Postcolonial Polynesian Life Leavens Literary Freedom

Next World Readers group meeting: Thursday, Mar. 29. 6:30.








Tonight, (Feb. 22),our customary "spin of the globe" produced the Canadian provinces of Quebec, Ontario, and Manitoba as March's country of literary interest. Since this is a rather long post, we'll begin at the end,with a summary of several threads that ran through our discussion. First, a view espoused by Albert Wendt, (a pre eminent Polynesian author), that, although Colonialization disrupted (and, even in the "post" period, continues to disrupt) every aspect of traditional Polynesian life, authors and poets have, nonetheless, experienced incredible literary opportunities. Second, a Polynesian's world view, one of vast sky and water, must be vastly different from those of us landlocked on great continents. The original inhabitants begain sailing in 40,000-50,000 years ago. Polynesian settlement is "merely" 3,00-4,000 years in the making. *** Up first tonight was our group's most resolute world traveller- Anne- who shared an interesting web site penned by blogger Laura Hanks, a Peace Corps volunteer currently acculturating in Western Samoa. Hanks, 24, chronicles her new found experiences, and provides an interesting "wish list" of items we assume are scare in Western Samoa. The list encourages friends and relatives not to forget to pack the "Sex in the City" season 6 DVDs, Kleenex, and Emercen-C packets. After sharing parts of Laura's on line tome, Anne confessed her own dark secret- a budding interest in blogging. *** Bill introduced us to Doug Pool, a well known New Zealand poet. For the second meeting in a row, Bill astonished those assembled by reciting the following poem. (Note that "Lava lava" is the traditional Samoan garb, much like a sarong.) Lava lava Your Shroud enwraps my waist thighs legs colours me hibiscus pink yellow red gives me something I believe in That I am Samoan enough to wear your Lava lava Dedicated to my Matriarch Nonosina Ulberg *** Albert Wendt (1939- ) is a contemporary poet, novelist and educator, about whose life and literature Michele shared. Of both German and Polynesian descent, Wendt is likely the best known author in the South Pacific. Among Wendt's major works is "Leaves of the Banyan Tree" (1979), an epic work bridging three generations. "Leaves" is considered to be a modern classic work of Pacific literature. Here is an excerpt. "His father and Toasa had grown up together. They had spanned fifty years before his father died in 1928. In his memories of them Tauilopepe could never quite separate one from the other. They had both brought him up, nurturing him as one father, yet they were so different: Toasa full of laughter and vigour; Tauilopepe Laau, his father, aloof and silent, almost unapproachably cold. He had thought of them as making one complete human being - Toasa the flesh and bone and his father the calculating mind, the real power behind their leadership of Sapepe. But when his father died Toasa absorbed unto himself the being of his father, as it were." *** Brian brought information on "Whetu Moana: Contemporary Polynesian Poems in English". The book is the first English language anthology of contemporary Polynesia poetry edited by Polynesians. Albert Wendt, above, is one of three editors. Below are the three that were read tonight. My Mother's Coat As a child I felt protected and warm Wrapped in my mother's coat It must have looked funny Big brown eyes Peering from its folds As if that was all there was to me I remember Its unique threads Unusual and coarse Their slenderness belied their strength Its tivaevae-like panels of thin fabric An effective shield against bitter winters The colours loud Shouting for attention and space My mother always wore her coat with pride Unphased by its highlighter effect Marking her out in a Papaa crowd But blending beautifully at every putuputu anga I remember too With youthful disdain Discarding my mother's coat Not for me The uncool design extravagant colouring and awkward fit I did not want to be marked If only I knew then What I know now She wears it still Her brooch of pride brilliant and bright And not long ago I tried it on after many years Although it's not really me It's because of her I can sew my own Ta'i George Dogs & Dinghies Down here now, it's just dogs and dinghies. All the rangatahi have moved into the city, all except for the Johnston boy who's a little simple. The dogs are all old and tired. The dinghies are upturned above the tideline, prows to the hills. There's the old people, of course, slipping between the past and the time before that, the time when the setting sun sparkled in someone's eyes, threw silhouettes upon the sea. Phil Kawana Sa Nafanua (for my sisters) high-stepping in pink patent leather boots arms linked, we march together in raggedy-assed lines, holes in our sequined stockings/ crooked at the seams under rainbow colored tights and feather cloaks/ this band of warriors/ your frisky daughters, my dear/ at your service/ our weapons slung across shoulder & hip/ paintbrush & camera Zenith laptop & lawbook/ your freckled daughters/ after-jets burning away illusion/ attachment/ clearing the channel for the birth of ourselves & each other/ your gypsy daughters. we move down to the sea; our sons carry the boat brining coconut, breadfruit, taro and papaya to plant the new land. babies chortle at the breast the bigger ones chasing sandcrabs back into their holes/ our brothers hoist the sails & festoon us w/maile garlands/ pua & awapui flower-scented aura of our people/ protect us mother/ we follow your ocean patch to the world above the dark cave/ guide us mother the sea serpent lurks beneath waves monster ego/ demons gnaw on the rigging steady us mother/ your eye lights the way your heart moves our blood your hand steers our boat and plants us like seeds in the new land/ sing for us tina. Caroline Sinavaiana-Gabbard