painter. He still takes the rap

for The Arrival of the Maoris –

in the current exhibition at the Heritage Gallery

that piece is placed with his French paintings,

partly so that it is separated

from the Maori portraits.

The ancestors in the portraits

look grim, with few exceptions.

The ones in Arrival

look destitute. I cannot speak

as a direct descendant

of a Goldie subject,

as my ancestors were depicted

by Lindauer.

xxxv

to discover an island must be amazing

new resources – water, timber, land –

the claim of discovery when you return home

you’d really put on your glad rags

so this thing about the unhappy crews

who shipwreck by chance

doesn’t make sense does it?

how did they procreate if it wasn’t deliberate?

it’s a gender issue I realise

xxxvi

the introduction of large

European ships to New Zealand waters

made quite an impact

ballistical even

yet we must think

about the hardy voyagers

life in Europe was no pleasure cruise

they must have had desperate

existences back home

I acknowledge their bravery

to sail over the edge of the world

into Hades

the infernal Greek and Latin-ness

of many headed creatures

sirens to put them on the lips

of story-tellers

they must have never considered

for a second that they would return

37

your majesty

arikinui

taumata

etcetera

we have sighted them

who?

we have seen them

again

and

again

running around

on their waka

different people

who runs on a waka?

have you lost your heads?

gone porangi?

esteemed one

here they come

38 fleurs de lis

do not be afraid –

I have seen them too

Tangaroa has delivered a dish

a top-heavy banquet

plying our waves

a European maitre’d

our omniscient descendants

will liken them to gingerbread

which we will snap while they

sit on our backs

ooh la la

39 A wave

On the NativeNet email discussion list

someone listed the atrocities

committed after Columbus.

five hundred years later

and the Papal Bull that begat them

on vellum still stands.

Men women and children

were spiked in His name.

This nauseating wave

splashes today –

nations only traceable

by their DNA –

justice in mixed

blood.

40

I imagine my friend walking on reservation land

near the Great Lakes

of South-West Ontario

ice in Winter driving the roar

of Spring

and the Summer’s day

before the sun

reaches Autumn and thoughts

of eternal Summer inside

are learnt lines

enthusiasm for words again

in her presence

and in her absence

lines singing of a free life

there

41

cutting across Grey Lynn Park

with the open scars of collapsed storm drains

warning signs great sheets of iron

across the struggling earth

I find fields on the far side

it is moving

I am moved by the space

in the city

(our backyard is so small)

am forced to think of nature

the changing course (Sonnet xviii)

I think above all of Canada

and oceanic fields

42

Into the new age the waka glides