which consumed vast amounts of gravel

in its construction. Perhaps some of this

was extracted from the Araiteuru’s crew?

Kai Tahu, to whom my father belongs,

restored one mountain ‘Aoraki’ (Mt Cook).

Waka 56 A Double-Hulled Waka

i

Which begins as they do telling stories –

from heavenly Moeraki where, parked,

I gazed at a big wall of sea and sky,

earth a ledge beneath a bright veil crossing

Paradise. A Western Paradise true

to its own logic, boulders parked like stops

across the text. My head filled with heaven,

I drove and drove, wheel in my hands bouncing.

The image bounced round inside me for years

like a prayer-wheel powered by water

coming out of the ground through me – spring

filled with eels nibbling my insides. Maui’s

tuna of the meiosis, wrestling his

descent, his own meiosis, the people.

And the next story beginning a line

dangling from glow worms on lime formations,

points of light fishing for winged insects

on hope – for moon, sun, stars – not devouring

worms. They live in darkness, manufacture

their own light. They possess beauty their fans

die like lovers for. I know these lovers,

felt the breeze raise a veil from a sunset

internalised. Lime spears caverns. Worm mouths.

Each bit a wriggle along existence.

Grandiose. A stretch across plates for salt.

Dissembled in the gut, shared out to senses,

tissue, organic stuff, all contribute

to each chemical and animal light.

Scales of light vary, measuring speed, lux,

changes: physicists think we are stardust.

Down to a person. Massive and modest

stars recycled in the cosmos – we are

reassembled versions of long dead stars.

Now science imitates art. Once artists

were scientists too. Today vice versa.

Da Vinci, for example, observed candles,

designed helicopters. Today, the Beeb

ran a story about a scientist

exhibiting pictures of molecules:

a silk molecule next to a silk dress;

chlorophyll next to a plant. Everything

a collection of tiny connections.

For beauty has delightful components.

The molecule of water sliding by

molecules of waka, powered by breeze

molecules in muscles, on sails – its scales

notes on the firmament, melodious

oration, song, rhythm of pahu, flute,

feet braced on boards swinging torso, elbow,

thought. This thought passed down lengths of men

through earth –

we came by waka, we leave by waka,

pass it on. The influences of wind

on waves can be immense, high walls scraping

valleys in the heart, constricting throats. Crews

scraped themselves, bled prayers, so holiness

remained – a caravan on dry seabed.

ii

Contents of waka huia, treasure chests,

are highly prized. Waka huia on tv,

a Maori language show, has just broadcast

its 400th episode – preserving

eloquence, movement, airs, graces, noblesse

of our leaders, finest men and women,

on video forever. In Maori.

Only 14 episodes subtitled.

To understand one’s culture one must speak

the language of its poetry, world

philosophy, reach untranslated

ambiguities. For language deals out

meaning. Meaning is the star above our

species. Specifically, our waka