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labellementeuseHappy Easter, early for some of you, to those who celebrate it; have a safe and happy holiday weekend. <3
Two today; one for the non-Kiwis and one for the Kiwias, although naturally both can read either. The first one, Rain, must surely be one of the best-read NZ poems but I doubt it's known much elsewhere; the other, Friend, is an equal classic but I was concerned that it wasn't totally accessible to non-Kiwis (although it's probably better than Hotere by the same guy.)
Rain
I can hear you
making small holes
in the silence
rain
If I were deaf
the pores of my skin
would open to you
and shut
And I
should know you
by the lick of you
if I were blind
the something
special smell of you
when the sun cakes
the ground
the steady
drum-roll sound
you make
when the wind drops
But if I
should not hear
smell or feel or see
you
you would still
define me
disperse me
wash over me
rain
--Hone Tuwhare
Friend
Do you remember
that wild stretch of land
with the lone tree guarding the point
from the sharp-tongued sea?
The fort we build out of branches
wrenched from the tree is dead wood now.
The air that was thick with the whirr of
toetoe spears succumbs at last to the grey gull's wheel.
Oyster-studded roots
of the mangrove yield no finer feast
of silver-bellied eels, and sea-snails
cooked in a rusty can.
Allow me to mend the broken ends
of shared days:
but I wanted to say
that the tree we climbed
that gave food and drink
to youthful dreams, is no more.
Pursed to the lips her fine-edged
leaves made whistle-- now stamp
no silken tracery on the cracked
clay floor.
Friend,
in this drear
dreamless time I clasp
your hand if only to reassure
that all our jewelled fantasies were
real and wore splendid rags.
Perhaps the tree
will strike frsh roots again:
give soothing shade to a hurt and
troubled world.
-- Hone Tuwhare
if anyone prefers that I cut this that would be fine. Also, SO hard to pick only a few Tuwhare... I really wanted to post No Ordinary Sun, Deep River Talk, Prodigal City, Child coming home in the rain from the store and all sorts of others... *sigh* another month.
Two today; one for the non-Kiwis and one for the Kiwias, although naturally both can read either. The first one, Rain, must surely be one of the best-read NZ poems but I doubt it's known much elsewhere; the other, Friend, is an equal classic but I was concerned that it wasn't totally accessible to non-Kiwis (although it's probably better than Hotere by the same guy.)
Rain
I can hear you
making small holes
in the silence
rain
If I were deaf
the pores of my skin
would open to you
and shut
And I
should know you
by the lick of you
if I were blind
the something
special smell of you
when the sun cakes
the ground
the steady
drum-roll sound
you make
when the wind drops
But if I
should not hear
smell or feel or see
you
you would still
define me
disperse me
wash over me
rain
--Hone Tuwhare
Friend
Do you remember
that wild stretch of land
with the lone tree guarding the point
from the sharp-tongued sea?
The fort we build out of branches
wrenched from the tree is dead wood now.
The air that was thick with the whirr of
toetoe spears succumbs at last to the grey gull's wheel.
Oyster-studded roots
of the mangrove yield no finer feast
of silver-bellied eels, and sea-snails
cooked in a rusty can.
Allow me to mend the broken ends
of shared days:
but I wanted to say
that the tree we climbed
that gave food and drink
to youthful dreams, is no more.
Pursed to the lips her fine-edged
leaves made whistle-- now stamp
no silken tracery on the cracked
clay floor.
Friend,
in this drear
dreamless time I clasp
your hand if only to reassure
that all our jewelled fantasies were
real and wore splendid rags.
Perhaps the tree
will strike frsh roots again:
give soothing shade to a hurt and
troubled world.
-- Hone Tuwhare
if anyone prefers that I cut this that would be fine. Also, SO hard to pick only a few Tuwhare... I really wanted to post No Ordinary Sun, Deep River Talk, Prodigal City, Child coming home in the rain from the store and all sorts of others... *sigh* another month.
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no subject
Date: 2006-04-16 03:18 am (UTC)Forgot how brilliant he was.
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Date: 2006-04-16 03:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-16 04:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-16 04:51 am (UTC)Fur mich der Vogel schon singt
It's no owl's cry bor bittern that I can be precise about:
amiable company through the long hours.
What sweet bird is this then, singing in the night?
And through what grey hours silvered in song?
In my birthland there are no night-songs sung more
cheerfully than you sing, bird. Physically you are very
close. Your voice enfolds me.
I'm a poor mimic, but when I latch onto your key, we
manage a musical phrase together.
I have a defecting left ear which disorientates me.
For a whole week now I've opened and shut
cupboard and wardrobe doors, fearful
that I had slammed a door inadvertently on your day-time
resting-place. But as the long twilight thickens, your
voice in perfect German greets me:
Guten Abend, Herr Dichter: Gutten Abend
You are a bird of good omen. From my country good news
from Michael has stretched a warm hand to touch me
in this new house on: Old Houses Street, in this busy canal
city on the Baltic.
I'm not quite alone: you're here.
But Margret is gone. Death has finally taken
her father firmly by the hand. I hope to hear from her
again soon. Verily, on heaven and hell alike the sun shines.
How I wish she were here now, bird -- to identify you; share
your message of solace; hint of joy.
I speak absolutely no German (I mean I bcan guess Guten Abend, Herr Dichter but that's it) so no idea if this is the right one!
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Date: 2006-04-16 06:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-02 08:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-03 11:49 am (UTC)