Standing Upright Here
Not I, some child, born in a marvellous year
will learn the trick of standing upright here.
-- Allen Curnow
The skeleton of the great moa in the
Canterbury Museum, Christchurch
The trick of standing upright here
is the trick of using both feet.
Being born is casting on a row of stitches.
It is a whenua in a plastic bag in the freezer.
Bread is walking back from a dairy with milk.
It is the smell inside of tea-towels.
Red is the sun burning at dusk.
It is kowhaiwhai curling around a rafter.
Meeting is the grip inside a hand.
It is the sound of wet lips.
Black is the colour of the sky at night.
The clothes of old women at church.
White is the sun's paint.
Flax drying on a fence.
A feast is the warm order of plates on a tablecloth.
It is a fat kettle of tea squeezing between tables.
Seafood is fish on the plat4e with lemon.
It is the rattle of cockles in a pot.
Singing is the wind in the trees like a choir.
It is Tom Kelly crooning at three in the morning.
Laughter is the sound of hands clapping.
It is a row of cans falling off a shelf.
Sleep is the feel of clean sheets on skin.
The soft gaps between people on floors.
The sky is a lid left off a tin of biscuits.
It is a man making love to a woman.
The sea is an uneven playing field.
It is the blue eyes of a god.
Remembering is a statue in a park.
It is a face carved in wood.
Growing old is a pattern fading on a dress.
It is collecting pipi at low tide in an apron.
Dying is a casket the shape of a keyhole.
It is a long walk north to the cape.
The art of walking upright here
is the art of using both feet.
Ones is for holding on.
One is for letting go.
A problem while translating the Treaty of Waitangi
A pakeha version: ................... A maori version:
THE FIRST ARTICLE ................... THE FIRST ARTICLE
I am the boss. ..................... You are the boss.
THE SECOND ARTICLE ........................ THE SECOND ARTICLE
You are the boss. ..................... I am the boss.
THE THIRD ARTICLE ........................ THE THIRD ARTICLE
Now that's sorted out ..................... How about those muskets?
put some clothes on,
.. pay your rates,
... get a job
and find a lawyer.
Bred in South Auckland
I drive a car that is falling apart.
There is bog in the body.
There is rust in the doors.
Occasionally it does not have a warrant.
Sometimes I sleep in large rooms full of people.
I eat too much fried bread.
I am late to meetings.
I go to housie
My nose is flat.
I say Raw - tore - loo - uh.
Some people think I am a bloody maori.
I have been to university.
I have a student loan.
I photocopy my tax returns.
Most mornings I read the newspaper.
I make lists of things I have to do and like to cross them off.
I cut apples into quarters before I eat them,
Then I cut the pips out.
I put my name on things.
I listen to talkback radio.
I use EFTPOS.
Some people think I am a typical pakeha.
Last week I drove through a red light,
I did not slow down at a compulsory stop,
I changed lanes on the motorway and did not use my indicator.
When I was a boy I went to see Enter the Dragon,
I took one lesson in kung fu.
My parents made me do my homework.
My brother gave me Chinese burns.
I like beef and pork flavoured two minute noodles.
I light incense when the house smeels.
Once I dug a garden.
Some people think I am a blasted asian.
When I was a boy I learnt to swear in Samoan,
I went to school in Mangere.
I played rugby in bare feet,
Sometimes I shop at the Otara markets.
My family come from overseas.
I used to work in a factory.
Once I helped cook an umu.
When it is summer I wear a lavalava.
I drink pineapple juice.
I like to eat corned beef.
Some people think I must be a flaming coconut.
I think I am the luckiest mongrel I know.
Race Relations
My great grat grandfather was from Luss.
This is a village on the shores of Loch Lomond.
My oarents hang his coat of arms on their wall.
My great great grandmother was a Murray
She lived in Glasgow, by the Clyde.
I don't lnow if their families fought
but I wouldn't be surprised.
Some Murrays live in Whangape.
I guess we are related
except that I am Pakeha
and they are part Te Rarawa.
Somewhere along the line
I have managed to colonise myself.
It is not the first time this has happened.
My grandmother's grandfather is from England.
This has been a problem for the Scots.
I can't forget what I did to myself at Culloden.
Or what Edward Longshanks
did to William Wallace in Braveheart.
I still hate the bastard which of course I am.
And if that's not bad enough
my grandmother's grandmother is German.
And so is my grandmother's mum.
One half of me has lost a war the other half has won.
Even more complicated is the fact
that my mother's father's family are Jacobs
which if I'm not mistaken makes us Jewish,
who of course won't speak to the Germans.
No-one mentions they were from Tasmania.
Sometimes I don't know how to live with myself.
I am a cicil war.
The australians fight the english
...........and keep the scottish happy.
The scottish fight the english
...........and then they fight themselves.
The english are offended
...........and won't speak to the germans.
This annoys the germans
...........who of course annoy the jews.
The pakeha think they own the place.
The maori want us all to go home.
I would if I knew where that was.
Sometimes it seems I'll never win.
Sometimes I never lose.
Gleen Colquhoun is a modern NZ poet: go read The Art of Walking Upright, which won the Montana Book Award for poetry the year is was published, 2002 I think. Lots of poems because I'm reading it right now and I'm loving it. ♥ And I promise they're not all about Maori and Pakeha.
