Humming

06/02/2009

This Friday’s poem is Humming by Hone Tuwhare from his collection Oooooo…..!!!  published by Steele Roberts.

 

I’ll leave it to you to find – or not – a message for Waitangi Day in it.

 

Humming

 

It is a house to be constructed with care

      for it has no confining walls

     thus permitting expansion: vertical

 

    growth is not inhibited for there is no limit to the height of the ceiling

    stretching to heaven. This house

    can endure given a chance, that’s

    for sure  … H m m m m

 

But since it is of earth its foundations may be

     built of sand: and because there are

    no confining walls this fragile house

    of love may be seen as layers of light

   and colour – a feeling tone – warm, purple

   orange grey hot and cold with lots of blue

   and yellow to make it green – green

   was predicatble … H m m m m

 

Fleshed out though, this house of love isn’t

     ageless, but ages old. It has form; contour.

     It has presence; a brilliant arc uniting

    heaven and hell; love-thoughts in pursuit of

    a physical expression – a noisy, gloppy

    proclamation –

 

                 Aha   Aha – Aha – Aha   Aha

 

    … and horses, huffing and pounding into

     the straight, riders snarling, cruel whips

     flailing – the anguish of stretched leather

     reeking sweetly of sweat … And reason? Ahh.

 

    Reason is a hunchback of irrelevance backing

    quietly out the door.

 

But where are the flowers – the select flowers

      of endearment, soul-food to dazzle the heart?

 

    O, they’re here, all right: there, there

    and THERE … H m m m

 

             – Hone Tuwhare –


Meander…

14/11/2008

This Friday’s poem chose itself while I was browsing in a bookshop yesterday. It’s by Hone Tuwhare and comes from Oooooo……!!!  published by Steele Roberts.

(In case you’re wondering I bought the book).

Meander, but trap the meaning

of your thoughts, on paper

 

For reasons

      I cannot say

      nor state

      nor overcome, a tendency

      vague, nor infer an abandoned modesty, to

      have them

      cast in stone? No.

 

No…no…no! And to you,

      Fate, a double, ‘no-no’ –

      which in Maori, means

         ‘arse-holes’ (nono)

                  to

                  you,

         Fate! And to my

    hand, unfalteringly –

 

I say: Go! Go for it! Let

      your writing-wrist

       flex, curve lovingly, making easy-going words of magic

     – on the paper. Yea!

 

        – Hone Tuwhare –


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