The Trick of Standing Upright Here
Not I, some child, born in a marvellous year
will learn the trick of standing upright here.
-- Allen Curnow
The skeleton of the great moa in the
Canterbury Museum, Christchurch
The trick of standing upright here
is the trick of using both feet.
Being born is casting on a row of stitches.
It is a whenua in a plastic bag in the freezer.
Bread is walking back from a dairy with milk.
It is the smell inside of tea-towels.
Red is the sun burning at dusk.
It is kowhaiwhai curling around a rafter.
Meeting is the grip inside a hand.
It is the sound of wet lips.
Black is the colour of the sky at night.
The clothes of old women at church.
White is the sun's paint.
Flax drying on a fence.
A feast is the warm order of plates on a tablecloth.
It is a fat kettle of tea squeezing between tables.
Seafood is fish on the plat4e with lemon.
It is the rattle of cockles in a pot.
Singing is the wind in the trees like a choir.
It is Tom Kelly crooning at three in the morning.
Laughter is the sound of hands clapping.
It is a row of cans falling off a shelf.
Sleep is the feel of clean sheets on skin.
The soft gaps between people on floors.
The sky is a lid left off a tin of biscuits.
It is a man making love to a woman.
The sea is an uneven playing field.
It is the blue eyes of a god.
Remembering is a statue in a park.
It is a face carved in wood.
Growing old is a pattern fading on a dress.
It is collecting pipi at low tide in an apron.
Dying is a casket the shape of a keyhole.
It is a long walk north to the cape.
The art of walking upright here
is the art of using both feet.
Ones is for holding on.
One is for letting go.
A problem while translating the Treaty of Waitangi
A pakeha version: ................... A maori version:
THE FIRST ARTICLE ................... THE FIRST ARTICLE
I am the boss. ..................... You are the boss.
THE SECOND ARTICLE ........................ THE SECOND ARTICLE
You are the boss. ..................... I am the boss.
THE THIRD ARTICLE ........................ THE THIRD ARTICLE
Now that's sorted out ..................... How about those muskets?
put some clothes on,
.. pay your rates,
... get a job
and find a lawyer.
Bred in South Auckland
I drive a car that is falling apart.
There is bog in the body.
There is rust in the doors.
Occasionally it does not have a warrant.
Sometimes I sleep in large rooms full of people.
I eat too much fried bread.
I am late to meetings.
I go to housie
My nose is flat.
I say Raw - tore - loo - uh.
Some people think I am a bloody maori.
I have been to university.
I have a student loan.
I photocopy my tax returns.
Most mornings I read the newspaper.
I make lists of things I have to do and like to cross them off.
I cut apples into quarters before I eat them,
Then I cut the pips out.
I put my name on things.
I listen to talkback radio.
I use EFTPOS.
Some people think I am a typical pakeha.
Last week I drove through a red light,
I did not slow down at a compulsory stop,
I changed lanes on the motorway and did not use my indicator.
When I was a boy I went to see Enter the Dragon,
I took one lesson in kung fu.
My parents made me do my homework.
My brother gave me Chinese burns.
I like beef and pork flavoured two minute noodles.
I light incense when the house smeels.
Once I dug a garden.
Some people think I am a blasted asian.
When I was a boy I learnt to swear in Samoan,
I went to school in Mangere.
I played rugby in bare feet,
Sometimes I shop at the Otara markets.
My family come from overseas.
I used to work in a factory.
Once I helped cook an umu.
When it is summer I wear a lavalava.
I drink pineapple juice.
I like to eat corned beef.
Some people think I must be a flaming coconut.
I think I am the luckiest mongrel I know.
Race Relations
My great grat grandfather was from Luss.
This is a village on the shores of Loch Lomond.
My oarents hang his coat of arms on their wall.
My great great grandmother was a Murray
She lived in Glasgow, by the Clyde.
I don't lnow if their families fought
but I wouldn't be surprised.
Some Murrays live in Whangape.
I guess we are related
except that I am Pakeha
and they are part Te Rarawa.
Somewhere along the line
I have managed to colonise myself.
It is not the first time this has happened.
My grandmother's grandfather is from England.
This has been a problem for the Scots.
I can't forget what I did to myself at Culloden.
Or what Edward Longshanks
did to William Wallace in Braveheart.
I still hate the bastard which of course I am.
And if that's not bad enough
my grandmother's grandmother is German.
And so is my grandmother's mum.
One half of me has lost a war the other half has won.
Even more complicated is the fact
that my mother's father's family are Jacobs
which if I'm not mistaken makes us Jewish,
who of course won't speak to the Germans.
No-one mentions they were from Tasmania.
Sometimes I don't know how to live with myself.
I am a cicil war.
The australians fight the english
...........and keep the scottish happy.
The scottish fight the english
...........and then they fight themselves.
The english are offended
...........and won't speak to the germans.
This annoys the germans
...........who of course annoy the jews.
The pakeha think they own the place.
The maori want us all to go home.
I would if I knew where that was.
Sometimes it seems I'll never win.
Sometimes I never lose.
Gleen Colquhoun is a modern NZ poet: go read The Art of Walking Upright, which won the Montana Book Award for poetry the year is was published, 2002 I think. Lots of poems because I'm reading it right now and I'm loving it. ♥ And I promise they're not all about Maori and Pakeha.
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no subject
Date: 2005-04-19 01:42 pm (UTC)vv